The Best Baritone I Ever Knew

Hugh was the best.  I wrote once about his dying, which moved me deeply.  This is about his singing!  He was the acknowledged lead baritone soloist for the Houston Tidelanders, a massive barbershop group (75 of them sang at his funeral).  A masterful figure on stage, an engaging singer in small groups, Hugh understood that singing was about telling a story with music and rhyme.  He could draw a listener in, and move a crowd.

I liked his "Little Drummer Boy" at Christmas every year.  He had a seasonal thing for each part of the year.  "Sweet Little Jesus Boy" could stop the show (and the service, for that matter!).

One Sunday, Hugh sang.  Our sound-board manager was not the best, but he tried hard, most folks loved him, and he needed a place to serve, even though he was not a musician at all.  So, there he was in the balcony.  Hugh began to sing.  Verse one, fine.  First chorus, settling in for a fine experience.  Verse two started, then abruptly changed.  Microphone dead, Hugh just projected more and carried the song, without the benefit of electronics.

After service, I asked the sound-board manager what happened, what had failed.  "Oh, nothing failed, Hugh was just way too loud so I cut him off."  The tone deaf sound-board manager was replaced by the second service that morning.

Sometimes we decide the priceless voice of God is a little strong for our ears, a little demanding for our life-style, so we just hit the button and turn off the sound.  Doesn't work.  It's like the exchange of wits, written on a wall somewhere, in two short parts:

"God is dead" - Nietzsche    was the "wit's" inscription.
"Nietzsche is dead" - God     was the believer's answer.

Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing.
Freedom to listen is a wonderful thing.
Deciding NOT to listen does not strip the Word of its authority or power.

Turning off the microphone that day didn't stop the song, didn't cancel Hugh's status, it just earned the sound-board technician more free-time when he was replaced.

I want to listen.  I want to grow.  And that requires much more silence than assertion, much more prayer than preaching.  After all, He IS the Word.

Blessings

The Day I Changed Hardware Stores

The grandparent's dining room set did well with the move, except for the china cabinet, which lost a 4' x 1.5' glass panel.  Taking out the old one was no problem, so I took careful measurements and set out to buy glass.  Again, no problem, until the salesman walked quickly past me with a piece of glass, and a point of reflected light caught my eye.

I followed.  "No problem," he said as he quickly folded a piece of paper over the corner.  "Let me look at that, just a second."  Under the paper, the corner was crushed, far enough to show in the china cabinet.  Words flowed.  "That'll never show, just the corner, I promise the crack won't spread."  Sometimes caught is caught!

There are lots of places to buy stuff;  no need to guess whether the man is setting out  to fool you!  So, I changed, no problem.  Life is full of moments like that.  There was a day when I said, "Well, this is my last ____________ car.  I've now driven every name-label they produce;  same problems every time."

Loyalties are the flip side of that.  Accountable friends, straight-forward merchants, dependable mechanics, all trusted because of experience.

Faith-loyalties are like that.  My faith-friend does not try to lead me by fooling me!  Open, honest conversation leads to relationships you can stake your life on.  Those are essential.  After all, one relationship is vital:  you literally stake your life on Jesus!  And on covenant friends you find in His good company.

Now?  Well, I think my friends deserve just that kind of honesty.  They OUGHT to test me on it, and I them;  we're in this life business for the long haul, until Jesus takes us home.

Blessings.

Challenger Plus 25

Remember where you were January 28, 1986?  I was watching the Challenger lift-off in a hospital waiting room, with family of a church member who was in surgery.  Almost everywhere, children in classrooms were watching a teacher go into space.  Almost like a short video clip in a corner of my mind, the audio and the sight of the break-up is a very clear memory.

Remember where you were when...............  and you have a list.  September 11, or "the bad news", or a very personal crisis that no one else even knew about, there's a list hidden away in your mind.  But Challenger was one shared by so very many, live on TV, vivid.

God designed those memory banks to help us grapple with life.  (There are people who pretend not to "grapple", but it never really works out that way.)  Rich and poor, educated or not, we all experience pretty much the same kinds of drama.

Sometimes living in a small community, we hear negative things about "those folks over there", who, of course, hear the same "spin" about us.  When my dad grew up in Bullard, he said the most difficult thing about going to Jacksonville when he first met my mom was getting through Mount Selman without having problems with the Bullard/Mt. Selman rivalry!  "We weren't supposed to like each other!"

Were they different?  Not really.  Were they competitive?  Oh yes.  Did it make any sense?  Not at all!  Same thing today.

We're all on the same boat, cut from the same cloth, or, as the Bible says, made from the same dust.  If it weren't for God (and not ourselves) we just wouldn't BE.

So, why not focus on the common things that unite us, even the tragedy whose anniversary is today, and remember whose we are.  Americans, Somalis, British, Greeks, Germans, so much, much more alike than we are different.  Thank God before we celebrate ourselves, and all of life looks so much better!

