Darkness in the Valley

“It is almost as important to know what is not serious as to know what is.” John Kenneth Galbraith

Some many years ago I was walking home from school in Seattle and, as was my custom, stopped in at the local grocery store to pick up something to munch on. As I scoured the candy rack for something sweet enough to keep the family dentist in business, the shop-keeper and a customer were watching the news on a little black and white television set behind the counter. There was some sort of report involving the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I wasn’t paying much attention, but the shop-owner snarled mid-report and said, “Somebody ought to shoot that (man).”

I was shocked. First, I had always considered the owner of the store to be a nice guy. Secondly, while I didn’t know much about Dr. King, I knew that his focus was on improving relations between white people and black people through just and peaceable means.

I was shocked and wondered why anyone would want to kill a man of peace. That was insanity and in good conscience I could not and would not spend another dime in that store ever again.

Events in Ferguson Missouri brought back those memories of the tensions and riots in the 1960s (and the martyrdom of MLK, Jr.). They also reminded me of another incident.

 

(1974, Spokane, WA I was part of Spokane PD's 

Larceny Squad - patroling from a Vespa)

After I graduated from college and before I went off to seminary, I was a police officer in the city of Spokane. One night my partner and I responded to a silent alarm call on the city’s south hill. It was winter; it was a moonless night (about 1 a.m.), and despite the snow that lay upon the ground, it was quite dark. We pulled up to the address of an antique shop and my partner went one way on foot around the building while I went the other.

As I rounded the corner I confronted a man standing at a window in back. He was dressed in a dark coat and wore a knitted ski-cap pulled down low. He hadn’t heard my approach, but when I saw him I drew my weapon, identified myself, and ordered him to freeze.

Startled, he turned and I glimpsed a silver flash in the beam of my flashlight. I tensed, applied several pounds of pressure to my Smith and Wesson’s trigger (which takes three pounds of pressure to fire) and ordered him to drop his gun NOW! I suspect there might have been an expletive or two thrown in for good measure – and it worked.

He dropped his weapon. It turned out to be a screwdriver he was using to pry open the window of the shop he was burgling. He came within a half-pound of trigger pull of being shot.

Looking back, I find myself wondering if I would have exercised the same level of restraint on my trigger if he had been black. I like to think I am color blind when it comes to race, but I also know that racism is not a matter of the intellect, but of the gut. If he had been black, this story might have ended differently; I cannot dismiss that possibility.

When the adrenaline pumps, humans shift gears from the intellectual brain to the more primal, ancient, reptilian brain – the Fight/Flight center. We are afraid of that which we do not know or understand, and so we react out of that fear. Racism is rooted in xenophobia (fear of the stranger) and we need to quit denying it exists. If we acknowledge it, we can begin work needed to overcome it – like most any defect of character.

I don’t know precisely what happened in Ferguson that fateful day. I hope, pray, and expect the investigators will be thorough and that justice will prevail, but I hope, too, that each of us will look deep within ourselves and know just how far we have yet to go.

I am human. I am fearful, and ugliness of thought and deed are very much alive and well in this soul of mine.

We can overcome our baser instincts, but first we’ve got to face reality, admit the problem, and then be willing to seek solutions and work together to achieve them in this, our valley (and beyond).

Life Unfolding in the Valley

“Many things get done in the world because someone had a vision of something better.” Herbert O’Driscoll

I have recently taken to watching more and more how-to shows on television. Of special interest are woodworking programs on our local PBS station.

The show I like best exhibits all sorts of projects that make life easier, more beautiful and, best of all, better organized. I look at a team of professionals (each taking a part of any one project) and, beginning with a couple scraps of this and that (and a spot of white glue), before you know it, they’ve put together chests and cabinets that open, close, fold, bend, and twist in ways too numerous to count.

Unfortunately, they go through the steps so quickly that I don’t quite understand how everything relates or connects. Consequently, my projects start off as pieces of wood in standard dimensions that end up making my garage (which is my “shop” – very loosely defined) look like a FEMA disaster area, and the project looking somewhat primitive (which it is). That’s very discouraging, or it could be if I let it be.

Fortunately, I know I am an amateur (or rank amateur – heavy on the “rank”) and so I do not expect perfection. For me, the fun is in the trying. My first goal is always to make something functional. My second goal is to make it pleasant to look at. My ultimate goal, however, is to make something I can show off. You see, inside this carcass of mine is a kindergartner screaming to be noticed.

