Last Friday I sat in on the Veteran's Day program performed by the student body of Red Oak Elementary. There was the usual themes and songs from each of branches of service. A rousing and emotional program, and I don't mean that in a sarcastic way. For the entirety of the program I thought about my dad, now 93 years old, flying combat missions over Germany at the age of 22 or so. Having to be responsible for 9 other men, wondering every time it was wheels up if he would return both to base and home. He has never talked much about it. I don't think it is the trauma of the missions he flew, but more that Dad never really looks back. He has always dealt with the next moment and doesn't concern himself with the history or the contemplation that brought him to this moment. And now that the memory is failing and the body is grinding to a halt he is thinking of the next moment about final arrangements and making sure there is not going to be a problem for those he leaves behind.
But in the moment of the Veteran's program I reflected on the happenstance of my not serving all those years ago. Of course in those days, no one willingly joined. There was not the sense of national devotion to all things military. My contemporaries were compelled to go via a process called "the draft". For those of you who don't know or remember how this worked, it was known as the lottery. A bad kind. 365 birthdays were dumped in a wheel and whenever your birthday came out of the drawing was your "draft number". At the age of 18 every male was required to sign up for the draft. There were a lot of conversations about what we would do if drafted, the preference of service, and the uncertainty about what that meant. My 18th birthday came towards the end of the Vietnam war. By mid-1972 (I graduated in spring 1972) the US was beginning to pull out of the war. So the draft numbers would have to be pretty low to worry about the prospect of being drafted. All I remember was that while comparing our numbers between a good friend of mine, the number I drew was in the 300's, his was 9. Not good. He joined and never saw time outside the USA. But the idea that one would join out of patriotic duty, or sense of service was foreign in that moment. While my dad and his contemporaries rushed to the enlistment centers after Pearl Harbor, my contemporaries were looking for loopholes or the most direct route to Canada to sit out the conflict. Theirs was a noble war, ours was a point of national debate and contention. And to summarize what my friend with the bad luck to draw a low number told me later, "you can avoid anything in the military if you learn to use the system". It was a different time and a different war and a different attitude.
As the program wore on I wondered (again) how my life would have been different had I served at the moment of my 18th year. Would I have survived? It is hard to imagine not surviving when there is a 40+ year history since that moment. If I had survived I would have come home a couple of years after a normal college start. Would I have met my bride? Probably not. What would my life have been like without her? I can't imagine it. And all the things that follow, kids, grandkids, jobs, friends, places we have lived, would have been entirely different. Not to mention (and perhaps the most compelling thought string) how would I have been changed by the events? How would I be different? What would my journey look like now? What would my views be on the different journey that I would have traveled? It is almost impossible to imagine because we are the sum of our decisions. And each decision is based on the experiences we alone have had.
Which brings me full circle to the program last Friday. We each travel our own journey. There is no changing the moment just past or the cars in the long train leading up to it. You see the sum of who I am in this moment is less conscious planning and more opening doors that lead one to another until I find myself in this place. Our journey is as unique as our fingerprints. Would I now go back and change the moment of an 18 year old and miss the journey with my bride, my three kids, their spouses, my grandkids, our friends (both old and new), on and on and on? I can't trade and wouldn't if I could. The things I find most precious came to me because of MY journey and the sum of MY decisions. And as I thought of my dad and his journey that included placing his life on the line, it occurred to me that it is part of what has made him important to me. Our journeys were not the same, but it is important that they not be.
My hope is that my journey will reap some of the same results as my dad's journey which included a time of uncertainty over the skies of Germany. Hopeful that the fruit will be compassion, integrity, honor, mercy, faith, and last and certainly not least is a sense of humor about it all. The success of the journey is in the satisfaction we have received. And each of us is the only one who can determine if the journey we have traveled has been worthwhile.
So on this day of honoring our veterans, it is important to note that this portion of their journey has crossed for a moment with ours. But the journeys are all meaningful, all part of who we are, all are important.
Godspeed to those who have gambled it all, in particular the veterans. And more specifically my dad. 1st Lt. Grady B. Jolly.
Don
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Friday, October 16, 2015
The Enemy in the Mirror
It seems we are surrounded with arguments on every side. Each sentence in the conversation seems to grow more strident and more hateful. The spiral is downward in every arena of life.
The Left and the Right are at each other. The only portion of the battleground that is emptying is the moderate group in the middle.