Big Blue at the Garage Sale

First week of June, parents moving, just graduated, it's just a rough deal.  Got to do a garage sale, and here are all these blue and white cheerleader uniforms.  Some say Tigers (Wills Point), some say Eagles (Lindale), with pom-poms and megaphones, 6 years of cheerleading now behind her.  Oh well.

No one buys!  Not even the socks!  Breaking down the garage sale in early afternoon, depressing to have all that stuff.  Sure can't sell THAT in Houston.

Then a grandmother and elementary girl came up the driveway;  probably the last customer of the day.  The little girl asked:  "Do you have any cheerleader stuff?????"  Ah, what a moment.  What timing.  And what a send-off to a new place.

She didn't buy it all;  still two megaphones and some pom-poms in the attic, one uniform for "dress-up" for the grandchildren.  But, it made the day for one girl!

Sometimes you have to have patience to "make the day."  Even with God.  God does NOT pay every week, reward every prayer, or do what we ask when we ask.  But, the relationship holds, and grace carries the day.

Not every thing "works";  but there are moments that are just GOOD.

Blessings to you.

It's in the Eyes

Photo-journalism is a powerful thing.  Police in Egypt confront a solitary woman with a single flag.  In the background, some watch; in the foreground, a man tries to persuade.  In her eyes, it is immediate.  Millions in her country are finding the same "eyes" now, as the protests escalate.

There's an old saying:  "All politics is local", and Egypt is discovering something about public opinion.

She WILL be dealt with, the eyes seem to say.  And the news tonight is that the 30 year dictatorship in Egypt is being forced to deal.

Ultimately, all governments rule with the consent of the governed.  It may be a running warfare, it may be a short granting of authority, but the eyes of the woman, multiplied many times, ultimately win.

Perhaps our most serious Christian obligation to the world around us is to SEE people as people, and pray for them.  Christ, after all, died for HER, too.  And for every other one who seeks justice from those who would with-hold it.

Remember Egypt tonight.  Another place tomorrow, perhaps, but one place at a time, and lift those people up to God in prayer.

A Re-post About Galveston, 1900

Looking at a friend's house pictures, his place in Galveston had a 1900/2000 Two Storm Survivor medallion. It reminded me of one "root" in my family that goes back to Galveston, making this "repost" fresh to me, and maybe to you.

It wasn’t such a long journey to Galveston from Polk County, Texas. He just caught the train near the house in Moscow, rode through Houston, and down to Galveston.  He had graduated in 1896, stood with others on the steps of Old Red, done residency at Oschner in New Orleans and the railroad hospital in Houston.  Bryan didn’t want to go back that  September, with Pearl expecting by mid-month, but there was a surgery demonstration that the young doctor (four years after his degree from that school) needed to see.  It didn't seem she was THAT close.

The ride was uneventful, weather good, and he arrived on Friday to be ready for the Monday sessions. By late in the day Friday, there were signs of a storm, and by Saturday afternoon, September 8, 1900, the Great Storm of 1900 was close. By dark, it was clear the storm-eye was to pass just west of the town. Winds of 135 mph (at least until the windspeed meter blew away!) swept a storm surge twice the elevation of the city, and by Sunday morning, the sun rose on a destroyed city. Thousands died, but the young doctor survived in one of the strongest buildings, the medical school. He worked at the hospital for a special few terrible days, caring for a long procession of survivors. It was America’s worst natural disaster.

Back in Moscow, Pearl had a baby early, on September 7. The recovery in Galveston kept Bryan in town longer than he wanted, and when the Katy Railroad finally took him north, The Great Storm would never be mentioned, ever again. It was too painful to discuss.

Except for one thing: the baby needed a name. Clayton. There had never been one in the family, but Nicholas J. Clayton, Galveston’s famous architect, who had designed the building in which the young doctor survived the Great Storm, was the name chosen for a boy born the night before the storm. Pearl made it clear: names mean things, and she was determined to honor the man whose work kept her husband alive! So, Pearl and Bryan named him Clayton Lawrence Canon, a new name in the family.

Honor, love, purpose, life mission, these are things informed by gratitude, and offered up to God by a Christian man and woman, so aware of the Old Testament stories of the naming of children, expressing their thanks to God by honoring and blessing an architect named Clayton.

Laissez-faire for Disciples

In economics, laissez-faire (English pronunciation: /ˌlɛseɪˈfɛər/  ( listen), French: [lɛsefɛʁ]  ( listen)) describes an environment in which transactions between private parties are free from state intervention, including restrictive regulations, taxes, tariffs and enforced monopolies.

The phrase laissez-faire is French and literally means "let do", but it broadly implies "let it be", or "leave it alone".

Students gravitate to that phrase, like steel to a magnet, because it offers a magnificent vista of possibilities.  It's a grand concept, and a short trip to Wikipedia will reward you with lessons in French, in economics, in psychology, and lots of other things under that word.  A short trip in HISTORY, however, takes some of the shine off the silver that turns out to be pewter, after all. 

