Possibilities in the Valley

“Impossible isn’t something that is true to a thing. It’s something that is true to the person doing it.”Source Unknown

Sometimes people can’t just leave well enough alone. I got up the other day in time to wake the roosters, as is my custom, and when I went online to check the news, it had changed. I don’t mean the news had changed (which I expect it to, otherwise it wouldn’t be news – it would be “olds” and that would be pretty boring. Come to think of it, the news IS pretty boring because – wait for it – there really is nothing new under the sun). What I meant is that they had changed the graphics, links, layout, and everything.

The people who supply me with my news had changed the way their front page looks. I don’t remember them telling me they were going to change it. I had no warning and, as a result, 2015 got off to a very rocky start for me.

It’s not that I don’t like change or am resistant to it. Heck, I change my clothes every day and shower so that today’s dirt will have someplace clean to which to cling.

When you get right down to it, I don’t even mind the changes that took place online when I wasn’t looking. They simply caught me by surprise and require me to hop around the front page differently than I did before. It is neither good nor bad; it is just different and requires me to respond differently – and that’s where the problem lies.

It isn’t that the news viewer changed; it’s that I need to. Me! Worse yet, I had to listen to my gray matter grumbling for hours on end about it.

“Pete. Pete. Pete! Wake up Pete! Something’s happening out there; you’ve got to see this. They’re calling for All Hands on Deck! Heck, they’re even waking up the gray-haired gray matter to lend a hand. It’s a real five-alarm disaster looming. Fonts have changed, graphics have moved around, and links are hiding where we’ve got to scroll around to find them. For Keith’s sake, Pete: GET UP!”

Let me assure my readers, you do NOT want to be alone inside my head when those cells get agitated. That is one dangerous neighborhood. It’s so tough I call it Noah’s Ark, because you either travel in pairs, or you just don’t go there.

Anyway, once I got past the first thirty seconds or so of sheer terror, panic, and horror, the frontal cortex, cerebrum, cerebellum, and rest of the Yee Haw gang settled down and started to work out the new patterns for finding what I was looking for (AKA football scores and previews of coming mayhem) and life returned to normal. I still don’t care for the new-fangled layout, but I’m getting used to it and should be fine until Christmas or thereabouts when they will no doubt roll out some new and improved way of irritating me to no end.

But that’s life, isn’t it? Things always change. In fact, one might even call such changes a “Public Service” as one’s need to adapt keeps the brain functioning better, just as working on puzzles is said to sharpen the mind (or as Nietzsche put it, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger” – which I would amend to say, “That which does not kill us DOES, none-the-less, make us crazier).

The fact is that while we may be resistant to change, change is mostly a positive thing in life. Changing good habits for bad habits leads to improvements in mind, body, and soul. Many people make resolutions for the new year during the first few days of January but struggle to keep them (for a wide variety of reasons).

That’s why I really like taking life a day at a time. I find facing a year to be an impossible task, but if I take things a day at a time, it is far more manageable.

It is like the old story of the big game hunter who shot and killed an elephant. Standing by his trophy he wondered, “How am I going to eat all that meat?” His guide answered, “One bite at a time.”

It’s not the “thing” that’s impossible, it’s the person’s attitude and THAT I can keep positive in this, our ever-changing valley.

Dignity in the Valley

“God wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored the dignity of human nature …” rephrasing a portion of the Collect for Christmas 2 in the Book of Common Prayer

I am a fairly handy person. I like to think that when there are things that need to be done around church or home that I can usually handle them. Of course, I’m cautious and will generally downplay what skills I have so that the lower the expectation the lower the resulting disappointment will be.

Still, these successes, when they come, are sweet. More than sweet, they’re sometimes quite surprising.

One day I walked into the church mid-week (back in Michigan) and found the organist wandering around the organ like a lost puppy. “What’s the matter,” I asked, and he replied, “The organ doesn’t work. I turned on the switch and can see that it’s plugged in, but nothing’s happening.”

There wasn’t anything I could do, and he couldn’t practice, so he left. I had no idea who to call or what to do, and I knew our insurance wouldn’t cover an organ transplant, so I did what any “Tim-the-Tool-Time-Taylor” handyman would do; I grabbed a screwdriver and opened the back of the cabinet and took a look under the hood.

I found a fuse panel and noted one fuse had apparently blown. I pulled it out, took it down to the local hardware store, and got a replacement for less than a buck. I put it back in, fired up the noisemaker and, voila – musical tones! I called Marco, our organist, and with his skill-set, he confirmed that the device would actually play music, and we were off, running, and good to go for Sunday.

