Where the Wind Blows

Life contains but two tragedies. One is not to get your heart’s desire; the other is to get it. Socrates

A few months ago we had a fairly strong windstorm blow through our neighborhood. It wasn’t anything like the tornadic activities we see in the nation’s midsection this time of year, but it was enough to blow down sections of fence between us and our neighbors next door.

While it wasn’t the best looking fence I had ever seen, I didn’t realize just how rotten the fence posts had become over the decades since they had been put in. The whole property predates us, of course, as my wife and I have only lived here a couple of years. Still, it is what it is, and so we talked things over with our neighbor and made plans to replace the fence this spring, and the time has come to get ‘er done.

There are a few bushes alongside the fence that Barb and I have never much cared for. They are a wind-break variety of evergreen that stand about eight feet tall. As wind-breaks, they obviously didn’t work, and we never really liked either them or their placement in the yard. Seeing as they were standing in the way of the fence repair job we were about to undertake, we decided to take them out to make our work easier.

I grabbed all my tree-felling equipment and approached the offending greenery with all the confidence of Paul Bunyan and Babe. I stood there, hand on hip, sizing up the monstrous forest before me, curled my lips in the meanest manner I could muster, seized my chainsaw, plugged it in and, voila, the battle was joined!

I approached the base of the first bush, wielding my chainsaw as if it was a Samurai’s Katana. Sadly, my little electric chainsaw has about as much bite as a slug on downers. The chain screamed its little Bonzai while the bush simple shivered in laughter. But I persisted. I did not give up, and after a few minutes the first trunk (of about an inch in diameter) gave way and toppled over. I’m not sure, but I think it was reaching for a cigarette.

In any case, I knew the project would last decades if I didn’t take another approach, and so I got some industrial grade loppers we use for trimming trees, and I spent the next hour or so simply lopping off the bushes’ trunks one-by-one until most were down. I used a reciprocating saw for the stems too large for the loppers, and gummed the few over-sized left-over trunks with the chainsaw which, eventually, would gnaw its way through the wood with some patience, persistence, and (perhaps) profanity.

The space is now clear enough to work on the fence, and I’ve arranged for a young man to come remove the stumps (as he is better built for such labor). I know, because we had him do some other work a few weeks ago and he managed to break the forged steel blade of my pick/mattock! I was suitably impressed and plan to have him do all my digging before heading off to college this autumn.

Over the years, I have learned to pace myself and identify what jobs I can handle and which ones need to be farmed out. That’s also true of my faith and spirituality. There are some things I can do (avoid murdering those who annoy me, or stealing from those who have things I wish I had, e.g.), but there are things I cannot do. My mind wanders through some weird and dangerous neighborhoods. My soul is stained with stuff that won’t leave no matter how much I may try to Shout it out.

That’s where God comes in. God covers a multitude of sins and misdeeds. God chops away at the root of my problems and pries them out with the hard tempered steel of her love. God uses a blade that will not break and which, miraculously, leaves a life behind which is stronger and more beautiful, loving, and wise in her wake.

Sometimes it takes a storm to reveal what is rotten, a blade to remove what’s in the way, and time to discover what is yet to be. So be it in this, our valley.

Age of A-Clutter-Us

Life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveler. What we see isn’t what we see but what we are. Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Many years ago I was at a Conference on Aging and I must admit I didn’t pay much attention. It’s not because I wasn’t interested, but rather because the things they talked about weren’t immediately relevant beyond their academic value.

As a priest, I have always enjoyed working with people of all ages. I never valued one group over another. I have as much fun sitting on the floor with toddlers as I do sitting beside a frail elder in a nursing home. The toddlers are exploring life in all its brightness and newness, while the elders take time to share what life has been. Some give thanks for what they’ve had; others weep for what they’ve lost.

I have recently had the privilege of spending much more time with my father who has been recuperating nicely from his wrestling match with Death. Charon (the boatman on the River Styx) will need to come by some other time. Dad just turned 90 last month, and until this recent illness, has been otherwise quite strong and healthy. It was only last year he stopped mowing his own lawn, hiring someone else to do it. “Why pay someone to do what you can do?” he’d ask.

However, over time, the list of things he planned to “get to” has gotten longer, and his ability to do them has only declined. So I pop in a few times each week to take care of chores, organize his meds for the week, check his blood pressure and glucose levels, help with meals, run for groceries, set out the trash, and otherwise sit and provide him with some company – the one thing he needs almost more than food, water, or oxygen.

