The Miracle of Semi-OK

 "The truth is that--through the workings of love, science, community, time, and what I dare to call grace--some elemental shift will occur and we will find we are semi-OK. And even semi-OK can be a miracle."  Anne Lamott 

For the past several days it has seeped into my consciousness that I seldom feel OK. But according to Abraham Maslow I’m doing just fine. Referring to his Hierarchy of Needs pyramid most of my “basic needs”, which are at the base of the pyramid, are met. I enjoy plenty of food, clothing and shelter, and I live in relative safety. I was reminded of that in the aftermath of hurricane Laura where so many hundreds of people are left with nothing. Many who have insurance will soon learn that insurance won’t cover flooding, even if it was wind that destroyed their home. And so many of those had already rifled through their savings because of the loss of jobs and income. These people had little or nothing even before the hurricane. Now “nothing” has reached a new low showing them all the things they had less than 48 hours ago. Where I live, we expect some wind and rain from the remnants of the storm, but not enough to be a threat.  But are any of us completely “safe” living in the time of Covid-19? My wife and I shelter-in-place for the most part and do not take unnecessary risks, but thousands of people who are careful are infected every day. The most I can be on any given day related to safety is semi-OK.

The next level of the pyramid is “psychological needs”. I could write a book about that level but as I said, I’m now, in the era of Covid,  already not OK long before I get there. And I seldom if ever accomplish his last level on the apex of the pyramid at “self-actualization.” If this last level, at the apex of the pyramid, is where I am supposed to be, then I have little chance of ever being OK.  Semi-OK is the best that I can hope for.

However,  as Anne Lamott has said, being “semi-OK” can be a miracle. It’s a miracle that I am even alive. About eight years ago I was driving on I-75 south about 15 miles from here at the speed limit of 70mph, when I was rear-ended by a car going fast enough to total my car. I live with whiplash issues till this day. If his car had struck my car on either side of my bumper instead of straight on, I would be dealing with a lot more than whiplash. Well, I would be enjoying my “reward”, while my wife would still be dealing with my death. But I am alive and well and that’s a miracle.  I live in a miracle of plenty to eat and drink. I do not ever have to concern myself with starvation or even hunger. My stomach may growl from time to time, but food and drink is never far away. Even today, my wife is out and is going to bring home Panera Bread for me to eat. I’m feeling a little hungry, but the sensation is far from “hunger.” In an hour or so, I won’t be hungry at all.

I live in the miracle of relative safety. Except for the possibility of getting the coronavirus, I have few concerns about my safety. Regarding safety, I am always semi-OK. I live in the miracle of being relatively pain free. I am nine weeks post op from neck surgery. I experience some discomfort, but I am no longer in pain. During the three weeks that the pain was excruciating, the pain was all I could think of. That’s as far up the pyramid as I ever obtained, but now I can concern myself with other things. Regarding pain, I am semi-OK.

I could continue to list other potential issues, even at the level of “basic needs”, but I think that I have stated enough to make my point. Right now, trying to write something meaningful,  I am well into the category of “psychological needs”. I am no longer concerning myself with my "basic needs". What I’m trying to say is that even if ALL of my “basic needs” were met, I would be concerning myself with other things and would not be OK. If you, on any given day, feel that you are not OK, then consider that you are semi-OK. And considering all the things that are not to your liking, being semi-OK can be enough. .  

 

The Man Without A Country

 The Man Without a Country is a short story by Edward Everett Hale, published  in 1863. The story is about a young Army Lieutenant Philip Nolan. Nolan was on trial for treason. During the trial  he angrily shouted, "I wish I may never hear of the United States again!"  Upon his conviction, the judge grants his wish. He was sentenced to spend the rest of his life aboard navy ships. He was not only exiled from America, but he could never disembark at any port of any country. Furthermore, he was never to be told anything about the United States of America. He was, in fact, a man without a country.

