I know I'm the one who brought it up, but it would be very difficult for me to designate one particular Christmas as the bestest Christmas ever. I've experienced a lot of good Christmases. Also, I have to decide if I'm referring to "the Christmas season" or just what happens on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. "Christmas", as we all know, involves much more than December 24th and 25th. In some years we were not even able to be with family on those days and had our "Christmas" on some other day.
But for the purposes of this analysis, I am going to talk about the bestest December 24th and 25th ever.
5. There was the Christmas that we made a believer of our doubting son for one more year. Well at least he was smart enough to make us think he still believed the next year (Why don't most kids figure this out?) He had seen a basketball goal at Sears several weeks before Christmas. It was one of those goals for inside that had netting and returned the ball to the shooter each time. The set had a timer for contests of who got the most goals within a certain period of time. I was glad when he decided to ask Santa for it. I called and paid for one in advance. On Christmas Eve when I went to pick it up they had sold it. The only one they had left was the display. I had no choice but to take it. He helped me secure it in the bed of the truck and off I went. The problem was what to do with it at home. My neighbor let me put against their house on the far side from us. That night our son went to sleep with visions of sugar plums dancing in his head. During the night I managed to set up the goal in his room while he slept. Needless to say, the next morning he was thrilled to find his basketball set Later he said, "There is no way anybody but Santa Claus could have set that up." Way.
4.. Then there was the Christmas several years later in 1996 that we were having Christmas at my wife's family's home in Jasper, Alabama. It was over 70 degrees outside during the day on Christmas Eve and not much cooler that night. Sometime that evening my son and I decided to go to the movies. We went to see Mars Attacks. This Tim Burton classic redefines "cheesy sci-fi movies." We laughed ourselves silly and then left to go home. With the combined effect of the stupid movie and the very warm night, my son asked "Dad, is there anything about this that feels like Christmas Eve to you?" And I replied, "Nothing at all." And yet for both of us year by year we have such fond memories of that father-son ridiculous sci-fi outing on the eve of Jesus' birth. It has grown to be for us both one of our favorite Christmas memories. He reminded me yesterday that this is the 20th anniversary of that sacred event.
3. As a kid, there was the Johnny Seven Christmas. I'm pretty sure my great aunt was involved in this purchase. I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at my grandmother's house with my family, aunts, uncles and cousins. Christmas Eve was so much fun with home movies and the silent film The Night Before Christmas. So much good food and good times. Around 10pm, Santa rang a bell to tell us to go to bed. Yep, our Santa went to all the houses in the world twice in one night. No big deal for Santa Claus. Then Christmas morning was a winter wonderland for a kid. Too many good stories to recall and recount. But there was this one. The Johnny Seven OMA (One Man Action) was one of the best selling toys in 1964. It is now an expensive and highly sought after collector's item. Christmas of 1964 it was just an incredibly fun toy. I think it was one of my older cousins who actually got it for Christmas. But very quickly it really didn't matter. Its many features included seven different actions. One of them was a grenade launcher. Everyone took turns shooting the wonderful weapon, Then somebody got the idea of attaching a straight pin to the end of the grenade. And thankfully someone followed with the idea of introducing balloons to the game. I think even my grandmother was firing that gun before the morning was over. Balloon carcasses were everywhere (No, I can assure you that my grandmother wasn't firing that gun).
2. One of the bestest Christmases ever was not one Christmas but three consecutive Christmases. Something happened that I can't talk about. Something happened more good and more fun than I can say. Well I can't say . I don't think I've had as much fun before or since. We've talked about trying to recreate it, but we can't. It's in the annals of Christmas past. I'm smiling all over now thinking about it. We all agreed to never discuss it. Not because it was something so bad but because it was something so good for so many people. So that's all I'm going to say about it. But I can't recall the most meaningful Christmas ever without mentioning those Christmases..
1. 2016 is shaping up to be the bestest Christmas ever. It has the makings of an incredible experience. And it, of course, involves my son. A few weeks ago he called us and made a proposition. For several reasons we hesitated at first and then said, "What the heck? It's our family. And it's Christmas."
Between now and Christmas Day I hope that you, too, will recall some of the most memorable Christmases for you and your family. Even if this Christmas, for whatever reason, isn't shaping up to be your favorite, you always have your memories. And then again, maybe you just need to redefine what your favorite Christmas would consist of and see what happens. There's hope that this one can be more meaningful than you've imagined. And just for your information, I found the Johnny Seven on Ebay for $550.00. Ho Ho Ho!
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
The Perfect Light
"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. On those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned." Isaiah 9:2
I'm sure that somewhere in my seminary education I received some remarkable commentary on this Bible verse. I'm quite certain that the professor put the verse in accurate historical context during the time of the prophet Isaiah. Those class notes are long gone and that context is long forgotten. If you are familiar with this verse you might have read it in Matthew 4:16. "The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who live in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined." My professor, I'm quite sure, would have described what was going on in Isaiah's day before he discussed what was going on around Matthew's life. He would have pointed out that those words had significance in Isaiah's day apart from any significance in Jesus' day. Only after his discussion of Isaiah would he have explained the prophetic aspect of the verse related to Matthew's gospel regarding beginning of Jesus' ministry in Galilee.
Though written about 700 years apart with an entirely different historical context, what each quote has in common is that God's people were in bondage. Isaiah witnessed the Assyrian exile. Matthew witnessed the Roman oppression. In both cases the Jews were in despair and in desperate need of deliverance. "The people walked in darkness." They saw no great light.
Another context for the scripture came in 1741 when Charles Jennens included these words in the libretto he submitted to George Frideric Handel. Messiah was not received well initially, but within a few years the oratorio was performed successfully world-wide. It is now one of the most beloved and frequently performed oratorios in all of Western music. Because of Messiah and and its inclusion in many other Christmas productions, Isaiah 9:2 has become a very popular scripture passage at Christmas. And a very important one.
This is the second Christmas season that I have used these useful devices. I'm sure that they have been around for some time, but I was not familiar with them. When I plug the outside lights into them, I can set them for the decorations to come on at dusk and go off in whatever number of hours I dial in. It was never that much trouble to go outside and plug in some Christmas lights, but it's nice to plug them in once at the beginning of the season and let these magic devices do the rest.
Then it occurred to me. With these devices the absence of light turns on the lights. These devices react not to light, but to the lack of light. This is probably the same technology that turns on my headlights, but who knew it could turn on my Christmas decorations? Who knew that darkness creates light?
And so, of course, there's a metaphor. I thought "that's the way it's been since the beginning of time; the darkness creates the light". "Darkness was over the surface of the deep and God said,'Let there be light, and there was light.' " For me the most powerful yin/yang in existence is dark/light. You can't have one without the other. They mutually coexist. You'll see these interdependent dualities in the symbol itself. The yin/yang symbol is created with black and white "apostrophes" nestled together as a circle. But inside the black part is a white circle and inside the white part is a black circle. Not only do black and white coexist, but each contains the other. "The people walked in darkness." I doubt that Isaiah meant that all of the Israelites were stumbling around in the dark. He didn't mean that literally. He must have been referring to another kind of darkness, a darkness must deeper than physical darkness. But whether or not you're talking about physical darkness or mental and emotional agony, it always creates light. Go to the darkest, most remote place on earth where no artificial lights exist for hundreds of miles. Look up and you don't see darkness, you see light. Millions and millions of lights. And if's the other kind of darkness you're dealing with, even in the midst of despair, there's help. There's hope.
So finally the metaphor that I believe both Isaiah and Matthew intended. Bondage isn't the final word. The Messiah will come. The Messiah did come. The Light of the world is here. Years ago I read a science fiction book that was not a "Christian book"; it was just good science fiction. The plot, as you might expect, was on some far distant planet in some far distant star system. Two star travelers were discussing something that concerned them. They were in the cosmos and the concern was on a cosmic scale. One said to the other, "All that changed in Bethlehem."
One of the most beautiful images provided by the Christmas story is that of the natal star. "Star of wonder, star of night, star with royal beauty bright." It's not "the star of light", it's the "star of night." "Westward leading, still proceeding. Guide us to the perfect light."
A device that uses the dark to turn on Christmas lights. Now for a device that turns off the gas logs when I go to bed.
I'm sure that somewhere in my seminary education I received some remarkable commentary on this Bible verse. I'm quite certain that the professor put the verse in accurate historical context during the time of the prophet Isaiah. Those class notes are long gone and that context is long forgotten. If you are familiar with this verse you might have read it in Matthew 4:16. "The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who live in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined." My professor, I'm quite sure, would have described what was going on in Isaiah's day before he discussed what was going on around Matthew's life. He would have pointed out that those words had significance in Isaiah's day apart from any significance in Jesus' day. Only after his discussion of Isaiah would he have explained the prophetic aspect of the verse related to Matthew's gospel regarding beginning of Jesus' ministry in Galilee.
Though written about 700 years apart with an entirely different historical context, what each quote has in common is that God's people were in bondage. Isaiah witnessed the Assyrian exile. Matthew witnessed the Roman oppression. In both cases the Jews were in despair and in desperate need of deliverance. "The people walked in darkness." They saw no great light.
Another context for the scripture came in 1741 when Charles Jennens included these words in the libretto he submitted to George Frideric Handel. Messiah was not received well initially, but within a few years the oratorio was performed successfully world-wide. It is now one of the most beloved and frequently performed oratorios in all of Western music. Because of Messiah and and its inclusion in many other Christmas productions, Isaiah 9:2 has become a very popular scripture passage at Christmas. And a very important one.
This is the second Christmas season that I have used these useful devices. I'm sure that they have been around for some time, but I was not familiar with them. When I plug the outside lights into them, I can set them for the decorations to come on at dusk and go off in whatever number of hours I dial in. It was never that much trouble to go outside and plug in some Christmas lights, but it's nice to plug them in once at the beginning of the season and let these magic devices do the rest.
Then it occurred to me. With these devices the absence of light turns on the lights. These devices react not to light, but to the lack of light. This is probably the same technology that turns on my headlights, but who knew it could turn on my Christmas decorations? Who knew that darkness creates light?
And so, of course, there's a metaphor. I thought "that's the way it's been since the beginning of time; the darkness creates the light". "Darkness was over the surface of the deep and God said,'Let there be light, and there was light.' " For me the most powerful yin/yang in existence is dark/light. You can't have one without the other. They mutually coexist. You'll see these interdependent dualities in the symbol itself. The yin/yang symbol is created with black and white "apostrophes" nestled together as a circle. But inside the black part is a white circle and inside the white part is a black circle. Not only do black and white coexist, but each contains the other. "The people walked in darkness." I doubt that Isaiah meant that all of the Israelites were stumbling around in the dark. He didn't mean that literally. He must have been referring to another kind of darkness, a darkness must deeper than physical darkness. But whether or not you're talking about physical darkness or mental and emotional agony, it always creates light. Go to the darkest, most remote place on earth where no artificial lights exist for hundreds of miles. Look up and you don't see darkness, you see light. Millions and millions of lights. And if's the other kind of darkness you're dealing with, even in the midst of despair, there's help. There's hope.
So finally the metaphor that I believe both Isaiah and Matthew intended. Bondage isn't the final word. The Messiah will come. The Messiah did come. The Light of the world is here. Years ago I read a science fiction book that was not a "Christian book"; it was just good science fiction. The plot, as you might expect, was on some far distant planet in some far distant star system. Two star travelers were discussing something that concerned them. They were in the cosmos and the concern was on a cosmic scale. One said to the other, "All that changed in Bethlehem."
One of the most beautiful images provided by the Christmas story is that of the natal star. "Star of wonder, star of night, star with royal beauty bright." It's not "the star of light", it's the "star of night." "Westward leading, still proceeding. Guide us to the perfect light."
A device that uses the dark to turn on Christmas lights. Now for a device that turns off the gas logs when I go to bed.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
The Road to Christmas 2016
"To follow the meaning of the six directions as the ancients plotted them, you begin by drawing a circle around yourself. Then you stand in the center of the circle and face the direction in which the sun rises...The ancients called these directions 'powers' or 'spirits' and endowed them with symbols, ceremonies and names...'There is much power in the circle' said Black Elk". The Roaring of the Sacred River, Steven Foster and Meredith Little,1989
"Draw a circle of power around yourself and stand in that circle." Black Elk, holy man of the Lakota Sioux (1863-1950)
Christmas of 1982 was very difficult for me. In so many ways it was no more difficult than any other Christmas in music ministry, but that year in different ways and for different reasons I made things extremely wearisome for myself. Regarding the music performances at my church, I required much more of myself than my church required of me. I had inherited several choirs that had come with the job that I had accepted three years prior and I had created other ensembles. I personally directed all of them. During the Advent and Christmas season, besides individual performances of each of these musical ensembles, the church hosted the annual Hanging of the Greens the first Sunday night of Advent. This service of worship, which resulted in the church getting decorated for the season, also involved a performance by each of these choirs and ensembles. Between readings one by one these groups played and sang beautiful Christmas music.
