"Bright before me the signs implore me
Help the needy and show them the way.
Human kindness is overflowing
And I think it's going to rain today." Randy Newman (1968)
Sometimes when I write, like right now, I have several things I want to say and I feel that I need to say them simultaneously if you are going to understand what I'm thinking and feeling. If I could use visual art, I could spend hours and days putting my thoughts and feelings on canvas. Then when I'm completely finished, I can display what I've created and you can see the whole thing. You can then derive some "meaning" from what you see.
Words are different. No matter how much thought and time I put into my writing and no matter how many times I rewrite it, you read the finished work from left to right, top to bottom, one word at a time. As you read, your brain assembles the individual letters into words and then the individual words into a whole. If I did my job and you were paying attention while you read, then some "meaning" emerges. However, the meaning you gain may be completely different than the meaning that I intend. If, for example, my opening quote is from "Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening", regardless of what I'm writing about my mind flies to the night I was driving in a snowstorm down Monteagle, Tennessee around midnight on February 10, 2008. And regardless of what I end up saying, your mind flies to something else. It's there now.
The power of words versus the visual arts is explored in the 2013 movie Words and Pictures. What starts out as an argument between an art teacher and a writing teacher, becomes a competition between their classes. What is more effective to convey meaning, words or pictures? Which is easier to understand?/
Often when I write, I listen to music. That music usually is instrumental so that beautiful words don't get in the way of the words I'm composing. Right now I'm listening to Edward Elgar's Cello Concerto in E minor. The cellist is Sol Gabetta. Strange thing. I don't like violin music at all. I not only don't like it, but I avoid it. I find it to be depressing. But I love cello music. Broader. Richer. More depth of feeling and emotion. It's inspirational. And isn't that what music is supposed to be?
Another thing that happens when I write, as it has happened just now, when I "put my pen to paper" (so to speak), what I write has little to do with what I had in mind when I started. I was going to go into some detail about a two-part peak personal experience that happened the first and second times I heard Randy Newman's "I Think It's Going to Rain Today" thirteen years apart. The first time happened in the spring of 1975. I can take you to the spot on US 78 E where it happened. I was driving back to college in Birmingham, Alabama in my yellow 1973 Mercury Capri after a good weekend in Jasper. Sometimes, but certainly not always, I think these things happen most often when something good is in our rear view mirror and we anticipate that something as good or better awaits us. Sandwiched between that reality and possibility was an event that had a profound impact on me. Then in 1988 something just as profound related to that song happened. This time I was in my den in Ringgold, Georgia. The Universe had something important to tell me about friendship, recovery and redemption. And it took twenty years for me to hear what the Universe was saying. That was twenty eight years ago and I'm still listening.
This concerto I'm listening to is a YouTube video. I could be watching, but for now I'm just listening. I have a good friend who after attending a concert in Moscow said, "Some music needs to be watched as well as heard." Very soon I will watch this video. From the audio there is a sustained ovation. I assume it's a standing ovation, but as of now I really have no way to be sure.
In that argument between the art teacher and the writing teacher, where was the music teacher? As powerful as visual art and the written word can be, can either hold a candle to poetry set to music? I watched part of that concerto video. It was a standing ovation. Even the orchestra stood and applauded. And why not? Besides the incredibly beautiful music, as she played Sol Gabetta was caressing her instrument as tenderly and lovingly as a mother with her child. It took seeing her performance to understand that.
The Chinese language, as you know, consists of characters and not letters. Each character means something. The combination of characters presents a symphony of meaning. Can we begin to imagine what's lost in translation from those characters to the words we read left to right, top to bottom? But unless we learn the language, that's the best we've got. And what we derive from those words can still be very meaningful.
After I heard "I Think It's Going to Rain Today" that night on the radio, and after what I felt what I felt, the DJ said neither the name of the song nor the singer. There was no Google. The radio stations I called didn't know the song I was asking about. I lost the song for thirteen years. In 1988 the song found me. I had all but given up looking for it, and it just found me. Now I enjoy the song from several different media: CDs, Spotify, YouTube and more. But I never listen to the song from any source without going back to Jasper, Alabama in 1975 when I heard it for the first time on that German built stereo in that German build Capri.
If words are powerful and pictures are worth a thousand words, then what is the strength of poetry set to music? There is little chance of rain today, but a significant chance of friendship. And words. And pictures. And music. If you force me to choose, it will be a difficult choice. But I'll choose words. I can then imagine the pictures and the music. If "I Think It's Going to Rain Today" had been just music, you wouldn't be reading this. And that would be a shame for both of us.
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
See Rock City
Rock City advertises itself as "an iconic attraction." And so it is. I was six years old when my great aunt took me to Chattanooga to see Rock City, Ruby Falls and the Incline Railway. Although I enjoyed all of the attractions, Rock City was far and above my favorite.
No one "discovered" Rock City. It has existed for millions of years. But in 1823 a missionary named Daniel Butrick described the natural phenomenon as "a citadel of rocks." (Wikipedia).
The thing I most looked forward to about Rock City when I was a kid ended up being my biggest disappointment. But the attraction offered more than enough pleasure and enchantment to make up for it. My aunt told me and I saw signs on the way that you can "see seven states." I'm quite sure my aunt didn't say this to me, but I thought I would see the state lines like with my wooden US states puzzle. Even looking through the swivel telescope at Lover's Leap, all I could see was a river, buildings and trees. It all looked the same. I'm not saying they were fibbing, but it looked like one state to me.
Several years ago I took a high school chorus to sing for their Enchanted Garden of Lights near Christmas. A few weeks before the concert, a real nice lady invited me to come to Rock City before the concert date. She escorted me around the grounds and showed me where the choir would be standing and singing. To make polite conversation I asked, "So are you like the activities director here?" She said, "No, I own it." Before I could stop myself I exclaimed "YOU OWN ROCK CITY?!! I thought the United States of America owned Rock City!", She said, "No, my husband and I bought Rock City several years ago. We own it."
A huge part of Rock City's success is what it provides for children. They call the place "enchanted" and it is. You squeeze through Fat Man Squeeze and The Needle's Eye. You can wonder at Balanced Rock. You can meander across the Swinging Bridge. You can peer at seven states from Lover's Leap. Or so they say. Although it was nearly sixty years ago, I remember walking through Fairyland Caverns which includes black light responsive sculptures of gnomes, fairies and fairy tale characters. Back in 1959 it was a wonderland of joy. And it is still quite wonderful.
Another large part of Rock City's success is its marketing. Many years ago somebody visualized "See Rock City" on the roof of barns all over the country. Here's the way it worked. The representative knocked on the farmer's door. He said to the farmer "I've got a deal for you. If you will let us paint See Rock City on the roof of your barn, we will paint your barn." Apparently thousands of farmers all over the world thought that was a good idea. You will also see "See Rock City" birdhouses all over creation. Within a 200 mile radius of Chattanooga you will see a multitude of billboards advertising various aspects of the attraction. The closer you get to Chattanooga the more you will see. Rock City is ubiquitous.
As recently as thirty years ago downtown Chattanooga closed at 5 o'clock pm on Friday and stayed closed until Monday morning. There was absolutely nothing going on. Somebody had the foresight to hire a consultant from Boston to find a way to attract tourists from Lookout Mountain to downtown. This effort was somewhat controversial because of the cost. He drove around town and walked around town and said, "You have a river running right through your city." The rest, as they say, is history. Chattanooga opened the Tennessee Aquarium in 1992 and the River Walk in the next few years. A multitude of hotels, restaurants and tourist attractions followed suit. Now downtown is bustling with activity and open for business all week and weekend as late as you want to stay. Outdoor magazine recently rated Chattanooga as the #1 city in the country for recreation and enjoyment.
An irony that works well for Chattanooga is that most people think Rock City is a Chattanooga attraction when in fact Rock City is located in Lookout Mountain, Georgia. Chattanooga is more than glad to leave that misunderstanding alone.
Although there is so much more to see and do now in northwest Georgia and Chattanooga, Tennessee, Rock City is still for me at the heart of tourism, beauty and enjoyment. I mean when is the last time you saw "See the Tennessee Aquarium" on a barn?
No one "discovered" Rock City. It has existed for millions of years. But in 1823 a missionary named Daniel Butrick described the natural phenomenon as "a citadel of rocks." (Wikipedia).
The thing I most looked forward to about Rock City when I was a kid ended up being my biggest disappointment. But the attraction offered more than enough pleasure and enchantment to make up for it. My aunt told me and I saw signs on the way that you can "see seven states." I'm quite sure my aunt didn't say this to me, but I thought I would see the state lines like with my wooden US states puzzle. Even looking through the swivel telescope at Lover's Leap, all I could see was a river, buildings and trees. It all looked the same. I'm not saying they were fibbing, but it looked like one state to me.
Several years ago I took a high school chorus to sing for their Enchanted Garden of Lights near Christmas. A few weeks before the concert, a real nice lady invited me to come to Rock City before the concert date. She escorted me around the grounds and showed me where the choir would be standing and singing. To make polite conversation I asked, "So are you like the activities director here?" She said, "No, I own it." Before I could stop myself I exclaimed "YOU OWN ROCK CITY?!! I thought the United States of America owned Rock City!", She said, "No, my husband and I bought Rock City several years ago. We own it."
A huge part of Rock City's success is what it provides for children. They call the place "enchanted" and it is. You squeeze through Fat Man Squeeze and The Needle's Eye. You can wonder at Balanced Rock. You can meander across the Swinging Bridge. You can peer at seven states from Lover's Leap. Or so they say. Although it was nearly sixty years ago, I remember walking through Fairyland Caverns which includes black light responsive sculptures of gnomes, fairies and fairy tale characters. Back in 1959 it was a wonderland of joy. And it is still quite wonderful.
Another large part of Rock City's success is its marketing. Many years ago somebody visualized "See Rock City" on the roof of barns all over the country. Here's the way it worked. The representative knocked on the farmer's door. He said to the farmer "I've got a deal for you. If you will let us paint See Rock City on the roof of your barn, we will paint your barn." Apparently thousands of farmers all over the world thought that was a good idea. You will also see "See Rock City" birdhouses all over creation. Within a 200 mile radius of Chattanooga you will see a multitude of billboards advertising various aspects of the attraction. The closer you get to Chattanooga the more you will see. Rock City is ubiquitous.
