The last leg of an incredible week of friendship and celebration was for me to take our granddaughter to the Atlanta airport. There she would fly unaccompanied to Indianapolis to meet her mom to take her back home. With her dad, our son, in San Diego and her mom in Indiana, she is a seasoned traveler. She has been flying unaccompanied since she was seven years old. I had been on the pick up end of this process, but I had never been on the hand off end. Last year I had the opportunity to fly with my granddaughter on Southwest Airlines. There were three unaccompanied children on that flight so I was able to see for myself just how well they took care of the children in their care. I was not the least bit concerned about her safety and welfare.
With all of that said, I had rather have a root canal as to drive through Atlanta, Georgia. With apologies to those who suffer with actual PTSD, I experience a sort of PTSD on that trip. Sixteen years ago I dealt with a traffic incident in downtown Atlanta. The torment of the situation lasted about two hours before I had any sort of relief. Recalling the incident later in my counselor's office, he said, "You had a classic panic attack." Two minutes of a panic attack is a long time. Two hours is cruel and unusual punishment. My psyche never forgot that incident.
The drive to the airport south of Atlanta gave me two bad choices. I could drive straight through on I-75 south or take the I-285 bypass. I decided to drive straight through as I usually do. Although part of my brain knows that there is signage above the interstate instructing me to the airport, I set my BPS for turn-by-turn directions. The GPS gave me another level of comfort. A few minutes down the road my granddaughter asked, "Big Dave, can I have your phone?" "Why don't you use yours?" "Because I don't have Netflix." So I turned off the GPS and handed her my phone. No matter, I'll activate my GPS when she's through watching her movie.
The traffic started backing up about fifteen miles north of Atlanta as I had predicted. That wasn't a problem since I had built that time into the trip. I asked her if I could have my phone back and she said the movie wasn't finished. Now I would have to take my chances with those signs. South of Atlanta I started seeing the signs to the airport. I followed those signs to the north terminal and to the parking deck. An airport parking deck is a prison where I can get trapped for the rest of my mortal life. One night when I was in the wrong exit line the machine swallowed my ticket. When I got in the right line and explained that the machine took my ticket and that it said I owed $30.00, she said, "But I have to have your ticket." This discussion went on about ten minutes when I finally said, "I can stay here to the second coming or you can take my $30.00 and let me through." She finally conceded. Another time I couldn't figure out that I was supposed to put my credit card in the same slot as the ticket. With traffic backing up behind me, I finally saw the button to call an attendant. But I decided to deal with all of that when I left the airport. My granddaughter handed me my phone as we walked to the terminal.
At the Southwest ticket counter she asked me if I was her father. I said, "No, I'm her grandfather." She said, "I show her father is to hand her off." I said, "Well, I'm not her father, I'm her grandfather." Then she asked for me for information that I didn't have. After a couple of phone calls I gave her the information and she gave us our boarding passes. The security line was long and ended up rather intense and invasive, but we were finally on the other side. We grabbed lunch and with granddaughter in tow, we walked together to our gate. We arrived at the gate with an hour to spare. When we sat down I pulled my phone from my pocket to catch up on Facebook, my email and the news. The battery was nearly gone. I didn't know what happened when the battery was totally depleted, but it couldn't be anything good. But I would watch it to be sure that didn't happen. As I booted up Facebook my granddaughter asked, "Big Dave, can I have your phone?" So I gave her my phone for her to watch another movie. After about forty five minutes she handed the phone back to me and said the battery was dead.
As an unaccompanied minor they called her up first to board, with a lump in my throat I hugged her goodbye and she disappeared alone down the ramp to the jet.