If you're a football coach, you take a few days off after the final bowl game, but then you immediately begin preparation for the next season. Regardless of your final standings, your fans expect nothing less than a conference or national championship the next season. If you're a church musician, you take a few weeks off after Christmas and begin immediately thinking about Christmas the next year. 365 days comes around fairly quickly in music ministry. For the church musician, Christmas is the Super Bowl.
In the spring of 1982 I was in a Baptist Book Store in Chattanooga, Tennessee looking for Christmas music for my choirs. I ordered much of my Christmas music from catalogs, but I found a lot of it there. On this day instead of that being a challenge and opportunity, it was a dread and a loathing. As I looked through music instead of thinking about one choir at a time, they all were crowding in at once. And for each of them and all of them I thought about finding the music, ordering the music, filing the music, rehearsing the music, performing the music and then cleaning up after each performance. I thought of the Hanging of the Greens when each of the ensembles was expected to play and to sing. It all made me very tired. The burden became dread. The dread was creeping toward despair.
I found some music to buy and to order and walked to the checkout. There on a carousel on the aisle at the register were several cassette tapes including one that caught my eye. Although I was not and am not an alcoholic, this one was an AA support tape. I thought that if it could help an alcoholic, maybe it could help me. I pulled it out of the slot and included it with my purchase. I slid the tape in the cassette player of my car. As it turned out, the tape included nothing but spoken quotes. There was no explanation to the quotes, it was just words spoken by a narrator often followed by the author of the quote. Of the dozens of encouraging quotes on that tape, I remember only two. One of them was "On their death bed, you've never heard anyone say 'I wish I'd spent more time at the office' " The other was, "Draw a circle of power around yourself and stand in that circle." Black Elk.
It would be three more years until I took a youth group from another church to Farmington, New Mexico to a Navajo Indian Reservation. It would be several more years until my reading took me to anything and everything about the Lakota Sioux warrior and medicine man, Chief Black Elk. But even in that moment in 1982 in my hatchback Honda Accord, I knew that those words meant something; they meant something for me. Until I got professional help ten years later with my emotional issues, there were events along the way that saved me. Those events included those words by Black Elk. His words mattered to me then and grew in significance over the ensuing years.
As Christmas approached in 1982 my stress had reached a breaking point. My "circle of power" had been breached and I was in full survival mode. One Saturday morning in early November I took myself and my cup of coffee to our unfinished basement. I was sitting on the concrete slab with my feet out the back door considering the relative meaninglessness of my existence. I had recently learned of the existence of black holes and I felt that I had slipped beyond he event horizon. In that state of despair, my little boy came up behind me unannounced, sat down beside me, put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me close and said, "Daddy, Jesus loves you and He'll take you to Christmas."
All the music was beautiful. The Hanging of the Greens was deeply meaningful to many people and all of the programs and cantatas were excellent. They not only exceeded the expectations of my congregation, but they met my expectations of myself. I had had nothing to dread or to fear. Christmas music 1982 was in the books.
Until I retired from church music a year ago, I had to learn the lessons of Christmas of 1982 again and again, But in 1982 I had reached a turning point. I had begun to understand that Christmas has its own power, its own will to be. It's not hard for the Tennessee River to power the TVA dam near here; it just flows downhill. It's not hard for those turbines to generate electricity, they simply give themselves to mighty forces of the river. It's not hard for the current to find its way to my home, it just moves through the wires with the speed of light. It's not hard for me to make the Christmas tree shine; I just plug it in. It's not hard for Christmas to come; I just jump in. Christmas is effortless. Christmas takes care of itself. The Jesus of Bethlehem of Judea will take me to Christmas. He didn't do anything to create Christmas; He just showed up.
For the American Indian's "circle of power" to have any meaning for you, you have to do two things. 1. You must define your "circle of power". And 2. You must learn how to stand in it. That's all.
My son, now thirty-five years old, called me from California yesterday to tell me some exciting news. He's always excited about something, but he couldn't wait to tell me how a trip that he and his wife are planning has "gone from good to epic." After he told me what they're planning to do, it did sound "epic." One of the synonyms of "epic" is "monumental". One of the definitions of "monumental" is "serving as a monument." I should erect a monument in Rossville, Georgia. The inscription will read. "Here in Christmas of 1982, God's Son and his own son took David Helms to Christmas."
During my years as a music director in Southern Baptist churches, we concluded nearly every regular service of worship with an invitation. This invitation was accompanied by soul-stirring music and promptings by the pastor. The invitation was to come profess your faith in Christ or to move your membership to that church. So now I offer an invitation. I'll provide the words; you provide the music. For your heart to be full of Jesus this Christmas, it must be empty of everything else. For your circle of power to include you, it must be empty of everything else. You only have one Christmas of 2016. For it to be full of love, joy and peace it must be empty of everything else. Make room for love. Make room for joy. Make room for peace. You make the room; the love, joy and peace will take care of themselves. "Jesus loves you; He'll take you to Christmas." "Oh come to my heart Lord Jesus, there's room in my heart for you."
"Draw a circle of power around yourself and stand in that circle." Black Elk, holy man of the Lakota Sioux (1863-1950)
Christmas of 1982 was very difficult for me. In so many ways it was no more difficult than any other Christmas in music ministry, but that year in different ways and for different reasons I made things extremely wearisome for myself. Regarding the music performances at my church, I required much more of myself than my church required of me. I had inherited several choirs that had come with the job that I had accepted three years prior and I had created other ensembles. I personally directed all of them. During the Advent and Christmas season, besides individual performances of each of these musical ensembles, the church hosted the annual Hanging of the Greens the first Sunday night of Advent. This service of worship, which resulted in the church getting decorated for the season, also involved a performance by each of these choirs and ensembles. Between readings one by one these groups played and sang beautiful Christmas music.
If you're a football coach, you take a few days off after the final bowl game, but then you immediately begin preparation for the next season. Regardless of your final standings, your fans expect nothing less than a conference or national championship the next season. If you're a church musician, you take a few weeks off after Christmas and begin immediately thinking about Christmas the next year. 365 days comes around fairly quickly in music ministry. For the church musician, Christmas is the Super Bowl.
In the spring of 1982 I was in a Baptist Book Store in Chattanooga, Tennessee looking for Christmas music for my choirs. I ordered much of my Christmas music from catalogs, but I found a lot of it there. On this day instead of that being a challenge and opportunity, it was a dread and a loathing. As I looked through music instead of thinking about one choir at a time, they all were crowding in at once. And for each of them and all of them I thought about finding the music, ordering the music, filing the music, rehearsing the music, performing the music and then cleaning up after each performance. I thought of the Hanging of the Greens when each of the ensembles was expected to play and to sing. It all made me very tired. The burden became dread. The dread was creeping toward despair.
I found some music to buy and to order and walked to the checkout. There on a carousel on the aisle at the register were several cassette tapes including one that caught my eye. Although I was not and am not an alcoholic, this one was an AA support tape. I thought that if it could help an alcoholic, maybe it could help me. I pulled it out of the slot and included it with my purchase. I slid the tape in the cassette player of my car. As it turned out, the tape included nothing but spoken quotes. There was no explanation to the quotes, it was just words spoken by a narrator often followed by the author of the quote. Of the dozens of encouraging quotes on that tape, I remember only two. One of them was "On their death bed, you've never heard anyone say 'I wish I'd spent more time at the office' " The other was, "Draw a circle of power around yourself and stand in that circle." Black Elk.
It would be three more years until I took a youth group from another church to Farmington, New Mexico to a Navajo Indian Reservation. It would be several more years until my reading took me to anything and everything about the Lakota Sioux warrior and medicine man, Chief Black Elk. But even in that moment in 1982 in my hatchback Honda Accord, I knew that those words meant something; they meant something for me. Until I got professional help ten years later with my emotional issues, there were events along the way that saved me. Those events included those words by Black Elk. His words mattered to me then and grew in significance over the ensuing years.
As Christmas approached in 1982 my stress had reached a breaking point. My "circle of power" had been breached and I was in full survival mode. One Saturday morning in early November I took myself and my cup of coffee to our unfinished basement. I was sitting on the concrete slab with my feet out the back door considering the relative meaninglessness of my existence. I had recently learned of the existence of black holes and I felt that I had slipped beyond he event horizon. In that state of despair, my little boy came up behind me unannounced, sat down beside me, put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me close and said, "Daddy, Jesus loves you and He'll take you to Christmas."
All the music was beautiful. The Hanging of the Greens was deeply meaningful to many people and all of the programs and cantatas were excellent. They not only exceeded the expectations of my congregation, but they met my expectations of myself. I had had nothing to dread or to fear. Christmas music 1982 was in the books.
Until I retired from church music a year ago, I had to learn the lessons of Christmas of 1982 again and again, But in 1982 I had reached a turning point. I had begun to understand that Christmas has its own power, its own will to be. It's not hard for the Tennessee River to power the TVA dam near here; it just flows downhill. It's not hard for those turbines to generate electricity, they simply give themselves to mighty forces of the river. It's not hard for the current to find its way to my home, it just moves through the wires with the speed of light. It's not hard for me to make the Christmas tree shine; I just plug it in. It's not hard for Christmas to come; I just jump in. Christmas is effortless. Christmas takes care of itself. The Jesus of Bethlehem of Judea will take me to Christmas. He didn't do anything to create Christmas; He just showed up.
For the American Indian's "circle of power" to have any meaning for you, you have to do two things. 1. You must define your "circle of power". And 2. You must learn how to stand in it. That's all.
My son, now thirty-five years old, called me from California yesterday to tell me some exciting news. He's always excited about something, but he couldn't wait to tell me how a trip that he and his wife are planning has "gone from good to epic." After he told me what they're planning to do, it did sound "epic." One of the synonyms of "epic" is "monumental". One of the definitions of "monumental" is "serving as a monument." I should erect a monument in Rossville, Georgia. The inscription will read. "Here in Christmas of 1982, God's Son and his own son took David Helms to Christmas."
During my years as a music director in Southern Baptist churches, we concluded nearly every regular service of worship with an invitation. This invitation was accompanied by soul-stirring music and promptings by the pastor. The invitation was to come profess your faith in Christ or to move your membership to that church. So now I offer an invitation. I'll provide the words; you provide the music. For your heart to be full of Jesus this Christmas, it must be empty of everything else. For your circle of power to include you, it must be empty of everything else. You only have one Christmas of 2016. For it to be full of love, joy and peace it must be empty of everything else. Make room for love. Make room for joy. Make room for peace. You make the room; the love, joy and peace will take care of themselves. "Jesus loves you; He'll take you to Christmas." "Oh come to my heart Lord Jesus, there's room in my heart for you."
Friday, November 25, 2016
The Iron Bowl
My father grew up on a farm in Enterprise, Alabama with his brother and his parents. Except for his college and army days he never lived very far from that farm.
My father was a very complex human being. He was intellectually gifted. He had many different talents that he employed for his business use and personal satisfaction. His two most enjoyable past times were golfing and fishing. When he started golfing he only had two clubs, a seven iron and a putter. He played quite a few rounds with only those two clubs. It vexed my uncles and cousins that although their college team often beat his college team and they bested him in other ways, they never beat him at golf. Not once. His fishing took him most often to his father's pond, "Pop's Pond", but he spent countless hours on the bays, inlets and rivers of Florida. But he did so many other things than golf and fish. He loved carving animals from Ivory soap and balsa wood. As a visual artist he created beautiful paintings with oil and acrylic and drew with pencils and charcoal. Sometimes on his way home from a a job he would pull to the side of the road to sketch a scene he liked. He was a good musician and sang bass in his church choir. With Helms Construction, his own company, he poured and finished concrete all over Alabama. His crew poured head walls, curb and gutter, flumes, sidewalks and more. If he couldn't find a machine or a tool to do what he needed, he just invented it. He drew it up on graph paper with his ruler, compass, protractor, and slide rule. Then he took that blueprint to a machine shop where they brought it to life. In my three summers with Helms Construction I used some of these machines myself. And they worked! He was well-liked by his crew and earned the respect of vendors and county inspectors alike.
My father, for all of his brilliance, ability and wit , like all of us, made some very poor choices. Those choices drastically affected my family and they affected me.One of the worst choices he made was the decision to start smoking cigarettes when he was a teenager in the army at the end of World War II. He smoked morning, noon and night until he couldn't in the hospital before he died. Dad died of lung cancer at the very young age of 69. Except for cancer he was as strong as an ox and as sharp as a tack. Although the warnings were on the packs years before he died, he never apologized for smoking or felt any guilty about it; He enjoyed every cigarette he ever smoked.. The only good thing about going that way is that it gave us about a year and a half to tell him goodbye. When we knew that we were counting them down, those fishing and golfing excursions with my brother and my dad took on an immeasurable significance. That was the only good thing. The worst part was how much pain he was in toward the end. Lung cancer is a horrible way to watch your father die. From my childhood, he always called me by his nickname for me unless he was upset with me. Then he called me "son".His last words to me were "You're a good nurse Crockett."
