The Cost of Silence

I’ve begun to realize you can listen to silence and learn from it; it has a quality and a dimension all its own. Anonymous

Silence is hard to find. I came across this unascribed quote on the internet and paused a moment to reflect on whether or not I believed it. As I did so, I heard the kick-plate heater in the kitchen blowing warm air, a truck passing by the house, my wife scraping butter onto our morning toast, and water boiling on the stove.

I also realized that if those sounds were not there, there is a constant whooshing in my ears I’ve always had. The technical term is tinnitus, but I suspect it is just the sound the wind makes as it blows from one ear through to the other.

In any case, while some people think better when they’ve got things going on in the background, I don’t. I find too much noise quite distracting. That’s somewhat ironic as I find I am losing my hearing ever more as I age.

I looked outside a few minutes ago and saw the full moon setting just to the west of us over the hills and said, “Hey honey,” (my wife was sitting next to me), “look at that gorgeous moon!”

She said, “I just told you that.”

“Oh, maybe that’s what caused me to look,” I replied (chagrined by my complete lack of awareness that she had even been speaking to me).

That often happens when I am reading or writing, of course. My mind (such as it is) is occupied and the twenty or so remaining synapses struggle to multitask. I can read, I can write, or I can listen. “Pick one” says the gray matter. Of course, I don’t listen to it; I just go back to reading, writing, or … ha! You thought I was going to say “listening,” but I already told you – I like silence!

Anyway, life goes on and whether or not I can hear well, I haven’t found it to be all that detrimental to my life – at least not the “mental” part of detrimental.

Having said all that, I should add that not all silence is golden. Sometimes it is important to break one’s silence and speak. As the Bible says, “There is a time to keep silent, and a time to speak up” (Eccl. 3:7)

One of my great-nieces shared a concern on social media about bullying in her school, and the trauma it was causing a number of her friends. She wondered what she could do about it.

Bullying is a scourge, of course, and not a time for silence. One must be prepared to speak up and act. Speaking without acting is hollow.

One day, back when the earth was still cooling, I was in elementary school at recess and several classmates were picking on one of the poorer kids. Gary came to school wearing shabby clothes, unkempt hair, and often looked a mess. He was not a friend of mine, but I knew who he was. As these two goons went about punching him (the school monitor was nowhere to be seen), I felt I had to do something, so I ambled over and told them to knock it off.

They stopped, looked at me, and shifted the focus of their assault. I would love to say I creamed them, but we exchanged a few body blows; they got tired and bored, and finally left. I dropped my hands and looked around and Gary was nowhere to be seen. That irritated me; I’d come to his rescue and he’d abandoned the field!

Interestingly, nothing more happened and that was the first, last, and only fight I ever got into in school. I don’t know if it stopped the bullies, and Gary and I never did become friends, buddies, allies, or anything else. But I don’t believe he was ever hassled again that I saw, and that was reward enough for me.

I don’t know what the answer to bullying is, but I know that dealing with it as best one can is important. We each need to stand up, speak, and act for one another, for if nothing changes, then nothing will change and that’s too high a price to pay for silence here in this, our valley.

Rebooting Life

I stationed some of my own men at the gates so that no load could be brought in on the Sabbath day. Nehemiah 13:19

The other day I turned on the dishwasher at the church so that, after a meeting, we could quickly wash our dishes and leave. Unfortunately, the machine gave me an error code when I turned it on. I didn’t have the manual, so I couldn’t decipher the message on a for-sure basis, but knew I would have to call the repair service to either talk me through it, or schedule an appointment for them to come fix it.

There was a time in my life I would have gotten peeved or bent out of shape over that sort of thing, but these days they mostly roll off my back like water off the back of the proverbial duck. And why not? I’m mostly quackers anyway.