This is the way I feel about a significant part of my education. Sandwiched between earning a Bachelor of Music Education and a Bachelor of Business Administration, I earned a Master of Church Music at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. This degree was my most proud musical and academic accomplishment. In the months leading up to my entering "Southern", a former student warned me, "No matter what you think you're going to do there, you are there to earn a master's degree and they don't give them away." No truer words were ever spoken. For two years I worked my butt off completing my course work and the activities demanded of me as a church musician. In June of 1979, I graduated with a Master of Church Music. Maybe to you this seems like only a degree to prepare me to become a minister of music at a Baptist church. Well, it was that, but it was so much more.  You can subtract "church" from the degree and you're left with Master of Music, and that's what it was. I earned a Master of Music from what was then one of the most prestigious schools of music in the country.

That was then and this  is now. Religious fundamentalists took over the Southern Baptist Convention during the 1980s and with it took over the major institutions of the convention. The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary was one of the first to fall. What was at the time a world-renowned school of theology and music, is now only a shadow of its former self. Under the leadership of the Southern Baptist Convention and its board and  its president, over the years "Southern"  has become nothing more than a Calvinistic Bible College. Attendance has fallen significantly and there has not even been a school of music  there for nearly a decade. 

So all of this leaves me with a difficult choice. When preparing a resume or stating my education, I am so proud of that degree. But I'm concerned that when you see that affiliation, you think I graduated from "Southern" as it is now and not as it was when I graduated from there. I mean, how are you to know? So I never mention it. It's  like it never happened. 

Nearing his death, Lieutenant Philip Nolan showed one the sailors his room. It was a virtual shrine to the United States. He told the sailor, "America is your  home; you need to love America as your mother". He smiles and says, "Here, you see, I have a country."

Philip Nolan had a country because the United States still existed; it had always existed. In the case of my seminary and my degree, it is dead to me. Unless you were a classmate of mine and know of the blood, sweat and tears that went into that degree, you'll never hear from me that I graduated from there, except right now with these explanations. But like I said, in 2009 at the age of 56, I walked the stage to receive my Bachelor of Business Administration in Management from Dalton State College in Dalton, Georgia. I graduated Cum Laude. That's an accomplishment that I will brag about till my dying day.  I'm not out an education, I'm just out a master's degree. 

Alarmophobia

For several reasons I have an aversion to alarm systems. Even with the aversion, we recently had a burglar alarm installed in our home. We had the system installed for the obvious reason that we wanted to protect our home in the event of a thief or an intruder. But still, there's the phobia.

I have set off alarms twice in the early hours of the day. The first time was at an insurance office in a crowded downtown neighborhood at around six o'clock in the morning. It was one of those loud inside and outside horns. In that case, I don't remember how I got the company to shut it off, but it was distressing to say the least. The second time was, again, at six o'clock in the morning at a pest control company. In this case, I used the wrong code on the numeric pad. As the system counted down to the inevitable,  my heart started racing. Again when it went off it was one of those loud, blood curdling inside and outside alarms. The boss was out of town, so I had to deal with the in-laws. Nobody was happy about it, least of all me.

So here I am with an alarm system in my home. So far I have set it off accidentally only once and I wasn't thrilled when it happened. Recently, I got an email from my alarm company, that it was time to test the system. I started stressing about that immediately. To do so I had to call the alarm company for them to take the system offline and then intentionally set off the alarm. Horrors, I hated to do that. Our system has a very loud high pitched alarm that again curdles my blood. As it counted down, my heart started racing and I braced myself for the noise. Our system counts down the last ten seconds out loud. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. It was as loud as I remembered. I could not shut it off quickly enough.  In all three cases of the false alarms, the alarm system did what it was supposed to do. It went off! If I was an intruder, I wouldn't have wasted any time fleeing the property.

Another thing that bothers me along the same lines is when I'm watching a movie and someone goes in a building that they are not supposed to be in. Let's say they break in an office and they're going through a filing cabinet. This activity makes me very uncomfortable as someone could come in and catch them in the act. I just want them to leave! If someone does come in, my pulse gets up until  the situation is resolved. I had the same thing happen this week reading a novel when one of the teenaged characters broke in houses for fun. It wasn't fun for me. I was uncomfortable the whole time he was in a house, especially when he did things like raid the refrigerator or go through a closet in an upstairs bedroom. In one case just for fun, he stole one of their kids Wii games just for the mischief of it. Keep in mind that this is a pretend character written by the author doing a make believe breaking and entering and I'm just reading it in a book That author wrote those fictional words years ago. Why should that have bothered me? Or why didn't  I just stop reading the book? Well like any good book, I wanted to see what happened. In this case something dramatic happened to make this kid stop doing that and he was never caught. No foul. No harm.