A well-respected elder relative who had taught constitutional history and law, and historical political science, gave a short course in constitutional freedoms:  "Your freedom to swing your fist ends at the tip of your neighbors nose.  I know 6,000 ways to say it, but that's what it is!"

Isn't it amazing how the words of Jesus to "love your neighbor" really trump sophisticated selfishness?   Laissez-faire, in the real world of lived-through business, often ends in monopoly that manages to "whack" everyone below "first place".   Just enough control to make the system work is a happy thing, and difficult to achieve.  It doesn't exist in a pure form anywhere in the world, but it remains as a shining ideal, just not the ONLY ideal.

As disciples, it is a joyous thing to know that you are a child of the King!  But it becomes very self-destructive if you begin to imagine that you are NOT one in a billion!  Loved, but not primary!

Love your neighbor.   Accept no freedom which is built on diminishing your neighbor.  "They will know we are Christians by our love..."

Isn't It Wierd?

I am an ex-smoker (for a very long time now).  When I quit, my first resolution was NOT to become an obnoxious ex-smoker.  (There are some, you know, who can be so irritating to a smoker that you just gotta light up once they get started!!)

But, seriously, it is important to quit, however long you've smoked.  It is essential to health to stop.  You would think that someone along the way, running for office,  would have decided to weigh in on this.  But the "weighing in" is far too light-weight, and rarely happens.

In the last 25 years, in addition to subsidies and protections, tobacco companies have discovered, developed, and included additional addictive components.  Ammonia has been added in strategic quantities to increase and accelerate absorption.  Filter passages have been enlarged to allow free passage of particulates.  Sweeteners have been added.

If I'd known the experience was going to be so enhanced......................... no, I would NOT have continued.  Honestly.

To answer my own question, YES, it is weird!  And YES, it is encouraging, with all the non-help available all around, that the total number of smokers steadily declines.  Except in the youngest and newest on the scene.

Will regulation EVER turn the corner?  Probably not.  But ask the question the OTHER way:  will governmental SUPPORT ever stop?  Might be a very fine way to "amend" the budget and cut some expenses, don't you think?  Not likely, but possible.  Now, will personal example and interaction make a difference?  Oh, yes.  Don't be obnoxious - - - counter-productive - - - but then don't be silent, either.

When stakes are high, in this as in every other worthy thing, personal interaction carries the day.

A long time ago, car makers and other advertisers targeted the true winning strategy.  One company's main pitch was "Ask the one who owns one."  Advertising has a fundamental task of encouraging the person to person testimony;  THAT is what sells, over and over again.

But, then, disciples of Jesus have known that all along.  Personal testimony trumps billboards and million-dollar ads every time.  Always works that way.  The big-ticket items are only as successful as the personal comments they trigger.

Today, take a big idea like that along.  The subject might turn out to be a "problem", or Jesus, or smoking, or grief, who knows.  But whatever path comes with your day - - the day will be lots happier, and you'll  feel so much more valuable by evening time!

Yesterday's "Minor Famous People"

I like "minor famous people", the ones who excel at a little slice of life, and thoroughly enjoy it.  I specially like the ones who do that for a whole lifetime!

Invited to sing Christmas carols one year, I looked forward to singing with two of those "minor famous people", one about my age, one about 20 years older.  The younger one had traveled across Louisiana with Singing Governor Jimmie Davis, and also been known as the Hadacol Girl.  A teen sensation, she had entertained crowds, and sung commercials with a fabulous and friendly voice.  The older friend had traveled in a different sort of role, as the pianist for one of the Stamps-Baxter Gospel quartets. Superb talents.  When I met them?  Living quiet lives, no fame, just a few neighbors who liked them personally.

Getting ready for the performance, I visited with the pianist.  Two enormous filing cabinets of music by the piano, she was ready for any request!  Even had special glasses so her failing eyes could continue to inform her incredible love for making music.

I suppose the small audience enjoyed the carol singing.  I know that I was absolutely happy to have the experience of doing what I love, with two people who had celebrated doing what they love for a whole life-time.

God has many gifts, in all sizes and colors, but there may be nothing better than sharing that way.  It may be sharing any one of His gifts - - they're all good - - and knowing that the sharing enhances the gift so much more than you ever expected.

Thank God for His good gifts!

Paint-Matching with Tom and Ben

Painting and touching up in the dining room after new carpet is a challenge.  Getting the paint to match, new to old, isn't easy, but Lowe's makes it better with their computer-matching system.  So, it works.

Remember the story of the "old days"?  The old painter and his young assistant were painting a dining room.  The lady brought in the paint swatch:  "This isn't quite a match, is it?"  The old painter said:  "Don't you worry about that; give me an hour and it will match perfectly."  And he took the swatch.  The young (and very green) assistant asked, "How you gonna do that?"  Taking the swatch in one hand, and a brush in the other, the old painter painted the swatch with the paint he was using.  "See?  Perfect!"