I find that setting goals is important. If I “settle” for functional, that is generally what I will produce. So it is important to set higher goals. Nothing will ever be perfect, but anything can be improved, and that’s where the joy is to be found.

One of the problems we face is in determining what the “better” looks like.

Take your life, for instance. Is it where you would like it to be? Do you have friends you can depend on? Do you have a job that satisfies and delights you day in and day out? Do you face challenges that push you toward excellence? At the end of the day, do you look back with a “Whew, that was a good one,” or with a “Whew, that was a colossal waste of time”?

One of the things I like about wood working is that a project is literally in one’s own hands. The finished product is dependant to some degree upon the quality of the tools, but more so on the skills of the carpenter. The sharpest blade in my shop will not restore an inch of wood to a board I cut too short – no matter how many times I cut it, it will still be too short. Measuring accurately and cutting with precision takes time, practice, and patience.

The rules I follow in the shop seem appropriate for an improved life. First: Be safe. I like my fingers (all of them); I like being able to see; I like being able to hear. So safety has GOT to be rule one.

In life, watch where you’re going. Speak kindly – don’t cut others down. Wear gloves when dealing with rough people or messy situations.

Rule Number Two: No whining, complaining, or excuses. It’s no use crying the blade is too dull, the wood is too hard, or the measuring tape is inaccurate. If the blade is dull, sharpen it; if the wood is hard, sharpen the blade again; if the cut is “off” measure twice or three times or whatever it takes to cut it right the next time.

In life, don’t blame others (or yourself). Just pay attention and make adjustments as needed (in your own words, attitudes, or deeds).

Rule Number Three: Be early. If I wait to start a project too late, I lose interest or momentum before I’ve even started, so I find I need to start early for best results.

In life, be early. If tempted to sleep in ‘cause there’s nothing to do and you’re bored, get up early and do something different. Be responsible for producing something of value, whether it is a chest or a memory. Take charge and live the dream.

I think you’ll be glad you did in this, our valley.

Ants in the Valley

“To live is to change, and to be perfect is to have changed often.” John Henry Newman

The other day I bought something online that I could not get locally to take care of a problem with pests. Specifically, we have lots of ants in the yard and one cannot weed or stand in one place for long before a gang of ants decides we would make a wonderful trophy to mount over their little ant fire places.

We tried to take care of the problem with a local pest control service for a couple years, but that didn’t work, and we tried various over-the-counter pesticides, but they only got the ants high (and craving munchies), so we took to the web (figuring spiders would know best how to deal with pesky insects) and found a solution that seemed reasonably priced and – best of all – looked like something a normal person could do themselves.

While the “normal” might be hard for me to pull off, never-the-less I decided I would give it a shot.

That’s what we did; we ordered the product, which came with easy-to-follow instructions, and we set out the bait stations (which are certified safe from anything that isn’t an ant – like dogs, cats, deer, and other critters of that ilk).

After a few days, it seems like the ants have taken the bait and, much to my delight, they appear to be disappearing!

The problem with pesticides, I find, is that they attack the critters above ground, but they don’t get to the Queen – that egg-laying machine who stays safe and secure in her underground cell. If we can get to her, we can solve the problem – and I think we have.

It seems like that’s also a good illustration of how we deal with many of our personal problems. So often we attack issues on the surface without really getting at the heart of the matter, which lies beneath.

The “Queen” who lies beneath, for me, is my ego. I know, I know. It sounds highly unlikely to my dear readers that I would have an ego problem, but believe me – I am alive; ergo, ego-maniacal thoughts, feelings, and attitudes make their appearance from time to time.

When I get mad, it is generally because I’m not getting my way about something. The weather is too hot, cold, wet, dry, or windy. The cars and drivers around me are going too slow or too fast. Some person, place, thing, or situation isn’t the way I want it to be and – BOOM – the Queen gives birth to an Anger Ant who charges into battle.

An ant stings with a stinger, rends with its mandibles, and is just generally an irritable sort of beast – and that’s me. When I don’t get my way I can sometimes pout, and sulk, get depressed, or behave quite boorishly.

Now, I must confess most of that stuff takes place between my ears. Because I am a man of the cloth, my outer self is quite calm, cool, and collected. I bear the slings and arrows of life with remarkable equanimity and peace. That demeanor, though, is not completely an act (or fake)

Over the years I’ve come to learn that I have very little control over the people and situations that surround me. I can allow the frustrations to eat me up, or I can choose a different path. What path might that be?