My father was curious about everything and fascinated with things. He paid close attention and noticed things. Whereas I have no sense of direction, he traveled without a map or a compass and I never remember getting lost. We took the scenic route a few times, but we never got lost. I remember once on a trip home from a job in Eufaula, my brother was driving and he was in the backseat. He pulled his cap down over his eyes and challenged us with, "Anywhere along the road ask me what you're seeing and I'll tell you". With no prompting that we were at any particular location, for ninety miles he described in detail any house or farm that we asked him to describe.
My father graduated with a degree in Agricultural Engineering from the Alabama Polytechnic Institute. We know this college as Auburn University. His brother was a graduate of the same institution. They both were passionate about Auburn football. Back in the day we listened to Auburn games on the radio but Dad and my uncle took us to a few games too. Besides the games at Auburn, they took us to the 1971 Gator Bowl when the Ole Miss quarterback, Archie Manning, was playing with his arm in a cast. Auburn beat them 35-28.
Dad watched very few games on television. He said that he had rather go golfing or fishing and learn of the score later. But he always knew who won. As far as I know, he never listened to or watched The Iron Bowl. He said it was too stressful. On one of those last fishing trips on West Bay, Florida, I asked him why he never got tired of it. He cast his line in the water, slowly lit his Salem and took a couple of drags, propped up his feet, looked around at the beauty of the day, turned his head toward me and with a wry smile and asked, "Crockett, what's there to get tired of?"
Tomorrow I plan to watch the Iron Bowl. Will it be stressful? Every snap. The blowouts have seldom been engineered by my team. Will Auburn win? The pollsters tell me not to get my hopes up. But I can take you to the place on Highway 231 between Montgomery and Troy when on December 2, 1972 Bill Newton blocked that second punt and David Langner ran it in for a touchdown. I can still hear my mother and my aunt screaming, not about the touchdown, but for me to put my hands back on the steering wheel. Auburn won. And 17 to 16 is forever burned into the annals of Iron Bowl history. And I can show you where I sat in my den when on November 30th 2013 Chris Davis ran that missed field goal back 100 yards with no time on the clock to a stunning Auburn victory. So anything is possible with the Iron Bowl.
That farm in Enterprise still belongs to my family. We don't farm it, but we own it. I find some measure of comfort in the fact that no matter who wins the Auburn/Alabama football game tomorrow, my name will still be on the deed. The value and history will not be diminished. Will my father be watching the game? Does he agree that something could be more important than the Iron Bowl? I've read that there's a River of Life, so I'm pretty sure he'll be fishing.
My father was a very complex human being. He was intellectually gifted. He had many different talents that he employed for his business use and personal satisfaction. His two most enjoyable past times were golfing and fishing. When he started golfing he only had two clubs, a seven iron and a putter. He played quite a few rounds with only those two clubs. It vexed my uncles and cousins that although their college team often beat his college team and they bested him in other ways, they never beat him at golf. Not once. His fishing took him most often to his father's pond, "Pop's Pond", but he spent countless hours on the bays, inlets and rivers of Florida. But he did so many other things than golf and fish. He loved carving animals from Ivory soap and balsa wood. As a visual artist he created beautiful paintings with oil and acrylic and drew with pencils and charcoal. Sometimes on his way home from a a job he would pull to the side of the road to sketch a scene he liked. He was a good musician and sang bass in his church choir. With Helms Construction, his own company, he poured and finished concrete all over Alabama. His crew poured head walls, curb and gutter, flumes, sidewalks and more. If he couldn't find a machine or a tool to do what he needed, he just invented it. He drew it up on graph paper with his ruler, compass, protractor, and slide rule. Then he took that blueprint to a machine shop where they brought it to life. In my three summers with Helms Construction I used some of these machines myself. And they worked! He was well-liked by his crew and earned the respect of vendors and county inspectors alike.
My father, for all of his brilliance, ability and wit , like all of us, made some very poor choices. Those choices drastically affected my family and they affected me.One of the worst choices he made was the decision to start smoking cigarettes when he was a teenager in the army at the end of World War II. He smoked morning, noon and night until he couldn't in the hospital before he died. Dad died of lung cancer at the very young age of 69. Except for cancer he was as strong as an ox and as sharp as a tack. Although the warnings were on the packs years before he died, he never apologized for smoking or felt any guilty about it; He enjoyed every cigarette he ever smoked.. The only good thing about going that way is that it gave us about a year and a half to tell him goodbye. When we knew that we were counting them down, those fishing and golfing excursions with my brother and my dad took on an immeasurable significance. That was the only good thing. The worst part was how much pain he was in toward the end. Lung cancer is a horrible way to watch your father die. From my childhood, he always called me by his nickname for me unless he was upset with me. Then he called me "son".His last words to me were "You're a good nurse Crockett."
My father was curious about everything and fascinated with things. He paid close attention and noticed things. Whereas I have no sense of direction, he traveled without a map or a compass and I never remember getting lost. We took the scenic route a few times, but we never got lost. I remember once on a trip home from a job in Eufaula, my brother was driving and he was in the backseat. He pulled his cap down over his eyes and challenged us with, "Anywhere along the road ask me what you're seeing and I'll tell you". With no prompting that we were at any particular location, for ninety miles he described in detail any house or farm that we asked him to describe.
My father graduated with a degree in Agricultural Engineering from the Alabama Polytechnic Institute. We know this college as Auburn University. His brother was a graduate of the same institution. They both were passionate about Auburn football. Back in the day we listened to Auburn games on the radio but Dad and my uncle took us to a few games too. Besides the games at Auburn, they took us to the 1971 Gator Bowl when the Ole Miss quarterback, Archie Manning, was playing with his arm in a cast. Auburn beat them 35-28.
Dad watched very few games on television. He said that he had rather go golfing or fishing and learn of the score later. But he always knew who won. As far as I know, he never listened to or watched The Iron Bowl. He said it was too stressful. On one of those last fishing trips on West Bay, Florida, I asked him why he never got tired of it. He cast his line in the water, slowly lit his Salem and took a couple of drags, propped up his feet, looked around at the beauty of the day, turned his head toward me and with a wry smile and asked, "Crockett, what's there to get tired of?"
Tomorrow I plan to watch the Iron Bowl. Will it be stressful? Every snap. The blowouts have seldom been engineered by my team. Will Auburn win? The pollsters tell me not to get my hopes up. But I can take you to the place on Highway 231 between Montgomery and Troy when on December 2, 1972 Bill Newton blocked that second punt and David Langner ran it in for a touchdown. I can still hear my mother and my aunt screaming, not about the touchdown, but for me to put my hands back on the steering wheel. Auburn won. And 17 to 16 is forever burned into the annals of Iron Bowl history. And I can show you where I sat in my den when on November 30th 2013 Chris Davis ran that missed field goal back 100 yards with no time on the clock to a stunning Auburn victory. So anything is possible with the Iron Bowl.
That farm in Enterprise still belongs to my family. We don't farm it, but we own it. I find some measure of comfort in the fact that no matter who wins the Auburn/Alabama football game tomorrow, my name will still be on the deed. The value and history will not be diminished. Will my father be watching the game? Does he agree that something could be more important than the Iron Bowl? I've read that there's a River of Life, so I'm pretty sure he'll be fishing.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
If the Fates Allow
"Through the years we'll all be together, if the fates allow." Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane, 1944
No matter who you are, where you are or what you're planning for Christmas this year, I can assure you that the fates will not allow you to "all be together" through the years.
I'm watching an incredibly good TV series called This is Us. From what I've read, I am not the only person enjoying this series. I don't watch much TV. I watch football games and I watch movies on Netflix and that's about it. Several weeks ago my wife, who had watched through episode six said, "You've got to watch this. You would love it more than you loved Parenthood." Although I couldn't imagine loving any TV more than Parenthood I told her that I would watch the first episode.
I watched the first episode, then the second, then the third, then the fourth, then the fifth, then the sixth and I couldn't wait for the next episode. I watched that one last night. One of the characters is a man in his 70s. He has a child and grandchildren who are significant characters in the story. This man is dying of cancer. On Thanksgiving day he was sitting on the front porch with a guest of the family when she asked, "What does it feel like to be dying?" He briefly searched her face and said something like, "It's like when I look at my grandchildren I see things flying around their heads. They're just spinning and flying around their heads and I try to catch them. I reach out and try to catch them and hold them. But more and more things are flying and I realize that I can't catch them all. There is too much to catch." He then looked at her, a young woman, and said, "You think you have a lot of time, but you don't."
Growing up we were "all together" at my grandmother's house for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We all spent the night there together. My parents, my siblings, my grandmother, my aunts and uncles, my cousins. There were about twenty of us. We were "all together". I thought we'd "all be together" forever. But I was wrong. About ten of that group are gone. I don't mean gone to California. I mean gone for good. I keep in touch with a few of those who remain but not very many, and not very often. And my grandmother's house hasn't been in the family for several years.
Although "Fate" is bathed in ancient mythology, the definition most of us have accepted is "the development of events beyond a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power." And then the first synonym of "fate" is "destiny". That definition is "the events that will necessarily happen to a particular person or thing in the future." So taken together it looks like there's not much we can do about fate and destiny. Fate and destiny will find us and we will eventually go where they take us.
"Not so fast my friend," as Lee Corso proclaims on College Game Day. I think we have more influence on fate than fate has on us. We make decisions every day that impact not only that particular day but the rest of our lives. We shape our destiny by the choices we make. Our destiny does not shape us. Destiny may be "the events that necessarily happen" but they don't happen unless we point destiny in the right direction.
"If the fates allow." Now we're back to that mythology thing. The three goddesses, the Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos assigned to every being eternal laws that took their course without obstruction. But even they would have to concede that they could not deem that "through the years we'll all be together." That is something that the Fates could not and cannot allow. I mean, are the Fates even still together? I haven't heard from any of them in years.
Which brings us to Christmas 2016. Christmas will find you somewhere with certain people. They may be people you want to be with or people you have to be with or a combination of both, but you will be with these people. Where ever you are and whoever you are with you need to look around and realize that you will not always be together. The Fates cannot allow this. You need to grab as many of those things flying around their heads and hold onto them for dear life. For they are dear life.
I think that Dan Fogelman, the creator of This is Us, is a genius. The story includes a time warp where the drama goes back and forth in time. This is not in a funny "Back to the Future" sort of way. It tells the story of what was happening then and then the story of what is happening now to those same people. When we're watching what was happening then we know all too well that they will not "all be together." We want to tell them, but we can't. In the play Our Town, Emily wants to tell them, but she can't. Scrooge is trying to tell us, but he can't. But what's it going to take for us to figure it out?
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is an invitation. It is inviting us to refuse to let our obligations and frustrations define our celebrations. Sure we have troubles, but for now they're miles away . It's inviting us to let those memories of Christmas past blend in with the beauty of Christmas present. Sure we miss those people and places that are gone. But they're all trying to tell us, "Stop brooding about us. What we had together was special, but what you have now is more special than that. Embrace all of those people. You won't always be together, but you are now."
"So hang a shining star upon the highest bough and have yourself a merry little Christmas now."
No matter who you are, where you are or what you're planning for Christmas this year, I can assure you that the fates will not allow you to "all be together" through the years.
I'm watching an incredibly good TV series called This is Us. From what I've read, I am not the only person enjoying this series. I don't watch much TV. I watch football games and I watch movies on Netflix and that's about it. Several weeks ago my wife, who had watched through episode six said, "You've got to watch this. You would love it more than you loved Parenthood." Although I couldn't imagine loving any TV more than Parenthood I told her that I would watch the first episode.
I watched the first episode, then the second, then the third, then the fourth, then the fifth, then the sixth and I couldn't wait for the next episode. I watched that one last night. One of the characters is a man in his 70s. He has a child and grandchildren who are significant characters in the story. This man is dying of cancer. On Thanksgiving day he was sitting on the front porch with a guest of the family when she asked, "What does it feel like to be dying?" He briefly searched her face and said something like, "It's like when I look at my grandchildren I see things flying around their heads. They're just spinning and flying around their heads and I try to catch them. I reach out and try to catch them and hold them. But more and more things are flying and I realize that I can't catch them all. There is too much to catch." He then looked at her, a young woman, and said, "You think you have a lot of time, but you don't."
Growing up we were "all together" at my grandmother's house for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We all spent the night there together. My parents, my siblings, my grandmother, my aunts and uncles, my cousins. There were about twenty of us. We were "all together". I thought we'd "all be together" forever. But I was wrong. About ten of that group are gone. I don't mean gone to California. I mean gone for good. I keep in touch with a few of those who remain but not very many, and not very often. And my grandmother's house hasn't been in the family for several years.
Although "Fate" is bathed in ancient mythology, the definition most of us have accepted is "the development of events beyond a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power." And then the first synonym of "fate" is "destiny". That definition is "the events that will necessarily happen to a particular person or thing in the future." So taken together it looks like there's not much we can do about fate and destiny. Fate and destiny will find us and we will eventually go where they take us.
"Not so fast my friend," as Lee Corso proclaims on College Game Day. I think we have more influence on fate than fate has on us. We make decisions every day that impact not only that particular day but the rest of our lives. We shape our destiny by the choices we make. Our destiny does not shape us. Destiny may be "the events that necessarily happen" but they don't happen unless we point destiny in the right direction.