Now, what does this have to do with Tom and Ben?  Sometimes people re-write history to match up with their preferences today.  Some folks "paint the swatch", and want Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin to look and sound like 19th century evangelicals.  Which works unless you look closely.

Jefferson and Franklin were 18th century Deists by belief, Church of England by legal requirement, and their brilliant gifts have been absolutely essential to this nation.  If you read their works, they just are who they are.  Google Franklin's "In Praise of Older Women";  get a copy of Jefferson's edited New Testament (which leaves out things miraculous because Jefferson didn't believe in them), easily available from Amazon.  They just are who they are.  Profoundly important to all of us, and somehow not to be "re-written" into something they never were.

So, why bring this up?  Well, if you persuade someone to believe something, based on a false argument, you can win the battle and lose the war.  As soon as they discover the real history of the thing, the whole case is lost, usually permanently.  And when you lose the debate on American heritage, that's a big loss.

Re-writing history is a bad business.  Re-painting the swatch is bad business for a painter.

A CEO of a major corporation met a junior executive in the hallway;  the younger carrying a roll of toilet paper.  "What's that for?"
"Oh, just taking it home for an extra."
"Steal it?"  
"Well, yes, sorry to say, I did."
"You're fired!"
"For stealing a roll of toilet paper??????"
"If you'll steal toilet paper, you'll steal anything!"

The things you believe in deserve the best presentation and representation you can give them!  Our American treasures (specifically Jefferson and Franklin, flaws and all) should be honored, not re-written to suit someone's favorite philosophy of the moment.  They deserve better than that!

Why not take NOW as a good time to get re-acquainted with both of them.  Their works are in libraries everywhere, almost free on Kindle, and in every college bookstore.  Whatever your philosophy of government, these two craftsmen of liberty deserve a good read.

Enjoy

The Perfect Aggie

Cousin Chuck, a cousin-in-law, knew he was a stereotype, and loved it.  His car plates:  AG EX CC.  Her car plates:  AG NAG.  As he grew old, the swagger never left, the confidence and enthusiasm for life was always there.  As an old man, Chuck seemed to be the only one in the world who could swagger in a power chair!

A military pilot, he loved to fly.  Of course, when the opportunity arose, he'd plan and schedule a plane rental, just to "buzz" the family reunion.  At first glance, he might appear a little "over the top" but it wasn't ever really arrogance, just a sheer love of life.  He loved travel, he loved animals, he loved children and grandchildren.  I never knew exactly what Chuck did for a living, because he kept it separate from family life.  Probably bought and sold things, maybe real estate, but the only face he showed his family was fun, kind, and considerate.

When he was dying, he gave instructions to his sons:  cremate the body, then divide my ashes between my favorite high point at Four Corners, and Kyle Field.  The first one was easy.  For the second, the sons asked permission to scatter his ashes on Kyle Field.  Permission, of course, was denied.  (Chuck would never have asked.)  So, the sons went on the field anyway, just like he said.  You can't un-scatter ashes, you know.

There were tough times, but basically Chuck lived out a straight line.  He loved his mother, adored his grandchildren, had a personally satisfying faith, and ended well.  He never pretended to be a saint, but I cannot imagine that Chuck ever did anyone harm;  he brightened the lives of hundreds.

Saintly?  No.  But did he make Jesus smile?  Oh, I do think so!  He lived well.  Never hurting, never slow to help, a bringer of smiles and good cheer, a carrier of burdens for others, I think he made Jesus smile.  Jesus undoubtedly greeted him, saying:  "Well, not exactly a role model, Chuck, but you sure made me smile!"

Maybe we all need a generous helping of that.  The world certainly needs it every day.  And we love the one who is the "go-to guy" for acceptance and good cheer, don't we?   Makes me wonder:  maybe that IS just the role model Jesus wants.  Not the only one, but an important one.

Thanks, Chuck.

Remembering Bill and MLK, Jr.

This year, I remembered and surprised myself.  Bill was fearless.  A survivor of Cerebral Palsy, in the old days when treatments were hard and rarely successful, Bill was a championship wrestler, bad legs and all.  He was also not afraid of anything.  We studied together in Atlanta.

So, one day Bill just announced he intended to "drive over and see Dr. King."  Those of us who heard him suggested it might not be all that easy to do.  "Not a problem", and off he went.  A few hours later he came back, rather wide-eyed.  "I found the street, and started looking for the number.  I got close, studied the number, and noticed a small crowd had gathered.  They asked where I was going, and when I said what I intended, they just said 'No'."

"I looked at the gathering, and decided they were the "guards" in those very troubled times.  And they were very large.  Did you know Dr. King had some very large friends?  Not that I was afraid, or anything, it just wasn't a good time to drop in!"

Atlanta was a tense city, just then, and no one was getting close unless invited.  A candidate for governor was passing out axe handles, saying "You boys know what these are for, don't ya?  Don't be shy 'bout using one!"