Our system gives us plenty of time to leave and shut the door before the alarm goes off, but I don't waste anytime going out and shutting the door behind me. I have no desire to break into anyone's home or business and steal their property. There's nothing anyone owns that I want or need. I have plenty of stuff to make me comfortable and happy. But if I was tempted for some reason, the threat of an alarm would keep me honest. My alarm company's slogan is "We protect what matters the most." What matters the most to me is to not have to hear the alarm. Maybe it will be a year or so before I have to test the system again. Meanwhile, if your alarm goes off, you won't find me anywhere near your home. I'll be at my house hoping I don't set off the alarm.

Nothing Much to Say

Saturday evening a friend of mine asked me if I had been writing anything , lately. I told him that I had not. He asked me “Why not” and I just replied, “I don’t really have much to say.”  In my experience when I don’t really have anything to say, it’s best to say nothing.

For that matter, the most difficult thing for me about the virus isolation is that I don’t know how to answer, “What have you been up to lately?” as I haven’t been up to much at all.  Add to that that I’m recovering from surgery seven weeks ago and for now I can’t drive. So on days like today, when my wife is working, I’m "stranded" at home. My choices are to read, watch TV, watch a movie, write something or read a book. Today, for a couple of hours I read the paper and for two more hours,  I chose to watch a Netflix documentary. As documentaries go, it was pretty good. I then picked up a novel to start reading when the question, “Have you been writing anything lately” came to mind. So I decided to write.

Personality-wise I’m an extroverted introvert. That means that “introvert” is my default personality, but in a social situation I can be as “extroverted” as necessary. Well, that’s not entirely true, but I try to perk up and participate in whatever is going on. Sometimes I’m more successful than at other times. At this time, I am more unsuccessful than I am successful. After spending hours alone (which is not at all unpleasant for me), it’s difficult to all of a sudden have things interesting to say. This is a constant vexation to the people around me, especially to my wife, who likes for me to participate in conversation even if it’s just with her.  

No one knows how long this Covid isolation is going to last. I try to, most of all, be content that no one in my immediate circle of family and friends has gotten sick. So I try to remember that this time is not mostly about one’s entertainment or social ability. It's about staying well. Hundreds of thousands of people around the world are suffering, and thousands have died or are dying from this virus and the isolation it has caused. Those people, and the people who love them, are not concerned about entertaining themselves or worried about being social, they are concerned about survival and just getting better.  For them, “What have you been up to lately” is easy to answer as it has become a matter of life and death. There is nothing entertaining about Covid 19. 

So for now when asked if I have been writing anything lately, I can answer, “Yes.”  It’s still questionable though if I actually had something worthwhile to say. Well, this novel isn’t going to read itself, so I’m going to clean this up, publish it and crack open this book.

What have you been doing lately? You’ve been reading what I wrote when I really didn’t have much of anything to say. But I tried, didn't I? So there. 

Because I don't want to...

My 12 year old granddaughter is both bright and beautiful. She is a straight A student and a wizard on the basketball court.  She is as good an athlete as she is a scholar. She's very verbal and articulate. She has strong opinions and doesn't mind sharing them. She, in every way possible, is a joy and delight.

My wife and I, during this virus isolation, walk a lot. We usually either walk around the cul de sac of our subdivision or drive ten minutes to Ft. Oglethorpe and walk a couple of laps on Barnhardt Circle. Barnhardt Circle provides an easy .7 mile walk around a slight grade. It also provides a place to walk with little or no vehicle or pedestrian traffic. All this walking gives us plenty of time to talk.  Our conversation flows from topic to topic. We talk about whatever series we’re watching on TV, and we talk about our family and friends. Very seldom do we walk without talking about our granddaughter and a significant four year old little boy. Besides talking about our granddaughter’s current accomplishments and brilliant things, we often reminisce about “days gone by.” On our last walk at Barnhardt Circle this morning, we had one of those conversations.

