Well, yes, I was the designated driver for a quick trip to Billy Bob's in Fort Worth, Texas. Charlie Daniels was the headliner, and there were several of us in a study session at Briarwood Presbyterian Camp near Azle. Three wanted to go, a friend trusted me with his ancient Oldsmobile, and off we went to Fort Worth.
We marched through the very crowded entrance to Billy Bobs: 1) a 6'6" very black Catholic priest from Jamaica, 2) a 5'6" semi-round very brown Mexican pastor from south of the border, 3) a middle-sized camp director from North Carolina with red hair and beard (looking for all the world like Henry VIII), and 4) me. Entering a pure-country crowd, as white as a crowd can be. Which crowd, hardly believing this foursome was actually approaching, opened up like the Red Sea and let us through. Yes, they did look at us in a pretty puzzled way!
The opening-of-the-sea business continued until we had a good place to stand (no seats available anywhere). We enjoyed the concert. No hassles, no stares, just a quiet acceptance (after the initial puzzlement at our weird-looking group). We got the beat along with our neighbors, and it was altogether a good session.
Back in the car, my friends expressed their surprise at how easy and friendly it had all been. Which it had been.
There are times when negative expectations just don't live up to what we thought. Of course, that doesn't make news. There are lots of times when people of different appearances get along just fine. I've thought about that, and decided that it isn't appearances that trigger problems, but the fact that someone (perhaps with good reason) feels threatened in the moment, gets a shot of adrenalin, and encounters someone else with the same thing going. As my friend the warden always said: "With young adult males (and some old enough to know better) you always have to deal with the 'rooster fights'."
Give it a chance, though, and peaceful moments can surprise you. And cause you to lift a prayer of thanksgiving. After all, we don't ALWAYS mess up the good that God created; just sometimes.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Next in Line
Henry didn't ever say much. Classic long and lean, always jeans and boots, he looked far from the skillful lawyer that he really was. He liked the early morning "contemporary" service (even though he often said it wasn't so much contemporary as a "slice of 1988 musically"). I don't think he sang, just attended and listened.
He would enter, give a very short wave, and take a seat. Except on this particular Sunday. He came and stood by me, saying nothing, for a long 5 minutes, watching people walk by and find their seats before service.
My mother had died, and the service had been during the week since I'd last seen Henry. His mother had died the year before. I felt his hand on my shoulder, then Henry said: "I know how you feel. Now you're at the head of the line, aren't you?" He patted me on the back and took a seat.
In that moment, I knew that at least one person in the world totally understood just exactly where I was. There had been lots of condolences, lots of strong and faithful things said, many good remembrances of her life shared. But Henry knew how it felt. I had moved to the head of the line. I was now on the escalator, with no one ahead of me, moving to the end of it. And it was o.k. Jesus did it, too, and accompanies us, and takes out the fear. But there is a "first moment" when we realize that we are the next in line.
I see lots of folks dealing with grief and death. Some of them share intimate thoughts, some erect fierce barriers to keep all the feelings in (and the realities out, I think). Some of them want to be known, some not. But for the rest of my time, I'm grateful for Henry, who didn't say much, except for the one time it truly mattered.
He would enter, give a very short wave, and take a seat. Except on this particular Sunday. He came and stood by me, saying nothing, for a long 5 minutes, watching people walk by and find their seats before service.
My mother had died, and the service had been during the week since I'd last seen Henry. His mother had died the year before. I felt his hand on my shoulder, then Henry said: "I know how you feel. Now you're at the head of the line, aren't you?" He patted me on the back and took a seat.
In that moment, I knew that at least one person in the world totally understood just exactly where I was. There had been lots of condolences, lots of strong and faithful things said, many good remembrances of her life shared. But Henry knew how it felt. I had moved to the head of the line. I was now on the escalator, with no one ahead of me, moving to the end of it. And it was o.k. Jesus did it, too, and accompanies us, and takes out the fear. But there is a "first moment" when we realize that we are the next in line.
I see lots of folks dealing with grief and death. Some of them share intimate thoughts, some erect fierce barriers to keep all the feelings in (and the realities out, I think). Some of them want to be known, some not. But for the rest of my time, I'm grateful for Henry, who didn't say much, except for the one time it truly mattered.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Dogs Don't Do Divorce
Close to my place in the world, there is a visiting Beagle, once a month, for an undetermined number of days. He stays in the back yard, calls out lonesome at the fence, and is generally ignored. I'm trying to calculate the pattern, but it's about 4 days, once a month.
