Good Advice

I never intended for this blog to become a pulpit. Yet today I am talking about a sermon my pastor gave recently. Or rather, about the first part of one Scripture verse from that sermon.

The setting is Jerusalem in the fifth century B.C. Ruins had replaced a once vibrant and magnificent walled city. Nehemiah returned to lead the people in restoring the once great city. As with any noble, heroic work, he faced strong opposition; from inside and out. When the wall was rebuilt to half of it height, he learned about the taxation, exacting of interest and other abuses heaped upon his poor, defeated countrymen by their own Jewish nobles and governors.  To put it mildly, Nehemiah was very angry. He then wrote, “I took counsel with myself…” (Neh. 5:7 ESV)

I missed the next little bit of pastor’s sermon lost in thought when I saw that phrase. Everyone of you reading this has at one time or another gotten angry. The anger may have been justified, or not. That isn’t the point. The point is, what do we do when it happens?

All of us have been told things like, “take a deep breath”, “count to ten”, “cool off”, “think nice thoughts” and etc. Those bits of advice are meant to defuse the volatility of our anger, as is Nehemiah’s statement. I can still remember colossal blunders I have made in the heat of an angry moment when I should have had a little chat with myself.

Next time the temperature rises and you are about to blow your top, remember old Nehemiah and take counsel with yourself. Just maybe “me, myself and I” can get together and avert a disaster.

Love Remembered

I am definitely not a romance novel kind of guy. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a little spark of romance in me. I mentioned in Death’s Door a trip we took for our anniversary in June. We spent the weekend in Door county Wisconsin for their annual Lighthouse Festival.

Lighthouses hold a fascination for us. St. Augustine Florida was the first one we visited in the ’90’s. That got us hooked. To date we have been to 175 different lighthouses on both oceans and all five Great Lakes. In fact, my son, who was visiting recently, declared that we are geeks about lighthouses because we keep an “esoteric inventory” of them. He picked that up from an interview with Adam Savage from “Mythbusters”. I guess he’s right.

Me and the wife actually sat down and discussed why we are drawn to these crazy things. What it seems to boil down to is the stories. There is the romance of the sea, the power of nature, acts of heroism, different places and times in history, the sacrifice of families living in isolation at remote locations and of course the love stories.

When you climb those spiral, cast iron steps that have stood there for 150 years, you imagine you are the keeper carrying oil up to the lamp. The higher you climb the further back you go in time. You step out on to the observation deck. The modern towns and condos on the shore fade. There is only the water. In your mind you see a ship in the dark, twelve miles out being coarsely bullied by the irrational sea. In the pilot house the captain takes comfort from and sets his course by the beacon flashing over your head.

On this latest trip we visited nine different light sites, six for the first time. Five of those six were on islands that we saw on a special boat tour that sails once a year weather permitting.

Many of the island lights have been abandoned for decades and some are in advanced stages of decay. With modern technology like radar and GPS, lighthouses are no longer needed for navigation. We were saddened to learn that the Poverty Island and St. Martins Island lights – both in Michigan waters – are on a doomsday list and are slated to be demolished.

Some lights are saved by non-profit groups that raise  money and volunteer their time. In the case of these two, they are so remote and the islands so desolate it just isn’t feasible.

My wife’s “favorite” lighthouse is Eagle Bluff. It is not the most picturesque location or unique design. What she especially likes, are the stories.

One of the keepers had a large number of sons. That was a boon in regard to tending the livestock and garden, and when it was time to paint. All were pressed into service to paint; even the smallest was required to paint up as high as he could reach. When the lighthouse was restored some years back they found 90 coats of paint on some walls. They figured there should have been about 60. The mystery was solved when they interviewed the youngest son who was then in his 80’s. He told them that mother had a penchant for having the boys get out the brushes and mix up the paint when they misbehaved.

The boys were all accomplished musicians and would often entertain the family and guests in the evening. On Saturday night they would take their instruments, including the piano, down to Fish Creek and play at the weekly dance. And the stories go on.

The Sherwood Point light was one we had never seen. You could only view it from the water. It had not been open to the public for over 40 years because it was U.S. Coastguard property. By special arrangement, it was open to the public the two days we were there this summer. Of course this light has a story too.