"If the fates allow." Now we're back to that mythology thing. The three goddesses, the Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos assigned to every being eternal laws that took their course without obstruction. But even they would have to concede that they could not deem that "through the years we'll all be together." That is something that the Fates could not and cannot allow. I mean, are the Fates even still together? I haven't heard from any of them in years.
Which brings us to Christmas 2016. Christmas will find you somewhere with certain people. They may be people you want to be with or people you have to be with or a combination of both, but you will be with these people. Where ever you are and whoever you are with you need to look around and realize that you will not always be together. The Fates cannot allow this. You need to grab as many of those things flying around their heads and hold onto them for dear life. For they are dear life.
I think that Dan Fogelman, the creator of This is Us, is a genius. The story includes a time warp where the drama goes back and forth in time. This is not in a funny "Back to the Future" sort of way. It tells the story of what was happening then and then the story of what is happening now to those same people. When we're watching what was happening then we know all too well that they will not "all be together." We want to tell them, but we can't. In the play Our Town, Emily wants to tell them, but she can't. Scrooge is trying to tell us, but he can't. But what's it going to take for us to figure it out?
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is an invitation. It is inviting us to refuse to let our obligations and frustrations define our celebrations. Sure we have troubles, but for now they're miles away . It's inviting us to let those memories of Christmas past blend in with the beauty of Christmas present. Sure we miss those people and places that are gone. But they're all trying to tell us, "Stop brooding about us. What we had together was special, but what you have now is more special than that. Embrace all of those people. You won't always be together, but you are now."
"So hang a shining star upon the highest bough and have yourself a merry little Christmas now."
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
A Beautiful Dream (Part 2)
My wife had been trying to lure me into a nail salon for several years. I told her over and over that I was not going to be the only male in a nail salon, sitting in a chair to pay someone to cut my toenails. Although she had described several times in vivid detail all the delights of a pedicure, I remained resolute in my conviction. The Saturday before Easter about seven years ago she called from her salon and said, "I'm the only one in here. Now would be a great time for you to come." I relented and drove to the salon. By the time I arrived so had another female patron, but I was committed. After that marvelous experience she never had to cajole me again to get a pedicure and a manicure. More often than not, I'm the one to suggest we go.
My wife was working yesterday. I had some time on my hands so I drove up the road to a local nail salon. The technician was someone I had used before. Since she speaks very little English very few words had ever passed between us. Today we talked very little during the pedicure. During the manicure since we were face to face, she asked me if I was already off for Thanksgiving. And that started our feeble, yet somewhat successful attempt, at polite conversation. In those few minutes I learned that she has been in the states less than a year. She explained that "her country" is very hot and here it's very cold. Although the temperature had only dropped into the 40s, she said "It's very cold." I kidded that she should move to Florida. I could tell she didn't understand me, but she laughed politely. I also learned that the only family she has here is her husband and that they have been married ten years and that they have two boys. I asked her who kept her boys and she said, "My husband."
Although she and I had much trouble understanding each other, she had no trouble understanding the other technician. I find the Vietnamese language to be one of the most beautiful languages in the world. I so enjoy the rising and falling of the sustained cadence of musical sounds. It's hard to imagine that all those sounds that sound alike to me form actual words that have meaning like English words have meaning to me. But if the way they talked and laughed was any indication, the words meant quite a lot to them. I'm sure they sounded like home.
Since I had just then finished reading The Earth is Weeping about the American Indian wars and the cruelty of humans toward each other was fresh on my mind, I couldn't help but be a little sad thinking that just a generation ago the Vietnam War was scorching her homeland with napalm and killing its citizens. Over 50,000 American soldiers lost their lives in Southeast Asia. It is estimated that over 3 million Vietnamese, Laotians and Cambodians were killed during the twenty year conflict. We called it the Vietnam War. They called it the American War. Our infantry and Huey pilots fought bravely, but Saigon fell and the war was lost. Because of my technician's Western features, it is not unreasonable to imagine that her father was one of our GIs.
Because of some rumors of trouble, on the evening of December 28, 1890 on the Pine Ridge Reservation, South Dakota, members of the 7th Cavalry surrounded a peaceful settlement of Lakota Sioux Indians near the Wounded Knee Creek. Snow was falling and the temperature was well below zero. What happened the next morning went down in history as The Wounded Knee Massacre. There are many accounts of what exactly happened and who started the skirmish. Most accounts agree that three cavalry sergeants were trying to forcibly remove a rifle from an old deaf Indian who had been waving it over his head when the gun accidentally discharged. Bedlam ensued. As the melee cleared, the skirmish became more organized. The Indians had a few weapons that had not been recently confiscated.The soldiers were well-armed including four Hotchkiss mountain guns capable of firing sixty-eight rounds per minute at an accuracy of 2,000 feet. That's one bullet per second. As the battle ensued the Indians were outflanked and outgunned. After the shooting stopped and the soldiers halted their relentless pursuit several hours later, and the smoke cleared from the barrels of the Hotchkiss cannons, over 300 Lakota Sioux lay dead. Their bodies and blood were frozen in grotesque shapes where they fell in the frigid snow. Blood red took on a literal meaning against the white of new-fallen snow. Over half of those killed were women and children whose bodies were mangled from the machine gun fire and the butt of rifles to their heads. The wounded were taken to a nearby Episcopal Chapel of the Holy Cross. The chapel was decorated with festive green garlands. The wounded lay under a banner that read, "Peace on Earth. Goodwill to Men."
Nelson A. Miles was a decorated Union lieutenant during the American Civil War and was now a major General. He was well-liked by the Lakota on the Pine Ridge Reservation. Although he was nearby, he was not directly involved in the debacle at Wounded Knee. Two days after the event he wrote to his wife "This was the most abominable criminal blunder imaginable and a horrible massacre of women and children."
A few days after the massacre Chief Kicking Bear dismounted, walked toward General Miles clutching his rifle. The two stared at each other a few seconds and Kicking Bear laid his weapon at Mile's feet. The Indian wars for the American West were over.
But wars weren't over. During or after the Indian wars the United States fought in the The French and Indian War, the War of 1812, the Civil War and the Spanish American War. Albert Einstein said, "As long as there are men, there will be war."
For whatever reason Vietnamese nail technicians are constantly wanting to apply clear coat to my nails near the end of the wonderful process. I always say "no thanks." Today she didn't ask. She started applying "clear" to my toes before I could say anything. Turns out you really can't see it and maybe it will provide a little protection for my nails for the winter. I can't imagine what it feels like to be so far away from home experiencing winter and the American holidays for the first time. I'm grateful that she has her husband, her two sons and I'm sure a community of friends. Although we don't entirely understand each other, it gives me great hope that if we try we will learn that we are not that much different. We both need and want basically the same things. We especially need our tribe no matter how small that tribe has become. We need a common language and a culture that we are familiar with. Although strife between tribes and nations seems inevitable, it becomes much harder to go to war against a friend. Maybe "Peace on Earth. Goodwill to men", though remote, is still not impossible. Meanwhile, "peace on earth" can only happen when we have peace in our own hearts and when we have "goodwill to men." And when she asks "clear"? Just go with it.
My wife was working yesterday. I had some time on my hands so I drove up the road to a local nail salon. The technician was someone I had used before. Since she speaks very little English very few words had ever passed between us. Today we talked very little during the pedicure. During the manicure since we were face to face, she asked me if I was already off for Thanksgiving. And that started our feeble, yet somewhat successful attempt, at polite conversation. In those few minutes I learned that she has been in the states less than a year. She explained that "her country" is very hot and here it's very cold. Although the temperature had only dropped into the 40s, she said "It's very cold." I kidded that she should move to Florida. I could tell she didn't understand me, but she laughed politely. I also learned that the only family she has here is her husband and that they have been married ten years and that they have two boys. I asked her who kept her boys and she said, "My husband."
Although she and I had much trouble understanding each other, she had no trouble understanding the other technician. I find the Vietnamese language to be one of the most beautiful languages in the world. I so enjoy the rising and falling of the sustained cadence of musical sounds. It's hard to imagine that all those sounds that sound alike to me form actual words that have meaning like English words have meaning to me. But if the way they talked and laughed was any indication, the words meant quite a lot to them. I'm sure they sounded like home.
Since I had just then finished reading The Earth is Weeping about the American Indian wars and the cruelty of humans toward each other was fresh on my mind, I couldn't help but be a little sad thinking that just a generation ago the Vietnam War was scorching her homeland with napalm and killing its citizens. Over 50,000 American soldiers lost their lives in Southeast Asia. It is estimated that over 3 million Vietnamese, Laotians and Cambodians were killed during the twenty year conflict. We called it the Vietnam War. They called it the American War. Our infantry and Huey pilots fought bravely, but Saigon fell and the war was lost. Because of my technician's Western features, it is not unreasonable to imagine that her father was one of our GIs.
Because of some rumors of trouble, on the evening of December 28, 1890 on the Pine Ridge Reservation, South Dakota, members of the 7th Cavalry surrounded a peaceful settlement of Lakota Sioux Indians near the Wounded Knee Creek. Snow was falling and the temperature was well below zero. What happened the next morning went down in history as The Wounded Knee Massacre. There are many accounts of what exactly happened and who started the skirmish. Most accounts agree that three cavalry sergeants were trying to forcibly remove a rifle from an old deaf Indian who had been waving it over his head when the gun accidentally discharged. Bedlam ensued. As the melee cleared, the skirmish became more organized. The Indians had a few weapons that had not been recently confiscated.The soldiers were well-armed including four Hotchkiss mountain guns capable of firing sixty-eight rounds per minute at an accuracy of 2,000 feet. That's one bullet per second. As the battle ensued the Indians were outflanked and outgunned. After the shooting stopped and the soldiers halted their relentless pursuit several hours later, and the smoke cleared from the barrels of the Hotchkiss cannons, over 300 Lakota Sioux lay dead. Their bodies and blood were frozen in grotesque shapes where they fell in the frigid snow. Blood red took on a literal meaning against the white of new-fallen snow. Over half of those killed were women and children whose bodies were mangled from the machine gun fire and the butt of rifles to their heads. The wounded were taken to a nearby Episcopal Chapel of the Holy Cross. The chapel was decorated with festive green garlands. The wounded lay under a banner that read, "Peace on Earth. Goodwill to Men."
Nelson A. Miles was a decorated Union lieutenant during the American Civil War and was now a major General. He was well-liked by the Lakota on the Pine Ridge Reservation. Although he was nearby, he was not directly involved in the debacle at Wounded Knee. Two days after the event he wrote to his wife "This was the most abominable criminal blunder imaginable and a horrible massacre of women and children."
A few days after the massacre Chief Kicking Bear dismounted, walked toward General Miles clutching his rifle. The two stared at each other a few seconds and Kicking Bear laid his weapon at Mile's feet. The Indian wars for the American West were over.
But wars weren't over. During or after the Indian wars the United States fought in the The French and Indian War, the War of 1812, the Civil War and the Spanish American War. Albert Einstein said, "As long as there are men, there will be war."
For whatever reason Vietnamese nail technicians are constantly wanting to apply clear coat to my nails near the end of the wonderful process. I always say "no thanks." Today she didn't ask. She started applying "clear" to my toes before I could say anything. Turns out you really can't see it and maybe it will provide a little protection for my nails for the winter. I can't imagine what it feels like to be so far away from home experiencing winter and the American holidays for the first time. I'm grateful that she has her husband, her two sons and I'm sure a community of friends. Although we don't entirely understand each other, it gives me great hope that if we try we will learn that we are not that much different. We both need and want basically the same things. We especially need our tribe no matter how small that tribe has become. We need a common language and a culture that we are familiar with. Although strife between tribes and nations seems inevitable, it becomes much harder to go to war against a friend. Maybe "Peace on Earth. Goodwill to men", though remote, is still not impossible. Meanwhile, "peace on earth" can only happen when we have peace in our own hearts and when we have "goodwill to men." And when she asks "clear"? Just go with it.
Sunday, November 20, 2016
A Beautiful Dream
"In a little depression there lay outstretched a stalwart Sioux warrior, stark naked with the exception of a breech clout and moccasins. I could not help feeling a sorrow as I stood gazing upon him. He was within a few hundred yards of his home and family, which we had attempted to destroy and he had tried to defend. The home of the slayer was perhaps a thousand miles away. In a few days the wolves and buzzards would have his remains torn asunder and scattered, for the solders had no disposition to bury a dead Indian." Private Taylor, a survivor of the Battle of the Little Bighorn (Custer's Last Stand).
When I was a kid and we played cowboys and Indians I, of course, wanted to be a cowboy. Cowboys were the good guys and Indians were the bad guys. Like General Sheridan, US Cavalry said, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian."