He is an award in a divorce. The woman who "won" the issue doesn't do anything with friend Beagle. Doesn't play, doesn't take him for walks. The whole point is that she "won". In the divorce, so I hear, she won shared custody of the family pet, purely to deprive the "loser" of the right to the sole custody of the dog.
Makes you wonder what "win" and "lose" mean, doesn't it?
Dogs just don't understand such business, I think. Maybe that is why some notable or other says, from time to time, I do prefer dogs to people.
God created us and dogs, both. Maybe there are times when God says, all other things being equal, that He prefers dogs to people. Happily and hopefully, it is a passing feeling with God. But humans often take more mercy than dogs to maintain, it seems.
He is an award in a divorce. The woman who "won" the issue doesn't do anything with friend Beagle. Doesn't play, doesn't take him for walks. The whole point is that she "won". In the divorce, so I hear, she won shared custody of the family pet, purely to deprive the "loser" of the right to the sole custody of the dog.
Makes you wonder what "win" and "lose" mean, doesn't it?
Dogs just don't understand such business, I think. Maybe that is why some notable or other says, from time to time, I do prefer dogs to people.
God created us and dogs, both. Maybe there are times when God says, all other things being equal, that He prefers dogs to people. Happily and hopefully, it is a passing feeling with God. But humans often take more mercy than dogs to maintain, it seems.
The Food Bank and Uncle Stout
It was time for a check today, to the East Texas Food Bank, for their Thanksgiving drive. There'll be one to the Matthew 25:35 Fund, too. We don't always "see" the poverty all around us, but it's there. Like the rest of God's creation, there are inspiring stories within the poverty, missed when we turn away from it.
The picture is indelible, implanted in Bullard when I was ten, only revised a little as I became a teen. I took a birthday present across the street to Uncle Stout Roberson, on his 90th birthday. Just like every day, he was in his garden, working whatever crop was in season. Even in winter he had some protected crops working.
His name fit. He had worked with hand tools every day of his life, so, at 90, he was pretty much all muscle, tendon, and bone. With a great attitude! Couldn't hear, couldn't afford a hearing aid, so everyone had to shout a bit, but that was fine. And he always had a good word for you.
I admired him. But it never occurred to me that Uncle Stout had a hard life. Before Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, just a little of what he called the "old age assistance", Uncle Stout HAD to work every day. Corn and potatoes, beans and peas, lots of turnips and greens, and the priceless chickens kept him alive, and made sure that Miss Viola didn't do without. He gave things away, people gave him things, and sharing was just a part of the good life among good (and poor) Christian people.
Then the time came when no amount of will power was enough to drive him into the garden. He could say with Paul, "I have fought the good fight..." because he had. He defined the "honorable man", and in some ways still does. I've not known a better one, in all the decades since.
The picture is indelible, implanted in Bullard when I was ten, only revised a little as I became a teen. I took a birthday present across the street to Uncle Stout Roberson, on his 90th birthday. Just like every day, he was in his garden, working whatever crop was in season. Even in winter he had some protected crops working.
His name fit. He had worked with hand tools every day of his life, so, at 90, he was pretty much all muscle, tendon, and bone. With a great attitude! Couldn't hear, couldn't afford a hearing aid, so everyone had to shout a bit, but that was fine. And he always had a good word for you.
I admired him. But it never occurred to me that Uncle Stout had a hard life. Before Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, just a little of what he called the "old age assistance", Uncle Stout HAD to work every day. Corn and potatoes, beans and peas, lots of turnips and greens, and the priceless chickens kept him alive, and made sure that Miss Viola didn't do without. He gave things away, people gave him things, and sharing was just a part of the good life among good (and poor) Christian people.
Then the time came when no amount of will power was enough to drive him into the garden. He could say with Paul, "I have fought the good fight..." because he had. He defined the "honorable man", and in some ways still does. I've not known a better one, in all the decades since.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Better This Way?
Jesus said it almost every way you can. Paul underlined it. Current materialism brushes it off. Here's an article:
http://health.msn.com/health-topics/depression/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100266204>1=31009
Simple - earning and spending money does NOT bring happiness. Count the problem-folks around you. Struggle to maintain the payments or whatever on the "medicine for what ails you" that was your "dream".