But my work wasn't done. When you hand off an unaccompanied minor, you are required to wait at the gate until the plane is in the air. So it took another forty minutes for everyone to board, the plane to taxi to the runway and get airborne. At that point the attendant said, "She's in the air; you are free to go." Instead was taking the tram, I needed the exercise and enjoyed the thirty minute walk. I found the walk and the moving sidewalk enjoyable and relaxing. Besides it bought me a little time before facing the parking deck. At Ground Transportation I noticed one of those kiosk machines where I could prepay my parking ticket. Since it was in the car, I walked to the car and retrieved the ticket and walked back to the terminal to use the machine. After inserting the ticket and my credit card, it gave me my ticket back and told me I had an hour to leave. In the car I tried to activate my GPS, but even with it plugged in with the battery totally depleted it didn't work. Apparently, it's resurrection takes a little time. I would have to trust those signs again. Driving toward the exit gate, I was more that a little anxious that something would go wrong and car would back up behind me while I figured it out. Inconveniencing people is a cardinal sin. I got to the machine and inserted my ticket as instructed and the voice said, "Please wait." Please wait for what? For their computer to reboot? For Christmas? For Christ to return? Wait for what? After what seemed like an eternity, the gate opened and I drove through to freedom.
My wife called me before I got out of Atlanta to tell me that our granddaughter was safe in the arms of her mother in Indiana.
I followed the signs that were very plentiful and clear back to I-75 and followed I-75 back home. Because of the traffic through Atlanta and about fifteen miles north of Atlanta,what used to be about a two hour trip took me about three and half hours. But ten hours after I left home for a ninety mile trip, I was home.
A few hours prior while my granddaughter and I had been in the worst of the traffic north of Atlanta she asked me if we were nearly there. I said, "We're not far from the airport, but because of this traffic, it will still take a while." She looked at me, smiled, and said, "That's okay.. That's all the more time I get to spend with my Biggy."
If she needed to go to the Atlanta airport today, I would gladly take her again.
Friday, October 13, 2017
Monday, October 9, 2017
On the Cusp of Joy
"We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy." Joseph Campbell
If for one reason or another you feel bad most of the time, it's important for you to know that it's possible to feel good most of the time. The Buddhists have a concept called "basic goodness." Think of it as original goodness instead of the Christian concept of original sin. But the Christian perspective is not much different from the Buddhist concept if the Christian goes back past the forbidden fruit. It's as if for many Christians, the world began at the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, with sin, when it fact it began in the Garden of Eden. And just after placing the crown of His creation there He said, "It is good. It's all good." The was nothing in the Garden of Eden that was bad, including Adam and Eve. Perhaps Adam and Eve had been in the Garden of Eden for years before Eve tasted the forbidden fruit. Even the fruit was not bad; it was just forbidden. An oven is a good thing, but we have to keep our children away from it. If the child touches it, no one else has to punish her. And she didn't sin. She just burned herself.
When I wake up every day, I wake up into a world of goodness. I am not so insensitive and naive as to not be aware of what's going on. I understand that there are things happening that could destroy the lives of those I love and destroy the world. There are plenty of things for me to be anxious about and even get depressed about if I wanted to. I just don't want to. I choose to feel good instead of feeling bad. And as Joseph Campbell said, it is in fact a choice. I make that choice in the first few seconds of any given new day. And if you want to feel good instead feeling bad, you will have to make the same choice. If your default emotion is sadness, you have to choose another emotion.
I could tell you what's going on with me and you would say, "No wonder you're so happy. Anyone in your situation would be happy." And I would say that's partially true. But you would have to understand that "what's going on" is less the circumstances of my life and more what's going on between my ears. Anais Nin said, "We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."
Black Elk, a holy man of the Lakota Sioux said, "Draw a circle of power around yourself, and stand in that circle." Whatever else you keep in your circle of power, keep goodness and joy." One could do worse than to view the world through rosy tinted glasses. Your joys and your sorrows will take on the colors of a sunset. The sorrows will still be there, you just won't see them.