In the summer of 1985 I helped organize and execute a mission trip to Farmington, New Mexico. There our group completed repairs and construction projects at a Navajo mission school. The Navajo not only worked beside us, but spent a lot of time with us during our leisure time. Three Navajo in particular, two males and a female, made a lasting impression on me. Chuck did something with a feather that affected me deeply. To this day I pick up random feathers from the ground and remember what he said about each tine of the feather. Since that summer people have told me that I was bitten by "the Indian bug."
I just pulled from my bookshelf some of the books I have read about American Indian history, culture and religion. I've given away more books than survive on my shelf, but these are, in no particular order of publication or reading, North American Indian Reader, The Heart of Everything That Is, Lost Bird of Wounded Knee, The Black Elk Reader, Black Elk's The Sacred Pipe, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, The Day the World Ended at Little Bighorn, The Spiritual Legacy of the American Indian, Crazy Horse, and The Dull Knifes of Pine Ridge. I have also read Black Elk Speaks more than once, but I must have given it away (again).
An irony of my research and reading is that most of it has pertained to the Lakota Sioux. I have read very little about the Navajo.
I've read so much over the years from the Indian's perspective that I became an Indian. I took their side in the great Indian wars. I shared their sorrow in their lost wilderness, their lost buffalo and sacred hunting grounds, their lost villages and way of life, their lost culture and people. I was angered by the aggression of the United States government, its soldiers and weapons of war. I was disgusted by our attempts to convert Indians of every tribe to the "Christian way of life". We told them to forget their religion, forget their language, forget their ways and settle down and become civilized like we were. I felt that the cavalry,settlers and gold miners got what was coming to them. They shouldn't have been there in the first place.
The quote above is from The Earth is Weeping by Peter Cozzens, As I read this book now, I realize that I have come full circle. I'm a cowboy and an Indian. Indians are good people and cowboys are good people. Indians are horrible people and cowboys are horrible people. Indians need food, clothing and shelter and cowboys need food, clothing and shelter. Over the years I have also come to realize that people enjoy killing each other. People not only don't mind killing each other (for whatever reason), but are capable of inflicting unthinkable atrocities on one another. Men in particular like things that explode in other people's faces. The Indians, the cavalry and the Texas Rangers inflicted hideous and gruesome cruelties toward men, women and children (for whatever reason). Apparently we are genetically engineered toward aggression and cruelty. I don't have to read Indian books to believe this is true, I only need to watch the evening news. In Syria, who are the cowboys and who are the Indians? Are the government bombs good bombs or the rebel bombs? When Syrian families are displaced and children are blown to bits, was it by a good bomb or a bad bomb?
Although 264 US soldiers, civilians and Indian scouts died on the government's side of the Battle of the Little Bighorn, Private Taylor was touched by the remains of one fallen Sioux warrior. I'm quite sure that he didn't mean to be disrespectful of his own fallen and certainly did not mean to be a traitor, I think he was just being a human being. He was grieving the fact that humans kill each other. The Indian had a home and a family. The soldier who killed him and later died had a home and a family.
Of all the American Indians who I have come to respect and to admire, my Native American hero of heroes is Black Elk, a holy man of the Lakota Sioux. In his biography Black Elk Speaks I found a kinship with Wakan Tanka that has become a part of my personal prayer and devotional life. I've never smoked an Indian pipe, but I sensed its power and its peace. I've never played in a drum circle but I have vibrated with its power and majesty. I just learned from Cozzens that at the Little Bighorn the eighteen year old Black Elk scalped an American soldier while he was alive and then shot him between the eyes. I didn't know that.
So should I now look for a different Indian hero? Moses killed an Egyptian, but that didn't disqualify him from leading his people out of bondage. Men kill each other. That's what men do.
"I could not help feeling a sorrow" Taylor said. Maybe that's the key. As long as we "feel a sorrow" there's hope for the human race. As long as it still matters that one warrior was lost (for whatever reason). That Sioux warrior regarded the US soldier as his enemy. The soldier regarded the Indian as his enemy. They both would be wrong. Black Elk eventually gave up the pipe and picked up the Christian Bible. He spent the last forty years of his life practicing the ways of God as a Catholic catechist, a non-ordained priest. But on his deathbed he said that he never left the pipe. He never stopped following Wakan Tanka. And of the massacre at Wounded Knee which he also survived, he said, "And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud and was buried in the blizzard. A people's dream died there. It was a beautiful dream."
When I was a kid and we played cowboys and Indians I, of course, wanted to be a cowboy. Cowboys were the good guys and Indians were the bad guys. Like General Sheridan, US Cavalry said, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian."
In the summer of 1985 I helped organize and execute a mission trip to Farmington, New Mexico. There our group completed repairs and construction projects at a Navajo mission school. The Navajo not only worked beside us, but spent a lot of time with us during our leisure time. Three Navajo in particular, two males and a female, made a lasting impression on me. Chuck did something with a feather that affected me deeply. To this day I pick up random feathers from the ground and remember what he said about each tine of the feather. Since that summer people have told me that I was bitten by "the Indian bug."
I just pulled from my bookshelf some of the books I have read about American Indian history, culture and religion. I've given away more books than survive on my shelf, but these are, in no particular order of publication or reading, North American Indian Reader, The Heart of Everything That Is, Lost Bird of Wounded Knee, The Black Elk Reader, Black Elk's The Sacred Pipe, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, The Day the World Ended at Little Bighorn, The Spiritual Legacy of the American Indian, Crazy Horse, and The Dull Knifes of Pine Ridge. I have also read Black Elk Speaks more than once, but I must have given it away (again).
An irony of my research and reading is that most of it has pertained to the Lakota Sioux. I have read very little about the Navajo.
I've read so much over the years from the Indian's perspective that I became an Indian. I took their side in the great Indian wars. I shared their sorrow in their lost wilderness, their lost buffalo and sacred hunting grounds, their lost villages and way of life, their lost culture and people. I was angered by the aggression of the United States government, its soldiers and weapons of war. I was disgusted by our attempts to convert Indians of every tribe to the "Christian way of life". We told them to forget their religion, forget their language, forget their ways and settle down and become civilized like we were. I felt that the cavalry,settlers and gold miners got what was coming to them. They shouldn't have been there in the first place.
The quote above is from The Earth is Weeping by Peter Cozzens, As I read this book now, I realize that I have come full circle. I'm a cowboy and an Indian. Indians are good people and cowboys are good people. Indians are horrible people and cowboys are horrible people. Indians need food, clothing and shelter and cowboys need food, clothing and shelter. Over the years I have also come to realize that people enjoy killing each other. People not only don't mind killing each other (for whatever reason), but are capable of inflicting unthinkable atrocities on one another. Men in particular like things that explode in other people's faces. The Indians, the cavalry and the Texas Rangers inflicted hideous and gruesome cruelties toward men, women and children (for whatever reason). Apparently we are genetically engineered toward aggression and cruelty. I don't have to read Indian books to believe this is true, I only need to watch the evening news. In Syria, who are the cowboys and who are the Indians? Are the government bombs good bombs or the rebel bombs? When Syrian families are displaced and children are blown to bits, was it by a good bomb or a bad bomb?
Although 264 US soldiers, civilians and Indian scouts died on the government's side of the Battle of the Little Bighorn, Private Taylor was touched by the remains of one fallen Sioux warrior. I'm quite sure that he didn't mean to be disrespectful of his own fallen and certainly did not mean to be a traitor, I think he was just being a human being. He was grieving the fact that humans kill each other. The Indian had a home and a family. The soldier who killed him and later died had a home and a family.
Of all the American Indians who I have come to respect and to admire, my Native American hero of heroes is Black Elk, a holy man of the Lakota Sioux. In his biography Black Elk Speaks I found a kinship with Wakan Tanka that has become a part of my personal prayer and devotional life. I've never smoked an Indian pipe, but I sensed its power and its peace. I've never played in a drum circle but I have vibrated with its power and majesty. I just learned from Cozzens that at the Little Bighorn the eighteen year old Black Elk scalped an American soldier while he was alive and then shot him between the eyes. I didn't know that.
So should I now look for a different Indian hero? Moses killed an Egyptian, but that didn't disqualify him from leading his people out of bondage. Men kill each other. That's what men do.
"I could not help feeling a sorrow" Taylor said. Maybe that's the key. As long as we "feel a sorrow" there's hope for the human race. As long as it still matters that one warrior was lost (for whatever reason). That Sioux warrior regarded the US soldier as his enemy. The soldier regarded the Indian as his enemy. They both would be wrong. Black Elk eventually gave up the pipe and picked up the Christian Bible. He spent the last forty years of his life practicing the ways of God as a Catholic catechist, a non-ordained priest. But on his deathbed he said that he never left the pipe. He never stopped following Wakan Tanka. And of the massacre at Wounded Knee which he also survived, he said, "And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud and was buried in the blizzard. A people's dream died there. It was a beautiful dream."
Friday, November 18, 2016
The Irrational Season
"Madeleine L'Engle acknowledges it's the irrational season, which is pretty close to 'ridiculous' when you think about it. Considering what God could be thinking, though, I'm happy to consider that there might be some ridiculous, irrational, hopeful things left to be said about us humans. Because the truth is, I want to believe in the possibilities of joy. I want to believe, even in the dark and dread of this particular winter, that joy is abundantly accessible, and not only if I find the right places to dig for it, but that we are actually created to be it. That joy is our primary identity." Kayla McClurg
I, unfortunately, have spent a lot of time debunking Christmas. It is in my nature to, instead of accepting that the whole is worth more than the sum of its parts, to take things apart to see what makes them tick. To take them apart until they no longer tick. The first time my wife and I went to Disney World, we went with a couple who had been there many times. Disney World was literally The Magic Kingdom for both of them. I enjoyed it all too. But while we were watching The Main Street Electrical Parade, I noticed something that intrigued me. From the spot we were standing I realized that the music that was approaching us was in perfect sync with the music playing in front of us. That music traveling farther should have been arriving later. But it wasn't. It arrived simultaneously with the music in front of me. Furthermore, all of the music that processed down the street was in perfect synchronization as well. I decided that there was some sort of delay built in that no matter where you stood all of the music was synchronized. I have read since then that I was absolutely right. The phenomenon I noticed was electronically built into the music generator so that the listener heard that incredible Moog music all at the same time. It was perfectly fine that I noticed that that night. It's not fine that I talked about it later. Our friends got rather upset with me that I tried to take the magic out of the kingdom. I didn't understand that at the time, but I do now. That sound engineering was part of the magic of the kingdom for me, but it certainly wasn't for them.
Christmas is indeed "the irrational season." Now instead of debunking it, I believe all of it. The star, the shepherds, the wise men, the stable in Bethlehem, the barn animals, the Christ Child in a manger of hay, Mary and Joseph adoring their newborn son. I also believe that reindeer fly. That a jolly man in a red suit delivers gifts to children all over the world and that he does it all in one incredible night. And that all those gifts were made by elves at the North Pole and they all fit on one flying sleigh. It doesn't have to make any sense. Christmas, more than any other time of the year, is the magic kingdom. "It's the irrational season".
Christmas, much more than the things we do, is a way of being. If we want to truly enjoy this Christmas season, we need to take time now, before it all gets so crazy, to be still and know. To know "that joy is abundantly accessible." "Joy is our primary identity" doesn't mean that we need to search and find "the joy of Christmas." It means that we need to discover "the joy of Christmas" inside. It's been there all along. Watch a baby on Christmas morning. While the older children are moving from gift to gift trying to pick their favorite, the baby has been content to play, not with his toys, but with the same Christmas bow for hours. Or if a bow is not available, he is absolutely fascinated with a piece of fuzz he finds on the floor. That wonderment is not in the bow or the fuzz but in the baby. And it's still inside of us.
So when we are distracted and stressed, when we are overwhelmed with the demands of the season, let's stop and say, "This is not Christmas" When we are fighting traffic and wishing we were somewhere else, let's think "This is not joy.Joy is here. And now". And recognize that all those people around us have important places to be as well. They are not in our way, we are in their way. Then find some "ridiculous, irrational and hopeful thing" to say about them.
"L'Engle said, "I want to believe in the possibilities of joy." If current circumstances and the dread of anticipated responsibilities make joy seem inaccessible, then try at least to believe "in the possibilities of joy." Let "the possibilities of joy" sustain you until joy finds a way. If a star can hang over a manger and if reindeer can fly, regardless or your circumstances, there is hope for a deeply rich and meaningful Christmas season. Don't find joy; be joy.
I, unfortunately, have spent a lot of time debunking Christmas. It is in my nature to, instead of accepting that the whole is worth more than the sum of its parts, to take things apart to see what makes them tick. To take them apart until they no longer tick. The first time my wife and I went to Disney World, we went with a couple who had been there many times. Disney World was literally The Magic Kingdom for both of them. I enjoyed it all too. But while we were watching The Main Street Electrical Parade, I noticed something that intrigued me. From the spot we were standing I realized that the music that was approaching us was in perfect sync with the music playing in front of us. That music traveling farther should have been arriving later. But it wasn't. It arrived simultaneously with the music in front of me. Furthermore, all of the music that processed down the street was in perfect synchronization as well. I decided that there was some sort of delay built in that no matter where you stood all of the music was synchronized. I have read since then that I was absolutely right. The phenomenon I noticed was electronically built into the music generator so that the listener heard that incredible Moog music all at the same time. It was perfectly fine that I noticed that that night. It's not fine that I talked about it later. Our friends got rather upset with me that I tried to take the magic out of the kingdom. I didn't understand that at the time, but I do now. That sound engineering was part of the magic of the kingdom for me, but it certainly wasn't for them.