I’ve learned to knock the ego down to size with several tools at my disposal. First, relax. Controlling the world is above my pay grade. That’s God’s job, not mine. The Bible tells us God loves the world. It does not say anywhere that God controls the world.

Consequently, my task is to love the people and the world I live in, and to forget trying to control it. When I do that I have peace and serenity, and I like that.

Secondly, I’m thankful. Our world is a delightful place. The people around us are strange and quirky, to be sure, but so am I. When we accept people for who they are, we can be at peace. Even if they are restless, irritable, and discontented, that’s their problem. The fact is Pain is inevitable, but misery is optional.

We can change, and change is an ANT-idote to misery in this, our valley.

How Brown is my Valley

“Our very life depends on everything’s / Recurring till we answer from within.” Robert Frost

We went away for a couple of weeks on vacation. When we got home, our lawn had failed to maintain a lush green appearance we have worked so hard to create in our own spot of Eden on Earth. What happened?

Well, we had left; that’s what happened. We had gone away and we had not asked anyone to take care of our lawn. No one was here to set out the sprinklers and move them around day by day.

Did the grass die? No, not really. The grass did what grass does when the rains stop – it went dormant. It went to sleep, conserving energy in order to survive.

We came back and I looked at the lawn. It looked like it was dead and dying. The grass was largely brown, with only a few patches of green here and there – mostly where our neighbor’s water had carelessly encroached on our territory. There, the grass had continued to grow green and luxurious.

Of course we began watering the lawn again, and it has greened up somewhat, but I’m not sure it will come back the way we want it to. That’s just the way it is. We didn’t kill it with neglect; it simply went to sleep and will perk up again when it is dog gone good and ready.

The good news is that I don’t have to mow it as often now. Yippee!

It’s funny how we try to manipulate nature like we do. I wonder what is wrong with us – with we human beings. Why do we want lawns and flower beds? While birds make nests and coyotes dens, I don’t see them spending any time decorating. What is it in the human psyche that requires more than simple shelter – this “need” to surround ourselves with “stuff” that require more resources, more labor, more time to maintain?

I don’t know of any animal (and am not sure how I would go about confirming this observation) that recognizes beauty. Oh, I’m sure there is some semblance of that going on with the mating rituals animals engage in – large racks on elk, bright plumage on birds, and the love songs of croaking toads, but the goal there is procreation, not beautification.

But the idea of a bird arranging its nest “just so” and adding a sprig here and there to make it look prettier just doesn’t seem to be there (in the animal realm), as I see it. I could be wrong, of course. After all, I’m a guy. I don’t see the need to paint a room unless the old paint is cracked or peeling. Fixing what’s broke is fine, but changing out the home décor seasonally just isn’t on my list of priorities. That’s not to say it shouldn’t be, but it simply isn’t.

However, not being in a single state, life is not as I would have it, but is as “we” (husband and wife) would have it – and that’s a good thing.

The fact is that while I don’t understand the need to beautify my world, I have come to appreciate the beauty of “our” world. The truth is that in the end, I DO like a fresh coat of paint; I DO like a green lawn, and trees trimmed of dead limbs, and blooming flowers (even if the deer eat most of them before we can actually enjoy looking at the blossoms).

Perhaps, having been created in the image and likeness of God, our appreciation of color, balance, symmetry, and life’s many wonders is a reflection of who we are, and who’s we are. While there is labor and the expenditure of precious resources to maintain and support this weird aspect of our human nature, perhaps it is worth it as it also imbues us with deep satisfaction within.

It’s not that we can control nature, but we can bring order out of chaos. It takes time, but that is one of God’s great gifts. We come to discover that it isn’t the external control that satisfies, but the outward manifestation of internal grace that brings peace and joy.

And that’s a beautiful thing here in this, our browning valley.

Relaxation in the Valley

“The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” Bertrand Russell

One of the wonderful, but unexpected, benefits of holidays and vacations is learning to relax. I’m not exactly a type-A personality. I know how to pace myself, for the most part. I enjoy my days off and time away from church and office. I’m not much of a work-a-holic, but still, relaxing takes a bit of doing for me.

When I need to go somewhere, there is no “enjoying the journey” as such. I set my sights on the destination and then plow ahead come hail or high water. It doesn’t bother me to stop for fuel or food, but there are few roadside attractions for which I’ll slow down and gawk, let alone visit.

Part of this is my Scottish ancestry. Now, admittedly, it only accounts for about 1/16^th of my blood, but when it comes to thrift, I could pass for 100% Highlander. Some roadside attractions are a perversion of that wonderful Bible passage: You were a stranger, so I took you in. Hospitality is fine, but no one likes to be “taken in” – right?