Ten years ago, when she was two years old, our granddaughter said something that affected my wife and me very deeply. We didn’t realize it  at the time, but over the years she has saved us a lot of wasted time and grief by what she said. This is what our two year old granddaughter said to us that day that changed everything for us. On this particular cold morning in West Lafayette, Indiana she was all bundled up and riding her tricycle down the sidewalk. We were walking along for her protection from the street. Her father had his cellphone out and was following her and taking pictures of her. What she was trying to say, we think, is “please stop taking photographs of me”, but how it came out was, “Daddy, I don’t want to take a picture because I don’t want to.” Now stop and think about that for a minute.  Wasn't she saying, “The only reason I don’t want you to take pictures of me is because I don’t want you to”. And she let it go at that. I would guess that  you, like me, have over the years come up with a multitude of reasons and excuses to give somebody when they ask you to do something that you really don’t want to do. Instead of just saying, “No, I don’t want to” we make something up to justify not going along with the request. We have to have some good reason. Sometimes in the absence of  a good reason we just lie about it. Another response that I think is rather common is that we say “yes” and just go  along with it. We then find ourselves spending time and effort in some activity that we really don’t enjoy just so we don’t hurt someone’s feelings. Not hurting someone’s feelings is a good thing, but not when it involves something that we really don’t want to do. In that case, we hurt our own feelings. And aren’t our feelings as important as anyone else’s? If our feelings don't matter then no one else's feelings matter all that much either. 

So take it from my two year old granddaughter, a perfectly good reason for not doing something is simply because you don’t want to do it. Maybe it’s possible to be more diplomatic than just to say, “I don’t want to” but that’s the gist of what you’re trying to say. You at least say it to yourself while you’re deciding how to put it. If you consider what my granddaughter said and what I’m saying about what she said, I think that you will see the vast wisdom in it. All of this to say that “I don’t want to” is a perfectly good reason to decline the offer. And it’s the only reason that you have to have. So take it from a very bright two year old, if you don’t  want to do something, just say that and leave it at that. "I don't want to" is the only reason you need to have.

Music as my Refuge and Light

“Sing, be, live, see

This dark stormy hour

The wind, it stirs

The scorched Earth cries out in vain

Oh war and power, you blind and blur

The torn heart cries out in pain

But music and singing have been my refuge

And music and singing shall be my light

A light of song, shining strong

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Through darkness and pain and strife

I'll sing, I'll be, live, see”

Earth Song by Frank Ticheli

Although I had been singing and listening to music since at least age three, I was sixteen years old when music changed my life. My Minister of Music and Youth took a group of teenagers, including me, to Dothan, Alabama to hear and witness the very first youth musical of its time—Good News. During the invitation part of the service, I wanted to bow down and sacrifice a cow. In the absence of any four-legged creature, I “went forward” and dedicated my life to the making of music.  Sitting here now typing this around 50 years later, I can surely say with much joy and conviction that music has indeed been my refuge. Music has seen me through some extremely joyful and sometimes very dark times to deliver me to this very day.

For the past couple of hours I’ve been listening to choral music on YouTube. Some of the pieces, such as Hymn to the Eternal Flame, I have listened to several times. Although I enjoy listening to a wide variety of musical styles, it’s choral music that can most often touch me the deepest. There’s something about the blending of male and female voices, and those voices both high and low—sopranos, tenors and altos and basses, that model the harmony in the world and the universe. The blending of these disparate voices gives me hope that the differences in families and society are somehow working together toward a harmonious conclusion. One can only hope.

After that experience at the First Baptist Church of Dothan, I also “went forward” at my home church, the Hillcrest Baptist Church of Enterprise to make public my desire to spend my life in the making of church music.  After several months passed and with one year of music school behind me, my phone rang at 102 Glenn Street in Enterprise and it was a local pastor asking me to consider coming to his church as their part-time Minister of Music and Youth. I directed the choir that Wednesday night and accepted the position on the next Sunday. I ended up staying there a year and a half until I continued my education at Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama. While at Samford for three  years and for one more year afterward, I was the part-time Minister of Music and Youth at a Baptist church in Jasper, Alabama, the New Prospect Baptist Church.  Those four years were to be four of my most significant years in ministry, especially in music ministry. Although I was their youth director, looking back, the youth choir was the core of that ministry. I did very little for the young people who were not involved in the choir. But for the 30 or so in the choir, it was a grand undertaking.