The US of A is scatter shooting all over the middle east. ISIS hates Americans and Americans seem willing to oblige ISIS, its just that we are so much more sophisticated and humane in our killing.
America has managed to keep the racial wars going. Now the war has centered more directly on police, which seems the height of irony.
And Christians have found a way to hate everybody. While clinging to our guns and bibles Christians are a formidable bunch. But the homosexuals, the Muslims, peace mongers, and the democrats better beware, Christians are out for blood. Of course the last thing you will hear as an enemy of this group is the refrains of "God is Love".
Where did this world take a turn to violence and stridency? When did we lose the ability to debate, reason, and treat each other with deference? The downward spiral can't continue. As a Christ-follower, a Kingdom resident it seems we should be this voice of reason.
But now we see the decline and erosion, at least in numbers, of the Christian world view. I have noted this in other blogs, but the fact remains that this world view has been marginalized and generally ignored.
I came across a quote in a book I am finishing called "Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gay-vs-Christians Debate" by Justin Lee ( by the way, this is nice starting point if you are really interested in discovering what a devoted Christian and a gay man struggles with)
"And while so many of us in the church have been focused on the "threat" to our culture posed by homosexuality, we've missed the realization that the church in our culture is under attack-not by gays, but by Christians. We Christians are the sleeper agents. The bomb is in our car. We have become the unwitting assassins of people's faith. The Christians are killing Christianity"
Christianity is being erased by the actions of those who are the most fervent about making this world view dominant.
It is time to place on the ground the armaments we cling most closely to, the entitlement of righteousness, the lofty place of condemnation, the battle cry of "rights". As a Christ-follower, I have no rights. The mental image for me is standing on a battlefield and stooping down and quietly placing my gun on the ground, waving a hand in salute to the other side, and walking away. I cannot kill them into understanding.
So the ratios may change. Instead of my side killing them 10 to 1, it may take my side experiencing the loss ratio of the same magnitude. Only when we see that the harm we have done has at least matched the harm they have done will we begin to understand the true dynamics. We can no longer have a voice in this if we continue to insist on resolution only on our terms.
Godspeed to those who seek another way.
Don
The Left and the Right are at each other. The only portion of the battleground that is emptying is the moderate group in the middle.
The US of A is scatter shooting all over the middle east. ISIS hates Americans and Americans seem willing to oblige ISIS, its just that we are so much more sophisticated and humane in our killing.
America has managed to keep the racial wars going. Now the war has centered more directly on police, which seems the height of irony.
And Christians have found a way to hate everybody. While clinging to our guns and bibles Christians are a formidable bunch. But the homosexuals, the Muslims, peace mongers, and the democrats better beware, Christians are out for blood. Of course the last thing you will hear as an enemy of this group is the refrains of "God is Love".
Where did this world take a turn to violence and stridency? When did we lose the ability to debate, reason, and treat each other with deference? The downward spiral can't continue. As a Christ-follower, a Kingdom resident it seems we should be this voice of reason.
But now we see the decline and erosion, at least in numbers, of the Christian world view. I have noted this in other blogs, but the fact remains that this world view has been marginalized and generally ignored.
I came across a quote in a book I am finishing called "Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gay-vs-Christians Debate" by Justin Lee ( by the way, this is nice starting point if you are really interested in discovering what a devoted Christian and a gay man struggles with)
"And while so many of us in the church have been focused on the "threat" to our culture posed by homosexuality, we've missed the realization that the church in our culture is under attack-not by gays, but by Christians. We Christians are the sleeper agents. The bomb is in our car. We have become the unwitting assassins of people's faith. The Christians are killing Christianity"
Christianity is being erased by the actions of those who are the most fervent about making this world view dominant.
It is time to place on the ground the armaments we cling most closely to, the entitlement of righteousness, the lofty place of condemnation, the battle cry of "rights". As a Christ-follower, I have no rights. The mental image for me is standing on a battlefield and stooping down and quietly placing my gun on the ground, waving a hand in salute to the other side, and walking away. I cannot kill them into understanding.
So the ratios may change. Instead of my side killing them 10 to 1, it may take my side experiencing the loss ratio of the same magnitude. Only when we see that the harm we have done has at least matched the harm they have done will we begin to understand the true dynamics. We can no longer have a voice in this if we continue to insist on resolution only on our terms.
Godspeed to those who seek another way.
Don
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Forever Young
Forty years ago today, October 4, 1975, I married the person who would become my partner, my most constant companion, my critic, my love, a traveler through the world, my bride.