Bill championed MLK's causes, and he served well in ministry.  History worked itself out.  But behind the public figures were the large friends, who could always tell their man:  "I got your back."  Until the tragic day when they didn't.

Remembering him today, and remembering Bill, I read the "Letter from the Birmingham Jail" and remembered what an amazing gift of persuasive, moving speech the man possessed, as a gift from God.

There's a reminder here that God has gifted ALL of us in some way.  Gotta use those gifts;  there's life in them.

A Strange and Dangerous Filter

"Why, we don't pay any attention to THAT!  That's just Old Testament!"

Where's the authority for living?  God's covenant/example?  or in "the eye of the beholder"?

There's a LOT in the OT that may or may not be consistent with St.Paul.  After all, Job's three friends don't offer God's remedy for Job's situation, they are presented as "straw men" for Job, and the writer, to knock over.  They present ideas that are presented exactly as a foil for the opposing and true idea about God.

But, discarding is not the answer;  reading BETTER is the answer.  And once we find that, we open treasures that are amazing.  A discussion on Job today opened into some deeply personal matters, as we reflected on the whole topic:  bad things DO happen to good people (and on and on).  If you're interested in REAL life, you'll find lots in the Old Testament that plugs in!

The Old Testament narrative that rolls through family and national history, that encounters God-called faithful people who are outside the Covenant (Cyrus the Persian, for one), and that NEVER gives up on God is a tremendous encouragement.  It is Scripture.  It has sustained its value through generations of re-interpretation, survived being ignored, endured through translation after translation, and has content sufficient to "train" even the most experienced and weathered faithful.

The old joke says:  "I'm too broke to pay attention!"  Bad filter when it comes to the Old Testament.

Challenge for the day:  follow John Steinbeck who found all his plots in the OT.  Read.  Read Deuteronomy first.  Then read it again.  Then read it again.  By this time, you probably will CHOOSE to read it a fourth time!  Don't "filter" it, absorb it.  There is a powerful blessing there!

My Target

Someone said,  "Why are you writing?"  My response:  "There is a conversation coming.  I don't know 'with whom', but it's coming.  Maybe already started."

But, that's just half an answer.  The whole answer is a little different.

When the children were small, we found a book they loved.  It was all about a little puppy left at home alone one day.  Bored with chasing his tail and exploring the small back yard, Puppy found a hole in the fence, and went looking for fun.  A squirrel offered acorns, but that didn't turn out well.  A pig invited him to romp in the mud, but that sure wasn't his thing.  A bird invited him to fly, but that just didn't work.  And other adventures followed.  Finally, the little puppy made his way back through the hole in the fence, just before his family came home.  And he was SOOOOO happy to be there, for puppy-kind-of-fun.

Every puppy needs to know where the fun is.  For this "puppy",  the energizing fun is in communicating.  Sunday mornings' time in the pulpit still leave me "energized" and ready for more.  Discovering a new perspective in a book leaves me eager to read another chapter.

When I was three, my aunt gave me a library card and took me to the library to pick out a book.  She made sure that I understood: EVERY book is a window into someone else's mind and heart.  She also convinced me that THAT endeavor, opening that window, is life's most fascinating.

Schweitzer, Lewis, Twain, Shakespeare are among the most fascinating people who open doors and let us look in.  I'm NOT them, but I'm still fascinated with opening a door, and then seeing where the communication goes.

Every puppy, you and me, needs to find exactly THEIR kind of fun.  I hope you have already found yours!  After all, that's part of God's rationale for making us.

Hot Rhetoric and My Old Jacket

Yesterday at the grocery, someone "checked out" my old jacket (yes, I'm sure it was not me that got  "checked").  "I like that jacket."  "This?  Oh, it's about 30 years old."  "Well, whatever, it looks good."

It does.  L.L. Bean corduroy, well-made, has held up very, very well.  Bottom line, I like it and it is very good quality.  Someone else noticed and liked it, too.

Things communicate.  Good workmanship, the work of a skilled artisan, whether brickmason or artist on canvas or artist with words, all we do communicates.  It may say skill or sloth, energy or laziness, kindness or hatred, but all our acts speak.  Often they speak more clearly than our words.  And always, they touch.

So, when someone uses hate language from another era, something in our memory flinches at it.  "Blood libel" is one of those.  Twisting a Biblical quotation to excuse what we now call "ethnic cleansing" through two thousand years of anti-Semitism, this was a cover-word.  It covered all sorts of hatred, from conversions-at-sword-point to the Holocaust.  It was a rationale for killing Jews.

When that gets tossed into political rhetoric, even when the speaker has no sense of what it has meant, it is more or less like tossing a little water into a hot frying pan.

Words mean things, and the history of words brings with it healing or hatred, stirring up kindness and compassion or anger and conflict.