Life is like that. Sometimes things aren’t quite what we’d like them to be. We’re plugged in and everything seems to be fine, and yet it’s not.

The temptation is to look for the source of the problem externally – to blame the power company, for instance, for the lack of power. But as often as not, the solution to many problems is to be found internally. It simply requires the courage to pull off the cover and look under the hood.

A friend suffered a stroke some years back and was laid up for quite some time. He was frustrated and angry. How could this happen to him, he wondered. He spent some time angry with God and circumstances. He cried himself to sleep at night and snapped at his nurses and caregivers as they tried to take care of him. He was miserable.

But then one day he had a revelation. It was as if somebody had swapped out a good fuse for a bad fuse. He came to realize that with physical therapy his body was healing. He was gaining functionality. He was able to speak more clearly and realized that despite his uncharitable thoughts, words, and deeds, the work of his care-givers was having a positive effect.

They did what they needed to for him, but they also required him to do what he needed to do for himself. Their goal was not just the healing of his body, but the restoration and maintenance of his dignity. They no longer had to “push” him to do things; he began to push himself.

He had always heard that “pain is inevitable, but misery is optional.”

He didn’t know what that meant at first, but came to realize that misery is a state of mind. He was miserable by choice, not by circumstance. He could choose to wallow in self-pity (and be a miserable soul to be around) or he could choose to “not let it get him down.”

At the beginning of his crisis he’d had many cards, calls, and visitors, but as time went on, those began to fall by the wayside. At first he was upset that people were starting to “forget him.”

But then he realized he couldn’t force people to call or remember him, but he could reach out to them. He was quite capable of making phone calls and being a friend – and so he did, and so he was, and so he is – a friend.

People and circumstances can sometimes irritate us, but I’m happy to “re-fuse” the irritation and be happy instead. That brings music to my ears in this, our valley.

Christmas in the Valley

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum, Wie treu sind deine Blätter – German Christmas Carol

I don’t think there is anything that evokes Christmas memories quite as effectively as Christmas trees.

We have a wide variety of nativity sets we have acquired over the years, and they certainly point to the Reason for the Season (It’s all about God!), and yet they don’t inspire the same sense of mystery, wonder, and recollections of Christmases past as do the lighted trees at home and around our towns.

Each of us could probably regale our friends and neighbors with tree-mendous tales involving these seasonal conifers.

Our own family “hiss-tree” includes the Christmas without a tree, because my brother kept climbing and pulling it over until our father, having had quite enough of that nonsense, picked the tree up one last time, marched it (lights, ornaments, tinsel, stand, and all) to the back door where he shot-putted it (maybe it was more of a javelin throw – my memory is a bit hazy after six decades) out into the back yard where it stayed the rest of the season.

Then there was the time my buddy and I decided to head up into the mountains to find his parents the ideal Christmas tree. No mere tree-lot tree would do. No siree bob! We headed up into the Cascades, transitioning from highway, to gravel and logging roads, and Sasquatch trails until, looking down, we could see we were just above the ceiling for angelic flight.

We then trudged our way around the mountain until we found the tree we had been searching for. It was gorgeous. It was also about twenty times taller than necessary, but that’s OK. John and I scampered up and found a perfect spot upon which to start hacking with our butter knife (or whatever it was we thought would handle our tree-cutting needs) and within a fort-night we hacked off the tree top.

When we got down and set it up to admire our handiwork, we couldn't help but notice that the eight foot tree was closer to twelve; no problem. We topped the top (which was pretty anemic, even by Charlie Brown standards) and saved the bottom eight foot section for John’s parents.

I took the remaining four foot section home to my apartment – my very first Christmas tree – and decorated it with a single strand of lights, a couple of ornaments my parents had given me, and topped with a glass ornament that bent down the top nearly to the floor. Somewhere in my personal archives, I have a black and white snapshot of it, taken with my Polaroid Swinger.

Over time, the trees have changed. We've transitioned from getting real evergreens each year to the pre-lit artificial one we have now. We put it up each year and select which ornaments we’ll pull out to hang (as we have acquired far too many throughout our marriage for any single tree). There are a couple of small packages sitting under the tree now, but nowhere near the epic piles we had created when our children roamed the roost – but that’s OK.

Our children are now grown and the near-empty tree-skirt reminds us we have everything we need and virtually everything we want. We no longer need to scurry about buying presents, wrapping them up and finding places to hide them until Santa could set them out on Christmas morning. We've reached the place now where the song goes, “all is calm …”

Christmas, for us, truly is calm. The tree stands tall, bright, and silent – but not without meaning.