Keeper Henry Stanley transferred from Eagle Point Light and first lit the lamp on October 10, 1883.  Miss Minnie Hesh, Mrs. Stanley’s niece, came to visit from Brooklyn, New York, in the fall of  1884 after the death of her parents. Like many Door county visitors, she stayed.

In 1889 Minnie married William Cochems, the son of a Sturgeon Bay businessman. Cochems became acting assistant keeper in 1894. Upon Keeper Stanley’s death in 1895, Cochems was appointed Keeper. Minnie was appointed assistant keeper in 1898.

A Keeper’s wife had a very busy life. There is the gardening, canning and cooking, tending to the needs of the children and all the other chores of washing, ironing, cleaning and… That was all part of the life of a wife and mother in her home at the beginning of the twentieth century.

We often don’t think of the fact that a lighthouse is three different things. Though it is a family home, first it is a lighthouse. With that comes all the work and responsibility of maintaining the light. Cleaning the lens, trimming the wicks and hauling the oil were primary. Checking the lamp, refilling the oil, and winding the clock-works needed to be done every two hours, every night  during the shipping season.

What we don’t consider is that a lighthouse is owned and regulated by the federal government. An inspector could show up anytime without notice. Poking his nose in anywhere, he would evaluate everything.  Laundry and ironing had to be finished and out of sight by 10:00 AM. Being a public building, they had to be ready to receive guests and give tours at any time.

William and Minnie, the Keeper and his assistant, did it all for thirty years, until Minnie’s death. They worked side by side raising a family, maintaining the light and growing in their devotion to each other. This was a partnership; they were a team demonstrating what a marriage should be.

William dearly loved his wife and greatly mourned her passing. He buried her on a hill near the lighthouse. In remembrance of her years of service, William built a stone marker that bears a plaque in her honor. He retired five years later.

Sherwood Point was the last manned lighthouse on the Great Lakes being automated in the fall of 1983.

If you get to visit Sherwood Point, you can go down the sidewalk to the northeast and see Minnie’s marker. If you ever get to spend the night there, don’t bother to do the supper dishes. They say that Minnie’s ghost visits at night, washes the dishes and sets the table for your breakfast.

Learning to Lean

5:53 last Tuesday morning I had one of those moments. I was in sync with the road and my machine.

The highway is usually busy and boring on my ride to work. Though I could vary the route, my passionate quest for monotony demands that I take the same roads every day. Last Tuesday I rode my motorcycle.

I turned on to the last one-mile stretch. Cracking the throttle I wound through the gears. Doing 60 with the tach steady at 3600 and the wind in my face, there was not a vehicle in sight. Before my turn-off to work there is an s-curve. Gliding into the curve I put a little pressure on the left grip and leaned left. Halfway through I straightened up and leaned right. Those singing tires could not have followed the curve any better if they were locked onto a steel track. I decelerated and turned into work. My mind was still flying down the road.

I have been riding my bike for years. At this point I don’t think about the process of motorcycle riding  anymore. But it’s a different story when you first get on one. In the beginning you need to learn to coordinate both hands and feet to operate the throttle, clutch, front brake, rear brake, gear shift and turn signals. You feel a bit overwhelmed. But probably the hardest thing to learn is to lean in the turns. It seems so dangerous and unnatural.

I was talking to a retired business owner I know. He had a boat in the Everglades, a small airplane, a motorcycle and who knows what all else. Our discussion turned to motorcycling. He told me, “I could never take my wife on that motorcycle. She just wouldn’t lean. We would go into a turn, I would lean  and she would try to stay straight up. I don’t know how many times she nearly put us in a ditch. I quit taking her.”

This is quite a fitting metaphor for relationships. Leaning on other people from time to time can ease the stress and struggle on our journey. But leaning doesn’t come easy. After all we live in a country that was born independent. We tend to have the John Wayne syndrome. Be it the wild west, World War II or oil-rig fires, the Duke would ride in guns-a-blazin’ and solve the problem – single-handed. Thinking we can go it alone, we find it hard to ask for help.

Overcoming fear and learning to trust are requirements for leaning. Two sides of the old well-worn coin. I dare say that trusting a machine comes easier than trusting people. A machine is going to react the same way every time. On a bike you think, this thing weighs 500 pounds, if it falls over I’m going to get hurt. Eventually you gain confidence and actually look forward to the curves. With people you already know you can get hurt.