Traveling in Europe last fall, we saw so many echoes of the past use of these two words.  A Jewish family on a pilgrimage to remember family background had a clear toughness to them, probably because the pilgrimage was a very serious thing.  We took a walking tour, and stopped by the doorway of the last residence of Schindler, whose story was told in Schindler's List.  He saved over a thousand Jews from the Nazi Holocaust.  As we stood in front of that house, the man on pilgrimage softened his expression, stared at the identifying sign, and very quietly began to weep.  A life, a memory, an enormous act of kindness remembered had touched him.

Words mean things, and whether your audience is very large or very small, they should be used and handled with care.  They always communicate and touch.  Let them always show the love of Christ.  Let them bless, instead of curse.  Let them touch with kindness.

The House Had a Name

Beautiful, very square, very "Roman", color-coordinated with the Wedgwood china collection that filled shelves around most of the interior walls.  Pale blue carpet, just the right tone.  The house setting was the top of a small hill, middle of a full city block.  Landscaping was evergreen, tastefully framing the house, always manicured.

Immaculate house, and inside, an older woman with hair NEVER out of place, every detail in her life just where it belonged (she made sure).  Beautiful house with Texas oil money to support it.

But, an increasingly lonely place.  There were always friends, the kind that show up when you have deep pockets.  The other, better kind, not so much.  The beautiful house was rarely, if ever, full of the noisy disorder of a family reunion.  The exterior, almost perfect, never changed.

I'm sure she never knew it, but the house had a name among the children:  The Mausoleum.


mausoleum  noun:  1)  an external free-standing building constructed as a monument enclosing the interment space or burial chamber of a deceased person or persons. ...

I was surprised that neighboring children knew that word, but they did.

I used to be often surprised at what "the children" know (always more than their parents think).  Now, I take it for granted that the God-given perception that sees other people and relationships starts working early in life.  Oh, we do learn to keep our insights to ourselves (the children never said "mausoleum" in more than a whisper), and sometimes we suppress our insights altogether.

But, inside, there are the little triggers that God built into us.  We can ignore the warnings, for good or bad; or we can listen closely, which is sometimes hard to do.  But, when we listen, and receive those insights into a loving heart that cares about other people, the moments of insight are a gift from God.

They become the red flag that goes up to warn us of danger and deception, or the multicolored flags that go up like semaphores in our minds to help us see where we're needed.

When the flags fly in your mind, thank God, and be grateful for the ability to respond.

A Hope of the Heart

(It works so much better verbally.  Look around, think of a couple you love, make sure no one will overhear and make fun of you, then give voice to it.  Isn't that good?)


Now you will feel no rain,For each of you will be shelter to the other.Now you will feel no cold,For each of you will be warmth to the other.Now there is no more loneliness,For each of you will be companion to the other.Now you are two bodies,But there is one life before you.Go now to your dwelling place,To enter into the days of your togetherness.And may your days be good and long upon the earth.


The Indian Wedding Blessing was written for a 1950 western novel Blood Brother, by Elliott Arnold.  It became part of the movie adaptation of Broken Arrow.  As it took on a life of its own, it became a very religious sounding piece, but not a prayer, only a wish.  While it touches the spirit within, it doesn't offer any "other" who might intervene to make the wishes come true.


Is this a good thing?  Sure.  It touches and lifts and raises hopes and expectations.  Does it offer any means for its accomplishment?  Not really.  So, how does this fit into the scheme of things for a Christian?


When there is a high hope like this, one of the oldest formulas in Christian living, the monastic formula, says:  Pray and Work.  Pray to God to accomplish the highest hopes of our hearts.  Work WITH God to enable the very best that one person can give to another.  Neither half is complete without the other;  neither actually functions very well without the other.  Strong prayer plus high ethics presents fine Christian behavior. 


From the poetry of Isaiah and the Psalms, to the Irish blessings, to the sayings of Chief Seattle, to the stirring expressions of some of our finest leaders, the human heart "hopes high" and anticipates lots of good things.  We always need to supply the other half:  "Lord, lead me to accomplish the highest for me, for my friend, for my family."  


And the great thanksgiving?  It can happen.  Over and over again.


Thank God.

A Visit With Ben and Jesus

Ben Franklin said once that it was an amazing thing:  Humans build flammable houses and then build fires WITHIN them.  A fireplace is an ironic thing, isn't it?  Of course, Franklin was always talking about more than one thing at a time.  Building a fire is a thing to be carefully done - in the fireplace rather than the middle of the room!  And Franklin knew all about the power of political speech, understanding the old truth that the pen is mightier than the sword.  (Examples are easy to find.)  His expertise, in fact, was a powerful enabler of the American nation!

In Arizona, after the shooting of Representative Gabrielle Giffords and others, Sheriff Dupnik spoke for lots of us:  far too much vitriol in political speech.  What is vitriol?  A noun:  1)  sulfuric acid, 2) cruel and bitter criticism.  Both eat away the treasures.

America has always had VIVID political debate.  Read the newspapers from colonial times, in the first century of our Constitution, right up to today.  But lately the imagery of targets and cross-hairs, of "elimination" and revenge has become so heated that common debate disappears.  Speech that motivates violence may be within our freedoms, but hardly within any form of wisdom.