The point is that life has its challenges big and small, and there’s no use wasting energy on things over which we have no control. If I’m tempted to get upset, I just pull the Serenity Prayer out of my spiritual knapsack and offer my prayer to God: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

That prayer is and has been a life-saver. I can’t keep a machine from breaking down, but I can call for repair. I can’t control the cost of the repair, but I can find and hit the device’s reset button (if it has one) before I make the call. I can’t tell the repair man or woman what to do to effect the repair (since I have no knowledge or expertise in the matter), but I can stand by and hand them tools if that helps, or my silence (if that speeds them up).

There are worse things in life than having a dishwasher that doesn’t work. Of course, I say that as a man who prefers to hand wash dishes. On the other hand, if the microwave were to break down, now THAT would be catastrophic!

Still, it’s important to keep things in perspective. The hardest part of the serenity prayer is that “wisdom to know the difference” part.

Wisdom seems to be in especially short supply these days. I think it’s because we don’t do enough reflecting as a culture. We’re really into the insanity of the instantaneous.

We want everything, and we want it now. I am not immune to that, of course. When I get up in the morning, the very first thing I do is grab a cup of yesterday’s coffee and nuke it so I’ve got something to drink while the fresh pot is brewing. There is an unwritten rule in our house; the best way to approach me before my first cup of coffee is summed up in one word: DON’T!

Reflection takes time. It requires stopping to think, ponder, and cogitate.

When our children were young, we would sometimes play Hide-and-go-seek. We’d tell them they had thirty seconds or a minute to go hide, and then we’d say, “Go!”

At the word “Go” they would start spinning like whirling dervishes trying to figure where to run off to. That was adrenaline doing the spinning. When the adrenaline hits the bloodstream, blood rushes to the large muscles (legs and arms) as part of the Fight-or-Flight reflex. When blood rushes to the muscles, it is taken from the frontal lobe of the brain. That’s why people who panic do such stupid things.

Now, when one is jumped by a grizzly bear or a T-Rex, that adrenaline rush is a good thing. But when it comes to solving problems, it can be a bad thing, because it can result in scrambled thinking or “spinning our wheels.” So, unless one is faced with a life or death crisis, it pays to slow down, stop, take a cleansing breath to give our blood a large draught of oxygen, and think.

I pray that 2017 will be a year we reflect more and respond less; pause more and whirl less; breathe more and bleed less. May this be a year God helps us to reboot our lives, regain our sanity, and reset the dishwasher of our minds for Wisdom’s sake in this, our valley.

The Birth of Christmas

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given …” Isaiah 9:6

Many years ago there lived a young girl; she was probably sixteen to eighteen and betrothed to a village handyman. Some traditions suggest he might have been in his thirties or forties, and possibly a widower. However, it’s more likely he was younger – perhaps eighteen to twenty-one years of age. We don’t know, of course, as the evangelists did not provide those details. Maybe age isn’t important for what followed, but I think it helps set the tone for our understanding Christmas a little better.

In modern-day America, Christmas conjures up images of reindeer, chubby elves, nativity sets, candy canes, and a saccharine yearning for a world that never really was – snow falling at the perfect moment, or families gathered Norman-Rockwell-like around a tree.

Consequently, Christmas can often be a let-down. For many people it is a blue season; it’s a depressing time of year that fits in with the long, cold, dark nights much better than the twinkling delights hung in windows and along eaves troughs, or images of steam wafting gently into the snow-chilled air from a cup of scalding hot chocolate,.

The first Christmas was definitely not a dazzling one for that first couple lo those many years ago. For one thing, while Mary and Joseph were betrothed and supposed to be looking forward to life shared together in matrimonial harmony, she came down with a sudden case of the “preggers.” This did not bode well on many levels, not the least of which was living in a town whose major trade was likely in the field of gossip.

Secondly, since Joseph was not the father, humanly speaking, Mary was seriously at risk of being accused of adultery and suffering lethal consequences. Even if she were allowed to slip away quietly, everyone would know she was “tainted goods” and she’d live out her days with a scarlet letter hung invisibly about her neck. Happy days? I think not.

Still, we are told that Joseph was a “righteous” man. That means he was trusted to act and judge wisely; his primary desire was to always do what was pleasing to God.