If for one reason or another you feel bad most of the time, it's important for you to know that it's possible to feel good most of the time. The Buddhists have a concept called "basic goodness." Think of it as original goodness instead of the Christian concept of original sin. But the Christian perspective is not much different from the Buddhist concept if the Christian goes back past the forbidden fruit. It's as if for many Christians, the world began at the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, with sin, when it fact it began in the Garden of Eden. And just after placing the crown of His creation there He said, "It is good. It's all good." The was nothing in the Garden of Eden that was bad, including Adam and Eve. Perhaps Adam and Eve had been in the Garden of Eden for years before Eve tasted the forbidden fruit. Even the fruit was not bad; it was just forbidden. An oven is a good thing, but we have to keep our children away from it. If the child touches it, no one else has to punish her. And she didn't sin. She just burned herself.
When I wake up every day, I wake up into a world of goodness. I am not so insensitive and naive as to not be aware of what's going on. I understand that there are things happening that could destroy the lives of those I love and destroy the world. There are plenty of things for me to be anxious about and even get depressed about if I wanted to. I just don't want to. I choose to feel good instead of feeling bad. And as Joseph Campbell said, it is in fact a choice. I make that choice in the first few seconds of any given new day. And if you want to feel good instead feeling bad, you will have to make the same choice. If your default emotion is sadness, you have to choose another emotion.
I could tell you what's going on with me and you would say, "No wonder you're so happy. Anyone in your situation would be happy." And I would say that's partially true. But you would have to understand that "what's going on" is less the circumstances of my life and more what's going on between my ears. Anais Nin said, "We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."
Black Elk, a holy man of the Lakota Sioux said, "Draw a circle of power around yourself, and stand in that circle." Whatever else you keep in your circle of power, keep goodness and joy." One could do worse than to view the world through rosy tinted glasses. Your joys and your sorrows will take on the colors of a sunset. The sorrows will still be there, you just won't see them.
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
For What It's Worth
Anything's value is what it's worth to you. There is no intrinsic value in anything. The financial value of a home, for example, which is usually discussed only when the home is for sale, is the amount that someone is willing to pay for it. The value is decided with the meeting of the minds of a willing buyer and a willing seller. But the value of a home goes much, much deeper than its financial value, doesn't it? Our homes are where we live and move and have our being. Maybe your home is on a farm and that farm was owned by your great grandparents, your grandparents, your parents and now by you. I would think that the value of the farm to you is much higher than its financial value. And yet when you put it up for sale, it is only worth what someone is willing to pay you for it. None of the family history transfers to the closing documents.
I own a 2005 car that I bought in 2008. This car has had few problems and has served me well. I think about trading it for something newer, but the book value is only a few hundred dollars. The car is still in perfect running order. In spite of its powerful 255hp six cylinder engine, it still gets about 30 mpg. The car is worth quite a lot to me. So for now I'll keep the car. I'm just not willing to sell such a good car for a few hundred dollars. I'm tempted by those 2015, 16 and 17 beauties, but my money is worth more to me than a new car. And my '05 drives just fine.
"For what it's worth" is most often used as a preface for an opinion. The speaker says something like, "I don't know if what I'm about to say will have any value to you or not, so take it 'for what it's worth'. " So there again, what the words are worth to the speaker and what they are worth to you are entirely different things. No matter what the words mean to the speaker, they may be worth little or nothing to you.
One of my favorite movies is the futuristic Pixar movie Wall-E. If I like a movie for no other reason, a good soundtrack is worth the price of admission. Thomas Newman's music does not disappoint. But I like WALL-E for many more reasons than that. During the first part of the movie when WALL-E, a garbage collecting robot, is still alone (except for his roach friend), he is scavenging the landscape for collectibles. At one point he sees a small ring display box in a pile of rubbish. He reaches down, picks it up, holds it up to the light, opens it and views the large sparkling diamond it contains. Considering his options, he discards the diamond on the ground and puts the box in his storage container to carry home to add to his collection. What was the diamond worth to him? Nothing. The ring box? Who knows.