No matter the season, an evergreen is ever green. It is true and faithful; its conical shape points skyward toward heaven, ever reminding us of the One in whose Name O Tannenbaum stands.

It is topped with an angel, whose cry goes out to those willing and able to listen: “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people. Today … a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord ….” (Luke 2, NIV) – to which news I can only respond in the song of the angelic choir, “Glory to God in the Highest, and Peace to God’s people on earth.”

God bless you all, and Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays to you in this, our valley.

Coincidental Cookies in the Valley

“Comfort, O comfort my people …” Isaiah 40

The other day I was taking a shower and accidentally knocked my wife’s razor off its hook. It fell to the floor with a cheap, plastic “clack”. Although I don’t recall ever doing that before, I thought nothing of it until later that day when (browsing online) I noticed the day was Safety Razor Day. Was it coincidence? It could have been, but who knows?

Then last night the Ennis Community Choir performed their first holiday concert of the season at our church in Virginia City. I baked a delicious chocolate chip pan cookie that morning for the after-concert social hour and, considering how half-baked an idea it is for me to make cookies or anything else of that nature, it turned out surprisingly edible. When I got home I had a text from my son reminding me that it was National Cookie Day (for he knows of my love for cookies). Was this also a coincidence? I’m beginning to wonder.

We are sometimes told there is no such thing as a coincidence – that our thoughts and actions are simply part of a larger plan or purpose. Things get chalked up to “coincidence” when we see a connection between two seemingly unrelated things happening at the same time.

I will admit that I do believe in coincidences. I am not convinced that all actions are part of a great Master Plan. I believe a person can bake cookies and come to discover that it is National Cookie Day without seeing it as an integral part of God’s desire to bring reconciliation and peace to the world.

It could just as easily be part of a Master Confectioner’s plan to sell flour, sugar, and flavored morsels – or a national Dental Association plan to promote cavities for their members to fill.

I think it is a good thing to recognize a coincidence when we see one. That does not negate the reality of God working in our lives. It is quite the opposite, in fact.

When I knocked my wife’s razor onto the shower floor and became aware it was National Safety Razor Day, my heart was drawn closer to God by the coincidence – not further from God. What we call coincidence, and others call synchronicity, yet others call these moments “God shots;” that is, we see God present in the event, and that brings a smile.

If one were to sneak into God’s corporate headquarters, would one find a (metaphorical) book written eons ago with a footnote: “On December 4, 2014 Keith will bake cookies and the stars will once again be properly aligned.”? I think not.

However, an opportunity to make treats so that our church could practice a small act of hospitality for friends, neighbors, and strangers aligns with God’s command that we not just preach love, but practice love. That it was National Cookie Day simply placed a halo over the action.

Sometimes people feel very far from God or from God’s grace. Our job as human beings is to make sure God has a human face in our homes and neighborhoods. Each of us is called (and privileged) to be the human face of God, but sometimes we don’t live up to the billing. We close our eyes to suffering and barricade our lives with resentments. The result is that we are no longer a godly presence. Worse yet, we fail to see God in the face of our brethren; we fail to see God at work in the happy little moments of serendipity that surround us on every side. How sad.

I cannot control the world around me, and that’s a good thing. As has been said in the past, control is the opposite of love. When we try to control people or situations, we are no longer loving them, but more likely trying to manipulate them – bending them to our will or desires. When people don’t live up to our expectations, we develop resentments and become miserable souls to be around.

So my goal this holiday season is to be more loving and less controlling, to look more readily for God shots in my life, and work for peace and reconciliation in all I say or do. Even if everything doesn’t work out the way I plan or desire, that’s just the way the cookie crumbles in this, our valley. 

Thankfulness in the Valley

“We thank you for setting us at tasks which demand our best efforts …”Book of Common Prayer

It has been a while since I have reported on the progress at Trinity Church in Jeffers, just east of Ennis, Montana.

The Children’s Window is back! That’s the window that faces the road. It was bought and paid for by the children of the Madison Valley a hundred years ago who, week by week, brought their coins to church until sufficient funds were acquired to commission the creation and installation of the round Trinity “Children’s’ Window”.

The window was removed a month or so ago when an inspection determined that it was in serious need of repair and rebuilding. Lead, being soft, is subject to aging (aren't we all!) and has a useful life in stained glass windows of about 75 years.