Christmas is indeed "the irrational season." Now instead of debunking it, I believe all of it. The star, the shepherds, the wise men, the stable in Bethlehem, the barn animals, the Christ Child in a manger of hay, Mary and Joseph adoring their newborn son. I also believe that reindeer fly. That a jolly man in a red suit delivers gifts to children all over the world and that he does it all in one incredible night. And that all those gifts were made by elves at the North Pole and they all fit on one flying sleigh. It doesn't have to make any sense. Christmas, more than any other time of the year, is the magic kingdom. "It's the irrational season".
Christmas, much more than the things we do, is a way of being. If we want to truly enjoy this Christmas season, we need to take time now, before it all gets so crazy, to be still and know. To know "that joy is abundantly accessible." "Joy is our primary identity" doesn't mean that we need to search and find "the joy of Christmas." It means that we need to discover "the joy of Christmas" inside. It's been there all along. Watch a baby on Christmas morning. While the older children are moving from gift to gift trying to pick their favorite, the baby has been content to play, not with his toys, but with the same Christmas bow for hours. Or if a bow is not available, he is absolutely fascinated with a piece of fuzz he finds on the floor. That wonderment is not in the bow or the fuzz but in the baby. And it's still inside of us.
So when we are distracted and stressed, when we are overwhelmed with the demands of the season, let's stop and say, "This is not Christmas" When we are fighting traffic and wishing we were somewhere else, let's think "This is not joy.Joy is here. And now". And recognize that all those people around us have important places to be as well. They are not in our way, we are in their way. Then find some "ridiculous, irrational and hopeful thing" to say about them.
"L'Engle said, "I want to believe in the possibilities of joy." If current circumstances and the dread of anticipated responsibilities make joy seem inaccessible, then try at least to believe "in the possibilities of joy." Let "the possibilities of joy" sustain you until joy finds a way. If a star can hang over a manger and if reindeer can fly, regardless or your circumstances, there is hope for a deeply rich and meaningful Christmas season. Don't find joy; be joy.
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Beer from Heaven
A significant part of my annual Christmas celebration is listening to the music of the St. Olaf Choir on Spotify and YouTube. St. Olaf College is a private liberal arts college located in Northfield, Minnesota associated with the Lutheran Church. Northfield is about forty miles south of Minneapolis. I know little or nothing about the college. My interest is in its choir. It's world-renowned a cappella choir of 75 mixed voices is the best choir I've ever heard. From the choir's website, "The St. Olaf Choir is internationally renowned for a unique combination of superior choral singing and the presentation of challenging choral programming with a vast repertoire that encompasses the entire history of Western music from Renaissance polyphony to new music." Perhaps the webmaster needs to be reminded about run on sentences, but everything he says is true.
I am now a recovering Southern Baptist. I go to two meetings a week. When it's my turn I stand and say, "I'm David Helms and I was a Southern Baptist for nearly thirty years.." "We love you David". But in 1975 I was an actual Southern Baptist.
The Saturn V "moon rocket" was the biggest engine ever built. It's first stage at launch generated over 7.6 million pounds of thrust. As the first two stages progressively fell away, its three stages successfully propelled its Command Module, Lunar Excursion Module and three astronauts to a landing on the moon 238,900 miles away. Technically, two of its inhabitants landed on the moon in the Lunar Excursion Model and the third remained in the Command Module.
What does any of this have to do with beer? I'm going to get to that.
In 1973, after graduating from the Enterprise State Junior College, Enterprise, Alabama I transferred as a junior to Samford University in Birmingham, At that time I was two years into a horrible self-imposed religious fundamentalism What happened to me was not entirely my Baptist church's fault, I wrapped most of my chains around myself.
Stage 1 was my upbringing in "a good Christian family." I put this in quotes because it is a cliche. But we were, in fact, a good Christian family. I'm forever grateful for that. But just before leaving Enterprise, my separation was vital not only important for the life of my family, but for me to continue my mission of becoming an authentic human being.
But beer? Just be patient.
Stage 2, my three years at Samford, was a life saver. My liberal arts education there was the beginning of my deliverance from my self-imposed theological bondage.
In 1977 I separated from Stage 2. Stage 3 was two years at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. And I still didn't drink beer (foreshadowing). I almost never mention that significant affiliation for fear you associate me with the theologically depraved fundamentalist Bible College this institution has become. It bears little to no resemblance to the incredible institution of brilliant music and theological instruction that I graduated from in 1979.
The Command Module of the past thirty seven years gave me a place to live until moving into the Lunar Excursion Module not all that long ago..
There are so many incredible things that happened to me during my Samford years, too many to recall or recount, that changed the trajectory of my life. But without a doubt the most significant event was when I found myself as a member of the Samford A Cappella Choir. It was, in fact, an a cappella choir and that was also our name the A Cappella Choir to distinguish itself from other significant choral ensembles on campus. An a cappella choir, in case you don't know, sings totally unaccompanied. "So you sing without music?", every now and then someone would ask. Our music was our voices. We were eight sections of eight voices yielding sixty-four perfectly tuned vocal pipes masterfully manipulated by our conductor. We rehearsed five days a week, performed often on campus, all around the southeastern United States and even around the world. Being in the A Cappella Choir was a big deal.
"Will you ever get to the part about the beer?" Hold your horses. I'm almost there.
In the spring of 1975 Samford hosted the world-renowned.St. Olaf Choir. I expected them to be good. I expected to be impressed I didn't expect them to be breathtaking-magnificent-phenomenal-extraordinary. After all I was in the "world-renowned" Samford A Cappella Choir. In some ways I had no adequate frame of reference since the only way to compare them to us was from listening to our albums. For the most part all I heard when we rehearsed and performed with the ten to fifteen voices around me. But I knew that musically I was in the presence of something awe-inspiring. And they were better than us. I felt that God had delivered a choir of angels absolutely intact to Birmingham, Alabama from Heaven (notice the title. I must be getting close).
The after-glow from the concert was palpable and pervasive. Walking from the Wright Center to Crawford Johnson Hall(CJ) at around 9:30pm, I was walking on celestial ground. The fullness in my heart seemed to have spilled out onto the campus and the whole world. Only I was not walking alone. There was one very unlucky member of the St. Olaf Choir walking beside me. All of the choir members were divided and staying with the members of the A Cappella Choir. As far as I was concerned I was walking with an angel. As far as he was concerned, he was thirsty. Before we got to my dorm room he asked, "Do you want to go out for some pizza and beer?" BEER?? Did I hear him right? Did he just say, "Get some beer" !? This angel of God wanted, just after his choir from Heaven sang on my campus, to drink beer? (I told you that I would get here). He may have been a liberal Lutheran, but I was a devout Southern Baptist. I didn't drink beer and I didn't associate with those who did. My parents were against it. My church was against it. The Bible, I was told, was against it. Drinking alcoholic beverages was just wrong.
I don't remember anything else about the evening. But I do know that we didn't go out for a beer. We didn't eat pizza either. I'm sure he would have liked to have found alternate transportation and entertainment, but this was decades before texting. Unfortunately, he was stuck with me,
As I listen just now, forty-one years later, to the Christmas music of the world-renowned St. Olaf Choir, I'm still a little embarrassed about what I did. But I did what I did at the time because of who I was at the time. I would have been betraying my core beliefs to have done anything different. I doubt my guest has ever given it another thought. And maybe Crawford Johnson Hall had a little foreshadowing of its own. Several years ago my dorm was gutted and rebuilt as Samford's religion building. Surely there's no consumption of alcohol in there.
"I'm David Helms. and I was a Southern Baptist for nearly thirty years." " We love you David. And David, that's a very good thing. Without Stages one,two and three you would never have made it to the moon."
I am now a recovering Southern Baptist. I go to two meetings a week. When it's my turn I stand and say, "I'm David Helms and I was a Southern Baptist for nearly thirty years.." "We love you David". But in 1975 I was an actual Southern Baptist.
The Saturn V "moon rocket" was the biggest engine ever built. It's first stage at launch generated over 7.6 million pounds of thrust. As the first two stages progressively fell away, its three stages successfully propelled its Command Module, Lunar Excursion Module and three astronauts to a landing on the moon 238,900 miles away. Technically, two of its inhabitants landed on the moon in the Lunar Excursion Model and the third remained in the Command Module.
What does any of this have to do with beer? I'm going to get to that.
In 1973, after graduating from the Enterprise State Junior College, Enterprise, Alabama I transferred as a junior to Samford University in Birmingham, At that time I was two years into a horrible self-imposed religious fundamentalism What happened to me was not entirely my Baptist church's fault, I wrapped most of my chains around myself.
Stage 1 was my upbringing in "a good Christian family." I put this in quotes because it is a cliche. But we were, in fact, a good Christian family. I'm forever grateful for that. But just before leaving Enterprise, my separation was vital not only important for the life of my family, but for me to continue my mission of becoming an authentic human being.
But beer? Just be patient.
Stage 2, my three years at Samford, was a life saver. My liberal arts education there was the beginning of my deliverance from my self-imposed theological bondage.
In 1977 I separated from Stage 2. Stage 3 was two years at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. And I still didn't drink beer (foreshadowing). I almost never mention that significant affiliation for fear you associate me with the theologically depraved fundamentalist Bible College this institution has become. It bears little to no resemblance to the incredible institution of brilliant music and theological instruction that I graduated from in 1979.
The Command Module of the past thirty seven years gave me a place to live until moving into the Lunar Excursion Module not all that long ago..
There are so many incredible things that happened to me during my Samford years, too many to recall or recount, that changed the trajectory of my life. But without a doubt the most significant event was when I found myself as a member of the Samford A Cappella Choir. It was, in fact, an a cappella choir and that was also our name the A Cappella Choir to distinguish itself from other significant choral ensembles on campus. An a cappella choir, in case you don't know, sings totally unaccompanied. "So you sing without music?", every now and then someone would ask. Our music was our voices. We were eight sections of eight voices yielding sixty-four perfectly tuned vocal pipes masterfully manipulated by our conductor. We rehearsed five days a week, performed often on campus, all around the southeastern United States and even around the world. Being in the A Cappella Choir was a big deal.
"Will you ever get to the part about the beer?" Hold your horses. I'm almost there.
In the spring of 1975 Samford hosted the world-renowned.St. Olaf Choir. I expected them to be good. I expected to be impressed I didn't expect them to be breathtaking-magnificent-phenomenal-extraordinary. After all I was in the "world-renowned" Samford A Cappella Choir. In some ways I had no adequate frame of reference since the only way to compare them to us was from listening to our albums. For the most part all I heard when we rehearsed and performed with the ten to fifteen voices around me. But I knew that musically I was in the presence of something awe-inspiring. And they were better than us. I felt that God had delivered a choir of angels absolutely intact to Birmingham, Alabama from Heaven (notice the title. I must be getting close).
The after-glow from the concert was palpable and pervasive. Walking from the Wright Center to Crawford Johnson Hall(CJ) at around 9:30pm, I was walking on celestial ground. The fullness in my heart seemed to have spilled out onto the campus and the whole world. Only I was not walking alone. There was one very unlucky member of the St. Olaf Choir walking beside me. All of the choir members were divided and staying with the members of the A Cappella Choir. As far as I was concerned I was walking with an angel. As far as he was concerned, he was thirsty. Before we got to my dorm room he asked, "Do you want to go out for some pizza and beer?" BEER?? Did I hear him right? Did he just say, "Get some beer" !? This angel of God wanted, just after his choir from Heaven sang on my campus, to drink beer? (I told you that I would get here). He may have been a liberal Lutheran, but I was a devout Southern Baptist. I didn't drink beer and I didn't associate with those who did. My parents were against it. My church was against it. The Bible, I was told, was against it. Drinking alcoholic beverages was just wrong.
I don't remember anything else about the evening. But I do know that we didn't go out for a beer. We didn't eat pizza either. I'm sure he would have liked to have found alternate transportation and entertainment, but this was decades before texting. Unfortunately, he was stuck with me,
As I listen just now, forty-one years later, to the Christmas music of the world-renowned St. Olaf Choir, I'm still a little embarrassed about what I did. But I did what I did at the time because of who I was at the time. I would have been betraying my core beliefs to have done anything different. I doubt my guest has ever given it another thought. And maybe Crawford Johnson Hall had a little foreshadowing of its own. Several years ago my dorm was gutted and rebuilt as Samford's religion building. Surely there's no consumption of alcohol in there.
"I'm David Helms. and I was a Southern Baptist for nearly thirty years." " We love you David. And David, that's a very good thing. Without Stages one,two and three you would never have made it to the moon."