After Carolyn and I were married, we moved to Louisville, Kentucky where I continued my education at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. At the time, this world-renowned seminary boasted one of the best music schools in the country. There I applied myself and excelled in every way possible musically and academically. That institution no longer has a music school and is a paltry shadow of its former self. During those two years I was again on the staff of a local church, the Fairmount Baptist Church,  as the part-time music and youth director at the Fairmount Baptist Church in Fern Creek, Kentucky.  After graduation, Carolyn and I moved to Rossville, Georgia where I accepted my one and only “full-time” position at The First Baptist Church of Rossville. After those mostly good four years, I resigned and accepted a youth director position at a neighboring United Methodist church. Two years into that position, I accepted a position on the staff of the Signal Mountain Baptist Church, Signal Mountain, Tennessee. I held that position off and on three different times over a period of nearly 20 years. There with a choir of about 25 people and two accompanists from heaven, I made some of the best music of my nearly 50 years in ministry. At the end of that tenure, I went back to that United Methodist church, McFarland UMC, and eventually became their part-time music director.  I built a choir of about ten people into a wonderful choir of about 20 senior adults.  Besides the  music we made at church, we hit the road a couple of times and shared our music with other churches. I have nothing but good memories of my six years on the staff of McFarland UMC. Besides the church music I was involved in all those years, I found myself directing the choirs at a local high school, Lakeview-Ft. Oglethorpe,  for four of those years. That position stretched me in every way possible to  apply my skills in other than a church setting.

I retired from formal music making about five years ago, but music has remained my refuge especially while listening through Spotify, Sirius XM and YouTube. I’ve lost my singing voice after two significant throat surgeries, but that doesn’t keep me from enjoying the music of others. “Through darkness and pain and strife, I’ll sing, I’ll be, live, see.”

Woven into Fire

"Every face is in you, every voice, every sorrow in you.

Every pity, every love, every memory, woven into fire.

Every breath is in you, every cry, every longing in you.

Every singing, every hope, every healing, woven into fire.

Every heart is in you, every tongue, every trembling in you,

Every blessing, every soul, every shining, woven into fire."

text by  Michael Dennis Browne

I just celebrated a significant anniversary. Twenty eight years ago, on Wednesday night June 10, I was admitted to the psyche ward of Parkridge Hospital in Chattanooga, Tennessee. There is nothing significant about twenty eight years except at my age and stage of life every anniversary is significant. Since I was not living at home at the time, a good friend took it upon himself to take me to the Parkridge ER at around midnight on Wednesday June 10^th. As I was experiencing a psychotic break from reality, I was medicated in the ER so that I could calm down enough to be admitted. I remember a nurse named Jo who was particularly kind to me. She lovingly talked me down and helped me to get to the place that I could  make somewhat rational decisions. I remember nothing else until I woke up in the psyche ward the next morning. I was not at all happy to find myself in those surroundings.

I had been in the ward for two weeks before I was diagnosed. My doctor told me that I was suffering from manic-depression, otherwise known as the bipolar disorder. It took me several weeks after that to accept that I was mentally ill. Even now, these twenty eight years later, it’s somewhat hard to accept. The thing you need to know if you’re not mentally ill or do not know someone that is, mental illness happens to “normal” people just like you and me.  I didn’t ask to be mentally ill any more than anyone asks to have heart disease or needs to go on dialysis. The brain as a major organ of the body sometimes goes awry and needs to be treated just like any other organ of the body that has problems. Although I had spent most of my life depressed, it was the mania that landed me in the hospital.  I have read that depression affects the one suffering and the mania affects everybody else.

Over this twenty eight years I have had a number of psychiatrists and counselors. These medical professionals have prescribed medication and offered hours of life changing therapy. I owe all of them a deep debt of gratitude. I owe my wife most of my gratitude. She has stood beside me all these many years through the best and worst of it all. 