As recently as thirty years ago downtown Chattanooga closed at 5 o'clock pm on Friday and stayed closed until Monday morning. There was absolutely nothing going on. Somebody had the foresight to hire a consultant from Boston to find a way to attract tourists from Lookout Mountain to downtown. This effort was somewhat controversial because of the cost. He drove around town and walked around town and said, "You have a river running right through your city." The rest, as they say, is history. Chattanooga opened the Tennessee Aquarium in 1992 and the River Walk in the next few years. A multitude of hotels, restaurants and tourist attractions followed suit. Now downtown is bustling with activity and open for business all week and weekend as late as you want to stay. Outdoor magazine recently rated Chattanooga as the #1 city in the country for recreation and enjoyment.
An irony that works well for Chattanooga is that most people think Rock City is a Chattanooga attraction when in fact Rock City is located in Lookout Mountain, Georgia. Chattanooga is more than glad to leave that misunderstanding alone.
Although there is so much more to see and do now in northwest Georgia and Chattanooga, Tennessee, Rock City is still for me at the heart of tourism, beauty and enjoyment. I mean when is the last time you saw "See the Tennessee Aquarium" on a barn?
Sunday, August 21, 2016
The Myth of Getting Drunk
" 'Difficulty walking, blurred vision slurred speech, impaired memory, impaired judgment, and blackouts' according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services are just a few of the damaging effects of alcohol on the brain. Some of these impairments are detectable after only one or two drinks and quickly resolve when the drinking stops. On the other hand, a person who drinks heavily over a long period of time may have brain deficits that persist well after he or she achieves sobriety."
You and I both know people whose idea of great enjoyment at any social occasion is to drink to excess, sometimes to the point of losing consciousness. I don't mean necessarily that they drink until they pass out, although some people do. I mean that they drink alcohol until they have little or no idea of where they are,who they are with or what they are doing.
I'm not being self-righteous about my position on social inebriation. I'm not a teetotaler. I just don't get why people want to get showered, get dressed, drive to a social occasion to be with friends and then behave in such a way that they remember little or nothing about it. Besides the long-term health effects mentioned above, in the short run it just doesn't make logical sense to me. I'm not just questioning the after effects, I'm questioning the gathering itself. When a person is inebriated he says and does things that are not consistent with his or her walking around self. When he is drunk, he takes leave of his senses and is no longer in control of his faculties. He is neither in control of what he is saying or what he is doing. He risks his job, his reputation and his relationships. The death spiral of drinking is that alcohol impairs judgment, so the part of your brain that normally says "Stop drinking" isn't capable of telling you that. So you drink another and are more impaired. Eventually there is no filter whatsoever to stop you from making an absolute fool of yourself. And risking your health, your life and the lives of others.
But speaking of "driving to" the occasion, many people who get sloppy drunk "drive from" the occasion as well. They say they had "a couple of drinks", but the truth is they lost count of the number of drinks that they consumed. They say they've waited long enough and are okay to drive. But our highways are littered with crashed automobiles, broken bodies, blood and guts and destroyed lives because somebody had " a couple of drinks" at a party. Thankfully, some people before they go, and while they have possession of their rational brain, make accommodations for the fact that they will have leave of their rational brain in a few hours.
Short of a catastrophic accident, there is the matter of a DUI. A DUI is one of most embarrassing, time-consuming and expensive legal offenses possible. Even if it doesn't involve jail time, and many times it does, the first offense can cost the offender $10,000 or more. It can cost his driving privileges for a year. Insurance rates sky rocket. It can cost a career, a marriage, etc. And will you enjoy picking up litter for several days along a busy highway? There are impaired drivers on that highway as well. Will you be proud to wear that orange vest that makes you look like a convict? Oh wait; you are a convict. And for what good reason? Because it was fun to get blitzed at at social gathering and not even remember being there? I'm quite sure you will remember everything associated with the DUI for years to come.
When you have gotten drunk, even if you have not done damage to your brain, even if you got home safely, even if you didn't harm significant relationships or your career, there is the inevitable hangover. That's why they call it a "hangover." You may not remember much of what you did the night before, but your body will remind you. And for what?
Finally, there is the matter of alcoholism. Once you cross that line, there is no going back. Ever. No one ever said, "I used to be an alcoholic." You will spend the rest of your life either in recovery or as a drunk. Pick one.
Go to weddings. Go to parties. Go to business social occasions. Have fun ! But instead of getting sloppy drunk, try it under the influence of nothing more than your quick wit and natural charm. If it helps you to relax, have "a couple of drinks" and stop. If you can't "have a couple of drinks" without stopping, then drink nothing stronger than Coke, tea or coffee. Besides avoiding the many health and well-being risks with the consumption of too much alcohol, you will actually remember being at the party. You possibly made connections that will pay off now and in the future.
When I was a kid I started a fire that involved the fire department to put it out. The only fire I intended to start was to burn pine straw in a mesh sack for oranges and spin the flames around my head. I'm sure some part of my ten year old brain was telling me that it was not a good idea. Inevitably the fire burned out the bottom of the sack and the flaming missiles spread everywhere. Thankfully, the fire spread only to a wooded lot and the firemen were able to contain it quickly. I got a much deserved lecture from the fireman and a tongue lashing from my dad. There are some things that have good outcomes and some things that will always have a bad outcome. There are no good outcomes from playing with fire. Something gets burned.
One of the synonyms of "sobriety" is "common sense." Fifty percent of "common sense" is "sense". I think what I have written makes sense. If you don't think it makes sense, then maybe you have already had one too many.
You and I both know people whose idea of great enjoyment at any social occasion is to drink to excess, sometimes to the point of losing consciousness. I don't mean necessarily that they drink until they pass out, although some people do. I mean that they drink alcohol until they have little or no idea of where they are,who they are with or what they are doing.
I'm not being self-righteous about my position on social inebriation. I'm not a teetotaler. I just don't get why people want to get showered, get dressed, drive to a social occasion to be with friends and then behave in such a way that they remember little or nothing about it. Besides the long-term health effects mentioned above, in the short run it just doesn't make logical sense to me. I'm not just questioning the after effects, I'm questioning the gathering itself. When a person is inebriated he says and does things that are not consistent with his or her walking around self. When he is drunk, he takes leave of his senses and is no longer in control of his faculties. He is neither in control of what he is saying or what he is doing. He risks his job, his reputation and his relationships. The death spiral of drinking is that alcohol impairs judgment, so the part of your brain that normally says "Stop drinking" isn't capable of telling you that. So you drink another and are more impaired. Eventually there is no filter whatsoever to stop you from making an absolute fool of yourself. And risking your health, your life and the lives of others.
But speaking of "driving to" the occasion, many people who get sloppy drunk "drive from" the occasion as well. They say they had "a couple of drinks", but the truth is they lost count of the number of drinks that they consumed. They say they've waited long enough and are okay to drive. But our highways are littered with crashed automobiles, broken bodies, blood and guts and destroyed lives because somebody had " a couple of drinks" at a party. Thankfully, some people before they go, and while they have possession of their rational brain, make accommodations for the fact that they will have leave of their rational brain in a few hours.
Short of a catastrophic accident, there is the matter of a DUI. A DUI is one of most embarrassing, time-consuming and expensive legal offenses possible. Even if it doesn't involve jail time, and many times it does, the first offense can cost the offender $10,000 or more. It can cost his driving privileges for a year. Insurance rates sky rocket. It can cost a career, a marriage, etc. And will you enjoy picking up litter for several days along a busy highway? There are impaired drivers on that highway as well. Will you be proud to wear that orange vest that makes you look like a convict? Oh wait; you are a convict. And for what good reason? Because it was fun to get blitzed at at social gathering and not even remember being there? I'm quite sure you will remember everything associated with the DUI for years to come.
When you have gotten drunk, even if you have not done damage to your brain, even if you got home safely, even if you didn't harm significant relationships or your career, there is the inevitable hangover. That's why they call it a "hangover." You may not remember much of what you did the night before, but your body will remind you. And for what?
Finally, there is the matter of alcoholism. Once you cross that line, there is no going back. Ever. No one ever said, "I used to be an alcoholic." You will spend the rest of your life either in recovery or as a drunk. Pick one.
Go to weddings. Go to parties. Go to business social occasions. Have fun ! But instead of getting sloppy drunk, try it under the influence of nothing more than your quick wit and natural charm. If it helps you to relax, have "a couple of drinks" and stop. If you can't "have a couple of drinks" without stopping, then drink nothing stronger than Coke, tea or coffee. Besides avoiding the many health and well-being risks with the consumption of too much alcohol, you will actually remember being at the party. You possibly made connections that will pay off now and in the future.
When I was a kid I started a fire that involved the fire department to put it out. The only fire I intended to start was to burn pine straw in a mesh sack for oranges and spin the flames around my head. I'm sure some part of my ten year old brain was telling me that it was not a good idea. Inevitably the fire burned out the bottom of the sack and the flaming missiles spread everywhere. Thankfully, the fire spread only to a wooded lot and the firemen were able to contain it quickly. I got a much deserved lecture from the fireman and a tongue lashing from my dad. There are some things that have good outcomes and some things that will always have a bad outcome. There are no good outcomes from playing with fire. Something gets burned.
One of the synonyms of "sobriety" is "common sense." Fifty percent of "common sense" is "sense". I think what I have written makes sense. If you don't think it makes sense, then maybe you have already had one too many.
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Until Morning Light
"But I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes
Keep my glass full until morning light, cause I'm just holding on for tonight.
On for tonight." Chandelier by Sia
Last March my wife walked down the stairs to the den and to the corner where I'm sitting. She interrupted what I was doing, commandeered my computer, navigated to the song and said, "Listen to this."
As much as I enjoy listening to music, I have no use for music shows such as American Idol and The Voice. There are reasons I won't go into, but I just don't like it. When I saw that the song she threw in front of me was from American Idol, I was very skeptical and more than a little annoyed that she was going to spoon feed me with it..
Until that moment when I listened to Trent Harmon sing Chandelier, I had never heard of it's composer Sia that I could recall. And I don't know much about her now. What I do know is that in Chandelier she captures the pain and agony of alcoholism. And the exquisite beauty of the song, is it the joy of the possibility of help and recovery? The song doesn't say. There is nothing pretty about drug addiction and yet there's something going on with Chandelier that you would just have to hear for yourself.
I have a friend who is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. Because of him and his story I have a much better understanding of why recovery is a lifetime battle and why so much love and support is necessary to stay clean.