Saturday, November 12, 2016
Food, Clothing and Shelter
"In those stolen moments when love is caught off guard, we see it never had to be this hard." Dan Fogelberg
I know enough about the human brain to know that the way I feel is controlled by a universe of electrochemical reactions in my head. This incredibly engine that works day and night creates more electrical current than the TVA dam a few miles from where I sit. But then again, it's not correct to say "is controlled by" when the truth is that I control this engine. On a good day, the four happiness neurotransmitters dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphines remain available to take me in a second from any negative mental state to a place of peace. But the surrounding neurons that affect these neurotransmitters usually only fire when I pull the trigger. They accommodate whatever mood I choose to be in. In some ways it seems rather cruel that nature set it up this way. Why doesn't this incredible biochemistry automatically run to my aid in my darkest moments? Why does my brain keep producing cortisol when I am dying for endorphins?
Unfortunately I have spent much of my life in mental distress. Going back to childhood I can remember living with a feeling of dread and impending doom. Just a few days ago I read, "Your biggest problem is that you constantly expect bad outcomes." Ouch.
What is it in my nature that I expect bad outcomes when you would think it is just as easy to expect good outcomes?
When I look back and fast forward to today, I realize that I have always "had it easy." I have always been surrounded by people who love me and take care of me. I have always had good food on the table. I have always been under a good roof and had comfortable clothes. I have always enjoyed reliable transportation. In spite of my constant stress and anxiety during my twenty-three years of formal education, I always made good grades. Just good outcomes. If my life was ever actually hanging in the balance, I mean not just the "hanging" I created in my head, it was in the spring of 1972.The military was drafting to number 75. My lottery number was 52. After my physical in Montgomery, Alabama I received in the mail the draft status of I-A, "Available for military service." Military service was, of course, the war in Vietnam. Needless to say I was very concerned about that. It was a real problem. A few weeks later I received another letter in the mail from Uncle Sam.This letter revealed my new military status of I-H, "Registrant not currently subject to processing for induction."
That is probably the only moment in my entire life that I had an actual problem. Obviously, there have been births, deaths and necessary losses that have deeply affected me, I don't want to suggest that I have not had legitimate concerns. But that was the only time my physical life was actually hanging in the balance. One way or the other I would not have survived Vietnam.
Even as I say that the prospect of Vietnam was real, was an actual threat, my reaction was still all in my head. All of our brains are complex organs, but mine is more complicated than most. All my biochemicals are totally bungled up. The TVA dam near here has four turbines. For me it's like only one, at most, is functional. Or to use a common analogy, I'm only firing on three cylinders. My neurotransmitters are chemically and physically incapable of firing as they're supposed to. All those happy chemicals are not always accessible to me regardless of any mental effort on my part.
I have every reason to believe that I will live out my days surrounded by people who love me, with plenty of good food, with comfortable clothes, with a roof over my head and wheels to take me places. It looks like except for those necessary losses, it is smooth sailing ahead. That I will always "have it easy." As Fogelberg said, "we see it never had to be this hard." But just ask Moses, just because you see it doesn't mean you get to live there.
I know enough about the human brain to know that the way I feel is controlled by a universe of electrochemical reactions in my head. This incredibly engine that works day and night creates more electrical current than the TVA dam a few miles from where I sit. But then again, it's not correct to say "is controlled by" when the truth is that I control this engine. On a good day, the four happiness neurotransmitters dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphines remain available to take me in a second from any negative mental state to a place of peace. But the surrounding neurons that affect these neurotransmitters usually only fire when I pull the trigger. They accommodate whatever mood I choose to be in. In some ways it seems rather cruel that nature set it up this way. Why doesn't this incredible biochemistry automatically run to my aid in my darkest moments? Why does my brain keep producing cortisol when I am dying for endorphins?
Unfortunately I have spent much of my life in mental distress. Going back to childhood I can remember living with a feeling of dread and impending doom. Just a few days ago I read, "Your biggest problem is that you constantly expect bad outcomes." Ouch.
What is it in my nature that I expect bad outcomes when you would think it is just as easy to expect good outcomes?
When I look back and fast forward to today, I realize that I have always "had it easy." I have always been surrounded by people who love me and take care of me. I have always had good food on the table. I have always been under a good roof and had comfortable clothes. I have always enjoyed reliable transportation. In spite of my constant stress and anxiety during my twenty-three years of formal education, I always made good grades. Just good outcomes. If my life was ever actually hanging in the balance, I mean not just the "hanging" I created in my head, it was in the spring of 1972.The military was drafting to number 75. My lottery number was 52. After my physical in Montgomery, Alabama I received in the mail the draft status of I-A, "Available for military service." Military service was, of course, the war in Vietnam. Needless to say I was very concerned about that. It was a real problem. A few weeks later I received another letter in the mail from Uncle Sam.This letter revealed my new military status of I-H, "Registrant not currently subject to processing for induction."
That is probably the only moment in my entire life that I had an actual problem. Obviously, there have been births, deaths and necessary losses that have deeply affected me, I don't want to suggest that I have not had legitimate concerns. But that was the only time my physical life was actually hanging in the balance. One way or the other I would not have survived Vietnam.
Even as I say that the prospect of Vietnam was real, was an actual threat, my reaction was still all in my head. All of our brains are complex organs, but mine is more complicated than most. All my biochemicals are totally bungled up. The TVA dam near here has four turbines. For me it's like only one, at most, is functional. Or to use a common analogy, I'm only firing on three cylinders. My neurotransmitters are chemically and physically incapable of firing as they're supposed to. All those happy chemicals are not always accessible to me regardless of any mental effort on my part.
I have every reason to believe that I will live out my days surrounded by people who love me, with plenty of good food, with comfortable clothes, with a roof over my head and wheels to take me places. It looks like except for those necessary losses, it is smooth sailing ahead. That I will always "have it easy." As Fogelberg said, "we see it never had to be this hard." But just ask Moses, just because you see it doesn't mean you get to live there.
Oh well...
"Life is not 'like a journey' so much as it is like several journeys, all different, all necessary, undertaken all at the same time." Richard Rodino
It's about midnight. I was putting the finishing touches on the blog post that this quote inspired. I put several hours of thought and work into it. I think it was one of my best offerings in a while. When I was cleaning up the last paragraph, I hit something on the keypad and it all disappeared. Every word of it. I had saved it as I went, but it disappeared as well. Not everything we create we get to keep.
I may write it, or something like it later, but not tonight. Meanwhile, read Rodino's words again and consider how they are true for you. Come to think of it, that's all I was trying to do to begin with.
From now on, it will be a good idea for me to lock the keypad.
Good night.
It's about midnight. I was putting the finishing touches on the blog post that this quote inspired. I put several hours of thought and work into it. I think it was one of my best offerings in a while. When I was cleaning up the last paragraph, I hit something on the keypad and it all disappeared. Every word of it. I had saved it as I went, but it disappeared as well. Not everything we create we get to keep.
I may write it, or something like it later, but not tonight. Meanwhile, read Rodino's words again and consider how they are true for you. Come to think of it, that's all I was trying to do to begin with.
From now on, it will be a good idea for me to lock the keypad.
Good night.
Monday, November 7, 2016
Being David Helms
"And that's really the way life is too; not just a series of external objects and faces but a mixture of these with memories and and reflections and interruptions in a kind of endlessly changing kaleidoscope." Guidebook to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert M. Pirsig) by Ronald L. Disanto, Ph.D. and Thomas J Steele, Ph.D.
When I read these words this morning, I immediately realized two things: 1. That's why I write and 2. That's how I write. On any given day I see things, I hear things, I touch things, I feel things, I remember things. I forget things. I clutch things. I let go of things. Then while looking at the blank screen with all those "things" in front of me, I write.
Did you see the 1999 movie Being John Malkovich? In the movie a puppeteer finds a portal into the brain of John Malkovich. For a fee people could crawl through the portal, enter his brain and see life through Malkovich's eyes.
So that's what you get when you read my stuff; you get a portal to me. What I see. What I hear. What I touch. What I feel. What I remember..Only once you enter my brain you only see a very small part of who I am. This isn't just because I'm not telling you everything there is to know about me, but because I am unknowable, just like you are unknowable, even to yourself.
Let's say, for example, that you are having coffee with a friend. You say to her, "I am really upset with myself about that." Then which one is you, "I" or "myself"? It appears that "I" is in a position of judgment regarding "myself". "I" knows things about "myself" that "myself" is not aware of. What if "myself" is unaware that she has done anything wrong? There may not be a problem to begin with. It is simply the opinion of "I" that "myself" could have behaved better. Is "I" in a better position to judge "myself" than "myself" can judge for herself? Let's say that "I" is right, Then should "myself" change and do better or should "myself" just cease to exist? Maybe "the I's have it" has been true all along.
Just today I had breakfast at a Waffle House that I seldom frequent. My server noticed the book I'm reading and assumed I was reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." I explained that the book was, in fact, Guidebook to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and not the book itself. I told her that this book explains the philosophy included in the other. She was very busy and we had little time for conversation, but she told me about her interest in "Zen". She wrote down the title of Pirsig's book and then told me about the book she's reading, "We're all Doing Time." Apparently from what little she said, this book could have been titled, "Zen and the Art of Doing Time."
What happened in Waffle House is for me what he means by "the endlessly changing kaleidoscope." I don't have to look for something to write about. These things are looking for me. I just intended to eat a waffle and drink some coffee while Nissan changed the oil in my car, and life had other plans. There I was. And here we are.
When approached about the script, Malchavich asked, "Why not Being Tom Cruise?" And the writer, Charlie Kaufman said, "I think Malchavich sounds funny when you say it over and over."
Being David Helms is not always that easy. The "David" who observes "David" can be very exacting and unreasonable. And which David should I trust? The one who is reasonably happy with himself or the one who is never satisfied with himself? The one who is fairly content or the one who always demands more? When I was in high school a classmate said to me when I suggested he could be better, "If you don't like me the way I am, how do I know you'll like me if I change?" I'm liking the unreasonable "David" less and less and the reasonably happy "David" more and more. But I don't want to distance myself totally from the unreasonable "David" because he got me to where I am. And I really like where I am. But "where I am" is not a fixed place, but "an endlessly changing kaleidoscope". If you look at a kaleidoscope, it's not too impressive. To be amazed, you have to look through it.
When I read these words this morning, I immediately realized two things: 1. That's why I write and 2. That's how I write. On any given day I see things, I hear things, I touch things, I feel things, I remember things. I forget things. I clutch things. I let go of things. Then while looking at the blank screen with all those "things" in front of me, I write.
Did you see the 1999 movie Being John Malkovich? In the movie a puppeteer finds a portal into the brain of John Malkovich. For a fee people could crawl through the portal, enter his brain and see life through Malkovich's eyes.
So that's what you get when you read my stuff; you get a portal to me. What I see. What I hear. What I touch. What I feel. What I remember..Only once you enter my brain you only see a very small part of who I am. This isn't just because I'm not telling you everything there is to know about me, but because I am unknowable, just like you are unknowable, even to yourself.
Let's say, for example, that you are having coffee with a friend. You say to her, "I am really upset with myself about that." Then which one is you, "I" or "myself"? It appears that "I" is in a position of judgment regarding "myself". "I" knows things about "myself" that "myself" is not aware of. What if "myself" is unaware that she has done anything wrong? There may not be a problem to begin with. It is simply the opinion of "I" that "myself" could have behaved better. Is "I" in a better position to judge "myself" than "myself" can judge for herself? Let's say that "I" is right, Then should "myself" change and do better or should "myself" just cease to exist? Maybe "the I's have it" has been true all along.
Just today I had breakfast at a Waffle House that I seldom frequent. My server noticed the book I'm reading and assumed I was reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." I explained that the book was, in fact, Guidebook to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and not the book itself. I told her that this book explains the philosophy included in the other. She was very busy and we had little time for conversation, but she told me about her interest in "Zen". She wrote down the title of Pirsig's book and then told me about the book she's reading, "We're all Doing Time." Apparently from what little she said, this book could have been titled, "Zen and the Art of Doing Time."
What happened in Waffle House is for me what he means by "the endlessly changing kaleidoscope." I don't have to look for something to write about. These things are looking for me. I just intended to eat a waffle and drink some coffee while Nissan changed the oil in my car, and life had other plans. There I was. And here we are.
When approached about the script, Malchavich asked, "Why not Being Tom Cruise?" And the writer, Charlie Kaufman said, "I think Malchavich sounds funny when you say it over and over."
Being David Helms is not always that easy. The "David" who observes "David" can be very exacting and unreasonable. And which David should I trust? The one who is reasonably happy with himself or the one who is never satisfied with himself? The one who is fairly content or the one who always demands more? When I was in high school a classmate said to me when I suggested he could be better, "If you don't like me the way I am, how do I know you'll like me if I change?" I'm liking the unreasonable "David" less and less and the reasonably happy "David" more and more. But I don't want to distance myself totally from the unreasonable "David" because he got me to where I am. And I really like where I am. But "where I am" is not a fixed place, but "an endlessly changing kaleidoscope". If you look at a kaleidoscope, it's not too impressive. To be amazed, you have to look through it.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Flip Side Therapy
When I'm in my car alone I'm listening to music. I usually listen to the 60s or 70s station on Sirius/XM. Sometimes I listen to a Spotify playlist. Other times, like today, I take along one of my favorite CDs. That CD is usually music from the 60s or 70s or maybe from the early to mid 1900s in the form of Schoenberg, Respighi, Bartok, or Bernstein.