The lyrics above are from a piece called Hymn to the Eternal Flame by Stephen Paulus. That piece is from  his major work, To Be Certain of the Dawn.  Nothing written explains my illness much better than the words to this hymn. “Every blessing, every soul, every shining, woven into fire.” May was Mental Health Awareness Month. The only reason I’m publishing this here and now is to make you aware. It’s important that you don’t let “mental illness” scare you or even to make you feel  uncomfortable. It happens to the best of us. My treatment has been successful. For years I have been in my right mind and my mood has stabilized. Mental illness can be treated and controlled, even an illness as significant as manic-depression. I would like nothing better than to open a dialogue with you about my own experience and to be of help with your situation.

Thank God for the Fleas

During the coronavirus I am amazed at the number of people, especially "evangelicals", who believe that God is punishing us. I estimate that fully 50%, maybe more, of evangelicals believe that with Covid 19 God is sending us a message, a warning. The reasons that I see most often for God's wrath are homosexuality and abortion. In other words, the basic personality of God is anger and judgement. It seems to me that the assumption here is that God actually enjoys raining fire and brimstone down on his people. I see this reaction in storms as well. The assumption is that God is actually personally involved in who is and is not killed or affected by the storm. Furthermore, Christians comment on the "miracle" that happens when the family at 101 Pine Street is spared, but then the family at 106 Pine Street are all killed. If God spared one family, doesn't it stand to reason that God destroyed the other one? Can we assign the "miracle" from God to one circumstance and absolve Him of blame in the other? 

In our local paper there is a Sunday page called Faith and Family. In today's paper there is a commentary by Dr. William F. Holland, Jr. that speaks to this dichotomy.Instead of suggesting that God is punishing us with Covid 19 he says this, "God wants you to know that He loves you very much. He knows your thoughts and what you are going through, and He understands everything". He goes on to say, "Remember, no matter what there is no need to fear for Jesus will always be with you." Isn't this a better opinion of God's involvement with the virus instead of punishment? 

In her autobiography, The Hiding Place, Corrie Ten Boom talks about the lice and fleas in the beds of their barracks. Instead of seeing it as a plague or warning from God, Corrie's sister Betsie realized that because of the fleas, the guards left them alone and never entered their sleeping quarters. Instead of God's wrath they chose to see God's deliverance because of the torment. They both learned to thank God for the fleas. If you find hope and comfort in the wrath of God, then knock yourself out!  For me, I believe that God knows our suffering and actually enters it with us. "Be still and know that I am God." And that's a good thing.

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Nothing really.

For 15 years, every few days I got something on my mind that I wanted to write about. I sat down, booted up Word and started typing. The blinking cursor faithfully moved to the right creating the letters and words that I dictated. When I was satisfied with what I had written, I posted the words on Blogspot and from there to Facebook.  In the last six months or so I really haven’t had much to say. It’s not that I’ve given up or am doing nothing at all  to talk about, I just didn’t want to bother to write. The irony is that with the isolation of Covid 19, I have had more time on my hands than I’ve had since I was a kid. And even as a kid, I was busy doing something that I wanted to do. But now on the days I’m home alone, instead of writing I’m usually either reading or watching something on Prime or Netflix.

This morning I got up at about 8:30. I took a shower, got dressed and ready to “face the day.” Today I actually had things I needed to do. I’ve had some issues with my legs, so my morning started with a physical therapist. This was my seventh visit and we’re making some progress. On my way home I decided to  call the Nissan dealership to see if they could do that oil change and tune up my car has been telling me about for several weeks. They told me to come on.  I knew the dealership was taking precautions for Covid and that it would be a relatively safe place to be. As it turned out I was up close and personal with only two people and, like me, one of them was wearing a mask. I’m not very concerned that I was exposed to anything. I washed my hands several times. Since I didn’t have an appointment, I had to wait about two hours. I passed the time talking on my phone with my good friend Mark and texting with several other friends. The wait went by fairly quickly. I paid the cashier, got in my car and drove back home.