We have shared the struggles and the joys of growing older. Our bodies once slim and sound have begun to shift and falter, sputter a bit as Father time has exacted his toll. There is not much illusion left between us. She knows my faults and insecurities and I know hers. We still each know the ways to make the other happy or sad or mad. There is not much left that would surprise either one of us. Because neither of us are willing to avoid a good old fashion confrontation, we still can mix it up like newly weds, except that now we know where to hit causing the most damage. Even the arguments are long-standing, we don't have much new stuff to bring to the table. I have always felt that long marriages are made up of two tough-minded people, each demanding that the other bring their best to the marriage daily. Sometimes this means that it can get a little tense.
But along with the tough, hard, implacable existence we call marriage and life, there is another ledger being filled. There is the tenderness that can only come from someone who understands and without words comforts. We have both suffered loss of parents, she has agonized through her parent's divorce. There have been very long nights worrying and praying over our kids when they were suffering. The number of nights where we crawled exhausted into bed; her head tucked under my chin, clinging to each other as the dark and merciless world did its best to plow us under. But the common determination, the common fight in us both gave us the strength to batten down the hatches and lift a defiant unified fist in the face of the overwhelming odds. This woman, this lover, this fighter, this mother of my children has always had more strength and determination than I can fully explain. And together we have fought, at least to a draw, what the fates have thrown at us.
So the bodies have changed shape and the spirits are covered with scars, there is a part of us that has stayed forever young. The heart never seems to grow old. Perhaps this is the illusion we all hold until the very end. Perhaps this is the quiet voice in the final moments saying, "Not yet" You see there is still the moments that catch me by surprise. The jump of the heart when I open the door, cinderblock weight of my backpack and suitcase forgotten, and she stops and hugs and kisses me like the young lovers we once were. When we find a meal at home after a long week on the road and she scoots her chair to sit as close as possible simply because she has missed me, and how silly this sounds to outsiders and how precious it is to me. To wake up in the middle of the night and realize that the arm is numb from holding her, but not wanting to shift because it would mean just that little bit of separation that I am not yet willing to give up. The old heart would see all these things as mundane and familiar, the young heart cherishes all of these little moments, fresh and new as the first time we met. And now I realize that the heart we share will never grow old. She will always be my bride. My heart will never grow old as long as she is with me.
Godspeed to my bride, Beverly Jolly. As I have told you for the past 40 years, I have always loved you and always will.
Don
We have shared the struggles and the joys of growing older. Our bodies once slim and sound have begun to shift and falter, sputter a bit as Father time has exacted his toll. There is not much illusion left between us. She knows my faults and insecurities and I know hers. We still each know the ways to make the other happy or sad or mad. There is not much left that would surprise either one of us. Because neither of us are willing to avoid a good old fashion confrontation, we still can mix it up like newly weds, except that now we know where to hit causing the most damage. Even the arguments are long-standing, we don't have much new stuff to bring to the table. I have always felt that long marriages are made up of two tough-minded people, each demanding that the other bring their best to the marriage daily. Sometimes this means that it can get a little tense.
But along with the tough, hard, implacable existence we call marriage and life, there is another ledger being filled. There is the tenderness that can only come from someone who understands and without words comforts. We have both suffered loss of parents, she has agonized through her parent's divorce. There have been very long nights worrying and praying over our kids when they were suffering. The number of nights where we crawled exhausted into bed; her head tucked under my chin, clinging to each other as the dark and merciless world did its best to plow us under. But the common determination, the common fight in us both gave us the strength to batten down the hatches and lift a defiant unified fist in the face of the overwhelming odds. This woman, this lover, this fighter, this mother of my children has always had more strength and determination than I can fully explain. And together we have fought, at least to a draw, what the fates have thrown at us.
So the bodies have changed shape and the spirits are covered with scars, there is a part of us that has stayed forever young. The heart never seems to grow old. Perhaps this is the illusion we all hold until the very end. Perhaps this is the quiet voice in the final moments saying, "Not yet" You see there is still the moments that catch me by surprise. The jump of the heart when I open the door, cinderblock weight of my backpack and suitcase forgotten, and she stops and hugs and kisses me like the young lovers we once were. When we find a meal at home after a long week on the road and she scoots her chair to sit as close as possible simply because she has missed me, and how silly this sounds to outsiders and how precious it is to me. To wake up in the middle of the night and realize that the arm is numb from holding her, but not wanting to shift because it would mean just that little bit of separation that I am not yet willing to give up. The old heart would see all these things as mundane and familiar, the young heart cherishes all of these little moments, fresh and new as the first time we met. And now I realize that the heart we share will never grow old. She will always be my bride. My heart will never grow old as long as she is with me.