The window, which is about five feet in diameter, is comprised of many small pieces of glass with paints and pigments painted on (and fired in, making the paint an integral part of the glass). Over time, of course, gravity has been pulling on those pieces of glass, creating sagging, bowing, and a general weakening of the window.

So the window was removed and taken to a studio near West Yellowstone where it was lovingly restored to its original luster and beauty. Just yesterday it was brought back and returned to its home. The Plexiglas protecting the window had been cleaned inside and out, and the dirt and grime of a century had been scrubbed off the window during restoration so that, when it was put back in place, it literally shined more brilliantly than it has in decades. Wow!

It seems to me that “shining more brilliantly than (we have) in years” is a large part of what this project has been about for the people at Trinity, and what a life of faith is about in general.

It is about far more than the physical plant. God is working on all of us all the time. Even when the lion’s share of a project is finished, the work is never really done. There is always ongoing maintenance and repair, cleaning and disinfecting, scrubbing and polishing. There is still a lot to do.

But, in essence, the lion’s share of what needed to be done has been done. That’s a picture – an icon, if you will – of a person’s life, too. The lion’s share of what needs to be done (theologically speaking) has been done by God. We are transformed, partly by what we do, but largely by the renewing of our mind, which takes an act of God (because, lord knows, I don’t want to change!).

God takes away our shortcomings, restores us to fellowship with God and one another, and calls us to new life – a life of grace.

Trinity Children’s Window shines because it has been cleaned. Broken glass has been replaced with good, strong, fresh glass. The window has been made stronger with fresh lead, solder, copper ties, and structural supports.

The work wasn’t easy. Most things of value aren’t. Since the window is round and had been sagging under the weight of gravity for a century, I suggested just turning it 180 degrees and letting gravity put it back over the next hundred years, but wiser heads prevailed.

Good parents always admonish their children: “If you’re going to do a job, do it right – and do it right the first time.”

God often sets us at tasks which demand our best efforts, and if we listen, and if we work at it, the results are often nothing short of amazing. Best of all, God calls us to do it together – to work together, each contributing our gifts, skills, and talents for the good of the whole, for the good of the community – for friends, family, neighbors, and strangers alike.

This is what God does for us, as well. The key is to let God do with us what God wills to do with us. That’s part of what we pray daily: Thy will be done – in me, in us – as it is in heaven.

May God grant us grace to grow and shine in love and joy in this, our valley. May God help us to be thankful for the blessings of useful work. Amen!

Veterans in the Valley

… thy kingdom come, thy will be done … The Lord’s Prayer

The following is a true story, although some details may be in error. The fault lies with this writer and not with the original teller of the tale.

Some years ago – decades, really – my father was in the army. He was an infantry soldier serving in Europe after the Second World War; he and his fellow GIs were based in Italy near Trieste, standing watch on the border with Yugoslavia. Negotiations had been underway between Italy, the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, and the United Nations and the border was being moved.

Orders came down from on high to turn over the border installation to the Soviets at noon on the day my Dad stood his watch. That morning he observed a Soviet armored column climb the mountain road toward his position and notified his commanding officer – a First Lieutenant whose name has been lost to the mists of time. It was about ten in the morning when the lead tank arrived at the border crossing – which was secured by a red and white swing-gate (and a couple of privates).

My father was sitting behind a few sandbags, hands resting comfortably on a machine gun. The lieutenant stepped over to the tank commander, saluted, welcomed him to Italy, and asked how he might be of assistance. The Soviet commander returned the salute and explained he was there to escort the American troops out of Yugoslavia.

The lieutenant thanked him for his offer and then informed him that they would not need an escort and that they would turn the position over at noon in accordance with the newly ratified treaty (and the orders under which he was operating).

The Soviet commander’s demeanor darkened. “The border changed at Noon, Moscow Time,” he said, adding, “You must leave now.”

The young lieutenant looked at his troops – a handful of American GIs with M-1 rifles and a single machine gun – and looked at the tank column stretched out along the road – and then back to the Soviet commander and said, “I’m sorry, but I am under orders, and cannot turn this position over to you until Noon local time. You’re welcome to wait here and join me for some coffee, if you’d like.”

The Soviet commander stepped back and spoke with his officers in a heated exchange. They had their orders: Escort the Americans off the mountain and secure the position. The Americans had their orders: Hold the position until Noon, at which time they were to turn command over to the Soviets. Compromise was out of the question as neither officer had the authority to change their orders.

After a few minutes, the Soviet commander reached over to his left wrist, removed his watch, and put it into his pocket. He walked back over to the American lieutenant and stood still. He seemed unsure how to say what he wanted to say. Troops on both sides of the border crossing looked at each other – Dad from his machine gun nest, and the Russian tank commanders from their iron monsters. Finally, the Soviet commander spoke.