When I got home, since I had not eaten any breakfast, I warmed up the pizza from yesterday and ate a couple of slices. After eating I decided to do something  else that I haven’t done in a while. I went downstairs, retrieved my camera, attached my favorite lens, my macro lens,  and went outside. I walked up the street to the cul de sac where I knew there were some pretty flowers. I took several images and walked back home. As I processed my images with Lightroom, I didn’t like most of it, but I thought three of the images were worth working with. I got the images to my satisfaction and posted them on Facebook hoping that my “friends” would  enjoy them too.

Now I’m sitting at my computer typing these words. I’ve reread them several times and am not happy with them at all. My sentences are short and my subject matter seems rather boring. But I haven’t posted anything in quite some time so for better or for worse I’m going to post this. In 1971, the summer I sold books door to door, in sales school they taught us several things to do to  boost our confidence for the day. One of them was to look in a mirror and say several times, “I feel healthy! I feel happy!! I feel terrific!!!” These words helped me back then and they are helping me now. I hope that you are healthy, happy and terrific as well.  If not “terrific” I hope that you are at least healthy and happy.

The Gym Sans Cellphone

Like yours, my smartphone is so much more than  a telephone. It’s where I check Facebook, Instagram,  my email, the weather, and the stock market. If I’m not listening to the radio, Spotify provides the rest of my music. Its GPS is indispensable. It’s where I read the national news.  When I travel by air, I use the app to track my flight (is it on time? Which gate and is it still at the same gate? Estimated time of departure). And I'm just getting started.  If that is not enough uses for this little black box, what about Google? Once years ago I started a sentence with “I wonder…” and my 20 something son said, “Dad, you have a smartphone. You don’t have to wonder about anything.”  But when I leave it at home, like I did a couple of hours ago, of all of its uses,  it became just a telephone.

If you’re older than 65, like me, you remember when  a cellphone was just a telephone. The phone itself was as big as a brick and weighed about as much too. Service was spotty at best. If I was in a city or close to an interstate, I had pretty good service. Other than that, not so much. So today I got everything together to go to the gym. Car keys, wallet, lock, headphones. I’m ready to go. At the gym as I was putting everything in the locker, I realized that I didn’t have my smartphone. Only in this case, its absence was just a phone. I began to run all sorts of awful scenarios in my mind. “What if my wife needs me and can’t find me? She doesn’t even know I’m at the gym.” “What if anybody else needs me and can’t find me?” “What if I have a flat tire on the way home?” “Or my car breaks down? Do people still actually  stop to help someone who’s stranded?”  “Or what if  I have an accident?” ”What if I get in a traffic jam?”  “What if…?”  “What if…?”  “What if…?”

“Ok” I said to myself. “Probably none of these things is going to happen. And if it does happen, I probably will eventually find my way home and not die of starvation or exposure. My wife can probably survive without me for an hour or so”. I also found comfort in the fact that I was, after all,  less than five miles from home.

As it turned out, the gym music was fairly sedate and I got along just fine without Spotify. On the way home, I didn’t have a flat tire; I didn’t break down. I didn’t have an accident; I didn’t get in a traffic jam. It took me less than 15 minutes to get home. Nothing bad happened and I had no need for a telephone. When I got home, I immediately found my smartphone and checked for missed calls and texts, and there were none. Nobody had looked for me or missed me. It's all good.

So what have I learned from all this? Absolutely nothing. The next time I'm away from home without my smartphone, it will be as bad or worse. 

More Than Friends

“A friend loveth at all times.” Proverbs 17:17 KJV

“And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship. And he answered, saying: Your friend is your needs answered…For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace..And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart; For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared.” From The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

Over the years I have heard it said, just like I heard a few days ago, “He wants us to be ‘more than friends’ ".  Can you be “more than friends”? I don’t think so.

For some reason people think that adding a sexual relationship to a friendship will deepen the relationship and that now they will become “more than friends”. Think about it. Sexual relationships can sometimes deepen a relationship, but it always makes the relationship more complicated. And let’s say that trouble arises in this relationship, to whom do the parties go to talk about it? One or both of them call on a friend. As Gibran so poetically said,” For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared.” p. 64 The Prophet. And why do we seek out our friends in times of distress in the other relationship, especially one that is physical in nature? We seek them out because we know that we will be heard and accepted with no judgement, with no strings attached. Can we say as much about the sexual relationship that has gone south?