The issue is, are you willing to take the risk? People do stupid stuff and fail. But when you find someone to connect to, to open up with, to be vulnerable with, they can really help lift the burden.

So, what do you say Ke-mo sah-bee?  Are you going to tame the wild west single-handed? or learn to lean?

A Bag of Nuts and Bolts

Internet Explorer, click. Google, Gmail, click. Username, Password, click. Inbox. A notice from WordPress. Hey!, cool! someone “liked” my post! And I don’t know her, so, she doesn’t know me. I get so excited, it’s almost like Christmas in June.

Then I get curious. Who is she? I click on her “like” link. I read “About”.  Then I read a couple of her recent posts. Wow! she wrote a book. Amazon, click. I found her book. “Look inside”, click. Boy, she has quite a story. She has been through a lot. She’s a Psychologist. She has taken all the hard stuff in her life, fused it to her studies and transformed it into something positive; she is helping people. Neat.

That’s when my mind soars. I think about the people I know in Indiana who studied psychology and now have flourishing counseling practices. My mind meanders on to think about the psychology discipline itself. The “science” of psychology has discovered a lot about the mind and emotions and how they work in us. There is a lot of useful information in the discipline – as far as it goes. I consider other “sciences”. My working definition of science here includes the pure or classical sciences and also other disciplines that gather data, systematize it, analyze it and form hypothesise based on it. I’m sure you true scientists think I’m an uneducated bumpkin. But, I’m including psychology, philosophy, ethics and even theology. I am lumping all these disciplines together for their commonalities. Their common processes, production and limitations.

I don’t believe that any one science, in your list or mine, can give you the complete answer; the whole picture. Each discipline is dependent on others. Let me illustrate.

At the end of the season this year, one of the primetime doctor TV shows dealt with a real sticky one. One of the doctors was pregnant. The problem was that the baby had no brain. It had a rudimentary brain stem that kept the mechanical functions of the little body running. Yet there were no brainwaves, no thoughts, no personality. The doctor-mom wanted to carry the baby to term, deliver it,  take it apart and donate the organs to save other babies. Not unlike an auto mechanic taking parts off of a wrecked Buick to fix another one. The doctors on the show were conflicted. Some said yes, others no. To be alive – medicine says – you must have brainwaves. This baby didn’t, but…

In the real world the psychologist, philosopher and theologian would have something to say and they might not all agree. The best any one discipline can do is give you a bag of nuts and bolts. I say that with true respect for the disciplines of science. Actually nuts and bolts are very important things. I’m a nuts and bolts kind of guy. One of the most important decisions to the success or failure of a mechanical device is to choose the right fasteners.

I believe we need to understand the limitations of the sciences and see where we fit in.

Indulge me while I tell a little story. It is pure fiction. Yet it is a true story. This is your story and mine. Our circumstances might have been vastly different, but the story is the same.

The young woman is standing alone in front of her mother’s casket, softly weeping. Hugging herself tightly with her right arm, her left hand rests on her swollen abdomen, feeling her son move. Six months ago, when her husband was deployed, Mom was so vibrant and excited about this little guy. The disease moved so fast. Doubts, fears and questions are spinning in her mind. They become a maelstrom that threatens to suck her down and crush her on hidden rocks.

At this point my fellow blogger-psychologist can get out her textbook and explain in detail the stages we go through dealing with grief. She would give us a very enlightening and helpful bag of nuts and bolts. But there is one extremely important piece missing: the touch of a another human.

The door at the back of the funeral chapel opens and an older woman comes in. She has been here too many times. Not quite three years ago, she and her sister – the woman in the casket – were here to bury their mother. She walks up and puts her arm around her niece. They tilt their heads until they touch and stand there weeping softly together.

She is no longer alone. A very narrow sliver of hope cracks the darkness. Now the healing can begin.

Death’s Door

Last weekend we took a trip to celebrate our anniversary. Door County Wisconsin was holding their annual Lighthouse Festival. We took a boat tour to see five lighthouses we would otherwise never get to see. The lighthouse in the header is on Pilot Island. It sits at the mouth of the channel between the north end of the Door County peninsula and Washington Island on the Lake Michigan side. Because it was so dangerous for the schooners 150 years ago the passage was named Death’s Door.