Christians have a stake in this.  Without common debate, a society makes decisions based on threats and intimidation.  Everyone loses.  If we love our neighbor, and love our country, and love our family, then fear-generating rhetoric serves no constructive purpose.  People who make their living generating "vitriol" are no friend to either liberal or conservative.  We are called to another thing altogether:  to love our neighbor above all things, exactly as Jesus told us to do.

I pray for every elected official who feels threatened, even if they never speak of it.  And I pray for every "spokesman'" who has never stood the test of the electorate, but continues to intimidate with fiery language, that they will see that their fire threatens the house.  While there is money to be made in their ventures, the cost is so much more than anyone can imagine.

All people, every one of us, will do what we are motivated to do with our freedoms.  Followers of Jesus now have a new and above-politics mission:  Whatever the outcome of public debate, we are to remain models of the love of Jesus, even in the midst of a hard, hard world.

Just Bird Seed

I filled the bird feeder today, and that's always a little messy.  Seed scatters, on the patio, on a table, some out in the grass.  And I don't bother to sweep up, really.  The birds take care of that.  Almost like having a dog to grab table scraps when they fall.

Remember Jesus and the foreign woman?  Even the dogs get scraps that fall from the table where the children are served.  Remember Jesus talking about how God knows and numbers the birds?

I think about that when i re-fill the feeder.  And the cardinals come.  And the little unidentified birds come, the grey ones with yellow bills, the sparrows, the yellow ones, all of them together cleaning it all up.

God's economy, another generation would say it, includes every creature.  And maybe we, as the dominant creatures at the moment, need to be careful to throw a little extra their way, and be sure not to mess up the environment, just because we are all creatures of the creating God.

There's a good perspective in Jesus' old parables, that touches on today.  He doesn't talk about blue-fin tuna or species decline in one part or another, but he does remind us that we are ALL God's creatures.  God notices us, Jesus says, just like he notices even the falling of the sparrow.

I like being part of God's plan, and pray that I'm a POSITIVE part of how that plan plays out.

What About the Rabbi

Remembering the Rabbi today; I often think of Rabbi Goldstein.  An active part of the Port Arthur minister's association.  The first time I attended, he  was to talk on roots of the Christian communion in Passover.

Dr. Goldstein was a Holocaust survivor, Doctor of Laws, Doctor of Medicine, Doctor of Philosophy, Doctor of History, and working on a fifth doctorate. 

80 years old with the energy of an athlete at 40!  He had a deep sense of history.  Always drove that insanely long Chrysler, and a little careless about things like traffic lights and stop signs.  Always in a hurry.

Why write about him?  Because at least once a year, it is worth tapping into the beliefs of every ancient religion (and precisely Judaism):  the "remembered ones" are really still around.  Whenever we find one connector, like a holocaust survivor, history shortens and gets closer to us.

Why write about him?  Because a very provocative realization came into a conversation yesterday!  If Jesus was (and is) "the Word made flesh", and the Word was available within the Old Covenant, and to know the Word is to know God, and no one comes to God except through Jesus who IS the Word, then............... God's action is not limited to my awareness.  In other words, God is doing lots of things that I simply don't know about, and some of those things reach specifically and clearly outside the walls of the church.  

What do I "do" with the Rabbi?  He doesn't fit the language with which I was brought up.  But, the Rabbi is "brother" in some difficult-to-express manner.  I don't understand it all, but there is a clear sense that I should remember him with a special kindness, because that's how God deals with all of His covenant people, whether I understand it or not.


The conversation had to do with a friend who is Jewish by tradition, but doesn't believe in God.  The question was:  "Is there hope for that one?"  Well, condensing the Covenant, God made an eternal covenant with His people, promising to be faithful to them.  If they are not faithful to Him, historically, He waits and remains open to them.  All sorts of things happen in that waiting, as God wants to restore covenant.  Jesus is the total expression of that ancient covenant, the Word-made-Flesh, God with us.  


And that triggers more mystery than we sometimes think, but it is a mystery WITHIN the certainty of the love of God for His people.
The "family of God" is chosen by Him, without consultation with me.  Like Jesus said, He has other sheep in other folds.  In all of this, there is the sense of a very large door swinging open, almost soundlessly.  And behind that door?  So big!

I couldn't answer the question exactly as it had been asked the other day, about "the friend" and her status before God.  Her status in God's eyes is pretty clear:  God is waiting on her, and still offering the relationship.  And there is a peace in that!

The Blind Whistler

Google just the title, and up comes Fred Lowery.  Or you can go to YouTube- amazing!

Fred Lowery whistles!

I first heard Fred at a funeral for Dr. Newburn in Jacksonville.   Someone led him to the pulpit, he said nothing, just whistled the most astounding hymns for about 5 minutes;  his tribute.  Dr. Newburn had pulled Fred through pneumonia, when it was a very dangerous infection, before antibiotics.