He was told in a dream, “Don’t be afraid to take Mary for your wife.” Therefore he did not condemn her, but chose instead to embrace the dream, and through the dream, he embraced Mary, and in embracing Mary, he received as his own the One whom she carried.

Mary herself was no shrinking violet. Although the arts have often portrayed her as a quiet, mouse-like figure “pondering” the words of the angel and puzzling out what they meant, she was not one to let life run her over; she was a typical teenager.

“Hail, Mary, full of grace …”

“What sort of greeting is that?” asked Mary in return. She wasn’t batting her baby blues, biting her lip, and acting demure (and please note, her “baby blues” were no doubt the chocolaty brown of her Semitic heritage). Having God drop into one’s life, whether directly or by angelic stunt-double, never bodes well for the recipient; it means one’s life and plans are being irretrievably changed.

As the old saying goes, God loves us the way we are, but loves us too much to leave us that way.

Mary doesn’t just blithely accept the words of the angel. She challenges the notion she will have a child when she hasn’t done anything to make that happen (and hadn’t planned to until after the nuptials!). But the angel assures her it won’t be her doing, but God’s, and while she has every reason in the world to say, “Thanks, but no thanks,” she doesn’t. Instead, she bows her head, and gives herself to God – who gives himself to her.

Christmas isn’t about the tree, the tinsel, the lights, or the presents we exchange. As with Mary, it’s about God becoming vulnerable, placing his life in our hands, entrusting his own well-being to our questionable, human mercies, and saying, “I’ve got your back; will you have mine?”

And if, like Mary, we’ve got any gumption at all, we’ll accept the challenge, receive the child, and seek to bless the world – making a very Merry Christmas that much more possible in this, our valley – for unto us, the Son IS given.

War on Christmas - Reporting From the Trenches

There will be wars and rumors of wars; do not be disturbed – Matthew 24:6

I see the War on Christmas has returned.

I have good news. It appears to be restricted to the world of Social Media. No one else in the world seems to be worried about it. I presume that’s because it is neither a real war, nor is it even a real thing. It’s a made-up war, mostly made up by people with a surplus of time on their hands.

That’s not to say there ISN’T a war on Christmas. Just because a war doesn’t exist doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.

A few weeks back a well-known coffee company brought out its holiday cup; they had the audacity to decorate it with people getting along peaceably with one another.

“What on earth has that got to do with Christmas?” cried a number of indignant souls. “Don’t they realize Christmas is about a mass of humanity smashing their way into stores the day after Thanksgiving and crushing all competitors underfoot?”

Yes, I guess one could say there is a war on Christmas; it’s being waged in the trenches of Social Media. Ironically, “social” media has become quite unsocial, if not anti-social: “Happy Holidays? Happy Freaking Holidays? It’s Christmas!!! ‘Like’ this post if you agree to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, or may your bed be filled with the fleas of a thousand Mooses if you fail to paste and post and pass along this Jesus-loving sentiment!”

I would like to offer my services as an Ambassador of Good Will and reflect on this pseudo-war of which I write.

First, Christmas is a Christian holiday. It is recognized for the most part by one billion people. That sounds like a lot of human beings, but there are another six billion or so for whom it does not apply. So while it might be nice to offer a passer-by a cheery “Merry Christmas,” it would not be inappropriate to wish them an equally cheery “Happy Holidays.”

Why? Because there are a bunch of holidays recognized and practiced by people of many faiths around the globe this time of year, and such a pleasant greeting includes Christmas, without denigrating the faiths of our neighbors.

Secondly, “holiday” is an English word combining (and contracting) “holy day.” A holy day is a day set aside. Set aside for what, you ask? It is a day set apart so people can focus on God. So to wish someone a Happy Holiday is a way of inviting them to experience a time of connecting with God – and enjoying the experience. Is that a bad thing?