In those days Pilot Island was covered with lush vegetation. When the people abandoned the island and lighthouse the birds took over. The black birds in the picture are Cormorants. Their droppings are so toxic that all the vegetation died, leaving the small, stark wasteland pictured here.

Word #1: Love

I have often said , growing up speaking midwestern slanguage, (with a Chicago accent) that English was the only foreign language I ever studied. It is interesting that in most European and Asian countries, learning the English language is required in their schools. I can attest to the fact that English is a hard language to learn. In English, certain single words can mean several things. Or, several different words can mean the same thing. Consider the words “cool” and “hot”. Opposites, right? Unless you are talking about cars or chicks. What about “to, too and two”. They all sound the same but are different. And how about “good food”? Identical “oo” and pronounced differently. Now, add in grammar…

In 1972 I started preparing for the ministry at a Bible Institute. I was seven years out from a less than stellar high school career. I had a purpose being in school, but it was hard learning how to study. One class I had first semester was English 101. In the first class the prof handed out his syllabus and gave us some warnings. He said we would be writing in class and outside of class. Spelling was very important to him. Rule one: one misspelled word equalled one letter grade reduction. He said, “If you can’t spell, carry a dictionary.” I couldn’t, so I did. Since I had three little sons, worked, went to school and had to sleep some, my wife typed my papers for me. She was crushed the day I brought an essay home with a big red “A” crossed out with a big red “B” next to it. The only other mark was a red circle around a word with two letters transposed.

I learned to enjoy reading and became intrigued with words. With their etymology, meaning and usage. We read to our boys a lot and encouraged them to read. We liked to play “word games”. We still like to throw puns and spoonerisms around. The grandkids are picking up on it too. Not long ago one of my sons said, “…it was never forced, we just always used good grammar at home growing up.” It frustrated them if one of their teachers used improper grammar.

This post is about a word: love. I anticipate doing several more posts about individual words. I chose this word because my grandson and granddaughter each touched on the idea in their blogs around Valentines day. I know, I’m a little slow getting around to writing this. I am no expert but felt it was a worthy idea to talk about.

At 17 I fell in love. Einstein said, 

“Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do-but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it.”

On our third date my 17-year-old girlfriend told me she would marry me. I laughed. We were married two years later. And we lived happily ever after, well not exactly.

There are a lot of goofy ideas about love out there.

I had a foreman around 1970 who was a year younger than me. He was living the “free love” ideal of the day. “I have not met a girl I didn’t love. But I don’t like them all,” he told me one day. He went on to explain that by “love” he meant having sex with them. The sexual union is a gift from God intended not only for procreation but also for pleasure, meant to be expressed by one man and one woman in the marriage relationship. Our society has taken a beautiful thing and twisted it. It says infidelity in marriage isn’t all that bad. It condones sex before marriage, before high school graduation, even before eighth-grade graduation. But this only shows how lopsided the world’s view of love is.

Probably the first misconception about love is that it is only a feeling. After all, didn’t Tina Turner sing, “What’s love but a second-hand emotion?” We want the warm, gooey, heart-all-a-flutter feeling. Sure its fun and can be an indicator of love, but it isn’t the sum total of love. Real love kicks in when you don’t have those nice feelings.

It appears to me, an untrained observer, that the main problem is the object of people’s love. They love themselves. It’s about me. Myself. The old perpendicular pronoun “I”. We tend to want what we want when we want it, without regard for the other person’s needs and desires. I do believe we need to have a healthy self-image but not obsess with self-love. Love is to be focused outward. It is intended to be given to others. That is quite a foreign concept in our selfish society.There is a description of true love that was written nearly twenty centuries ago. It is recorded in the Holy Bible in First Corinthians chapter thirteen. That description is just as accurate today as it was when it was written.

    “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

In this day and age, people just don’t want to take responsibility for their own actions, especially in relationships. Blaming the other person for our own insensitivity and stupidity is just the natural thing to do. Learning to say, “I was wrong,” and “I’m sorry” is a great start to building a long-lasting love relationship.