Now that I am retired, I have the time I need to help take care of him. As I told him: “You took care of me the first few decades of my life; the least I can do is return the favor!”

I am coming to recognize what the folks at the conference meant when they referred to the three stages of retirement. Stage One is “Yippee!” One is (generally) free to be as active as they are able: going on trips, taking up hobbies, pursuing varied interests, etc.

Stage Two is “Crikey!!” Retirees may continue with what they were doing, but frequency and intensity slows down. Their activities tend to be organized more and more around doctors’ appointments. I have a friend who’s retirement is devoted to roaming the country in an RV, but like salmon coming home to spawn, he returns annually to his home base for a whole slew of medical appointments, treatments, and what-have-you.

Stage Three is “Owie!!!” Many outside activities come to a near stand-still. Aches, pains, and medical appointments increase. Household chores are limited to taking meds, eating, napping, and engaging in whatever activities one is able to handle. Things are put off and pile up where they’re left for “later gator” (and largely ignored).

My father isn’t a hoarder, but there were lots of things that needed to be gone through and tossed or donated. He’s lived in his home for nearly half a century. He doesn’t mind letting go and downsizing the amount of stuff he has. What he hasn’t been able to eliminate on his own, we’re helping to jettison for him, and he is thankful.

I think that’s something I’ve been learning to do in my spiritual journey. Over the years I’ve prided myself on what I’ve been able to do (or avoid doing), and it’s all worked out well enough. But God visits daily and offers to help repair relationships, remove trash, heal wounds, and monitor one’s spiritual health.

I am thankful for God’s help. I am also thankful God engages me in conversation as a friend, and never as a dictator. Like with my father, we decide together what to keep and what to toss.

God is kind and gentle, watching over us, and tending to our needs. The glory of God is God’s mercy, and it’s an honor to practice that in my faith and walk with people of all ages – family, friend, and neighbor in this, our valley.

Finding Resurrection in Remote Places

And after all, everyone needs a few flaws to make them real. Helen Simonson, Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand

I walked into one of those big box electronic stores and looked as lost as I could. I’ve found over the years that when a customer looks lost, there is a great parting of the employee seas like unto the days of Moses. One group flees the floor like blood-sucking parasites from Fido’s flea collar. The others draw near in hopes of being of service.

It occurs to me I have gotten to the age where technology gurus know two things for sure. First, I know nothing. You can explain a product or a process as if to a kindergartner, and the child will know what they’re saying light years ahead of me. Secondly, they know (or at least suspect) that I am at the age where if I’m not living out of my car, I likely have disposable income, and there is nothing sweeter than the tingle-bleeps of the cash register.

They hope, of course, that I’m there to buy a 65 inch monitor (back in the day, they were called televisions, but now they’re monitors, video displays, or anything else that hides what all they can do). Why such a big TV? Well, I’m old, and my vision isn’t what it used to be, and so it would be helpful to take something home that will allow me to see what on earth I’ve been paying my entertainment provider to send me.

Sadly, I wasn’t there to lay out any Benjamins for anything that would challenge the nation’s power grid (or help my vision). I walked in with a twenty year old remote control for my father’s twenty year old sound system. He and I had put in fresh batteries, but the old remote was deader than dead, so I took on the challenge of finding something to replace it for him.

My great fear was that years and obsolescence would have made finding an appropriate replacement controller highly unlikely. After all, the remote’s serial number was in Roman Numerals … carved … in stone. Never-the-less, like any politician worth their salt, I persisted. I strode up to the store’s greeter and asked where I could find remote controls. He looked at the paper weight in my hand, stifled the guffaw that was building steam deep in his belly, and pointed me toward the back of the store where the Video Components were lying in wait.

I nodded my appreciation, toddled off, and found a dizzying array of remotes from which to choose. Lacking a mentor, I was tormented with confusion and indecision. Fortunately, Sales Associate Libby was nearby, saw the tell-tale twitches of a sensory overload, and came to my rescue. I showed her the dearly departed device I needed replaced and confided it was not a product of the current millennium. She offered her condolences and pulled a remote off the kiosk in front of me and suggested it might well do the job. She admitted that not all remotes are as universal as they claim to be, but she assured me I could bring it back if it didn’t work as promised. She also pointed out the list of brands the remote worked with and, lo, the coal-fired amp in question was on the list!