What happens if we decide not to get worked up into a lather in the Happy-Holiday-Merry-Christmas flap? Will God be upset? I’m talking about the One who sent down a chorus of angels who sang “Peace on Earth, good will to all …”

I know there are some who have been rebuffed for offering a hearty Merry Christmas to someone who snapped or snarled, finding the greeting offensive or objectionable, but that hardly counts as a “war” and, frankly, says more about them than the well-wisher. It also doesn’t mean you can’t say “Merry Christmas,” or call that tall green thing in your living room a Christmas Tree. That’s our prerogative; that’s our option; that’s what the First Amendment allows us to say and do.

Personally, I like using all the tools at my disposal this time of year for offering gentle greetings. If I am talking to known members of a church, I wish them a Merry Christmas; if to strangers and passers-by, Happy Holidays. To change it up, I sometimes tender a Feliz Navidad (even if they aren’t Hispanic), or Joyeux Noel (even if they aren’t French), or God Jul (even if they aren’t Swedish).

The point is, it is a season for grace, and the more graceful we can be with one another, the more likely we will obtain the gift of peace that passes all understanding. I suspect that was the purpose behind that first Christmas some twenty centuries ago.

So let’s restore the social to our social media and greet one another kindly over these next few weeks. There are some folks who need loving in this, our valley. Mele Kalikimaka.

On Eagles' Wings

… (A)cceptance is the answer to all my problems today… The Big Book

My wife and I were out for a drive not too long ago. We were on our way to Sheridan, driving down along the highway approaching Alder. I was keeping an eye on the road, watching for deer, moose, elk, badgers, skunks, and other assorted road-hazards when the one thing I was NOT watching for swooped into view.

Approaching our little tin-can on wheels was the largest eagle I have ever seen. Eagles are magnificent birds, but since I am normally a hundred yards or more distant when I see them, this one caught me quite off guard. I was shocked by the sheer size of the bird. I am sure it was the raptor that rescued Gandalf from Saruman’s awful tower in Middle Earth, but if not, it sure could have been a close relative (referring to the eagle, and not to the wizard).

I think the poor creature was also taken aback to find us in his (or her) glide path; I suspect it was en route to pluck a fish out of Alder Creek, or maybe a marmot along the bank. As it approached the side of our car, it recognized the error of its ways and immediately banked right, like an F-16 avoiding a Russian MIG (and lord knows it was rushin’).

Unfortunately, it was going so fast and was upon us so quickly, tragedy was imminent.

That’s when the poor bird did everything she needed to do for survival. The incident took on one of those slow-motion effects one sees in movies when life is happening too fast for the naked eye to keep up. My mouth opened up to shout some “oh, shoot” sort of expletive, as my wife balled up into a fetal position and made herself as close to her birth-size as possible. There was a shriek to be heard, too, but whether it was the eagle, wife, or me was too hard to tell with any precision.

As all of this was going on, the eagle continued her turn and made an effort to ascend. She flapped her great wings with power and purpose, and then … then the miracle happened!

She lightened her load explosively, which enabled her to streak skyward. She left her payload sprayed across the front and top of our car, but the mother of all collisions was avoided.

Simultaneously, our poor little Suzuki (which is a beautiful shade of black) took on the appearance of a skunk rolling along the highway atop a skateboard!

The good news, of course: we survived an accident that never happened due to the eagle’s quick thinking (and the fact birds lack a control mechanism in areas not spoken of in polite company).

In any case, time returned to its normal pace and we finished our journey, returning home none the worse for wear (after giving our car a run through the local carwash).

I am truly grateful that neither bird nor humans were injured or killed there along the Alder Gulch. I am also grateful I was able to see the magnificent grace of an American Bald Eagle up close and personal. I probably could have done without it costuming the car early for Halloween, but better to have it splashed on that than m’love and me, eh?

I learned a long time ago that it is quite helpful to “let go and let God” (as the old cliché puts it). If the bird hadn’t “let go” – there’s a chance God would have entered the picture for one or more of us sooner, rather than later. I’m looking forward to the trip through the pearly gates, but I’m not in THAT big a hurry, I must confess.