One serious flaw of human nature is that we often assign value to things that should have no value. Someone says something to us that hurts our feelings and we carry that feeling for the remainder of the day, or the week, or the month,or the year, or the decade. Within minutes the person who said it never gave it another thought and we've carried it with us for years. We assigned value to it, meaning to it, wrote stories around it and kept it alive in our nervous system. The other flaw is that we assign value to the wrong things. Like the song The Cat's In the Cradle, your son wants to play catch and you choose to watch a football game. Twenty years later you so wish your son and his family would come to visit, but the kids are sick and he's tied up at the office. "But we'll have a good time then, Dad, you know we'll have a good time then."
A thrill seeker may value the adrenaline rush more than his life. A heavy drinker may enjoy the effects of alcohol more than the physical and social toll its taking on his life, his family and his health. This list could go on an on regarding the trade offs with what we value.
The value of some things changes constantly and other things change very little over time. Many times we think of a share of common stock as something with a "closing value." Or a group of stocks, like the Dow Jones Industrial Average, as a number at the end of the day. That stock is traded all day long and its value changes thousands of times before the close. Any average, such as the DJIA, changes constantly as well before the news reports its value at the closing bell. Then there are the intangibles such as the value of friendship that may stay constant for a lifetime.
My point is this you are the one who gives something its value. Something is only worth what it's worth to you. Like WALL-E, you may enjoy the box more than the diamond. We all have seen children on Christmas morning who play with the boxes and the wrapping much more than they play with the expensive toys
So the next time someone starts a sentence with "For what it's worth," think about WALL-E and consider thinking "Nothing, until you convince me otherwise.". It's not okay to say it, but it is okay to think it. And if you're thinking, "Yeah, I don't have to value your words here either." You'd be right.
I own a 2005 car that I bought in 2008. This car has had few problems and has served me well. I think about trading it for something newer, but the book value is only a few hundred dollars. The car is still in perfect running order. In spite of its powerful 255hp six cylinder engine, it still gets about 30 mpg. The car is worth quite a lot to me. So for now I'll keep the car. I'm just not willing to sell such a good car for a few hundred dollars. I'm tempted by those 2015, 16 and 17 beauties, but my money is worth more to me than a new car. And my '05 drives just fine.
"For what it's worth" is most often used as a preface for an opinion. The speaker says something like, "I don't know if what I'm about to say will have any value to you or not, so take it 'for what it's worth'. " So there again, what the words are worth to the speaker and what they are worth to you are entirely different things. No matter what the words mean to the speaker, they may be worth little or nothing to you.
One of my favorite movies is the futuristic Pixar movie Wall-E. If I like a movie for no other reason, a good soundtrack is worth the price of admission. Thomas Newman's music does not disappoint. But I like WALL-E for many more reasons than that. During the first part of the movie when WALL-E, a garbage collecting robot, is still alone (except for his roach friend), he is scavenging the landscape for collectibles. At one point he sees a small ring display box in a pile of rubbish. He reaches down, picks it up, holds it up to the light, opens it and views the large sparkling diamond it contains. Considering his options, he discards the diamond on the ground and puts the box in his storage container to carry home to add to his collection. What was the diamond worth to him? Nothing. The ring box? Who knows.
One serious flaw of human nature is that we often assign value to things that should have no value. Someone says something to us that hurts our feelings and we carry that feeling for the remainder of the day, or the week, or the month,or the year, or the decade. Within minutes the person who said it never gave it another thought and we've carried it with us for years. We assigned value to it, meaning to it, wrote stories around it and kept it alive in our nervous system. The other flaw is that we assign value to the wrong things. Like the song The Cat's In the Cradle, your son wants to play catch and you choose to watch a football game. Twenty years later you so wish your son and his family would come to visit, but the kids are sick and he's tied up at the office. "But we'll have a good time then, Dad, you know we'll have a good time then."
A thrill seeker may value the adrenaline rush more than his life. A heavy drinker may enjoy the effects of alcohol more than the physical and social toll its taking on his life, his family and his health. This list could go on an on regarding the trade offs with what we value.