I asked Libby about the other, more expensive devices and asked what they offered that the one she handed me didn’t. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Nothing.”

Imagine that; a sales associate who let me buy the least expensive item that would do the job! Will wonders ever cease?

I sometimes find myself discouraged with the state of the world. I’m sure I watch far too much news; it has a toxic effect, making me cranky and pessimistic, and that’s not good. That’s why I appreciate (and need) to get out and do things for others. For one thing, it gets me out of my head. For another, it connects me with others who actually have a desire to be helpful – who are genuinely friendly and honest.

There is something detoxifying with such encounters, and I think that gives me some insight into the mystery of the resurrection. It makes life just a little nicer and less remote in this, our valley.

Fear and Loafing

How do you ever know for certain that you are doing the right thing? Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

My wife and I flew down to Texas for a wedding a week or so ago. I’d been dreading the trip as I do not like to fly. It isn’t the flying that bothers me, but the pre-boarding ritual one needs to go through for the privilege of sitting in an aluminum tube for several hours, scrunched between two other souls on seats that make the small end of a baseball bat look spacious.

I know modern air travel is far faster and more comfortable than riding an ox-pulled wagon several hundreds or thousands of miles across a true wilderness on trails laughingly called roads. I know that, and yet it isn’t the journey that bothers me. It’s the “thinking” about the journey that sets my teeth on edge.

So you can imagine my amazement when we arrived at the airport and discovered, to our great delight, that having “checked in” online the previous evening, we didn’t need to deal with the kiosk at the entrance. We went directly to the baggage counter with our two over-stuffed suitcases and the friendly clerks took them, weighed them, tagged them, and set them on the conveyer, which took them through a portal toward that twilight zone bags go to play in.

For some reason, our boarding passes noted that we were trustworthy souls entitled to keep our shoes on while we made our way through the security choke point (which wasn’t choked at all), and before you knew it, we were at our gate with a ton of time to spare.

I was amazed (and the return trip was just as quick and orderly as the outbound experience had been). The reality matched up with neither my prior experiences nor the nightmare my imagination had conjured up. The process was – dare I say it – a delight!

One would think that I would know by now that fear and anxiety will always catapult my imagination over the parapet of common sense, but I have seldom let common sense get a toe-hold on the Normandy Beaches of my life. But I have also learned, once past the points of my greatest fears, to let go and move on (which I did), which allowed me to enjoy the rest of the trip.

We got to spend time with the lucky couple and many of the members of their extended families. We got to see parts of the world we’ve never seen before (the WW-II Carrier, Lexington; the Texas State Aquarium; the Alamo; and San Antonio’s famous River Walk). I also managed to discover, to my dismay, that I still have no natural sense of direction south of the Mason Dixon line. Thank goodness for the Map App on my phone. Without it, I would have truly been lost.

There were parts of Texas where even the app I was using couldn’t find a way home. She had me driving in circles on the same roads until I gave up and, looking through my windshield, followed the road signs. What a concept!

Aside from that one glitch in the system, I was bemused by my complete inability to anticipate what direction the app would have me turn as I drove anywhere and everywhere. The sky was overcast, and the land was flat, so I had no sun to guide me or geography with which to align my personal gyroscope. After a week (and I’m not exaggerating), I was finally able to drive the five blocks from where we were staying to where other members of the family were staying without the use of GPS!

Sometimes life is disconcerting and confusing. We lose our bearing, or we lose our landmarks, or we find ourselves trapped in a grayness that makes every option look wrong (or right) whether it truly is or not. It is times like that it’s nice to have an app that points north, or a guide that points us in the direction we need to go to reach our destination.

As we approach Easter once again, let’s pause and give thanks for the One in whom we can trust to always bring us home, and who IS the way, truth, and life in this, our valley.

When Plans Go Awry

You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. Mae West

The month of March has been pretty much a blur for me, and I haven’t had the benefit of drugs or alcohol to blame for it. I had gotten a call that my father, who is just shy of ninety years old, was in hospital. He lives about ninety minutes away from us, so we drove down as quickly as law and nature would allow.

The nature and details of his illness are immaterial to this story, but suffice it to say that he was in critical condition and, when we had arrived, he was knocking at Death’s door. Due to the excellent work of the ER and ICU doctors, nurses, and assorted medical staff, Death never answered the door (but jiggled the handle just enough to make us nervous).