If you listen to Sia's song, except for the melody, it is completely different from the arrangement that Harmon sings. For me, the arranger captures this beautiful pain in a way that Sia's original version doesn't display. And Harmon belts out a heart-felt rendition of its captivating power. Since he sang it more than once near the end of the season, there are several versions online that are available for listening. The video I watch most often is dated March 24, 2016. Instead of just piano accompaniment, the stage is draped in filtered blue beauty complete with a small string ensemble. The whole effect sends me to places that only such a performance can send me to. A few years ago after Cirque du Soleil's O show, my wife said, "I looked over at you and you were gone!"
The reaction of the judges and the audience is one of stunned admiration for Harmon and the song. From the look on their faces, the only people in the building who are not enthralled are the remaining contestants who know their goose is cooked.
All this to say--there is a moment in the song, it's the textual and musical pinnacle when Harmon on a high B begins the word "light' and mid-word, the word comes out of the note as "I'm" Just like something happens to Harmon, the judges and the audience when he sings that note, something happens to me. For non-singers a high B may not be all that high for an operatic soprano, but for a baritone country singer it is quite high. And quite spellbinding. Is the word "light" or is it "I'm". It's both. And the meshing of them does not destroy either word. And it's on a high B !
I've listened to the song again several times this morning during this writing.. It has lost none of its beauty, none of its power and none of its mystery. I still can't figure out how something so awful can be so beautiful. Or even if it should be so beautiful.
My friend had never told me his whole story until this summer. The most heart-retching part for me is how withing minutes of release from a year in federal prison, he took a hit of cocaine. And the insanity continued.
Chandelier, for whatever its words and music meant to Sia when she wrote them, the song, gives me great hope. It gives me hope that through all the torment and tragedy of addiction, beauty wins. Love wins. Recovery wins. "Light". "I'm". "I'm light". The light we see at our birth stays with us until our death. No matter what we might do, it is never completely extinguished. And those who have come back from beyond all say, "I was going toward an incredible light."
In Chandelier "the morning light" is not the addict's friend. In the morning light, the rooster crows, the gig is up. Another day of addiction, guilt and shame begins. I can only hope that this is the day she finds help. This is the day she finds an intervening friend. This is the day she finds relief that is not tied to a bottle. "This is the day the Lord hath made". And the Lord made today, of all days, for joy and for peace and for beautiful music.
Keep my glass full until morning light, cause I'm just holding on for tonight.
On for tonight." Chandelier by Sia
Last March my wife walked down the stairs to the den and to the corner where I'm sitting. She interrupted what I was doing, commandeered my computer, navigated to the song and said, "Listen to this."
As much as I enjoy listening to music, I have no use for music shows such as American Idol and The Voice. There are reasons I won't go into, but I just don't like it. When I saw that the song she threw in front of me was from American Idol, I was very skeptical and more than a little annoyed that she was going to spoon feed me with it..
Until that moment when I listened to Trent Harmon sing Chandelier, I had never heard of it's composer Sia that I could recall. And I don't know much about her now. What I do know is that in Chandelier she captures the pain and agony of alcoholism. And the exquisite beauty of the song, is it the joy of the possibility of help and recovery? The song doesn't say. There is nothing pretty about drug addiction and yet there's something going on with Chandelier that you would just have to hear for yourself.
I have a friend who is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. Because of him and his story I have a much better understanding of why recovery is a lifetime battle and why so much love and support is necessary to stay clean.
If you listen to Sia's song, except for the melody, it is completely different from the arrangement that Harmon sings. For me, the arranger captures this beautiful pain in a way that Sia's original version doesn't display. And Harmon belts out a heart-felt rendition of its captivating power. Since he sang it more than once near the end of the season, there are several versions online that are available for listening. The video I watch most often is dated March 24, 2016. Instead of just piano accompaniment, the stage is draped in filtered blue beauty complete with a small string ensemble. The whole effect sends me to places that only such a performance can send me to. A few years ago after Cirque du Soleil's O show, my wife said, "I looked over at you and you were gone!"
The reaction of the judges and the audience is one of stunned admiration for Harmon and the song. From the look on their faces, the only people in the building who are not enthralled are the remaining contestants who know their goose is cooked.
All this to say--there is a moment in the song, it's the textual and musical pinnacle when Harmon on a high B begins the word "light' and mid-word, the word comes out of the note as "I'm" Just like something happens to Harmon, the judges and the audience when he sings that note, something happens to me. For non-singers a high B may not be all that high for an operatic soprano, but for a baritone country singer it is quite high. And quite spellbinding. Is the word "light" or is it "I'm". It's both. And the meshing of them does not destroy either word. And it's on a high B !
I've listened to the song again several times this morning during this writing.. It has lost none of its beauty, none of its power and none of its mystery. I still can't figure out how something so awful can be so beautiful. Or even if it should be so beautiful.
My friend had never told me his whole story until this summer. The most heart-retching part for me is how withing minutes of release from a year in federal prison, he took a hit of cocaine. And the insanity continued.
Chandelier, for whatever its words and music meant to Sia when she wrote them, the song, gives me great hope. It gives me hope that through all the torment and tragedy of addiction, beauty wins. Love wins. Recovery wins. "Light". "I'm". "I'm light". The light we see at our birth stays with us until our death. No matter what we might do, it is never completely extinguished. And those who have come back from beyond all say, "I was going toward an incredible light."
In Chandelier "the morning light" is not the addict's friend. In the morning light, the rooster crows, the gig is up. Another day of addiction, guilt and shame begins. I can only hope that this is the day she finds help. This is the day she finds an intervening friend. This is the day she finds relief that is not tied to a bottle. "This is the day the Lord hath made". And the Lord made today, of all days, for joy and for peace and for beautiful music.
Friday, August 19, 2016
Passage
"If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin' week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.
If these old walls could speak
Of things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin' week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.
If these old halls,
Hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin' down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
From floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.
Hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin' down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
From floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.
They would tell you that I'm sorry
For bein' cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that it's only
That I have a stubborn streak,
If these walls could speak.
For bein' cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that it's only
That I have a stubborn streak,
If these walls could speak.
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all -
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.
I guess they would have seen it all -
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here's someone who really loves you;
Don't ever go away.
That's what these walls would say.
More than I could ever pay.
Here's someone who really loves you;
Don't ever go away.
That's what these walls would say.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here's someone who really loves you;
Don't ever go away.
That's what these walls would say." If These Walls Could Speak, Amy Grant
More than I could ever pay.
Here's someone who really loves you;
Don't ever go away.
That's what these walls would say." If These Walls Could Speak, Amy Grant
If only we knew at the time that people and places are temporary. That we need to notice and treasure every minute we spend with significant people and significant places.
I lived four other places before I was three years old, but the only house I remember is 102 Glenn St. Enterprise, Alabama. I lived there with my family until August of 1973 when I was nineteen years old and moved to Birmingham to continue my college education. Why didn't I pay attention when I hugged my mother, my father and my kid sister goodbye as I drove away.? Except for occasional visits at holidays, I would never live there again. I guess I was too excited about where I was going to pay attention to where I was.
My siblings and I had long since moved away. My dad died in 1995. My mother was the last Helms inhabitant of 102 Glenn St when she moved into assisted living. in 2002. So now it has nearly been as long since "we" lived there as I lived there.
I left home forty three years ago this week. When I woke up this morning in this house my thoughts were of that house.. And of my mother, my father, my brother and my sister who lived together all those many years.
Anytime we are tempted to regret, the antidote is to instead feel gratitude. We have a choice. We can feel badly that we didn't pay attention, that we didn't savor every minute of special people, special time and special places that are gone for good. Or we can explode in celebration for what we were given. For the times we had. Or better yet, we can look around at where we are sitting, of the people under this roof and pay attention today. This too shall pass.
Over twenty years ago in a moment of manic inspiration while listening to "If These Walls Could Speak" I wrote a five page letter to my mother about 102 Glenn Street, Enterprise, Alabama. It was about that house and the people with whom I shared it. Like those years we lived there, that letter is long gone. I would like to read it now, but I really don't need to. I could write it again. Well, I'm writing it again. Since I can't send it to mom, I'm sending it to you. It's not important that you understand what I'm feeling this morning about my childhood home, it's not all that important that you recall your childhood home It's important that you consider the impermanence of where you are. It will not always be like this. All too soon the movers will come knocking and you will be on your way. But when this happens turn around and pay attention. You may think you will love where you are going, but for that moment you need to be totally and completely where you are. For you will never pass this way again.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Nothing but the Truth. So help me God.
"The first law of science is that the truth has not been found. The laws of science are working hypotheses. The scientist knows that at any moment facts may be found that make the present theory obsolete; this is happening now constantly. It's amusing. In a religious tradition the older the doctrine, the truer it is held to be." Pathways to Bliss, Joseph Campbell
When I read this quote yesterday, in a flash I recalled a conversation from nearly twenty years ago.
I'm about to introduce you to the third most rigid "Christian" fundamentalist I have ever met. The second most rigid "Christian" fundamentalist I have known was one of my best friends in high school. Back then he was a fun, easy going guy who brightened up any conversation or occasion of which he was involved. Then something happened to him. Nobody knows exactly what happened. Whatever it was destroyed the best parts of him as far as I'm concerned. Last year after he offended and insulted me for the last time in the name of "Messiah" (the only acceptable name for Jesus), I unfriended him. I don't mean on Facebook. I told him that I never wanted to speak to him or see him again. Ever. And I shook the dust off my feet. The first most rigid "Christian" fundamentalist that I know is this man's younger sister. Not "this man" , me, but "this man" who I unfriended. Growing up she was as friendly as her older brother. Now she spews horrible things from her mouth and her pen in the name of Jesus, much like the folks of the Westboro Baptist Church do, What happens to people? Where in God's name do they get the idea that vitriolic tirades have anything to do with the love of Jesus? But just ask Jesus. He had quite a bit of personal experience with people like these.
It was supposed to be a business lunch. I met the man at a local restaurant to present some concepts and to convince him to do business with me and my company. He was a nice looking, well-dressed and seemingly intelligent young man. I had high hopes that the meeting would end with business for both of us. After I talked a few minutes about the subject matter I had come to discuss, somehow the conversation quickly became a theological discussion. Since I was buying lunch and it was apparent he wasn't going to be buying anything from me, I decided to make the most of the situation.