“I seem to have misplaced my watch. Looking at the sky here, I cannot tell what time it is in Moscow. Can you?”

The young American lieutenant thought for a moment and said, “I’m not really sure, but I would guess it is about 10:00 a.m. in Moscow. I could check with headquarters, but I am sure it would take them a couple hours to figure it out. You know how slow generals can be.”

The Soviet war dog smiled. “Yes, I know. Let us watch the pass together and protect it from intruders until you feel it is safe to depart.”

And with that, peace prevailed.

I am thankful for the young rifleman who stood watch for us that day so many years ago. The dangers he and his fellows faced were no less grave than those faced by soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen, or merchant marines during active war-time.

I am thankful, too, for the friendly, clear-headed actions of a young American lieutenant (who knew his duty) and of a grizzled veteran who had nothing to prove – who had seen more than enough blood spilt in the past decade to last a thousand lifetimes.

I am thankful for the countless veterans who serve (and have served) their nation to preserve our freedoms at great personal cost and sacrifice. I remember them before God, and I thank God for them – each and every one – from the bottom of my heart here in this, our valley.

Saints in the Valley

“My regimen is lust and avarice for exercise, gluttony and sloth for relaxation.” Mason Cooley

Halloween is almost here. As a child, I am pretty sure Halloween ranked right up there next to Christmas as days and seasons of unbridled avarice and greed. Costumes and dressing up seemed pretty silly, but if that’s what one needed to do in order to acquire a bag full of sweets, then one would just have to bite the bullet, dress up as a pirate or fiend, smear grease paints upon cheek and brow, and have at it, so to speak.

Our aims were pretty modest as a family (growing up). When the time came finally to hit the streets, my brother, sisters, and I knew how far we were allowed to go. We were limited to our neighborhood, which meant a couple blocks in each direction. We weren’t turned loose and allowed to plunder the entire north end of Seattle (like some kids seemed to). We had bags that were very modest in size and when full, we knew we had gone far enough – and back to home we would trundle.

Having a sweet tooth, Halloween is still amongst my favorite holidays. A few weeks ago I picked up a bag of chocolates candies for our neighborhood saints and sinners – I think it has a couple hundred individually wrapped treats. When I brought it home, my own personal sweetie took a look at the bag and raised up an eyebrow. Knowing the question on her mind I told her it was for Halloween.

“How many kids did we have last year?” she asked.

“About fifteen or twenty, as I recall,” said I, “but this year we could have more, and I certainly don’t want anyone coming to our door to go away disappointed because we ran out. That would be scandalous and violate every principal and tenet of hospitality we hold most dear,” I added.

She rolled her eyes in apparent approval of the holiness of my intentions and let the matter drop. I drooled in true, honest, and sincere appreciation.

So, what exactly is Halloween? Why do we celebrate it?

In a land that honors and celebrates the separation of church and state, the truth is that the reason for the season is mostly lost on the world around us. We celebrate Halloween primarily because the date is on our calendars and the stores are filled with costumes and we learn at an early age that it is the one day we are allowed to go from house to house extorting our neighbors to hand over their bounty lest they find their homes egged or tee peed in the morning.

My, how quaint a tradition, eh?

In truth, Halloween is a contraction of All Hallows Eve – the evening before All Saints (or All Hallows) Day (which falls annually on November 1). On that day, Christians celebrate the lives of all the saints who “from their labors rest”.

Who are the saints? “Those are the people,” answered the little girl – pointing at the stained glass windows in church – “the light shines through.”

Christians are a diverse lot, so I can’t speak for all (or even most) of them, but what I mean when I use the term “saint” is someone who’s life has been touched by God, and who passes that on in their living.

It is customary to think of saints as people who have died – especially good people, like St. Mary, the mother of Jesus, or the apostles Peter and Paul, or giants of the faith, like Francis of Assisi. In medieval Europe, people dressed up like the saints of old – to thank God for the example of those lives that made the world a better place.

Dressing up as ghosts and goblins came much later, and the goal was not to scare people, but to make fun of the devil (whose defeat is certain). That’s the reasoning behind the costumes. And why ask for treats?

I think we look to our neighbors, asking them for help in sweetening our dispositions. By myself, I am a hoodlum. With my neighbor (acknowledging I am not alone in this world), I can become a better person. “Trick or Treat” then becomes a cry for help, and that I am glad to do amongst you saints here in this, our valley.