Tomorrow is our 45th anniversary. It hasn’t been perfect. I don’t suppose that it should be. We were married young, had kids young and became grandparents young. It seems we have been growing together all of our lives. When you fall in love you feel you just can’t love more. Then you hold your first child for the first time and find you have more love. Holding your first grandchild for the first time, you find that love just keeps growing and expanding.

Now to you in my family, I want to go on record here and now and declare that I love you and will do anything for you.

And to my bride,we sure have seen a lot. Happy anniversary. I’m glad that we learned along the way that love isn’t easy but it is oh so worth it. I love you. 

Brothers and Sisters

There are times when I get an idea for a post that I have to ask myself, “Do I really want to go there?” This is one of those times. When I told my wife the title for this her response was, “Oh brother, now what?” I have one sister and she reads this blog so I have a feeling I could get into a lot of trouble. Oh well, here goes.

First and foremost, I love my sister. No, really. I’m serious. That being said, we had our little disagreements growing up. In fact there were times we had some good shouting matches. Just like normal, loving siblings. Since she was older, she at times was given authority over me. All in all she didn’t abuse the privilege. Not too much anyway. When we got a little older, in the summer when mom worked lunch at the Log Cabin, we were left alone with sis in charge. We couldn’t leave the yard.  She would often choose our activities for the three hours. I can’t tell you how many hours we spent under the big elm tree cutting out paper dolls. The upside was I got pretty good with a pair of scissors. Really, that is a skill I have used in my life.

At times we would play games like Monopoly or Sorry. We would spread it out on the front stoop occasionally enticing a couple of neighbor kids to join in.

As is true in any relationship, one party will from time to time make a bone-headed decision that will add a little stress. It seems that party was usually me. Like on the last day of 5th grade. It was a nice warm day and we were getting out early. The drill was that we had to clear all the stuff out of the room. During the year we built a terrarium. It was made out of  a wooden box with glass in the front and four, one-gallon pickle jars stuck in holes in the sides. It held plants, insects, frogs, and a fair-sized garter snake. Our teacher asked for volunteers to take the animals. At that point in my life I kind of liked snakes (not so much anymore) so I took the snake. I put it in a shoe box with holes poked in the lid and headed for home.

No one was home when I got there. It really was a nice day and I wanted to be outside, but what to do with the snake. I figured it should be sort of contained so I put the box in a lower kitchen cabinet and left to play. When I returned later, there was still no one home. I checked the cabinet and found the lid off the box and no sign of the snake. I looked all over; no snake. This was not good but I figured it would show up. I chose not to tell the family there was a snake on the loose. Bed time came; still no snake. I was sleeping soundly when the hall light snapped on and my sister screamed. Next I heard my mother call my name. I jumped out of bed, grabbed the snake, and ran out the back door in my BVD’s to return the poor guy to the wild. I never brought another critter home after that.

In the early 1960’s, sis and I would at times have to fend for ourselves for supper on a Friday or Saturday night. Often we would make a Chef Boyardee pizza. It was a pretty sorry meal, but hey, we were kids. Usually WLS was on the radio and old Dick Biondi would be carrying on. One of his deals was singing “There’s a Fungus Among Us.” Dick would also sing his “On Top of a Pizza” song. He talked about lots of weird things to put on a pizza. One night he suggested peanut butter. I tried it and as I recall it wasn’t to bad. Sis didn’t try it and I haven’t had it since.

Some psychologists make a big deal out of birth order. I believe there is something to it. But I also believe that the problems are exacerbated when you mix in gender.

On our block, the family across the alley and two lots to the north had three kids. There were two boys the same age as my sister and me and a younger girl. She was a sweet little blond-haired, blue-eyed princess from the dark side. You probably know her type. A pastor friend of mine in Iowa would call her a “stem-winder.” I asked him to explain that, once. He said, “You know, when you want the stem off the apple you twist and twist until it breaks? That’s what those kids are like.” Another familiar image is Bugs Bunny’s friend Taz. My but she could raise a ruckus.

The other extreme is when the oldest sibling is a girl. Like my wife. She and her three younger brothers still mention the incident once in a while. The details have gotten fuzzy over the years. She will admit that she was probably “being a little bossy.” Her bossy-ness raised a great amount of ire in the brother who is six years younger. He was provoked to the point that he chased her around the house with a butter knife. No one was injured, at least not until dad got home.