The conversation went something like this:
"So you're saying that 'the truth' is something that's set in stone. It never changes."
"That's right. If it changes, then it wasn't the truth."
"What about coming to a deeper understanding of something? Isn't that finding the truth?"
"No it's not. Something is either true or it's false. There is no in between. There can be no deeper understanding of the truth. It's just the truth."
"So the truth is take it or leave it?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"Then what about Sunday School, Bible studies and theological education. Aren't we there to learn and to discover the truth for ourselves? Can't my understanding be different than your understanding? And can't my understanding change over time?"
"The only purpose that Bible study serves at any level, is to teach the truth--the truth about the Bible, the truth about God and the truth about salvation. There is no other reason to study God's Word. No we can't hold different opinions on what is true or one of us is wrong. There are different stories, but there aren't different truths."
"So at a theological seminary, for example, the entire truth of the Bible is already known. I am there to learn that truth and not to discover new truth."
"That's correct. There is no new truth. If truth was new, then what went before was not the truth. And if what went before was the truth anything new would be false. The truth doesn't change. Jesus said, 'And ye shall know the truth and the truth will set you free.'. If it's not the truth then you will wind up in the chains of deception. This is the work of the evil one and not the work of the Lord"
"So I pay my tuition, attend the classes, take the exams to learn and to memorize the truth. This truth has been known for generations and will not change for generations to come."
"I hope it doesn't change. Because if it changes then the professor is teaching falsehoods and not teaching the truth. Like I said, something is either true or false. There is no in between."
"Then when I go to church from the cradle to the grave, all the truth of scripture is known. My only job is to learn it and repeat it indefinitely."
"That's right. That's the truth."
"Check please."
When I read this quote yesterday, in a flash I recalled a conversation from nearly twenty years ago.
I'm about to introduce you to the third most rigid "Christian" fundamentalist I have ever met. The second most rigid "Christian" fundamentalist I have known was one of my best friends in high school. Back then he was a fun, easy going guy who brightened up any conversation or occasion of which he was involved. Then something happened to him. Nobody knows exactly what happened. Whatever it was destroyed the best parts of him as far as I'm concerned. Last year after he offended and insulted me for the last time in the name of "Messiah" (the only acceptable name for Jesus), I unfriended him. I don't mean on Facebook. I told him that I never wanted to speak to him or see him again. Ever. And I shook the dust off my feet. The first most rigid "Christian" fundamentalist that I know is this man's younger sister. Not "this man" , me, but "this man" who I unfriended. Growing up she was as friendly as her older brother. Now she spews horrible things from her mouth and her pen in the name of Jesus, much like the folks of the Westboro Baptist Church do, What happens to people? Where in God's name do they get the idea that vitriolic tirades have anything to do with the love of Jesus? But just ask Jesus. He had quite a bit of personal experience with people like these.
It was supposed to be a business lunch. I met the man at a local restaurant to present some concepts and to convince him to do business with me and my company. He was a nice looking, well-dressed and seemingly intelligent young man. I had high hopes that the meeting would end with business for both of us. After I talked a few minutes about the subject matter I had come to discuss, somehow the conversation quickly became a theological discussion. Since I was buying lunch and it was apparent he wasn't going to be buying anything from me, I decided to make the most of the situation.
The conversation went something like this:
"So you're saying that 'the truth' is something that's set in stone. It never changes."
"That's right. If it changes, then it wasn't the truth."
"What about coming to a deeper understanding of something? Isn't that finding the truth?"
"No it's not. Something is either true or it's false. There is no in between. There can be no deeper understanding of the truth. It's just the truth."
"So the truth is take it or leave it?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"Then what about Sunday School, Bible studies and theological education. Aren't we there to learn and to discover the truth for ourselves? Can't my understanding be different than your understanding? And can't my understanding change over time?"
"The only purpose that Bible study serves at any level, is to teach the truth--the truth about the Bible, the truth about God and the truth about salvation. There is no other reason to study God's Word. No we can't hold different opinions on what is true or one of us is wrong. There are different stories, but there aren't different truths."
"So at a theological seminary, for example, the entire truth of the Bible is already known. I am there to learn that truth and not to discover new truth."
"That's correct. There is no new truth. If truth was new, then what went before was not the truth. And if what went before was the truth anything new would be false. The truth doesn't change. Jesus said, 'And ye shall know the truth and the truth will set you free.'. If it's not the truth then you will wind up in the chains of deception. This is the work of the evil one and not the work of the Lord"
"So I pay my tuition, attend the classes, take the exams to learn and to memorize the truth. This truth has been known for generations and will not change for generations to come."
"I hope it doesn't change. Because if it changes then the professor is teaching falsehoods and not teaching the truth. Like I said, something is either true or false. There is no in between."
"Then when I go to church from the cradle to the grave, all the truth of scripture is known. My only job is to learn it and repeat it indefinitely."
"That's right. That's the truth."
"Check please."
Thursday, August 11, 2016
Pressure Cooker
I have seen the Grand Canyon three times. The first time was on a day excursion from a mission trip in Farmington, New Mexico in 1983. On that visit we only had time to view the South Rim and and say that we had been there. But just to see the majesty of the canyon is worth the trip for any length of time.
The last time I was there was three years ago when I explored the North Rim for two days with my brother. We had plenty of time to view the canyon from various locations walking, talking and photographing. One afternoon we actually got stranded there for several hours. It was like the Universe said, "Now you have nothing better to do than to enjoy the canyon and the company of your brother."
The second time I was at the Grand Canyon was also a trip with my brother. He had this notion of camping at the South Rim. We flew ourselves and our equipment to Phoenix, rented a car and drove to the canyon. We had stopped in Flagstaff to buy some more equipment so that we would be fully prepared.
We weren't prepared. We had no idea just how cold it was going to get at night and we had never tried to cook at 6800 feet above sea level. Water, as you know, boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit. But that's at sea level. At 6800 feet it boils at about 199 degrees. Thirteen degrees may not seem like much difference, but explain that to your food. That was in April of 1977. If we had kept those eggs in the skillet, I would say they should be getting done by now. We ate a lot of beef jerky.
There is an easy way to deal with this problem that we didn't know about at the time. You can buy and use a pressure cooker designed for camping and cooking at high altitudes. They aren't that expensive and they work really well. My experience with a pressure cooker was the massive one my mother used. I can still smell the green beans and I can still see and hear that pressure release bobble dancing on the top of the lid. I wish we'd known about these small ones for our trip. Live and learn.
But usually when we think of pressure cooker, we think of "pressure cooker situations." We have all been in them. In some ways life is a "pressure cooker situation." But sometimes we are particularly stressed. To be in a "pressure cooker" is very stressful and uncomfortable. So that we don't cook, it's important to get out of these situations as quickly as possible.
Meanwhile you have to deal with the stress. Here are some very popular ways for dealing with the stress quickly. 1. Smoke cigarettes and dope 2. Drink too much and too often 3. Practice binge eating, especially of junk food 4. Take illegal drugs and too many prescription drugs 5. Lash out verbally at people, especially the people you care about the most. If that doesn't help, then just hit them. All of these methods will help dissipate your stress. Only thing the relief is very short lived and you have now created financial problems, and in some cases marital and legal issues. And you've hurt people emotionally and physically. You've affected your health and these lost relationships compound your original problems.
There are other proven methods that will work much better., These methods of dealing with stress have both immediate and residual benefits. They make you feel better and not worse. 1.Get some exercise--Take a walk in the woods. Play tennis. Use the stairs instead of the elevator. Join a yoga class. Do anything to get moving. 2. Eat healthy foods. 3.. Do something relaxing that you enjoy. Find a healthy way to unwind in a way that works for you.. 4. Reach out to a colleague at work or to a friend.5. Reframe your problems. Just gain a difference perspective on your situation. You are still in the pressure cooker, but the release valve has drastically changed the pressure.
The best way to deal with "pressure cooker situations" is to stay out of them. I understand that to some extent stressful situations are inevitable, but there is one thing that you can do to make a big difference. Use the word "No" very liberally. When someone asks you to do something, think "How much time and energy is it going to take if I say 'yes'?" . Now think, "How much time and energy is it going to take if I say 'no'?" And now you have time to say "yes" to something you enjoy and that you really want to do.
My brother and I were hiking down the Bright Angel Trail the afternoon after that first frigid night in the tent. He was uncharacteristically quiet and had a long face. So I asked, "What's up with you?" He said, "I know camping was my big idea, but do we have to camp?" Later that day we gave away all of our equipment to a park ranger and checked into a motel. With a restaurant.
The last time I was there was three years ago when I explored the North Rim for two days with my brother. We had plenty of time to view the canyon from various locations walking, talking and photographing. One afternoon we actually got stranded there for several hours. It was like the Universe said, "Now you have nothing better to do than to enjoy the canyon and the company of your brother."
The second time I was at the Grand Canyon was also a trip with my brother. He had this notion of camping at the South Rim. We flew ourselves and our equipment to Phoenix, rented a car and drove to the canyon. We had stopped in Flagstaff to buy some more equipment so that we would be fully prepared.
We weren't prepared. We had no idea just how cold it was going to get at night and we had never tried to cook at 6800 feet above sea level. Water, as you know, boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit. But that's at sea level. At 6800 feet it boils at about 199 degrees. Thirteen degrees may not seem like much difference, but explain that to your food. That was in April of 1977. If we had kept those eggs in the skillet, I would say they should be getting done by now. We ate a lot of beef jerky.
There is an easy way to deal with this problem that we didn't know about at the time. You can buy and use a pressure cooker designed for camping and cooking at high altitudes. They aren't that expensive and they work really well. My experience with a pressure cooker was the massive one my mother used. I can still smell the green beans and I can still see and hear that pressure release bobble dancing on the top of the lid. I wish we'd known about these small ones for our trip. Live and learn.
But usually when we think of pressure cooker, we think of "pressure cooker situations." We have all been in them. In some ways life is a "pressure cooker situation." But sometimes we are particularly stressed. To be in a "pressure cooker" is very stressful and uncomfortable. So that we don't cook, it's important to get out of these situations as quickly as possible.