So incorporate sex into your relationship if you choose to, but don’t expect to  become “more than friends”. In my opinion this reality even applies to marital relationships. The marriage began as a friendship, but now it’s just a social and legal contract. To dissolve this union can be a legal,  relational and financial nightmare. And while you’re trying to work things out or dissolve the contract, who do you seek out to talk to? You find your best friend. And how many marriages dissolve when that couple has remained best friends? Not very many. Maybe none. I know people who have had multiple partners and spouses over the years, but still have the same best friend. So what relationship is better, the one that became “more than friends” or just your garden variety “best friend”? Your best friend has seen you through all of it. And will see you through the next breakup, as well. 

Tomorrow I’m going to spend a couple of days with someone who has been my friend for over 35 years. He and I have been through much alone and together. He has told me numerous times over the years, “Please call me anytime you need to talk and I’ll be here for you.” And I know he means it. I’m sure it’s possible for our friendship to deepen in the coming months and years, but I can’t imagine any way that we can become “more than friends”.  Why would we want to?

If you are in a relationship that is in trouble and has moved on from friendship, consider trying to rekindle the friendship before you dissolve the relationship. How many times have you heard someone say who has been divorced, “And now we’re better friends than ever”?  Couldn’t you have somehow found that friendship before the divorce and salvaged that relationship? Why do you have to survive relational hell before becoming friends? And if you can find a way to become friends again after a nasty breakup, doesn’t it stand to reason that you could have found that friendship before it got so bad?

So all this to say, the next time your friend seeks you out to say, “And we are considering becoming ‘more than friends’, listen thoughtfully and respectively and then say, “ Go to bed if you choose to, but never try to be ‘more than friends’. But I’ll still be here for you if you need me.” Then you’ll laugh and talk about other things that matter to both of you. That’s what friends do.

Home

“For outlandish creatures like us, on our way to a heart, a brain, and courage, Bethlehem is not the end of our journey but only the beginning–not home but the place through which we must pass if ever we are to reach home at last.”

―Frederick Buechner, The Magnificent Defeat

My wife and I are compatible in every way possible. We share the same political convictions and religious convictions; we love the same football team, the Auburn Tigers. We share the same grief when Auburn loses--like they did yesterday. We enjoy the same food and restaurants. For the most part we have the same friends. Considering that we are, indeed, “the opposite sex”, it’s quite amazing how alike we are. But of all the things we have in common, the most significant thing is how both of us prefer being at home. Of all the places on earth, the place we like the most is in Ringgold, Georgia on Timber Ridge Trail.

I wrote this blog post several days ago. In my opinion it was one of my best. However, Blogspot, from time to time does something very strange. As I’m writing, all of a sudden all that I have written simply disappears. Even though I’ve “saved” it, the words just vanish into cyberspace. Because of this, I usually write to a Word document, save the document and copy and paste it to Blogspot. This works very well. The only thing, sometimes I decide to take my chances by writing on Blogspot. In this case, it was a bad gamble. Those words are gone.

This particular post called “Home” I thought was particularly personal and particularly good. So good that except for what I wrote above, I’m not going to try to write it again. Well, like the Capital One credit card commercial, “One more thing…” What did Buechner mean when he wrote that we must pass through “Bethlehem” if we are ever to reach home? I don’t know; you’d have to ask Frederick Buechner. But what it means to me is that we were all born somewhere and it’s important to never forget where we were born, how and where we were raised and how grateful we need to be to the person who birthed us and the people who kept us alive until we gained survival skills on our own. I think too that he is suggesting that in spite of the fact that Mary and Joseph had no good reason to be in Bethlehem, because of what happened there, now 2000 years later it is one of the most visited and revered of all cities on earth. Maybe 2000 years from now people will visit your city because of you?

What you are reading here was born as a Word document. It then was copied and pasted here. And here, for better or for worse, is where these words will grow up and live.