Godspeed to my bride, Beverly Jolly. As I have told you for the past 40 years, I have always loved you and always will.
Don
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
What I Did This Summer
This was one of those summers that ended up being rather mundane. We all carry into our adulthood the idea that summer is a time of dropped schedules, impromptu ice cream and snow cone missions, cooking out, swimming in the creek (my childhood) swimming in the wide spot in the river in a spot called "the jenny hole" by my bride's family. Summer evenings with light until 9PM. And catching "lightin' bugs" after that. These summer memories are long and bring to mind the phrase "endless summer".
However, this year my bride had numerous school training sessions, both online and on campus. The normal cousin's camp never materialized. My work was both intense and stressful with little time to enjoy the moment. Grandkids had numerous camps and schedules just never seemed to sinc up.
But there was one event that can be fully accredited to the rites of summer.
I went camping with my son and my grandson. We managed to dodge the Noah-esque rains of early summer, and managed to find a weekend in the midst of the 100 degree stretch.
There was some purchasing of tent, lanterns (battery powered) fishing poles, throwing out old and non-working camping gear from service years ago. A general plan for menu. By the way, we got a pancake mix in a bottle, just add milk and shake. Other than a little lumpy it was pretty good. Of course anything cooked on the same griddle with the bacon is going to be good. I took a cot. The days of sleeping on the ground are over for this older body. We took my '92 Chevy pickup and just piled all the equipment in the back, lashed it down, and headed out.
We arrived well after dark and spent some time wandering around amongst the RVs, trailers, until we found a site. Rummaging around in the back of the truck we pulled out the tent and a lantern. The box holding the tent said it could be up in 60 seconds. What they mean is if you read the directions, it might be up in a reasonable length of time. After my son made me stop and read the directions by lantern light, we had the tent up, the cot set up with Isaac's bedroll stationed between us. The tent boasted it was a "6 man" tent, but those men would have to be a lot more comfortable with sleeping close than I am. It was fine for 2-1/2.
During this hour or so of set up I realized that there was absolutely no breeze under those trees. And it was close to, if not at, 100. By the time everything was set up I was completely dripping with sweat. When I finally settled on the cot I could feel the sweat gather up and run from under my hair into and around my ears and off my neck. I could remember only one other time I had camped in the old days with the Wrays, Frys, Jollys at Lake Coleman when I was that hot while trying to sleep. With no breeze sleep was a little long in coming.
But lights out created some memories that I will cherish. The tent had a mesh roof that we could see through. From our angle it looked like the trees were bending over and peering into our tent.
Me: "Isaac, it looks like the trees are looking into our tent!"
Isaac: "Grandaddy, trees don't have eyes"
Me: I had no response.
Then the reading of "The Hobbit", bedtime prayers, and the excited chatter of a little boy in the midst of two grown men trying to find a way to sleep. Sleep finally arrived about the time the temps dropped into the 80s.
The next morning was filled with fishing (they weren't biting, apparently they took the summer off) swimming in the lake (with those hot and cold streaks and the squishy mud) and lunch at the swimming area. We headed back to the tent to get some rest. When Ben and Isaac went in the tent to change from their swim trunks it was obvious that it was far to hot to rest in there. So I suggested a quick run into town and hit DQ while we decide what to do. I think the Blizzard helped us decide that one night was enough. So even with a disappointed camper we had a great time and have vowed to make a return to the camping when the weather is cooler.
This is the huge take from the weekend. The best memories are created while wasting time together. I think we get so focused on schedules, and production, and meaningful thoughts and words that we forget that the memories that last are the ones we didn't plan or anticipate. But I wouldn't trade this moment for anything. It was too hot, the fish weren't biting, sand and dirt infiltrated everything, and I loved every minute. I remembered that we don't have to have a reason or an agenda for spending time together.
Godspeed to those who have found the value in wasting time with those they love.
Don
However, this year my bride had numerous school training sessions, both online and on campus. The normal cousin's camp never materialized. My work was both intense and stressful with little time to enjoy the moment. Grandkids had numerous camps and schedules just never seemed to sinc up.
But there was one event that can be fully accredited to the rites of summer.