Meanwhile you have to deal with the stress. Here are some very popular ways for dealing with the stress quickly. 1. Smoke cigarettes and dope 2. Drink too much and too often 3. Practice binge eating, especially of junk food 4. Take illegal drugs and too many prescription drugs 5. Lash out verbally at people, especially the people you care about the most. If that doesn't help, then just hit them. All of these methods will help dissipate your stress. Only thing the relief is very short lived and you have now created financial problems, and in some cases marital and legal issues. And you've hurt people emotionally and physically. You've affected your health and these lost relationships compound your original problems.
There are other proven methods that will work much better., These methods of dealing with stress have both immediate and residual benefits. They make you feel better and not worse. 1.Get some exercise--Take a walk in the woods. Play tennis. Use the stairs instead of the elevator. Join a yoga class. Do anything to get moving. 2. Eat healthy foods. 3.. Do something relaxing that you enjoy. Find a healthy way to unwind in a way that works for you.. 4. Reach out to a colleague at work or to a friend.5. Reframe your problems. Just gain a difference perspective on your situation. You are still in the pressure cooker, but the release valve has drastically changed the pressure.
The best way to deal with "pressure cooker situations" is to stay out of them. I understand that to some extent stressful situations are inevitable, but there is one thing that you can do to make a big difference. Use the word "No" very liberally. When someone asks you to do something, think "How much time and energy is it going to take if I say 'yes'?" . Now think, "How much time and energy is it going to take if I say 'no'?" And now you have time to say "yes" to something you enjoy and that you really want to do.
My brother and I were hiking down the Bright Angel Trail the afternoon after that first frigid night in the tent. He was uncharacteristically quiet and had a long face. So I asked, "What's up with you?" He said, "I know camping was my big idea, but do we have to camp?" Later that day we gave away all of our equipment to a park ranger and checked into a motel. With a restaurant.
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
The Properties of Light
"Directive!" Eve in WALL-E
My parents meant well. My church meant well. My youth director meant well. My youth director's friend meant well. I meant well. But things went terribly wrong.
I was raised in a "Christian home." My parents were "good church-going Christians." . They raised me to have moral character, to respect other people and be courteous to other people. They "raised me right."
My church, a Southern Baptist church, raised me to believe the Bible and brought me up in "the admonition of the Lord." At age ten during a hell-fire and brimstone revival, I asked Jesus in my heart. The circumstances could have been better. With R.G. Lee's sermon Pay Day Someday ringing in my head, as I was walking across the street with my brother and our friend Mark, my brother said, "If we all get hit by a car, we'll go Heaven and you'll burn in hell." So I got saved. I was deeply grateful for what I had been saved from, but had not yet considered what I had been saved to. Nobody ever talked about that.
When I was sixteen years old, a young husband and father came to our church as our music and youth director. On their trip from New Mexico to Alabama, his family was involved in an automobile accident. This accident had a profound impact on our new minister. Although he had been a Christian for years, he felt that he had a personal encounter with the real, living Jesus.
As our youth group grew around our youth director's charisma and personal testimony, he invited a new friend to join our meetings. This friend, a United Methodist layman, was not only a dynamic Christian, but had experienced "the second blessing". This step in the Christian experience involved "the baptism of the Holy Spirit" and was then manifested in "the gifts of the Spirit", "the full gospel". It involved speaking in tongues, interpreting these ecstatic utterances, healing and other spiritual gifts. To a bunch of teenagers, this was powerful stuff. I bought it hook, line and sinker. The excitement of what was going on with us caught fire in area churches. Besides our regular church activities. the youth of our city met regularly in rallies and Sunday night hymn sings. Our enthusiasm spilled out into neighboring towns and the spiritual phenomenon grew. The book of Acts become as real and as current as our church and school activities. While most in the group remained true to the teaching of their respective churches, many of us became card-carrying Charismatic Christians. In our case we remained Southern Baptists, but we were experiencing the "deeper life." Looking back there were aspects of all of that that were positive. But not all of it was good for me.
But the excitement continued. Our Methodist friend invited me to go with him as a "witness" on a Lay Witness Mission sponsored by his church. It was an incredible experience. Not long after that a minister from a neighboring United Methodist Church invited me to go with him to Florida on another Lay Witness Mission. At sixteen years old, I was becoming a Christian leader, a Christian witness, a bearer of the banner of Christ. I was "leading people to Christ."
Through all of this, however, I felt like something was wrong with me. Good Christians are supposed to be happy and I wasn't happy. I felt sad. I decided that my "daily walk" was not as close to Jesus as it needed to be. I thought, "Once I get close to Jesus, I'll feel great". I went to church. I went to Bible studies. I attended prayer sessions before and after the Bible studies. I went to Charismatic meetings at The House of Prayer and Praise. I joined the Full Gospel Business Men's Association and attended their meetings. I read the Bible backwards and forwards. I prayed beside my bed so often that I got callouses on my knees. But I felt like something was wrong. I didn't feel good most of the time. I felt bad most of the time. I wanted to be closer to Jesus. For over a year I had listened to our youth director urge us to "sell out to Christ. Give him everything." And I wanted to do that with all my heart. "Take my life, use me Lord. Take my life, use me Lord. Make my life useful to Thee,"
About this time my youth director put a book in my hands and encouraged me to read it. The book was In His Steps by Charles Sheldon. This novel takes shape when Rev. Henry Maxwell, pastor of the First Church of Raymond, Illinois, issues a challenge to his congregation. He urges them that for an entire year they are to do nothing without first asking themselves, What would Jesus do? On the surface that sounds like a wonderful thing to do. For me those four words were to take me down a long, dark road of self-sabotage and defeat.
Things for me began to unravel rather quickly. I was the lead singer in a garage band at the time called Revolver. I decided the first thing I needed to do was to quit that band. Jesus would not sing in a rock band. I drove out the Geneva Highway to the small barn where we rehearsed. As the band set up, I told them of my decision and why. Dan, our leader, asked "So we aren't good Christians? You are now better than we are?" Billy, the drummer said, "I told them you would do something like this." But I left feeling like I had cleared the last hurdle in "selling out to Christ." It was all over but the shouting. As I drove away I was thinking, "I'm now ready to live my life totally sold out to Jesus Christ".
But I immediately began to question other areas of my life that had been automatic to that point. I had been a near straight-A student as a junior at the Enterprise High School. I was in the Honor Society and was headed toward graduating the next year at the top of my class. But as I studied American history and trigonometry, I decided that that was not something Jesus would do. How do American history and mathematics have anything to do with Jesus Christ? What would Jesus do? Instead of studying this meaningless material, He would read the Bible and devotional books, things with eternal value. So my grades began to fall. My teachers were concerned. My parents were concerned, but I knew that I was doing the right thing. After all, can you do any better than what Jesus would do?
Another breaking point was my high school's all-school play. The WWJD commitment found me in the middle of rehearsals for Annie Get Your Gun. I was Frank Butler, the male lead role. What would Jesus do? Would he be singing as a rough talking gun slinging cowboy in a Broadway musical? Jesus? Of course not. We were only a few weeks from opening night and I felt terrible about quitting and leaving them without a lead singer, But I felt even worse about not being faithful to my Lord. After an agonizing three weeks for me and an even more agonizing three weeks for the director, I sang the role for the three nights. But I had no joy in it. I was concerned about my eternal soul. My mother said, "During the curtain calls you never even smiled." I had nothing to smile about.
My mother went to my youth director and said, "You've ruined my son. I want my old David back." He told her, "Don't worry about David. He's doing fine. It's your walk with the Lord you need to be concerned about."
As I continued to drill down into the depths of my commitment, my discouragement increased. "I must not have given Jesus everything. What else can I give up?" I was not a schizophrenic then and I'm not one now, but the voices in my head were getting louder. One night as I started home after church, the-voice-of-"Jesus" in my head asked me, "Why do you assume I want you to go home. Maybe there's something else you can do for me tonight." I turned left on the next street and entered a subdivision of which I was not familiar. I turned right. I turned left and I parked in front of a house. I got out of my car, walked to the door and rang the bell, A young lady opened the door that I recognized from school. She asked me, "David, what do you need?" And I said, "Jesus wants me to tell you something." She invited me in and to my astonishment there were several other students sitting on pillows on the floor smoking dope. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was a message about the love of Jesus. And I left and drove home. The next day at school she found me and said, "It's a good thing I was there. They would have really messed you up." That would have been okay. They beat up Jesus too.
I remember praying with a man in front of a transmission shop. We were on our knees while people came and went to and from the shop. One place innocent bystanders were particularly vulnerable was at the gas station. I dreaded pumping gas, like I dreaded most things, because I was going to have to "witness" to somebody. I was going to have to feel embarrassed and uncomfortable and make other people uncomfortable. But Jesus would all day long be about His Father's business. He would never waste an opportunity to help someone find the right road. "Don't ever rest. Don't ever relax. Do what Jesus would do. Don't ever do something that Jesus wouldn't do".
Instead of becoming more loving and more kind (you know, like Jesus), I was becoming progressively more narrow and judgmental. My family members were shaking their heads, my teachers were disappointed in me and my friends were forsaking me. But I didn't care. I was doing what Jesus wanted me to do. That was all that had eternal value.
How deep and dark can a black hole get? Once something crosses its event horizon, it's doomed. Nothing can escape its gravity that is strong enough to hold light itself. "If the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness." Matthew 6:23
This story of descent into agony continued for quite some time. My thinking and my behavior just got worse. The collateral damage increased. The-voice-of-"Jesus" in my head got more strict and more demanding.
Very few people who cross the event horizon of religious fundamentalism ever see the light of day. Most people, like me, continue to reinforce their own beliefs and behavior. They are not open to enlightenment from any source. "And Jesus said to them, 'Watch out and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees' " Matthew 16:6. I was very fortunate. A strange and wonderful series of events happened for me to see that I was headed down the wrong road. And to understand that life was not nearly as hard as I was making it, both for myself and those around me..
The story of my deliverance, my redemption is a really good story. The story involved a lot of people and events over a long period of time. It involved college and seminary Bible professors who held the Bible up in the light of reason and common sense. But two things happened close together, before all that that had a profound impact on me.The first event involved a bowl of turnip greens at my family table. The other involved a puppy and a football helmet. My salvation also involved a high school girl friend who cared about me through all of it. And then in college a girl-friend who became my girlfriend who became my wife. And it involves Jesus. Not the "Jesus" in my head, but the actual Jesus.. You know the one who healed the sick and loved little children. Somehow He found me in the dungeon of despair. He became a "light unto my path" and showed me the way out. The voice-of-"Jesus" in my head was now the love of Jesus in my heart. And He said, "There's just one Jesus and that's me. There's just one David. And that's you. You just be David and leave being Jesus up to me." If the journey of a thousand miles begin with a single step, I was on my way.