Today I chose my favorite The Byrds' CD Free Flyte. When I listen to music I love, I not only enjoy the music itself, but I let it take me wherever it wants to take me. Free Flyte took me to somewhere I'd never been before.
When my son was about twelve years old I was telling him about 45 rpm records. I was explaining how, back in the day, I bought the record for one particular song, but that very often I liked the "flip side" as well or better. I explained that it was like a bonus to the song I bought. "The flip side?" "Yes, it's the song on the back side of the record. Just flip it over and play it." "Do you mean there was music on both sides of the record?" "Yes indeed there was."
During the late 60s, 70s and early 80s a huge controversy arose over the technique of "backmasking". Backmasking involved messages that were deliberately encoded into music. Although many bands experimented with backmasking, The Beatles were particularly adept at using this recording technique. When the music was played forward in a normal way these sounds were unintelligible. But when played backwards, a clear message could be heard. This was accomplished by disengaging the turntable and turning it backwards or playing a reel-to-reel tape backwards. The concern was that Satanic messages were being written into the music and that the subliminal messages, even when played forward, could be decoded by the human brain. These concerns were not only shared by Christian leaders, but found their way into several state legislatures as well. Although the backmasking was real and an intentional process, most believe that it was done for its entertainment value and was not an attempt to pollute young minds. With the advent of CDs the concerns about backmasking mostly went away.
But this afternoon I was thinking about the flip side and backmasking taken together. Back in the late 60s I bought the 45 rpm of The Byrds' "Turn, Turn, Turn". The flip side was"Eight Miles High", a song that was to become a favorite. On Free Flyte, the second track is "Turn, Turn, Turn" and the third is "Eight Miles High". So there they are back-to-back after all these years. But then I had the ah hah ! What if our brains can backmask our psyches and emotions? What if while one emotion is running forward, the flip side is running simultaneously? What if when we are experiencing a negative emotion, the positive emotion is running in the background and all we have to do is turn it on? We don't have to do anything to feel better but play the flip side. Don't bother to flip the record, it's already playing.
If we're feeling angry, the flip side is delight. We don't have to discard our anger and find the delight, the delight is readily available. When we're feeling fear, the flip side is courage. When we're feeling hate, the flip side is kindness. When we're wanting revenge, the flip side is forgiveness. There is no easy fix for depression, as it is extremely complex and difficult to manage. But still the flip side of depression is there. Though the depression is horrible and pervasive, recovery and hope are already available. Therapy and medication have a fighting chance of finding it. FST--Flip Side Therapy.
The fourth track of Free Flyte is "All I Really Want to Do." "I don't want to select you or dissect you or inspect you or reject you. All I really want to do is baby be friends with you." Then the fifth track, "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better," must be the fourth track played backwards, "After what you did I can't stay on. And I'll probably feel a whole lot better when you're gone."
Today I chose my favorite The Byrds' CD Free Flyte. When I listen to music I love, I not only enjoy the music itself, but I let it take me wherever it wants to take me. Free Flyte took me to somewhere I'd never been before.
When my son was about twelve years old I was telling him about 45 rpm records. I was explaining how, back in the day, I bought the record for one particular song, but that very often I liked the "flip side" as well or better. I explained that it was like a bonus to the song I bought. "The flip side?" "Yes, it's the song on the back side of the record. Just flip it over and play it." "Do you mean there was music on both sides of the record?" "Yes indeed there was."
During the late 60s, 70s and early 80s a huge controversy arose over the technique of "backmasking". Backmasking involved messages that were deliberately encoded into music. Although many bands experimented with backmasking, The Beatles were particularly adept at using this recording technique. When the music was played forward in a normal way these sounds were unintelligible. But when played backwards, a clear message could be heard. This was accomplished by disengaging the turntable and turning it backwards or playing a reel-to-reel tape backwards. The concern was that Satanic messages were being written into the music and that the subliminal messages, even when played forward, could be decoded by the human brain. These concerns were not only shared by Christian leaders, but found their way into several state legislatures as well. Although the backmasking was real and an intentional process, most believe that it was done for its entertainment value and was not an attempt to pollute young minds. With the advent of CDs the concerns about backmasking mostly went away.
But this afternoon I was thinking about the flip side and backmasking taken together. Back in the late 60s I bought the 45 rpm of The Byrds' "Turn, Turn, Turn". The flip side was"Eight Miles High", a song that was to become a favorite. On Free Flyte, the second track is "Turn, Turn, Turn" and the third is "Eight Miles High". So there they are back-to-back after all these years. But then I had the ah hah ! What if our brains can backmask our psyches and emotions? What if while one emotion is running forward, the flip side is running simultaneously? What if when we are experiencing a negative emotion, the positive emotion is running in the background and all we have to do is turn it on? We don't have to do anything to feel better but play the flip side. Don't bother to flip the record, it's already playing.
If we're feeling angry, the flip side is delight. We don't have to discard our anger and find the delight, the delight is readily available. When we're feeling fear, the flip side is courage. When we're feeling hate, the flip side is kindness. When we're wanting revenge, the flip side is forgiveness. There is no easy fix for depression, as it is extremely complex and difficult to manage. But still the flip side of depression is there. Though the depression is horrible and pervasive, recovery and hope are already available. Therapy and medication have a fighting chance of finding it. FST--Flip Side Therapy.
The fourth track of Free Flyte is "All I Really Want to Do." "I don't want to select you or dissect you or inspect you or reject you. All I really want to do is baby be friends with you." Then the fifth track, "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better," must be the fourth track played backwards, "After what you did I can't stay on. And I'll probably feel a whole lot better when you're gone."
Friday, November 4, 2016
How to Minimize Stress During the Holidays
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First of all, let's get the "Happy Holidays" versus "Merry Christmas" controversy out of the way. There is no controversy. If you want to only celebrate Christmas, especially on December 24th and 25th, then by all means celebrate Christmas. Greeting one another with "Merry Christmas" is a time-honored tradition. But it hasn't been around all that long. Although the greeting is probably somewhat older, its use is most often traced to Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol in 1843. Christmas as a Christianized secular celebration culminating on December 25th is not much older than that. You will not find "Merry Christmas" in the Bible. More than likely the Wise Men didn't wish Mary and Joseph "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" at the manger in Bethlehem. If you want to leave the door open to observe any number of celebrations, including Christmas, then say "Happy Holidays." It's perfectly fine to say "Merry Christmas", as has been said for about 200 years, but if you want to be more inclusive of those who celebrate Diwali, Hanukkah, Ramadan, Kwanzaa and the Winter Solstice during the same holiday season, say "Happy Holidays." If you say "Happy Holidays" you can not only celebrate Christmas any way you like with whomever you like, but be inclusive of those who celebrate other traditions. "Merry Christmas" is a special umbrella over you and those you love. "Happy Holidays" is a festive tent over nearly everyone including you and those you love. No one is trying to take away your guns or your "Merry Christmas."
But what I really want to talk about is minimizing stress during the holidays. To minimize stress at anytime you simply lower your expectations. If you want to experience much stress during the holidays, then go into it with very high expectations. If you want to lower your stress during the holidays, then lower your expectations. If you want to absolutely eliminate stress during the holiday season, then have absolutely no expectations. Stress and disappointment are always the flip side of expectations.
You may want to argue that some expectations are a given. You may think that, like it or not, there are some things you must do during the holidays. You may believe that some traditions, if not required, are certainly expected. These habits may be expected by others, but they are not required of you. Everything you do during the holiday season is a choice. You say, "Every year I host the entire family at Thanksgiving. I cook turkey and dressing and make a pumpkin pie. We all have lunch together and then the men watch the Dallas Cowboys while the women clean up the kitchen. This is our family tradition and they all expect it to continue. After all, what would Thanksgiving be without my family gathering? I really don't have any choice in the matter." First of all, maybe this needs to be the year that the women watch the Dallas Cowboys and the men clean up the kitchen. They may need a little coaching on how to rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher, but they could do it. Better yet, this may be the year that you don't do it at all. If this is something you really enjoy doing, then knock yourself out. But if it's something you agonize about because of the preparation or the inevitable family friction, then just don't do it. Text everyone that you have made other plans and that the Cracker Barrel has really good turkey and dressing.
Besides reducing expectations to reduce stress, consider this stress-reduction technique as well. Stop doing things that stress you out. If something gives you grief, just don't do it. If it's not something that you enjoy, then don't decorate you home. Don't even decorate a tree if it brings you no pleasure. If you get all worked up about all the frenetic demands of purchasing gifts then, don't purchase gifts. Or just purchase gifts for the children and let it go at that. Why choose things over and over that give you grief? Thanksgiving and Christmas will go right on without your active participation. Consider instead active observation and passive participation.
Ready or not, the holidays are here. Thanksgiving is three weeks away and Christmas is seven weeks away. Christmas decorations are up in the mall and radio stations are already playing Christmas music. Don't fault the retailers for "exploiting Christmas" before Thanksgiving; it's all part of "the holidays". "The holidays" are here. And that's a good thing.
There's nothing you can do to move the Presidential election from the advent of the holidays.But if it's stressing you out, stop reading or watching anything related to it. Less media. Less stress. And on election night, watch replays of the Dallas Cowboys.
First of all, let's get the "Happy Holidays" versus "Merry Christmas" controversy out of the way. There is no controversy. If you want to only celebrate Christmas, especially on December 24th and 25th, then by all means celebrate Christmas. Greeting one another with "Merry Christmas" is a time-honored tradition. But it hasn't been around all that long. Although the greeting is probably somewhat older, its use is most often traced to Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol in 1843. Christmas as a Christianized secular celebration culminating on December 25th is not much older than that. You will not find "Merry Christmas" in the Bible. More than likely the Wise Men didn't wish Mary and Joseph "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" at the manger in Bethlehem. If you want to leave the door open to observe any number of celebrations, including Christmas, then say "Happy Holidays." It's perfectly fine to say "Merry Christmas", as has been said for about 200 years, but if you want to be more inclusive of those who celebrate Diwali, Hanukkah, Ramadan, Kwanzaa and the Winter Solstice during the same holiday season, say "Happy Holidays." If you say "Happy Holidays" you can not only celebrate Christmas any way you like with whomever you like, but be inclusive of those who celebrate other traditions. "Merry Christmas" is a special umbrella over you and those you love. "Happy Holidays" is a festive tent over nearly everyone including you and those you love. No one is trying to take away your guns or your "Merry Christmas."
But what I really want to talk about is minimizing stress during the holidays. To minimize stress at anytime you simply lower your expectations. If you want to experience much stress during the holidays, then go into it with very high expectations. If you want to lower your stress during the holidays, then lower your expectations. If you want to absolutely eliminate stress during the holiday season, then have absolutely no expectations. Stress and disappointment are always the flip side of expectations.
You may want to argue that some expectations are a given. You may think that, like it or not, there are some things you must do during the holidays. You may believe that some traditions, if not required, are certainly expected. These habits may be expected by others, but they are not required of you. Everything you do during the holiday season is a choice. You say, "Every year I host the entire family at Thanksgiving. I cook turkey and dressing and make a pumpkin pie. We all have lunch together and then the men watch the Dallas Cowboys while the women clean up the kitchen. This is our family tradition and they all expect it to continue. After all, what would Thanksgiving be without my family gathering? I really don't have any choice in the matter." First of all, maybe this needs to be the year that the women watch the Dallas Cowboys and the men clean up the kitchen. They may need a little coaching on how to rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher, but they could do it. Better yet, this may be the year that you don't do it at all. If this is something you really enjoy doing, then knock yourself out. But if it's something you agonize about because of the preparation or the inevitable family friction, then just don't do it. Text everyone that you have made other plans and that the Cracker Barrel has really good turkey and dressing.
Besides reducing expectations to reduce stress, consider this stress-reduction technique as well. Stop doing things that stress you out. If something gives you grief, just don't do it. If it's not something that you enjoy, then don't decorate you home. Don't even decorate a tree if it brings you no pleasure. If you get all worked up about all the frenetic demands of purchasing gifts then, don't purchase gifts. Or just purchase gifts for the children and let it go at that. Why choose things over and over that give you grief? Thanksgiving and Christmas will go right on without your active participation. Consider instead active observation and passive participation.
Ready or not, the holidays are here. Thanksgiving is three weeks away and Christmas is seven weeks away. Christmas decorations are up in the mall and radio stations are already playing Christmas music. Don't fault the retailers for "exploiting Christmas" before Thanksgiving; it's all part of "the holidays". "The holidays" are here. And that's a good thing.
There's nothing you can do to move the Presidential election from the advent of the holidays.But if it's stressing you out, stop reading or watching anything related to it. Less media. Less stress. And on election night, watch replays of the Dallas Cowboys.
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