Life’s that way. We’re moving merrily along doing our own thing; we’re doing chores, paying bills, buying groceries, marking items off our checklist as we prepare to head to Texas for a wedding in early April and, with one phone call, all of that stuff fades into the background as what is truly important jumps to the fore.

Duty calls. Family calls. Nature calls. Love calls. The bugler’s call is loud and clear, and so we answer. There’s no thinking involved.

We are blessed. I know people and families for whom the answer to the trumpet’s song would be, “It’s about darned time; Tough luck!” So many families are estranged. So many family ties have been strained or outright broken.

Two women fly a thousand miles to visit their father – another father, another crisis. He awakens from his sleep in critical condition, looks at his children and mutters, “What the blazes are you doing here?” His words drip with venom. He closes his eyes and turns his head. There will be no Hollywood ending here (and there wasn’t).

Why are people mean? Why are people so toxic? Who knows. They’re easy to hate, a pleasure to avoid. While I like to think reconciliation is always a possibility, I know from experience that people walk the path they have either chosen or that’s been forced upon them, and unless we have walked that path alongside them, we cannot know what forces have warped their souls to such a point there is no return. That too, is life.

While their attitudes and actions may be miserably unconscionable, returning fire for fire is a dubious luxury I cannot afford. I have learned that that which burns up, burns down as well; I have enough wounds of my own to tend without applying anything as toxic as resentments or hatred to those wounds. In the words of the wise, it is enough to let go and let God. They are God’s to deal with, not mine.

I’ve also learned over the years that whenever I focus on the badness of others, I tend to ignore my own contributions to whatever is happening, and I forget to pay attention to what’s important. Like the old proverb puts it, “When you’re up to your rump in alligators, it’s easy to forget your job was to drain the swamp.” So, we focus on the task at hand and hold the reptiles at bay with the same stick we’re using to clear the drain.

In sum, I’m blessed. I love my father, and my siblings and we have been able to rally ‘round to tend to his needs. Each of us has his or her rough edges, to be sure, but each also has a strength and skill that allows us to work together, addressing the physical and emotional needs of the moment. We are all old enough we tire more quickly than we would like to admit or show, but those years have also given us the grace to move along and stay focused on the matters at hand.

I don’t believe there is any great Master Plan unfolding before us, or that our lives are predestined to reach a point where we’ve met or fulfilled our destiny. God has called us each to take care of one another, to be just and merciful, and to let the love of God be our guiding light.

 That’s the plan, anyway, here in this, our valley.

A World of Enemies

Join the Flat Earth Society. We have members all around the globe! Anonymous

Someone asked me the other day, “What have you learned from your worst enemy?”

It wasn’t your normal run-of-the-mill question, of course. It was part of a writing exercise, and it caught me a bit off-guard as, to be honest, I don’t know I have ever considered someone my enemy, let alone whittling the list down to a “worst” enemy.

I have had opponents, of course. I have arrested criminals (each innocent until proven guilty in a court of law). I have been shot at and had the occasional wrestling match in the course of my short career as a cop. But those weren’t enemies or villains. They were people with drug, alcohol, or mental health problems (by and large).

I suppose the word conjures up for me an attitude I prefer to avoid – animosity. While there are certainly people who would never be my cup of tea, I’m not sure there are any for whom I hold a desire to harm. There are those who have no doubt held me in contempt and wished ill to befall me, but what others think of me is none of my business. They are entitled to their opinions and perspectives, and if their lives are made richer by pinching their noses as I walk by or come into view, that is their prerogative.

There are people who are toxic to be around, that’s for sure. There are those who simply suck the life out of a soul like one of the Dementors in the Harry Potter universe. They see and experience life as a dark and scary place. They expect the worst of the people around them. If it wasn’t for bad luck, they believe they’d have no luck at all. No matter what happy thing befalls them, they would see only the detritus. They could win a mega-bucks lottery and only bemoan the taxes withheld from the jackpot.

They may be toxic and noxious, and they may also be antagonists and adversaries in life. But are they enemies? No, like a virus I strive to steer clear of them, but I do not hate them.

Having said all that, I could also look inward and ask if I’m not my own worst enemy. After all, in examining my life, I certainly have said and done things that have proven to be detrimental to my own well-being, or the health and well-being of others around me. I could easily admit I am often my own worst enemy, but I’m not sure that’s true. I’m not sure it is healthy to say that, let alone to believe it.