The value of some things changes constantly and other things change very little over time. Many times we think of a share of common stock as something with a "closing value." Or a group of stocks, like the Dow Jones Industrial Average, as a number at the end of the day. That stock is traded all day long and its value changes thousands of times before the close. Any average, such as the DJIA, changes constantly as well before the news reports its value at the closing bell. Then there are the intangibles such as the value of friendship that may stay constant for a lifetime.
My point is this you are the one who gives something its value. Something is only worth what it's worth to you. Like WALL-E, you may enjoy the box more than the diamond. We all have seen children on Christmas morning who play with the boxes and the wrapping much more than they play with the expensive toys
So the next time someone starts a sentence with "For what it's worth," think about WALL-E and consider thinking "Nothing, until you convince me otherwise.". It's not okay to say it, but it is okay to think it. And if you're thinking, "Yeah, I don't have to value your words here either." You'd be right.
Monday, October 2, 2017
When Your Story Meets Jesus
Yesterday morning we met friends at their church. This church is a "contemporary church" with five campuses. We were at the main campus. The lead pastor, however, was at another campus and he was at our location via video. This was my first experience with this and I was surprised with my own reaction. Instead of feeling disconnected with the minister and his message, there was little difference in being live or on television. There actually was the illusion that he was in the room. When he said something funny, the congregation reacted with laughter just as if he was standing there.
Just as the praise band was finishing its set and was about to hand things over to the lead pastor, the praise band leader said something that got my attention. He said, "I hope that here you find a place where your story meets Jesus." Something about those words spoke to me. The Psalmist ends many of his psalms with "Selah" (pause and calmly think about that). So then I must admit that during the sermon, I was simultaneously listening to his message and processing the words of his associate.
I continued to process his words while in the NICU yesterday afternoon. As a reminder, NICU is the acronym Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. I think it's easy to forget when calling the unit the NICU the force of those four letters. Without the N, it's ICU. When your family member or friend is in the ICU, he is there because he's very hurt or very sick. Normally when someone leaves the ICU, he does not leave to go home, he leaves to go to a room, In other words, he's now well enough to go to the hospital. Babies in the NICU are in Intensive Care for a reason.
And each and every baby in the unit has a story. Some stories are happy. Others are tragic and sad. But each story is unique. And in one way or another that story meets Jesus. Hopefully, that meeting is only in the figurative sense. Just like when Jesus told His disciples, "Let the children come to me, because the Kingdom of God is made of children", in the NICU these babies find total love and acceptance. The doctors and nurses do not ask them about their insurance. They could not care less about that. They don't notice the babies' ethnicity. It doesn't matter. They do not ask baby about his religious affiliation. Each baby gets the same care and attention regardless of the color of her skin, texture of her hair or her religious beliefs. The only requirement is that she is in need of their help. But unfortunately, sometimes, just like in the ICU for big people, the baby doesn't make it. In that unit he meets Jesus in the literal sense. He was just too sick when he got there. In spite of the best technology and best medical help in the country, the baby breathes his last breath. And Jesus says to St. Peter, "Let that baby come to me. That baby has a place with me and he will continue his story here."
I took my story to church yesterday and it met Jesus. Our friends were babysitting for a local family. And the child in their care was a baby, just a few weeks old. And I took my turn holding her during church. While sensing her warmth against me and feeling the slight rise and fall of her chest, I couldn't help but remember that my mother kept "the bed babies" during church at the Hillcrest Baptist Church in Enterprise, Alabama. While the rest of us were attending Sunday School and church, she attended to those babies. And I was reminded why. Until yesterday, I had always imagined Mother sitting in a rocking chair watching those babies in a crib. You know, "bed babies." There's not a chance those babies were in a crib. There were at least two hours that day that those babies were in somebody's arms. Against somebody's chest. Feeling somebody's heartbeat against their own. My mother knew a long time before I did that holding a newborn baby is like being Jesus, "He's got the tiny little baby in His hands. He's got the whole world in His hands." In church yesterday, her story met Jesus, and He was me. "Let the children come to you and you will be the Kingdom of God. Her very life depends on you. She has no other Jesus but you."