Birds, classics, an enormous collection.  His William Tell Overture is hard to believe.

I like listening to Fred again, just as a reminder that whatever difficult situation we might face, God has planted the seeds of more possibilities than we can imagine!

Obituaries? I Don't Think So, Unless..........

It came up in conversation one day, for some strange reason.  Yes, I do read obituaries.  Simple reason:  families put in obituaries the very best thing their loved relative ever did.  And sometimes, it is amazing.

Fred Hargesheimer, of Lincoln, Nebraska, died at the age of 94 just around Christmas.  A WWII pilot of a P-38 in a Reconnaissance Squadron, he was shot down while on a mission over the Japanese-held island of New Britain in the southwest Pacific.  Parachuting into dense jungle, he managed to survive for 31 days, until found by local hunters.  They took him to their coastal village and hid him for seven months, fed him, and helped him recover from two illnesses.  Australian commandos working behind enemy lines connected him with a U. S. submarine off New Britain beach, for the long trip home.

Back at home, he began a life-long career with Sperry Rand, but never forgot those who saved him.  In 1960, he visited New Britain again, taking his son along.  Then, he knew his mission:  to build a school on that remote island.  In 1970, he and his wife moved there with money they had collected, built a school, and taught the children of the village for four years.  The school's experimental plot of oil palm led to development of a large plantation, with jobs for impoverished villagers.

This man whom the villagers called "Chief Warrior" was actively involved in benevolence to "repay" the village, until 2008, at the age of 92.

Is there a more powerful motivation than gratitude at being saved?  And there are millions of inspiring stories, similar in a way, to that of Fred Hargesheimer.  There's room for more, you know!

When You Gotta....

I write about him now and then, because he was such an influence, and a fine across-the-street neighbor.  He was founder of Medical Bridges in Houston, an agency to recycle usable hospital supplies from linens to plastics to highly expensive electronics, all going to missionary situations.  He was a neuro-surgeon, grounded on one unforgettable day by a diagnosis of a brain tumor.  Banned from operating.

But, when you gotta, then you gotta.  Medical Bridges continued full speed as he recruited others INSIDE the hospitals to help acquire supplies for missionary hospitals.

And the skilled fingers?  Have you ever imagined the eye-hand coordination required to be a brain surgeon?  Phenomenal skill in those hands!  Able to do fine detail work?  You wouldn't believe what my friend David could turn out in a wood-working shop.

Talents need to be used.  Stop one venue and the "called" person finds another.

Service?  Check.

Expression? Check.

Benefit to others?  Check.

Inspiration?  Oh, yes.

The disease was known to be terminal, early on.  But every effort, every crafted item, every piece of salvaged surplus, every intentional family-care moment, became part of a soaring witness, .  THIS is how Christians do the last battle!

When you gotta....... well, when it's God's calling to express your faith, then..............  God's going to help.

Unforgettable, even now 11 years later, and held with gratitude.

You Just Never Know

No one I knew had ever seen him.  My father had never seen him.  So far as we knew, it was a total mystery.  Nell had met him at a parade, on the square in Tyler, in 1914.  She was 19, and we're not sure how old Will was, but probably around 23.  It was a short romance, followed by a short marriage, and my dad was born New Years Eve, 1915.  Soon after, Will was on the road again, never to return.

But the story was so sketchy, I sometimes wondered if Will had ever really been.  So many loose ends.  Then a single picture emerged from a huge stack of photos in presentation folders, one I'd never seen before.  I didn't recognize most of the people, except for one.   There was Nell, around 20, on a hilltop near Bullard, standing in front of an old tree, black hair blowing in the wind, beautiful.  As I enlarged a copy on the computer, I could not resist looking:  she wore a wedding ring.

Never talked about Will, never talked about marriage, never talked about any of the difficulties she faced all her life.  She was a "grass widow", no husband, but no real divorce - - he was just gone, in the times when long distance travel was usually one-way, and folks rarely returned once they left.

She worked in the school cafeteria, sold Christmas cards, raised vegetables and chickens, crafted quilts, was big on barter in the Depression.  Too dignified to complain, she was the Life-time Sunday School Secretary, and the Communion Steward for her church, steady and faithful.  And she was deeper in poverty than her grandson ever knew!

But, somehow, knowing from that ring that there was once a marriage put an important piece into the puzzle.  It still wasn't complete, but it fit.  Sister Laura Fellman went to Tarleton College as the women's PE director, Sister Sallie Halden went to Houston, part author, part socialite, and Nell stayed in the old family house.  Bad roof, no paint, worn down, but hers.

Every New Years Eve I think about her and wonder at her quiet dignity in the midst of difficulties.  And I thank God for the reminder, through her, that we are always surrounded by people living through difficulty, upheld by grace, and more than we know.  But God knows.  And God takes care of it.

And all is well.  And I tell myself:  Happy New Year......... it's all going to be all right.