One of the hardest things in the world to sell is the dream-house or dream-car that was supposed to bring happiness, simply because the new dreamer wants to dream a new dream.
We're caught up in it, of course. But every time we take a break from the concept, we recognize that private prayer "re-centers" us, while being a busy consumer does not.
Simple. But hard to manage - - - all those advertisements work in the opposite direction, don't they?
http://health.msn.com/health-topics/depression/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100266204>1=31009
Simple - earning and spending money does NOT bring happiness. Count the problem-folks around you. Struggle to maintain the payments or whatever on the "medicine for what ails you" that was your "dream".
One of the hardest things in the world to sell is the dream-house or dream-car that was supposed to bring happiness, simply because the new dreamer wants to dream a new dream.
We're caught up in it, of course. But every time we take a break from the concept, we recognize that private prayer "re-centers" us, while being a busy consumer does not.
Simple. But hard to manage - - - all those advertisements work in the opposite direction, don't they?
Monday, October 25, 2010
Power of a Name
Moses wanted to know the name of God - - and the answer came: I am who I am - in other words, you don't need to know! I'm calling you, you won't be calling me.
Who ARE you? is a question of trust.
Five minutes ago, I got a political call masquerading as a question/poll sort of thing, asking if I "believed" in the traditional view of marriage. (Which I do, but, in differentiation from the current politically correct interpretation, I actually believe in the older definition of marriage as a permanent, until-death set of commitments, not as a 50/50 shot at staying together, maybe, sorta, if it works out.)
The turn-off for THIS particular call was that the caller addressed me by identifying himself with MY name. Disconcerting, to get a call from yourself. Throws you off a bit. Definitely gets your attention!
An emotional issue, a disconcerting identification, a "poll" to persuade for a political point and a vote....... it's tough to dig out the authentic in these political shifting sands. This definitely was NOT authentic
Maybe it always has been, who knows, but this is a tough year!
It all reinforces the authenticity-factor in the Biblical record of the God who calls and the people who follow. The more you learn about the deviousness of the times, the more you like Moses, I think!
Let me know what YOU think.
Who ARE you? is a question of trust.
Five minutes ago, I got a political call masquerading as a question/poll sort of thing, asking if I "believed" in the traditional view of marriage. (Which I do, but, in differentiation from the current politically correct interpretation, I actually believe in the older definition of marriage as a permanent, until-death set of commitments, not as a 50/50 shot at staying together, maybe, sorta, if it works out.)
The turn-off for THIS particular call was that the caller addressed me by identifying himself with MY name. Disconcerting, to get a call from yourself. Throws you off a bit. Definitely gets your attention!
An emotional issue, a disconcerting identification, a "poll" to persuade for a political point and a vote....... it's tough to dig out the authentic in these political shifting sands. This definitely was NOT authentic
Maybe it always has been, who knows, but this is a tough year!
It all reinforces the authenticity-factor in the Biblical record of the God who calls and the people who follow. The more you learn about the deviousness of the times, the more you like Moses, I think!
Let me know what YOU think.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
What a Journey!
What should a young teen do, parents deceased, living arrangements all jumbled, life turned upside down. There are lots of options, but the story of one 13 year old boy stands out.
Leo Tolstoy started preparations for the entrance examinations to Kazan University, wanting to enter the faculty of Oriental languages. He studied Arabic, Turkish, Latin, German, English, and French, and geography, history, and religion. He also began in earnest studying the literary works of English, Russian and French authors including Charles Dickens,Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol, Mikhail Lermontov, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Laurence Sterne, Friedrich Schiller, and Francois-Marie Arouet Voltaire.
He and his brothers moved out of their uncle’s home and secured their own rooms. No longer the provincial, there were balls and galas to attend and other such manly pursuits under the general heading of "dissolute". Tolstoy did not have much success as a student, but he would become a polyglot with at least some working knowledge of a dozen languages. He did not "respond to the universities’ conventional system of learning" as he phrased it, and left in 1847 without obtaining his degree.
The greatest writer of Russia would live up to his noble heritage, and then renounce his wealth to help the poor. The writer of "War and Peace" would become a profound influence on Ghandi. His estate would become a haven for homeless serfs.
All the advantages of life, by which we often mean financial resources, fade when we are motivated by faith and purpose. Tolstoy became fascinated with Jesus, and dedicated to His teachings. As he renounced nobility, he became a saint to the Russian peasant and a powerful influence around the world.
What marvelous things God does with a life given to Him!
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