Siblings all have their spats. The tragedy is that at times harsh words or disagreements fester and grow eventually fracturing the family. I could spew a bunch of quotes and clechés, but then you would just log off. But I will use just two. A fellow I worked with used to say, “Life is too important to take it seriously.” Or as he explained, lighten up. I might add, show each other a little forgiveness. Your relationship is a worth a lot more than a few dollars, hurt feelings or Aunt Matilda’s antique whatzit. Actually it is true; “blood is thicker than water.” It is about five times thicker than water at 98.6 degrees farenheit.

Last weekend we went to see my grandson in the spring high school play. He had two parts. He was the voice of a very obnoxious parrot and old uncle Abe reading a paper on the park bench. He did an admirable job. Two of the other characters were a young brother and sister. Davy was one of those stem-winders. In one scene, the sister comes running in shouting, “Davy pulled my hair!” At the confrontation Davy confesses his sin and says, “But I won’t let anyone else pull her hair.” I guess I’m with Davy on this one. Me pulling my sister’s hair is one thing, but you had better not  try it, buster.

Sunrise

We took a family trip out west in 1978. After a long hot day driving across the Texas panhandle, we decided to drive the last leg, from Albuquerque to Tucson, at night. In the morning I took this picture of the sunrise over the New Mexico desert.

 

Warning!

A young couple I know had a sweet, cuddly baby girl just before Christmas. I was talking to the dad-to-be about a month before the arrival. I knew he had been working on some house projects so I asked how they were going. “Ha,” he replied, “I don’t have time to work on those. I’m working on having a baby!”

That statement struck me as a little odd. I know my biology. After all, I took it twice in high school. The first time I had my father’s teacher! She was as old as dirt and still went by “Miss”. My cavalier attitude toward school in general and  her class in particular, didn’t work out to well. But I did learn some biology. One thing I learned was that his “work” in having a baby took about three minutes and was finished about eight months earlier. It was his dear wife who was doing the “work”! Just like a guy. Trying to take someone elses’ credit. I’m with you moms on this one. You get all the credit and respect.

Thinking about this precious little life and the passing in January of the anniversary of the Roe V. Wade decision, I must say something about abortion. Basically it is just plain wrong. It is wrong on every level and in every discipline. Morally, ethically and theologically it is wrong to end a human life. It defies reason, logic and nature itself. How can a doctor ascribe to the Hippocratic Oath that states, “do no harm” and dismember a human baby in its mother’s womb? A baby with a beating heart and  brain waves. Abortionists refuse to use the term “baby” as they try to dehumanize the infant. I have no problem using terms like zygote, embryo or fetus in the technical sense referring to the stages of development. But we can’t forget that at every stage the baby is still human. The only difference between an 18 week old human fetus and the baby you take home from the hospital is time.

I just thought you should know where I’m coming from.

In the cultural climate today it seems that there are warnings everywhere. In spite of that people find new stupid things to do every day. I read once about a fellow who got mad at his girlfriend and pushed her off an eighth floor balcony. She got tangled in some wires and it saved her life. He was so mad that she didn’t die that he jumped off after her. He missed her and the wires and splattered himself on the ground. I guess the warning givers are trying to save people from themselves.

There is no end to the danger and risk that we face in life. I think that when a new little life is born and you wrap up that little pink (or blue) bundle to take them home, they too should come with a warning. I designed a label to affix to their carrier.

With so many dangers out in the big world, we don’t need to force the issue. Some of us are more comfortable taking risks than others of us. There is a young lady that reads this blog that seems to have a real thing for adrenaline. She travels the world over. She posts pictures of herself bungee jumping and skydiving. Not my cup of java. Don’t get me wrong, I take plenty of risks. I get in my pickup and drive to work each day. But the big risk comes when I get out the motorcycle. People say, “You must be crazy riding that thing with the traffic around here.” Maybe a little. But the upside is that motorcyclists make great organ donors. We usually die of head trauma.

Where do you fit in? Some folks climb rocks. Others have trouble with step-ladders. Still others get pierced and/or wear ink or ride roller coasters of all things. And I believe there are real people sitting in dark rooms with the drapes pulled closed, wearing tin-foil hats, convinced there is a conspiracy and that “they” are out to get them. Well, there probably is and “they” probably are. But don’t let that paralyze you.