I went camping with my son and my grandson. We managed to dodge the Noah-esque rains of early summer, and managed to find a weekend in the midst of the 100 degree stretch.
There was some purchasing of tent, lanterns (battery powered) fishing poles, throwing out old and non-working camping gear from service years ago. A general plan for menu. By the way, we got a pancake mix in a bottle, just add milk and shake. Other than a little lumpy it was pretty good. Of course anything cooked on the same griddle with the bacon is going to be good. I took a cot. The days of sleeping on the ground are over for this older body. We took my '92 Chevy pickup and just piled all the equipment in the back, lashed it down, and headed out.
We arrived well after dark and spent some time wandering around amongst the RVs, trailers, until we found a site. Rummaging around in the back of the truck we pulled out the tent and a lantern. The box holding the tent said it could be up in 60 seconds. What they mean is if you read the directions, it might be up in a reasonable length of time. After my son made me stop and read the directions by lantern light, we had the tent up, the cot set up with Isaac's bedroll stationed between us. The tent boasted it was a "6 man" tent, but those men would have to be a lot more comfortable with sleeping close than I am. It was fine for 2-1/2.
During this hour or so of set up I realized that there was absolutely no breeze under those trees. And it was close to, if not at, 100. By the time everything was set up I was completely dripping with sweat. When I finally settled on the cot I could feel the sweat gather up and run from under my hair into and around my ears and off my neck. I could remember only one other time I had camped in the old days with the Wrays, Frys, Jollys at Lake Coleman when I was that hot while trying to sleep. With no breeze sleep was a little long in coming.
But lights out created some memories that I will cherish. The tent had a mesh roof that we could see through. From our angle it looked like the trees were bending over and peering into our tent.
Me: "Isaac, it looks like the trees are looking into our tent!"
Isaac: "Grandaddy, trees don't have eyes"
Me: I had no response.
Then the reading of "The Hobbit", bedtime prayers, and the excited chatter of a little boy in the midst of two grown men trying to find a way to sleep. Sleep finally arrived about the time the temps dropped into the 80s.
The next morning was filled with fishing (they weren't biting, apparently they took the summer off) swimming in the lake (with those hot and cold streaks and the squishy mud) and lunch at the swimming area. We headed back to the tent to get some rest. When Ben and Isaac went in the tent to change from their swim trunks it was obvious that it was far to hot to rest in there. So I suggested a quick run into town and hit DQ while we decide what to do. I think the Blizzard helped us decide that one night was enough. So even with a disappointed camper we had a great time and have vowed to make a return to the camping when the weather is cooler.
This is the huge take from the weekend. The best memories are created while wasting time together. I think we get so focused on schedules, and production, and meaningful thoughts and words that we forget that the memories that last are the ones we didn't plan or anticipate. But I wouldn't trade this moment for anything. It was too hot, the fish weren't biting, sand and dirt infiltrated everything, and I loved every minute. I remembered that we don't have to have a reason or an agenda for spending time together.
Godspeed to those who have found the value in wasting time with those they love.
Don
Thursday, August 20, 2015
When Worlds Collide
For those of you have been kind enough to follow (and occasionally comment) you know that I rarely write or even mention my work. There are a variety of reasons, but mainly it is just that work is not my primary focus in life. I work hard, as we all do, but my work has never really defined me. You also know that I have been on a decade long (or longer) journey in the spiritual disciplines. Hence the name of the blog. The struggles in this area have garnered far more space here than nearly anything else. The "disciplines" as I call them are both a comfort and a pressure. When I am stressed and lonely and depressed the disciplines bring me focus and discernment, it is also these times when the disciplines are the hardest to maintain. Consequently I find them to be the most valuable and most aggravating thing that I do.
Two years ago I left one of the most secure jobs in the industry to try and launch a little company. Only a small part of my motivation was financial. Mostly I wanted to create a company that had a certain culture. This was an opportunity to create a system built on integrity, honesty, collaboration, and ownership. The only flaw in the plan was the current ownership. They/he did not share my vision. It could be a cultural difference with him being Korean, and me being West Texas. Or it could be more personal. But to make a story short in this space, he decided to end our relationship, cutting corners on the original agreement. It would be easy to vilify him and his actions, but in the end I think it came down to the fact that he wanted to deal with people that he could better control and who spend less time making him think through his decision making process (that last sentence just took me 10 minutes to clean up).