The eighth step of the Twelve Steps of AA is to "Make a list of all persons we have harmed, and be willing to make amends with them all." I don't know about alcoholics, but there is no way I can do that. Those people are scattered to the four winds. But if I could talk to each of them I would say "I'm very sorry for how I treated you. At the time I thought I was doing the right thing. I realize now that in trying to be such a such a good Christian, I wasn't even a good friend. I can't go back and do it any better, but going forward I want you to know that I'm here for you if you need me. Let's stay in touch. Let me be your friend."
For the record I still want to do what Jesus would do in each and every circumstance in each and every day. But when I read the account in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John I don't find a man going around telling people how to live. I find a man being the way we should live,I don't find a man all upset and uptight about serving His Father and doing the right thing. I find a man at complete peace with Himself, His disciples and His friends. He's not trying to be Jesus; He is Jesus. Satan's first temptation in the wilderness was "If thou be.the Son of God..." It was the temptation I succumbed to all those years, "David, if thou be a good Christian..." I cast myself down from the temple over and over and all I got was dirty and broken. But like the woman at the well, Jesus found me and offered living water. This Jesus-in-my-heart told me, "You don't have to draw it. You don't have to do anything. Just drink it. It's already there."
Mama, I'm so glad you cooked those turnip greens that summer night. And I'm so grateful that my brother, home from college, didn't want any and said why. And I'm so glad that puppy found a way to get that helmet on its head. It was the first time I had laughed in a very long time.
Before I went to that high school reunion I mentioned, I talked to a good friend of mine about my misgivings. I said, "I feel like I should get drunk or something to just show them I've changed." He said, "Just go and be yourself, you may be surprised how they remember you". So I went. I was myself. And I was pleasantly surprised.
When we talk about light we are usually talking about visible light, the light we can see. But the electromagnetic spectrum includes a multitude of wavelengths that are not visible to the human eye. But it's still light. All those years I was stumbling in the dark, I was never in the dark at all. I couldn't see the Light, but the Light could see me. I was never out of His care.
Sunday, August 7, 2016
NICU Compensation
com.pen.sa.tion: 1. "The money received by an employee from an employer as a salary or wages."
2. "Something that makes up for something else."
"You made me so very happy. I'm so glad you came into my life.
All I ever want to do is thank you baby. Thank you baby." Blood, Sweat and Tears
There are a multitude of ways to be financially compensated. Money is the most common method of payment. Benefits are also a method of compensation. Things you don't pay for are just as valuable as money received for services. A new hire in a public company might be compensated with stock options. The options have little value to begin with. Those options might eventually expire as worthless, but they could be exercised into the millions of dollars. Options are a good benefit.
There is another way that employers can compensate their employees. I am constantly amazed at how little this method is used in the workplace. A supervisor can tell the employee, "You really did a good job on that." Or "We are fortunate that you work here." Or "If there is ever any way that I can help you, you know my door is always open." Or how about, "Did you enjoy that grand baby last week?" You get the idea.
And that's the type of compensation I want to talk about. I've been a volunteer in the NICU now for almost six months. In many ways it hasn't always been what I thought I had signed up for. But looking over my shoulder, I am very pleased with the whole experience. As a volunteer I don't get paid money for what I do there; I never expected to be. But I am compensated in a myriad of ways. I don't go there to be thanked, but I have never been there without a nurse or a tech or sometimes a doctor telling me how much they appreciate my service to the NICU. That feels really good. And, yes, it's part of what keeps me going back.
Although I enjoy answering the phone or doing whatever the staff needs me to do, the most rewarding compensation as a "cuddler" is when I get to cuddle a baby. These babies have serious issues. If they didn't they would be home or in some cases, in foster care. The babies reward me in oh so many ways. First of all, they are warm. The normal body temperature of a newborn is about 97.5 degrees. Although that is slightly cooler than we are, they feel much warmer than that. The babies I rock and hold are usually swaddled and they're usually asleep. When they wake up and glance to see who's holding them, they always go right back to sleep. The babies' 97.5 against my 98.6 feels like the warm setting of an oven. It works for both of us. But the babies aren't just physically warm, they are emotionally warm. As I rock and whisper and hum and pray I am aware of many things. I'm aware that I'm holding a life. I'm holding a tiny being who is fully human and thanks to the NICU, who is fully alive. I'm aware than I'm not just holding their hear and now life, but I'm holding their future life. This baby's very life is in my arms. Besides the warmth, I enjoy the baby noises. Newborns do not carry on a conversation, but they do talk to me. R2D2 has nothing on the racket these tiny creatures make. I can't describe it. Hold a newborn and experience this for yourself.
Okay, there is some financial compensation for what I do. I get free meals. No matter how much or how little I have on my tray in the hospital cafeteria, the nice lady smiles and rings it up as a "volunteer meal." But even if that were not the case, as Jesus said to His disciples, "I have meat to eat that you know not of."
I was in the NICU this morning. Like I said, if they had only needed me to answer the phone I would have been glad to help. Sometimes that's all they need and exactly what they need. This morning after I scrubbed in and walked into the unit, the nurse's first words were, "We are very glad you're here." I asked, "How's that?" And she said, "We have several very sick babies and need you to hold one of them." She didn't have to ask me twice. I sat down in the rocker and the nurse gently placed this one week old incredibly beautiful Hispanic girl in my arms. She opened her eyes to be sure of me and went soundly to sleep." I wouldn't trade season tickets to the symphony for those two hours of NICU noises and baby music.
Compensation? You don't owe me anything; I've been paid in full.
2. "Something that makes up for something else."
"You made me so very happy. I'm so glad you came into my life.
All I ever want to do is thank you baby. Thank you baby." Blood, Sweat and Tears
There are a multitude of ways to be financially compensated. Money is the most common method of payment. Benefits are also a method of compensation. Things you don't pay for are just as valuable as money received for services. A new hire in a public company might be compensated with stock options. The options have little value to begin with. Those options might eventually expire as worthless, but they could be exercised into the millions of dollars. Options are a good benefit.
There is another way that employers can compensate their employees. I am constantly amazed at how little this method is used in the workplace. A supervisor can tell the employee, "You really did a good job on that." Or "We are fortunate that you work here." Or "If there is ever any way that I can help you, you know my door is always open." Or how about, "Did you enjoy that grand baby last week?" You get the idea.
And that's the type of compensation I want to talk about. I've been a volunteer in the NICU now for almost six months. In many ways it hasn't always been what I thought I had signed up for. But looking over my shoulder, I am very pleased with the whole experience. As a volunteer I don't get paid money for what I do there; I never expected to be. But I am compensated in a myriad of ways. I don't go there to be thanked, but I have never been there without a nurse or a tech or sometimes a doctor telling me how much they appreciate my service to the NICU. That feels really good. And, yes, it's part of what keeps me going back.
Although I enjoy answering the phone or doing whatever the staff needs me to do, the most rewarding compensation as a "cuddler" is when I get to cuddle a baby. These babies have serious issues. If they didn't they would be home or in some cases, in foster care. The babies reward me in oh so many ways. First of all, they are warm. The normal body temperature of a newborn is about 97.5 degrees. Although that is slightly cooler than we are, they feel much warmer than that. The babies I rock and hold are usually swaddled and they're usually asleep. When they wake up and glance to see who's holding them, they always go right back to sleep. The babies' 97.5 against my 98.6 feels like the warm setting of an oven. It works for both of us. But the babies aren't just physically warm, they are emotionally warm. As I rock and whisper and hum and pray I am aware of many things. I'm aware that I'm holding a life. I'm holding a tiny being who is fully human and thanks to the NICU, who is fully alive. I'm aware than I'm not just holding their hear and now life, but I'm holding their future life. This baby's very life is in my arms. Besides the warmth, I enjoy the baby noises. Newborns do not carry on a conversation, but they do talk to me. R2D2 has nothing on the racket these tiny creatures make. I can't describe it. Hold a newborn and experience this for yourself.
Okay, there is some financial compensation for what I do. I get free meals. No matter how much or how little I have on my tray in the hospital cafeteria, the nice lady smiles and rings it up as a "volunteer meal." But even if that were not the case, as Jesus said to His disciples, "I have meat to eat that you know not of."
I was in the NICU this morning. Like I said, if they had only needed me to answer the phone I would have been glad to help. Sometimes that's all they need and exactly what they need. This morning after I scrubbed in and walked into the unit, the nurse's first words were, "We are very glad you're here." I asked, "How's that?" And she said, "We have several very sick babies and need you to hold one of them." She didn't have to ask me twice. I sat down in the rocker and the nurse gently placed this one week old incredibly beautiful Hispanic girl in my arms. She opened her eyes to be sure of me and went soundly to sleep." I wouldn't trade season tickets to the symphony for those two hours of NICU noises and baby music.
Compensation? You don't owe me anything; I've been paid in full.
Do we really need more church?
"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law." Galations 5:22-23
I was neither eavesdropping on the conversation or trying to avoid hearing what she was saying. For that matter, as soon as I heard these few words I will quote, I got up and walked away. I really wasn't interested in being a party to the discussion. What she said to him before I walked off was "We need more church and we need more prayer."
First of all, she didn't say "We need more churches", she said, "We need more church." Obviously I have no idea what she was talking about or why she even said that. But I'm going to take a shot in the dark. I think she meant "People need to spend more time in church."
Going to church can be a really wonderful thing. Usually a church offers a Bible study time and then a meeting they call a "worship service." That service usually includes some combination of group singing, or at least group listening, and preaching by the pastor or someone else. Some churches include readings and recitations in the order of worship. For many it's the "fellowship" aspect that keeps the parishioners coming back. To spend time with friends in "small group" and "worship" can be a deeply meaningful weekly experience.
But is it more church that we need? Around here there are two things of which we have hundreds. We have churches and we have title loan companies. I assume you're familiar with the former. But in case you're not familiar with the latter, it's a lending institution where you trade equity in your car for cash. They hold your car title as collateral for the loan. The loan is generally for 90 days. Most loans are small amounts of $300 to $500, but some can be for as much as $10,000. With interest and fees the APR is in the neighborhood of 300%. If you can't pay it back, they will usually let you roll what you owe into a new loan with new interest and fees. Now you stay perpetually in debt for an amount you can never repay. Eventually they repossess your car. Now you have no money and no car.