Oh sure, when our children were growing up, we made sure to stop and enjoy the world’s “Mystery Spots” where the laws of gravity are suspended through the creative use of optical illusions. We enjoyed visiting the amusement parks with their roller coasters and fun houses. We bought our fair share of tee-shirts confirming where we’d been and what we’d done and seen. But as adults, with our kids out of the house, my tastes have changed; my desires have changed; my interests have changed.

I enjoy going places and doing things, but I don’t much care for the roadside attractions anymore. They hold a “been there, done that” quality to them that simply doesn’t appeal to me anymore. My preference has always been people. I like visiting family and friends and catching up with them. For me, it is the people that matter, not the sights.

I can be a bit fussy regards what I consider entertaining or fun, but we did change things up a bit. We decided to visit family in the Seattle area this year, but rather than taking the Interstate, as we normally would, we chose to make the journey via some old black-top highways instead. While the trip was slower, we came to discover that it was much more enjoyable.

Part of the pleasure was to be had in actually having to drive the car. We have gotten so used to zipping along freeways non-stop that we have forgotten the actual delights of driving. The old roads are narrower, curvier, and much more scenic. One must slow down, speed up, and pass through towns (rather than around them or past them via segregated corridors).

The trip that, by freeway, would have run about eleven hours took about sixteen to eighteen hours, but it was broken up into several overnight layovers. That made the expedition much more relaxing and gave us a chance to see parts of the world we had not seen before. We got to stop for meals at local diners, rather than at the tried-and-true chain restaurants we’re more used to. In short, we got to spend time IN America, rather than in passing THROUGH America, and that made all the difference for me.

Until now, most of my life has been focused outward – school, work, projects, obligations, meeting the needs, desires, and expectations of others. Keeping busy and “doing unto others” certainly has its own profits and rewards, but I think I am finally wising up and discovering the benefits to be gained by slowing down and turning inward.

By easing up on the accelerator, I find it has been easier for God to catch up and replenish my soul. In our jet-paced, turbo-charged world, we sometimes forget that God tends to be a walker. He walked in the cool of the evening in the Garden, and he walked the dusty trails of Galilee. He’s certainly got a long stride, but I’m beginning to think God prefers the sound of footsteps to the monotonous drone of a highway life.

As a follower of The Way, perhaps I don’t need to be so “driven” in this, our valley. It’s time, I think, to get some walking shoes, instead.

A Slip in the Valley

“Do not look where you fell, but where you slipped.” Liberian Proverb

It was the fourth of July. It was not hot, but it was more than warm. The sun was shining brightly as my wife and I set up our chairs on Main Street just east of “The Fisherman.” We were about an hour ahead of the parade, but that’s OK. We weren’t in a hurry exactly, but we did want a decent place in which to sit and watch the spectacle unfold before us.

The sun dipped in and out of the clouds as we enjoyed the wait, which wasn’t long as we exchanged pleasantries with folks who came from near and far to experience a bit of small-town charm.

The parade was nice, and when it was finished, folks remarked on how much better (or worse) is was than last year’s event (depending on who one was listening to).

It was fun eavesdropping, listening in on the smattering of opinions offered by the roadside critics. I wondered how many of the complainers would join the Chamber to improve the event for next year. Without doing a survey, my gut tells me the answer is somewhere between none and zilch. Still, maybe a grump will come forward. You never know.

Years ago, we lived near a very small town called Kettle Falls on the Columbia River. They have no parade, but there is a town picnic every year at which contestants vie for the most prestigious position of all: Town Grouch. Travelers entering town are greeted by signs saying, “Welcome to Kettle Falls, Home to 1,550 Friendly People and 1 Grouch. It is the highlight of one’s life to be recognized as the Town Grouch for a year.

One of the keys to being an effective Grouch isn’t just having a grumpy attitude, but having solutions to offer.

While there are things that irritate me, I like to think I am open to considering solutions. “It is easy to curse the darkness,” they say, “but better to light a candle.”

One day I was helping to gather trash at a summer-time festival in a small town in which I was serving. As I bent down to pick up a bag of garbage I nicked my head on the corner of the open louvered window on the back of the trailer from which our fellowship group was selling hot buttered corn and nachos. I made a mental note to be more careful, and yet on each ensuing trip to the trash, I continually banged my head on the open window until, finally, I drew blood.