So after 20 months of sales increases, bringing legitimacy to his brand, he found a way to cut me loose, to end the agreement and deprive me of the pay out at the end of the agreement. Angry, vindictive, vengeful, ashamed, fearful were the immediate reactions. Response options were numerous. Call all the accounts and tell them in no uncertain terms how unfair it was; legal action to claim my rights under the original agreement; stomp and fuss and try to create all sorts of mischief; these were the thoughts for the first several days.
But the mistake I made in carrying out all those satisfying responses was that I dug deeper into my disciplines. Silence and solitude were especially tough. Prayer and meditation were turbulent at the beginning. The scriptures from the old psalmist about "breaking the teeth of my persecutor" were scanned dozens of times in my studies. Righteousness demanded that I launch an all out spiritual war on this infidel, that the Creator's children could not be abused in this way!
Then in the midst of all this sound and fury, there came a small, still voice, "Don, listen to me." So I finally began to listen to the movement of the Spirit through the disciplines. My ears work pretty good, my heart can be stone deaf. It took two weeks to finally hear the entire message. The first part was pretty straight forward:
Do nothing in revenge.
Let it go.
Look to the future.
Trust Me.
I bucked and pitched and argued and fumed...and finally listened.
For the second part I am still like the little kid who has been forced to apologize, but you can tell by his stance and tone that the words are there, but the intent is still belligerent.
Second part of this message from my disciplines:
Find a way to help.
No! Absolutely not! I will not help him be successful at my expense!
Days later I wrote a letter to the owner and pointed out three areas where he is vulnerable. Revisions to this letter were numerous. I explained the spiritual side of my decision. I assured him I would do nothing to harm his efforts. And I wished him luck. This still sticks in my throat.
My decade long spiritual quest led me to this moment. In a world and industry that does not value integrity, does not practice honesty, and does not reward spiritual formation, the disciplines drove me to action that was so against my nature that it still stuns me and makes me wonder how foolish I am to even contemplate this action and to share it on this blog.
The other portion of this response is to let all of you know, who read this blog, that this is still an enormous struggle for me. I am still afraid of what this will do to me and my bride. We both are living sleepless lives. But I have never been more aware or more sure of the Spirit's leading through my disciplines than I am right now.
So the worlds collided in my head and in my heart. Who won? Who lost? What good did it do?
I have no idea.
Godspeed to those who practice the disciplines; Prayer, Silence, Meditation, Solitude, Study are great in theory, but SCARY in practice. Stick with it, the results are down the road.
Don
Two years ago I left one of the most secure jobs in the industry to try and launch a little company. Only a small part of my motivation was financial. Mostly I wanted to create a company that had a certain culture. This was an opportunity to create a system built on integrity, honesty, collaboration, and ownership. The only flaw in the plan was the current ownership. They/he did not share my vision. It could be a cultural difference with him being Korean, and me being West Texas. Or it could be more personal. But to make a story short in this space, he decided to end our relationship, cutting corners on the original agreement. It would be easy to vilify him and his actions, but in the end I think it came down to the fact that he wanted to deal with people that he could better control and who spend less time making him think through his decision making process (that last sentence just took me 10 minutes to clean up).
So after 20 months of sales increases, bringing legitimacy to his brand, he found a way to cut me loose, to end the agreement and deprive me of the pay out at the end of the agreement. Angry, vindictive, vengeful, ashamed, fearful were the immediate reactions. Response options were numerous. Call all the accounts and tell them in no uncertain terms how unfair it was; legal action to claim my rights under the original agreement; stomp and fuss and try to create all sorts of mischief; these were the thoughts for the first several days.
But the mistake I made in carrying out all those satisfying responses was that I dug deeper into my disciplines. Silence and solitude were especially tough. Prayer and meditation were turbulent at the beginning. The scriptures from the old psalmist about "breaking the teeth of my persecutor" were scanned dozens of times in my studies. Righteousness demanded that I launch an all out spiritual war on this infidel, that the Creator's children could not be abused in this way!
Then in the midst of all this sound and fury, there came a small, still voice, "Don, listen to me." So I finally began to listen to the movement of the Spirit through the disciplines. My ears work pretty good, my heart can be stone deaf. It took two weeks to finally hear the entire message. The first part was pretty straight forward:
Do nothing in revenge.
Let it go.
Look to the future.
Trust Me.
I bucked and pitched and argued and fumed...and finally listened.