Life is a risk and yes it is terminal. But you need to live. Toss that tin-foil hat in the recycle bin, throw open the drapes! Run out into the front yard! Feel the sun on your face and the breeze in your hair! Go ahead, climb that old tree in the back yard. Considering living our lives, I want to quote Ty the Extreme Home guy, “Lets do it!”

Time

I picked up a novel at the Goodwill store a while ago. It is by a popular author, well-known for his serial killer-detective-mystery-thriller books. This one is a romance. Completely out of character. But actually a good book, in my opinion. By the way, I don’t do book reviews. In my opinion, even if done by a “professional”, ALL book reviews are subjective. Apart from the mechanics of language and writing, our liking or disliking a book is subject to our taste. Anyway, the premise of the book is that the lead character is reading letters written to her by her grandmother, revealing the story of gram’s secret life.  So, I’m reading along and the last sentence at the bottom of page 95 jumps off the page and smacks me in the face. It said;

“What are we but our stories?”

As you have gathered from this blog, I love stories. I love hearing them, reading them, telling them and writing them. We all have them. And no matter what people think of our intelligence, abilities, choices, philosophy or faith, they cannot deny us our story.

The wife and I have a new project going on. We got a new scanner with the intent of going through all our old slides and converting them to digital pictures. Hour after hour we have projected hundreds of pictures on the screen sideways, upside down and backwards. Lots are discarded offhand. Many, though, we stop and look at intently and start talking about the story. Apart from the Kodak hype, a picture does capture a memory, a moment of time. Most of the pictures are from happy times. Like graduations, birthdays and Christmas. Everyone is posed and smiling. But the pictures don’t tell the whole story. For instance, the ones of Christmas 1977 show my young boys showing off special gifts. Or, goofing off wearing my hat, coat and boots. They don’t show the spiritual and emotional battle that was raging in our home and church. As we smile for the camera you can’t see that it was probably the darkest year of marriage for my wife and me.

How then do stories and time fit together? Let me tell you a story.

I drifted through high school. My parents split up my freshman year. School work was the last thing I cared about. American History was number one on my list of least favorite subjects. Who cares about all those people, places and dates. After all it’s over, its history!

In 1976 we took a trip out east. One afternoon we went to Gettysburg. We drove around and stopped at a few sites. I got out of the car at one prominent battlefield. It was a blistering hot summer day just like the day of the battle more than a century before. The heat in the air made the trees across the field seem to dance as though animated by the souls of those who died there. Plaques were erected that told the story of what happened that day. Reading the story I could see row after row of soldiers coming across the field. I could hear the shouts. Cries. Guns and cannon. I could smell the sweat, gunsmoke and blood. The stench of death. The plaque said that after the battle you could not walk across the field, a quarter-mile across and a mile wide, without stepping on the body of a dead or dying soldier. That was the day American history became a living thing to me.

Yesterday the narrator on the radio had a little thirty second spot on black history. His last statement was, “Our history is the bridge to now.” Our story is a series of events. A collection of pieces of time. Some of them are good. Some aren’t. But those moments have forged us into who we are now. Some parts good, some not so good. But perhaps the most encouraging thing to realize is that our story isn’t all there is. And the world and its history is more than just a collection of individual people’s stories. There is something much bigger. There is a meta-narrative. An overarching, all-encompassing story written by the Creator of it all. Our story, then, is a small but very significant part of His story.

Bill Cosby said, “The past is a ghost, the future a dream, and all we ever have is now. ” If you analyze that statement closely, in a real sense we don’t even have now. Time is continually moving. In the time it takes to say the word “now”, that moment of time is gone. What we do have is the ability to choose. We can choose to let the ghost of the past haunt us. That haunting brings bitterness and anger for all of the “what if’s” that we think could have been. It is just as debilitating to try to live the “if only” in our dream of the future. So here we are “now”. We can choose to be thankful for who we are, what we have and those in our life.

What are you going to do about it? We can choose to actively, deliberately “write” some of our story from here on forward. Or we can just drift along letting life happen. I want to pick up the pen and do some writing. After all, “What are we but our stories?”