My experience with over sixty years of "church" is a mixed bag. Church people can exhibit all the fruit that St. Paul writes about. They can indeed be good, loving and kind. But church people can also be narrow, bigoted, hateful and mean. So did church cause any of these people to be one or the other, or were they like that before they went to church? And did the crucible of church magnify either personality type? In the summer of 1977, I was on the staff of a small church for less than two months. When we left that church to continue my music education, the deacons took up a love offering and gave us $700. In 1977 $700 was a lot of money. It increased our net worth times three. We've never forgotten their kindness and generosity. After serving four years the first time on their staff, another church had invited me back twice over a period of twenty years. There was small group of people who were not happy to see me come back that third time. After nearly eight years, things came to a head over a song that one person wanted sung on Palm Sunday. It was more complicated than this, but we didn't sing the song and the leadership asked me to leave. So I left,
For better or for worse, I don't think we need more church. Around here, at least, we have plenty of church. And we definitely have plenty of title pawns. I think we need more love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. And even if you go to church every Sunday, if these personal attributes are not the things you exude on a daily basis, what good is all that church doing you or anybody else? Can't you be those things without all that church?
During the two years I was at the seminary, we lived frugally, to say the least. And even if we had known, I doubt there was enough equity in our Mustang or Capri to qualify for a title loan. I'm glad we never knew. Besides an occasional movie or trip to Wendy's, our primary entertainment had been to pitch pennies at the laundromat every Saturday afternoon. And of course we were careful to keep up with all those pennies. But when I graduated in the spring of 1979, before we started our ministry in Georgia, we still had about $200 of the $700 that small church had given us. We used it to fly to Florida for a few days. What a delicious indulgence for a couple who had nothing in the way of worldly possessions. When those deacons took up that money and gave it to us, I'm not sure a vacation in Florida is what they had in mind. But I think they would have said, "Please accept this gift of love and kindness to use any way you want. And regarding your trip to Florida, against such things there is no law."
Do we need another hour of church or just a cup of kindness? Let's check the Bible. "And be ye kind one to another." Ephesians 4:32 KJV. Was this writer talking about more church or more kindness? I'll let you decide.
I was neither eavesdropping on the conversation or trying to avoid hearing what she was saying. For that matter, as soon as I heard these few words I will quote, I got up and walked away. I really wasn't interested in being a party to the discussion. What she said to him before I walked off was "We need more church and we need more prayer."
First of all, she didn't say "We need more churches", she said, "We need more church." Obviously I have no idea what she was talking about or why she even said that. But I'm going to take a shot in the dark. I think she meant "People need to spend more time in church."
Going to church can be a really wonderful thing. Usually a church offers a Bible study time and then a meeting they call a "worship service." That service usually includes some combination of group singing, or at least group listening, and preaching by the pastor or someone else. Some churches include readings and recitations in the order of worship. For many it's the "fellowship" aspect that keeps the parishioners coming back. To spend time with friends in "small group" and "worship" can be a deeply meaningful weekly experience.
But is it more church that we need? Around here there are two things of which we have hundreds. We have churches and we have title loan companies. I assume you're familiar with the former. But in case you're not familiar with the latter, it's a lending institution where you trade equity in your car for cash. They hold your car title as collateral for the loan. The loan is generally for 90 days. Most loans are small amounts of $300 to $500, but some can be for as much as $10,000. With interest and fees the APR is in the neighborhood of 300%. If you can't pay it back, they will usually let you roll what you owe into a new loan with new interest and fees. Now you stay perpetually in debt for an amount you can never repay. Eventually they repossess your car. Now you have no money and no car.
My experience with over sixty years of "church" is a mixed bag. Church people can exhibit all the fruit that St. Paul writes about. They can indeed be good, loving and kind. But church people can also be narrow, bigoted, hateful and mean. So did church cause any of these people to be one or the other, or were they like that before they went to church? And did the crucible of church magnify either personality type? In the summer of 1977, I was on the staff of a small church for less than two months. When we left that church to continue my music education, the deacons took up a love offering and gave us $700. In 1977 $700 was a lot of money. It increased our net worth times three. We've never forgotten their kindness and generosity. After serving four years the first time on their staff, another church had invited me back twice over a period of twenty years. There was small group of people who were not happy to see me come back that third time. After nearly eight years, things came to a head over a song that one person wanted sung on Palm Sunday. It was more complicated than this, but we didn't sing the song and the leadership asked me to leave. So I left,
For better or for worse, I don't think we need more church. Around here, at least, we have plenty of church. And we definitely have plenty of title pawns. I think we need more love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. And even if you go to church every Sunday, if these personal attributes are not the things you exude on a daily basis, what good is all that church doing you or anybody else? Can't you be those things without all that church?
During the two years I was at the seminary, we lived frugally, to say the least. And even if we had known, I doubt there was enough equity in our Mustang or Capri to qualify for a title loan. I'm glad we never knew. Besides an occasional movie or trip to Wendy's, our primary entertainment had been to pitch pennies at the laundromat every Saturday afternoon. And of course we were careful to keep up with all those pennies. But when I graduated in the spring of 1979, before we started our ministry in Georgia, we still had about $200 of the $700 that small church had given us. We used it to fly to Florida for a few days. What a delicious indulgence for a couple who had nothing in the way of worldly possessions. When those deacons took up that money and gave it to us, I'm not sure a vacation in Florida is what they had in mind. But I think they would have said, "Please accept this gift of love and kindness to use any way you want. And regarding your trip to Florida, against such things there is no law."
Do we need another hour of church or just a cup of kindness? Let's check the Bible. "And be ye kind one to another." Ephesians 4:32 KJV. Was this writer talking about more church or more kindness? I'll let you decide.
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
The Snow Cone Man
As I was leaving a subdivision this afternoon, the snow cone man was coming in. I smiled as waved as I always do for the snow cone man.
I turned seventeen years old the month I left home in 1971 to sell books door to door for the Southwestern Publishing Company. I said goodbye to my parents in Nashville and prepared for a week of intense sales training. I realized some time later that it was a week of intense indoctrination. I don't fault the company for that as Southwestern existed to sell books and to prepare the sales force to sell as many books as possible.
The indoctrination included the "work ethic" prescribed by the company and drilled into the heads of the sales people. "Knock on the first door no later than 8am. Knock on the last door no earlier than 8pm. Do this six days a week. Go to church on Sunday morning because it looks good in the community. And go to your sales meeting on Sunday afternoon. Do this for no less than twelve weeks." I only took one day off the entire summer. It was a district-wide fourth of July party at the Kentucky Lake. All day I felt like I was playing hooky. I was relieved to get back to work the next morning.
The work was tedious and difficult. I had never faced so much rejection in my life. We were trained to not take it personally, but it was hard not to since they were talking to me. I had memorized several sales pitches. There were two primary pitches. The first one was the pitch to get in the door. The second one was the pitch to present and sell books once I was in the door (which actually happened from time to time). It's been a long time, but I think I averaged getting invited in about every six houses. I don't remember what my closing ratio was once I got in. I still do some of the things I learned. When I ring the doorbell of someone who doesn't know me, I walk back down the steps and keep my back to the door until they answer. Then I turn around slowly to give them time to get a good look at me. If I know their name, I use it as soon as possible. If not, I introduce myself and state my purpose in being there.
Throughout the summer I found myself envying different people for the way they made a living. There was the nice man who drove a dump truck who gave me rides as often as he saw me. During those rides I was homesick for when I drove my dad's dump truck the previous summer. And I thought "while I'm knocking on doors, all he has to do is pick up a load of gravel, deliver it to the job site and do this over and over all day". Another job that I yearned for was the man who held the slow/stop sign for the road construction. That's all he did all day. While I knocked on doors and suffered all kinds of abuse, he talked on his walky-talky and turned a sign to either slow or stop. He did that all week and then he got paid.
But the man I envied the most, the job that I would have loved to have had that hot summer was to have been the snow cone man. While I was knocking on the next door, I could hear him coming up the street. The calliope type music was unmistakable. His brightly colored truck with multi-colored spouts or liquid happiness was unmistakable as well. And even before he stopped, the children were pouring out of their homes running to the truck. They stood in line on their tiptoes waiting for their turn at the truck. As the snow cone man handed them their treasure, they handed him money. Just like that they just handed him money. And were thrilled to part with it. He never asked for a thing.
The last two weeks of the summer, John and I reunited in Owensboro with Dave to sell one more week and then to deliver out books. We all confessed and laughed that we had abandoned our pitches and were just trying to end the summer and go home. One afternoon, instead of the pitch to get in, a pitch that cloaked what I was actually selling, at the door I asked the resident, "Do you want to buy a family Bible?" "No." "Do you want to buy a Bible story book for your children?" "No." "Would you be interested in a medical dictionary?" "No,." "Well, may I use your restroom?" As she was closing the door in my face, she said, "No sonny; we have one of those, too."
I've never actually bought a snow cone from a mobile truck. But there's one parked at a local Chattanooga park. As the nice man hands me my cone and I hand him the money, he's probably thinking, "I don't know what he does for a living, but it's got to be better than this."
I turned seventeen years old the month I left home in 1971 to sell books door to door for the Southwestern Publishing Company. I said goodbye to my parents in Nashville and prepared for a week of intense sales training. I realized some time later that it was a week of intense indoctrination. I don't fault the company for that as Southwestern existed to sell books and to prepare the sales force to sell as many books as possible.
The indoctrination included the "work ethic" prescribed by the company and drilled into the heads of the sales people. "Knock on the first door no later than 8am. Knock on the last door no earlier than 8pm. Do this six days a week. Go to church on Sunday morning because it looks good in the community. And go to your sales meeting on Sunday afternoon. Do this for no less than twelve weeks." I only took one day off the entire summer. It was a district-wide fourth of July party at the Kentucky Lake. All day I felt like I was playing hooky. I was relieved to get back to work the next morning.
The work was tedious and difficult. I had never faced so much rejection in my life. We were trained to not take it personally, but it was hard not to since they were talking to me. I had memorized several sales pitches. There were two primary pitches. The first one was the pitch to get in the door. The second one was the pitch to present and sell books once I was in the door (which actually happened from time to time). It's been a long time, but I think I averaged getting invited in about every six houses. I don't remember what my closing ratio was once I got in. I still do some of the things I learned. When I ring the doorbell of someone who doesn't know me, I walk back down the steps and keep my back to the door until they answer. Then I turn around slowly to give them time to get a good look at me. If I know their name, I use it as soon as possible. If not, I introduce myself and state my purpose in being there.