For the second part I am still like the little kid who has been forced to apologize, but you can tell by his stance and tone that the words are there, but the intent is still belligerent.
Second part of this message from my disciplines:
Find a way to help.
No! Absolutely not! I will not help him be successful at my expense!
Days later I wrote a letter to the owner and pointed out three areas where he is vulnerable. Revisions to this letter were numerous. I explained the spiritual side of my decision. I assured him I would do nothing to harm his efforts. And I wished him luck. This still sticks in my throat.
My decade long spiritual quest led me to this moment. In a world and industry that does not value integrity, does not practice honesty, and does not reward spiritual formation, the disciplines drove me to action that was so against my nature that it still stuns me and makes me wonder how foolish I am to even contemplate this action and to share it on this blog.
The other portion of this response is to let all of you know, who read this blog, that this is still an enormous struggle for me. I am still afraid of what this will do to me and my bride. We both are living sleepless lives. But I have never been more aware or more sure of the Spirit's leading through my disciplines than I am right now.
So the worlds collided in my head and in my heart. Who won? Who lost? What good did it do?
I have no idea.
Godspeed to those who practice the disciplines; Prayer, Silence, Meditation, Solitude, Study are great in theory, but SCARY in practice. Stick with it, the results are down the road.
Don
Friday, July 17, 2015
What's In It For Me?
Moments of self-realization these days tend to be less “Aha” and more, “well crap”. Navel gazing tends to simply illustrate how large my belly is and not how deep my thoughts are. Recently there have been a few moments that have illustrated how my well- intended actions are really just a cover for some of my deepest insecurities.
My dad is 93. Just in the past few months he has lost most
of his mobility, a lot of his acuity, and sadly some of the humor and good
grace that has always been his character trait. So over the past year I have
been trying to “get his affairs in order”. This has all been done with the
highest sense of duty and dedication. We have arranged his estate, we have made
sure all the contingencies have been rehearsed, and I am confident that the
transition will be smooth and seamless. During all this time I have been
keeping my siblings informed, I have made sure all was above board, I have even
sought council and listened to advice regarding all the aspects of caring for
an aging parent. To the best of my abilities I have tried to make sure he and
his wishes are fully implemented.
And I have fooled myself into thinking that I was doing it
for his good. When in reality I was doing it to make my life easier when the
final moments happen in the not-to-distant future. So the moment was a “well
crap” moment in my life. I would have preferred the “Aha” moment.
My question is a
simple one. Have all these efforts made this a better moment for him or for me?
You see at some level I think it is a way for me to sponge up the little
remaining moments with him. Every time I go see him we end up working on some
aspect of his business. Of course some of that is because he can’t remember
from one visit to the next what we have done. He gets something lodged in his
head and becomes anxious that this issue is left unresolved. When one of the
other siblings or step-siblings ask about any of his life he gets confused and
consequently anxious. I have tried to coach the rest of the crowd to simply
tell him that I have it handled, but the anxiety remains and the questions keep
coming. But as I continue to handle the
issues the question nags at me, “Is this what HE needs at this moment?” How can
I know that his preference would be a nice conversation about the farm, or
Kiwanis, or the bus ministry from years ago? But the rest of it may be the
selfish knowledge that this is the only thing that will help me deal with the
final transition. Then I spend the ride home, morose, close to tears, and
wondering what happened to the funny, hyper-active, compassionate guy that I
have known for 60 years. And wondering about my own motives.
So the line from Kevin Costner in “A Field of Dreams” sticks
in my head and in my throat. “What’s in it for me?” Burned with shame and
remorse all at the same time. I suspect, to my chagrin, that what is in it for
me is a way to cope with his absence. We are interesting creatures that we can
build our own rationalization even knowing we are doing so. And it works.
In some ways I already miss him. The family calls me “little
Grady” and it is a misnomer. I look like him, act a little like him, but fall
short of his integrity and his accommodation to people and life. I will miss
those guideposts. Simply put, I will miss him and the knowledge that he is
here.
Godspeed to those who know this part of the journey well. I
seem to spend a lot of time looking at the map and wondering if I have wandered
off the path a little. Sigh.
Don
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Old and Still Learning
Yesterday I had one of those golden moments with my eldest grandson. He and two of my other grandchildren rode with me to the family reunion in Dublin, Tx and he was instructed by his mother (who rode in the other car with 3 adults and only one of the grandkids) to stay off his iPhone. Phoebe had her headphones on and had worm-holed her way into some musical. Lincoln was tuned into the 18th showing of Berenstein Bears. Eli mostly obeyed and really his mother left him with me, the one who has long since left the disciplining to the parents who thought these kids were a great idea. I am just along to lend a little humor and perspective.