Sometimes we think of letting go as something of a sacrifice – of giving up things we like and appreciate. But sometimes it is the other stuff, the stinky stuff we have to be willing to give up, and in doing so, come to find our lives are better for it. I’m thinking of things like resentments, frustrations, or events from our past.

Giving those things up could be really good for us – our health and vitality, and dumping that stuff might just allow us to soar higher in this, our valley. 

A Parable for the Times

There was a man who needed to get to the Capital. He had a choice between two drivers.

The first was a two year old toddler who could not reach the pedals and see out the window at the same time. The boy was guaranteed (best case scenario) never to succeed in exiting the garage in the course of four years trying. The worst case scenario would involve crashing the car into the house, rupturing a gas line, blowing everything up and everyone dying.

The second driver was Ma Barker. She had years of experience driving successfully under both normal and abnormal conditions.

Who does the man choose to drive the car?

Silly question!

The toddler, of course. Women have no business driving!

The End

Beautiful Minds

The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways … Proverbs 14

The other day I was wandering around the internet, aimlessly flitting from one site to another. My wife asked me what I was doing and I told her, “I’m killing time.”

It’s a funny saying, isn’t it? “Killing time.”

I have finally gotten to that age where I am more aware of my body than usual. Every now and then I reach to grab something and there is a twinge in my shoulder that was never there before. I wonder whether it is muscle ache or joint pain and, frankly, can’t tell. I’d have to be more in tune with my body, and that would take paying attention – something for which I haven’t got time!

I’m coming to realize that it isn’t time I’m killing as much as time is killing me! As I approach the Golden Years (at the pace of a sloth on speed), I find myself wondering how it is this “gold” has gotten itself wrapped in a crust of rust!

That’s one of the problems with a relatively sedentary life-style. I’d like to think I am an active sort, but maybe flipping the channels with a remote or wandering the world via the World Wide Web isn’t as active as it sounds. Flipping is a word we hear in gymnastics, but I’m not sure what I do qualifies as a gymnastic maneuver. I would also venture to state that logging onto the internet is less physical than logging a forest, so maybe I need to consider a change in life-style.

This idea of time killing us is nothing new, of course. The Greek word for time is Chronos, named for a nasty minor deity who was best known for eating his own children. He is depicted by artists as a ravenous old coot whose appetite is never satiated – always consuming, but never satisfied. That’s a scary-good picture of time, if you ask me.

There is another Greek word – a better word – for time: Kairos. This is sometimes called “God’s time.” This is time as an opportunity, a gift; time with a purpose. This kind of time does not steal life, but gives life. It is the sort of time Solomon referred to when he wrote: To everything there is a time and a season – a time to laugh, a time to mourn; a time to be born, a time to die; a time to speak, a time for silence, and so forth.

If we look at time this way, we find the questions we ask tend to change. Instead of asking what time it is, we ask what this time is for. How should I use this time that God has given me? Instead of crying, “Good God, morning,” when we awake, we shake off our sleep and declare, “Good morning, God!”

What I have discovered is that it isn’t time that needs to change, but my attitude toward time. Instead of grousing about where time has gone, I look to see how best to use the time I’ve got, and at the end of the day, admire the things I’ve accomplished, or how much less there is to do next time I get started.

That’s quite a difference, isn’t it?

Solomon said, “The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways,” and I suppose one of the things he had in that beautiful mind of his was the idea that if we are wise, and if we are prudent, we will give thought to not just what we say and do, but to how we use our time.

When that computer of mine isn’t behaving properly, I find I sometimes have to reboot it; turn it off, unplug it, remove the battery, and after a minute, put it all back together, start it up, and it’s good as new. Maybe we need to do that with our lives, too; unplug and reboot.

It may not remove the arthritis and muscle strain one acquires with age, but it could well remove the twinge of guilt that arises when we find ourselves killing time instead of redeeming it for the sake of the kingdom. That could create in us a beautiful mind in no time at all, and wouldn’t that be a pleasant thing in this, our valley?