Throughout the summer I found myself envying different people for the way they made a living. There was the nice man who drove a dump truck who gave me rides as often as he saw me. During those rides I was homesick for when I drove my dad's dump truck the previous summer. And I thought "while I'm knocking on doors, all he has to do is pick up a load of gravel, deliver it to the job site and do this over and over all day". Another job that I yearned for was the man who held the slow/stop sign for the road construction. That's all he did all day. While I knocked on doors and suffered all kinds of abuse, he talked on his walky-talky and turned a sign to either slow or stop. He did that all week and then he got paid.
But the man I envied the most, the job that I would have loved to have had that hot summer was to have been the snow cone man. While I was knocking on the next door, I could hear him coming up the street. The calliope type music was unmistakable. His brightly colored truck with multi-colored spouts or liquid happiness was unmistakable as well. And even before he stopped, the children were pouring out of their homes running to the truck. They stood in line on their tiptoes waiting for their turn at the truck. As the snow cone man handed them their treasure, they handed him money. Just like that they just handed him money. And were thrilled to part with it. He never asked for a thing.
The last two weeks of the summer, John and I reunited in Owensboro with Dave to sell one more week and then to deliver out books. We all confessed and laughed that we had abandoned our pitches and were just trying to end the summer and go home. One afternoon, instead of the pitch to get in, a pitch that cloaked what I was actually selling, at the door I asked the resident, "Do you want to buy a family Bible?" "No." "Do you want to buy a Bible story book for your children?" "No." "Would you be interested in a medical dictionary?" "No,." "Well, may I use your restroom?" As she was closing the door in my face, she said, "No sonny; we have one of those, too."
I've never actually bought a snow cone from a mobile truck. But there's one parked at a local Chattanooga park. As the nice man hands me my cone and I hand him the money, he's probably thinking, "I don't know what he does for a living, but it's got to be better than this."
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
On the Surface of Things
"Having an artistic personality type, I tend to have big feelings. Because I work within a creative vocation, I get to explore them fairly regularly in my writing and performing. But even with that vocational permission, I live most of my days on the surface of things. Most of us don’t have much time in the margins to reflect on what we are feeling or how we are acting out of those feelings and values. Often it takes painful life-disruption before we stop and reflect on what’s beneath the surface of the life we have built. We live with patterns of behavior and relate to others without being awake to our real fears or woundedness." Sandra McCracken
"Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy lovingkindness, according to the multitude of Thy tender mercies." Psalm 51:1
If you've been following my story over the years, this story is nothing new. You've heard all this before. But this story resides just below the surface and gets kicked up from time to time. So here it is again.
When I read these words of Sandra McCracken this morning, she took me back twenty five years. Beginning in August of 1990 within a nine month period I experienced an unthinkable amount of personal loss and grief. My best childhood friend killed himself. One of my best friends and his fiance were murdered. Our neighbor's ten year old son accidentally hanged himself with his sister's jump rope. This kicked up the unresolved grief of the death of my little brother when he was eight days old and I was ten. A good friend's wife died with a brain tumor. And then within a few weeks of each other, both of my grandmothers and my great aunt died. You would think that at some point I would have reached a saturation point, that my soul and psyche couldn't feel any more pain. But that was not the case. With each subsequent death, the pain grew deeper and harder to process. There is no darkness like emotional darkness. I never tried to end my life, I just wanted my life to end.
The mother of my friend who was murdered invited me to a grief support group called Compassionate Friends. We all just shared our stories of loss and pain. Since it was a group for bereaved parents, I always prefaced my remarks with "I have not earned the right to be here. Your losses are so much greater than mine." The group always answered, "You are welcome here. Please share your story with us."
Looking back at that year with Compassionate Friends, I was right, I had no business being there. Losing a child is the ultimate loss and grief. No loss or combination of losses begins to approach it. But then, how do I measure the value of saving my own life? My parents would have lost me.
Sandra McCracken said, "Often it takes a painful life-disruption before we stop and reflect on what's beneath the surface of the life we have built...without being awake to our real fears or woundedness." In 1990 it took a "life-disruption" of epic proportions for me to deal with my brother's death. At his funeral, a well-meaning uncle asked me to stop crying. He told me that it would upset my mother. I was ten years old. Who was I to question an adult? I stopped crying. I had never cried again. After a meeting, the director of Compassionate Friends told me, "David, I think you need to consider that the loss of your brother is more significant to you than all of these deaths." I did consider it and within days I learned that she was right. Grief has a way of eventually catching up with you. You either deal with the pain of grief or it will deal with you.
This morning it took no "life-disruption" to cause me "to delve beneath the surface." I only needed to read McCracken's words and listen to her music.
I publish these words with deep, deep appreciation for my friend who took me to Compassionate Friends. Maybe it's too dramatic to say "she saved my life", but not by very much. And as I sit here "in my right mind at the feet of Jesus" I feel profound gratitude for my wife, my son and all the people who tried to help me. And they did help me.
I,too, am of "the artistic personality type" and I certainly "have big feelings." There's nothing I can do about that. What I can do is, regardless of the loved ones I have lost, to channel those feelings into the living people I'm surrounded with every day. Living people get hurt. Living people suffer. Living people often accumulate pain. But living people are living. In Buddhism sentient beings are beings with consciousness. A sentient being knows that it is alive. "Sentience", in some contexts, is life itself(Wikipedia). Life is good. But it doesn't always feel that way.
McCracken says, "I live most days on the surface of things." And that's a good thing. Just like when we swim, that's the only place we are able to live. There is a powerful scene in the 1980 movie Ordinary People, a movie that earned Timothy Hutton an Academy Award in his first leading role as Conrad Jarrett. Conrad, in a life-or-death panic, sought out his counselor in the middle of the night. Conrad had just learned of the suicide of his friend Karen. And his survival guilt had reached a breaking point. Regarding his brother's drowning in the sailboat accident, his counselor asked him, "What did you do that was so wrong?" After a poignant pause, Conrad answered "I hung on." "Yes", he said, "You hung on."
Also in that scene Conrad's counselor told him, "Not all feelings feel good." Thankfully, not all feelings feel bad. Although there are very deep places below the surface, I don't live there. In spite of those losses and so many since then, I choose to live on the surface of things. That's the only place I can breathe.
"Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy lovingkindness, according to the multitude of Thy tender mercies." Psalm 51:1
If you've been following my story over the years, this story is nothing new. You've heard all this before. But this story resides just below the surface and gets kicked up from time to time. So here it is again.
When I read these words of Sandra McCracken this morning, she took me back twenty five years. Beginning in August of 1990 within a nine month period I experienced an unthinkable amount of personal loss and grief. My best childhood friend killed himself. One of my best friends and his fiance were murdered. Our neighbor's ten year old son accidentally hanged himself with his sister's jump rope. This kicked up the unresolved grief of the death of my little brother when he was eight days old and I was ten. A good friend's wife died with a brain tumor. And then within a few weeks of each other, both of my grandmothers and my great aunt died. You would think that at some point I would have reached a saturation point, that my soul and psyche couldn't feel any more pain. But that was not the case. With each subsequent death, the pain grew deeper and harder to process. There is no darkness like emotional darkness. I never tried to end my life, I just wanted my life to end.
The mother of my friend who was murdered invited me to a grief support group called Compassionate Friends. We all just shared our stories of loss and pain. Since it was a group for bereaved parents, I always prefaced my remarks with "I have not earned the right to be here. Your losses are so much greater than mine." The group always answered, "You are welcome here. Please share your story with us."
Looking back at that year with Compassionate Friends, I was right, I had no business being there. Losing a child is the ultimate loss and grief. No loss or combination of losses begins to approach it. But then, how do I measure the value of saving my own life? My parents would have lost me.
Sandra McCracken said, "Often it takes a painful life-disruption before we stop and reflect on what's beneath the surface of the life we have built...without being awake to our real fears or woundedness." In 1990 it took a "life-disruption" of epic proportions for me to deal with my brother's death. At his funeral, a well-meaning uncle asked me to stop crying. He told me that it would upset my mother. I was ten years old. Who was I to question an adult? I stopped crying. I had never cried again. After a meeting, the director of Compassionate Friends told me, "David, I think you need to consider that the loss of your brother is more significant to you than all of these deaths." I did consider it and within days I learned that she was right. Grief has a way of eventually catching up with you. You either deal with the pain of grief or it will deal with you.
This morning it took no "life-disruption" to cause me "to delve beneath the surface." I only needed to read McCracken's words and listen to her music.
I publish these words with deep, deep appreciation for my friend who took me to Compassionate Friends. Maybe it's too dramatic to say "she saved my life", but not by very much. And as I sit here "in my right mind at the feet of Jesus" I feel profound gratitude for my wife, my son and all the people who tried to help me. And they did help me.
I,too, am of "the artistic personality type" and I certainly "have big feelings." There's nothing I can do about that. What I can do is, regardless of the loved ones I have lost, to channel those feelings into the living people I'm surrounded with every day. Living people get hurt. Living people suffer. Living people often accumulate pain. But living people are living. In Buddhism sentient beings are beings with consciousness. A sentient being knows that it is alive. "Sentience", in some contexts, is life itself(Wikipedia). Life is good. But it doesn't always feel that way.
McCracken says, "I live most days on the surface of things." And that's a good thing. Just like when we swim, that's the only place we are able to live. There is a powerful scene in the 1980 movie Ordinary People, a movie that earned Timothy Hutton an Academy Award in his first leading role as Conrad Jarrett. Conrad, in a life-or-death panic, sought out his counselor in the middle of the night. Conrad had just learned of the suicide of his friend Karen. And his survival guilt had reached a breaking point. Regarding his brother's drowning in the sailboat accident, his counselor asked him, "What did you do that was so wrong?" After a poignant pause, Conrad answered "I hung on." "Yes", he said, "You hung on."
Also in that scene Conrad's counselor told him, "Not all feelings feel good." Thankfully, not all feelings feel bad. Although there are very deep places below the surface, I don't live there. In spite of those losses and so many since then, I choose to live on the surface of things. That's the only place I can breathe.
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