One of my favorite books by Frederick Buechner is Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale. When I read the book the first time over thirty years ago, I could not have imagined how relevant it would be yesterday. Tragedy, comedy and fairy tale are alive in the NICU each day. Each of the doctors and nurses in the NICU has a story. And when each of them comes to work their story meets Jesus. In one way or another as he or she scrubs in and attends to a newborn baby, above that baby's crib is invisibly inscribed, "Once upon a time in a land far, far away..." And that baby looks up and sees Jesus.
Just as the praise band was finishing its set and was about to hand things over to the lead pastor, the praise band leader said something that got my attention. He said, "I hope that here you find a place where your story meets Jesus." Something about those words spoke to me. The Psalmist ends many of his psalms with "Selah" (pause and calmly think about that). So then I must admit that during the sermon, I was simultaneously listening to his message and processing the words of his associate.
I continued to process his words while in the NICU yesterday afternoon. As a reminder, NICU is the acronym Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. I think it's easy to forget when calling the unit the NICU the force of those four letters. Without the N, it's ICU. When your family member or friend is in the ICU, he is there because he's very hurt or very sick. Normally when someone leaves the ICU, he does not leave to go home, he leaves to go to a room, In other words, he's now well enough to go to the hospital. Babies in the NICU are in Intensive Care for a reason.
And each and every baby in the unit has a story. Some stories are happy. Others are tragic and sad. But each story is unique. And in one way or another that story meets Jesus. Hopefully, that meeting is only in the figurative sense. Just like when Jesus told His disciples, "Let the children come to me, because the Kingdom of God is made of children", in the NICU these babies find total love and acceptance. The doctors and nurses do not ask them about their insurance. They could not care less about that. They don't notice the babies' ethnicity. It doesn't matter. They do not ask baby about his religious affiliation. Each baby gets the same care and attention regardless of the color of her skin, texture of her hair or her religious beliefs. The only requirement is that she is in need of their help. But unfortunately, sometimes, just like in the ICU for big people, the baby doesn't make it. In that unit he meets Jesus in the literal sense. He was just too sick when he got there. In spite of the best technology and best medical help in the country, the baby breathes his last breath. And Jesus says to St. Peter, "Let that baby come to me. That baby has a place with me and he will continue his story here."
I took my story to church yesterday and it met Jesus. Our friends were babysitting for a local family. And the child in their care was a baby, just a few weeks old. And I took my turn holding her during church. While sensing her warmth against me and feeling the slight rise and fall of her chest, I couldn't help but remember that my mother kept "the bed babies" during church at the Hillcrest Baptist Church in Enterprise, Alabama. While the rest of us were attending Sunday School and church, she attended to those babies. And I was reminded why. Until yesterday, I had always imagined Mother sitting in a rocking chair watching those babies in a crib. You know, "bed babies." There's not a chance those babies were in a crib. There were at least two hours that day that those babies were in somebody's arms. Against somebody's chest. Feeling somebody's heartbeat against their own. My mother knew a long time before I did that holding a newborn baby is like being Jesus, "He's got the tiny little baby in His hands. He's got the whole world in His hands." In church yesterday, her story met Jesus, and He was me. "Let the children come to you and you will be the Kingdom of God. Her very life depends on you. She has no other Jesus but you."
One of my favorite books by Frederick Buechner is Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale. When I read the book the first time over thirty years ago, I could not have imagined how relevant it would be yesterday. Tragedy, comedy and fairy tale are alive in the NICU each day. Each of the doctors and nurses in the NICU has a story. And when each of them comes to work their story meets Jesus. In one way or another as he or she scrubs in and attends to a newborn baby, above that baby's crib is invisibly inscribed, "Once upon a time in a land far, far away..." And that baby looks up and sees Jesus.
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