I don’t mean to engage in a big self-hug, but as soon as one begins to think of him or herself as their own worst enemy, the foundation is set for self-hatred or self-loathing, and that’s not healthy or beneficial in any way. As human beings, we make mistakes. We do things out of greed, fear, anger, or frustration, but we’re also capable of doing much good.

We are commanded to love our neighbor because we are actually capable of loving our neighbor, even when they behave in terribly bad ways.

We pray God to forgive us our sins, debts, or trespasses. Jesus bids us to add a bothersome little caveat: “as we forgive those who sin against us.”

“As we” here means “the way we …” or “to the degree that we …” or “in the same way in which we …” He also tells us to love our enemies, doesn’t he?

God always seems to think we can do more than we may want to do, or feel able to do.

I suppose one of the reasons we fail to live up to God’s standards is plain laziness, or sloth. It’s easier not to. It’s easier to blame others for our problems or misfortunes. If that’s true, then maybe Sloth is my worst enemy, because it inspires me to do the least I can get away with.

What I’ve learned in life is how important it is to keep moving. Sloth drags you down. Faith, like action, reaches up and finds the grace of God reaching down and helping us to reach out in love, and that’s a wonderful thing to discover here in this, our valley.

Ash Wednesday

Jesus said, “Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before others (to be seen by them). If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.” (NIV)

Since this column will be out on Ash Wednesday, I would like to take this opportunity to shift gears and dive a bit more deeply into spiritual matters than is my usual approach, and to give readers who may be unfamiliar with church-life a peek into what we steeple people are up to.

Lent is upon us. I hear the voice of Andy Williams singing “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” but it isn’t Christmas I’m thinking of, it’s Lent.

Lent. The season of sack-cloth and ashes. The season of fasting and deprivation. The season many Christians seek to improve their relationship with God and the world. They don’t fast because food is bad, but to remember they follow One who said, “I am the bread of life.”

Not all Christians observe the season of Lent, of course, and that’s OK. We each have our own customs and cultures and contribute to the fabric of the Christian Faith that we are, in many ways, like the Technicolor Dream Coat Joseph wore (as I blend the Bible and the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical references here).

The Bible says that “in (God’s) house are many rooms …” I interpret that to mean there is a place for all of us; there is a place for each of us. That’s good news. That’s news worth celebrating! Whether we recognize or celebrate the season of Lent (which, by the way, simply refers to springtime as the days grow longer and warmer), our goal is to draw closer to God, and to reflect God’s love more and more in a world that is so sorely in need of love and care. We are invited to set aside our ego (which is often more curtain than window). That’s a tough challenge, isn’t it?

For instance, who doesn’t love applause? Who doesn’t love being appreciated and thanked for doing something nice? How many people – friends – have we lost over the years because we drifted apart, or the relationships seemed one-sided? Our egos may not demand recognition, and yet they can be so easily bruised.

I sit here writing this, realizing I have not sent a thank-you note to some people who put me up during a recent outing. I said “thank you” before I left, of course, but Momma taught me one should always, always, always send a follow-up note – using real pen and paper and a stamp. Even a Thank You card needs a personalized sentence or two. It is the TIME we spend that says Thank you; not the paper or the use of postage, per se. That small effort helps to build the relationship, doesn’t it?

It is nearly impossible to do an act of kindness (or righteousness) that won’t be seen by others, of course. It is also nearly impossible to do it so “ego-free” that only God will notice. I read what Jesus says (“don’t do things to be seen by others”) and I answer, “My God, that’s impossible!”

I suspect Jesus smiles and answers, “Yes, that’s the point.” If we think about it, the story of Lent is simply: I can’t. God can. I think I’ll let him.

I find I am happier when I realize I have fallen short of the ideal and have an opportunity to rectify matters. Others may not see it, but God does; that’s rewarding. I am happier when I do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. Others may not see it. God does; that’s rewarding. Jesus invites us to let go the ego long enough to realize that (doing) so frees our hands. With hands free, we can place them in God’s, and that’s rewarding – more than enough.

Those who observe the season of Lent are invited to recognize that there are many things that distract us from being the kind of people God wants us to be, and none of us can ever perfectly be the kind of people God wants us to be, but we can do better (Good News!).

We have a season in which to practice these principles in all our affairs, and that’s a good thing in this, our valley.