At that point I’d had quite enough. I did not blame the window or the trailer. They hadn’t done anything to me. Neither did I curse my own stupidity or carelessness. Instead, I grabbed some paper towels and duct tape and padded the corner of that window for the rest of the fair. Ironically, once it was padded, I never hit it again.

Grumps sometimes complain that no one ever listens to them, but if they can learn to offer solutions to their litany of complaints, I wonder if they won’t discover that people will not only start listening, but might even start implementing some of those ideas over time.

In any case, I enjoyed the parade. It was fun watching the crowd gather; chatting with friends and neighbors, honoring our veterans as they marched past; waving at the dignitaries (but avoiding the clowns), and realizing yet once again why people from every place and nation under heaven yearn to make this their home.

The Colors led the parade when it began. Hats off, hands over hearts, America stood at attention on thousands of Main Streets across small-town America. Young and old, rich and poor, male and female, firm and infirm – all rose to salute the flag in honor of all those who sacrificed life and limb to give it birth, raise it up, and pass it on to us.

America is a work in progress. Like an old Model-T, it needs constant attention and tinkering and is never all it could be, but it’ll get us there if we just hang on, hold on, and refuse to ever let go in this, our valley. If you’re grumpy, though, be sure to bring towels and duct tape!

The Power of Questions

“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.” Louisa May Alcott

One of the things I enjoy doing is sitting in the comfort of our home and watching the birds flit around outside our front window. I had never given much thought to birds. I grew up in Seattle and most of what they had there were gulls, pigeons, swallows and, come spring, robins. If there was anything else in the air, I didn’t notice.

Here in the Treasure State, of course, it is different. Our usual residents are the magpies, crows, and a variety of raptors, but with the advent of spring and warmer weather, in come all the migratory birds.

Heading down to the Madison Dam the other day with my sweetheart, we enjoyed watching bald eagles soar overhead, pelicans floating gently on the river, and muskrats swimming past. A fleet of Canada Geese crossed the road to the lake with their young ‘uns; an Osprey sat on a power pole surveying the land, and a flotilla of red-winged blackbirds played leap-frog with us as we drove along. It was magnificent!

Each morning we listen to the mourning doves land on our chimney’s tin cover, cooing and calling gently to one another to come visit or play. And now, we have some really beautiful birds – reddish heads, yellowish bibs, touches of white and brown – flying in and out of our evergreens in front. I called them Lone Rangers, for they had masks like the one Tonto’s friend wore in days of yore, but I wanted to know their true identity.

I snapped some pictures and sent them off to David Hoag, my good friend and go-to-guy for avian identification. I find he is much faster at identifying our feathered friends than I am (as I fumble my way through the Field Guide to North American Birds). He told me they were Cedar Waxwings, and the mystery was solved.

There is another bird that flies in and out so quickly I have NOT been able to snap a picture. He (or she) has a much deeper red head (more round and without a waxwing’s crest) and is covered with much brighter yellow over most of her body and wings. She is so quick and flighty that I haven’t really seen her well enough to compare her to the pictures in the field book, so that mystery shall continue.

Mysteries are OK. It is fun figuring out what things are, and today I often approach matters with the questions: Why, or How?

I don’t remember asking my parents “why” very often. I wasn’t inquisitive as a child. I mostly operated on the assumption that things simply “are.” When you flip a switch and the light comes on, I wouldn’t ask how it works or why; I simply noted that’s what happens when one flips a switch and that, as they say, would be that.

I suspect that one reason I lacked curiosity as a youngster is because I grew up feeling sort of dumb, and asking questions would simply confirm that impression so I wouldn’t ask anyone anything.

As I have gotten older, of course, I have discovered that being dumb isn’t permanent, especially when you learn to ask questions. Getting answers makes one less dumb, and that is a good thing. To be teachable – now THERE’s a concept I can embrace.

Over the years I have come to accept that I don’t know everything, and that’s OK. Birds don’t know everything either. In fact, being bird-brains I suspect they don’t know much, but what they DO know is enough for them. They know when to fly south and when to fly north; they know where to find food, drink, and mates. They know how to care for their young and how to protect them (for the most part) from predators and dangers.

What they do, they don’t do perfectly. One bird hit our front window and died instantly. My wife and I gave him a decent burial. I figured that’s the least we could do. Death, after all, is very much a part of life, and I have learned how to respect that, too.

Being dumb gets old, but learning to ask questions tends to keep us young in this, our valley, and that is a powerful truth.