So when we rolled through Glen Rose and Fossil Rim, we got to talking about dinosaurs and T-Rexs and mastodons and all things dinosaur-ish. We talked about the different "enes" with Jurassic dominating the conversation. But the conversation really took an interesting turn when I asked him, "What do you think about the Bible not mentioning these animals at all?" For the next few minutes we talked about the early chapters of Genesis and I mentioned a few theories that I had studied while getting my masters, when he said the most amazing thing.
"I think the dinosaurs happened before the bible, then God started the bible, (and this is the place where my mind was blown) and after that is finished he will start another bible"....
I looked at him trying to get my mind around the implications of that thought. Then looked at the road, then back at him, road, him. He had said it with such nonchalance, such assurance of thought. It had never ever occurred to me that this experiment we call humanity might simply be a phase of God's cosmic timeline. Yet this 12 year old, this cherished boy, this young man who has great athletic ability, strong in math, weak in reading, could easily get his mind around a concept as profound as he had just simply stated. There will be those of you who will see the true miracle here, I was speechless.
Think about the implications of this simple theory. What does this do to our science vs religion debate? What does this do to most of our philosophical "ologies"? End times debate becomes a much different conversation. And as often happens in my head the thought strings started going in all directions. Rex's peeking through the knothole in the fence in heaven (because you know they will keep us all separated) and wondering, "Who are those puny little creatures and how did they get here? God let them in?" Then centuries later, we are looking over the fence and wonder how the new "chosen" are so tiny that a universe of them fit on the surface of a golfball. Plus they look like mold. And on and on and on. It is only the human's arrogance that deludes us into believing that we are the end of the work that is called GOD. After all, we claim he is eternal. You think he wants to spend eternity with only us? Just look at the current debates on FB and I don't want to spend eternity with us.
This thought will keep me going for months. And it was uttered by a 12-yr-old boy who would rather be playing on his iPhone than talking to me. Humility comes in all forms.
Godspeed to all you grandparents out there. These grandkids are more than just little people to be spoiled. They bring insight and understanding and mind blowing new thoughts. Wow, just wow.
Don
So when we rolled through Glen Rose and Fossil Rim, we got to talking about dinosaurs and T-Rexs and mastodons and all things dinosaur-ish. We talked about the different "enes" with Jurassic dominating the conversation. But the conversation really took an interesting turn when I asked him, "What do you think about the Bible not mentioning these animals at all?" For the next few minutes we talked about the early chapters of Genesis and I mentioned a few theories that I had studied while getting my masters, when he said the most amazing thing.
"I think the dinosaurs happened before the bible, then God started the bible, (and this is the place where my mind was blown) and after that is finished he will start another bible"....
I looked at him trying to get my mind around the implications of that thought. Then looked at the road, then back at him, road, him. He had said it with such nonchalance, such assurance of thought. It had never ever occurred to me that this experiment we call humanity might simply be a phase of God's cosmic timeline. Yet this 12 year old, this cherished boy, this young man who has great athletic ability, strong in math, weak in reading, could easily get his mind around a concept as profound as he had just simply stated. There will be those of you who will see the true miracle here, I was speechless.
Think about the implications of this simple theory. What does this do to our science vs religion debate? What does this do to most of our philosophical "ologies"? End times debate becomes a much different conversation. And as often happens in my head the thought strings started going in all directions. Rex's peeking through the knothole in the fence in heaven (because you know they will keep us all separated) and wondering, "Who are those puny little creatures and how did they get here? God let them in?" Then centuries later, we are looking over the fence and wonder how the new "chosen" are so tiny that a universe of them fit on the surface of a golfball. Plus they look like mold. And on and on and on. It is only the human's arrogance that deludes us into believing that we are the end of the work that is called GOD. After all, we claim he is eternal. You think he wants to spend eternity with only us? Just look at the current debates on FB and I don't want to spend eternity with us.
This thought will keep me going for months. And it was uttered by a 12-yr-old boy who would rather be playing on his iPhone than talking to me. Humility comes in all forms.
Godspeed to all you grandparents out there. These grandkids are more than just little people to be spoiled. They bring insight and understanding and mind blowing new thoughts. Wow, just wow.
Don
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