"Partners......"

“It’s not how well the bear dances,” the Russian proverb goes, “but that the bear dances at all.” In such a manner, a friend of mine tied together some thoughts on marriage in a post that began with an excerpt from one of A.A. Milne’s stories. Winnie the Pooh giving his opinion of everybody being “alright”, then going on to acknowledge that he could be wrong. Christopher Robin, however, simply called him “silly” about the latter and correct about the former. Chuck, in wrapping all that together, wrote of holding an unbelief in “coincidence”, the “magic of serendipity”, indeed, comparing it to whatever faith he held in God. He was “aware”, he said, of the Almighty, aware of “grace, bad choices, and uneasy roads”, aware of “change and possibilities”, aware of “hope”. That prompted comment from me, a note typed in haste before driving out to church. His reply was waiting when I returned. In truth, my original words were meant only to register a confession of possessing a similar relationship with my own wife, one wherein the two of us are seemingly connected “inside”, joined, not at the hip, but in our heart. My suggestion that a man could know that same sort of cohesive contact with his Maker, though, brought forth another entry from him, a clarifying of semantics and a declaration of faith. All and well, as far as I’m concerned. His original point, that life is a matter of finding rhythm with the beat, was learned by this old man a long time ago. Spouse-wise, for me, that equates to a tango, neither of us able to make it work without the other; but spiritually, male or female, the waltz goes much better when you allow Him to lead

"Double-talk................"

The air-conditioner in our bedroom blows directly across us as we sleep, Beth always with the covers thrown back and complaining she is hot, while the old man usually stays under the quilt with a wool thrown over it and pulled up over my head. The direct flow of the freeze irritates my sinuses. I awoke this morning early with some sniffles, went into my recliner, couldn’t go back to sleep, and opened my copy of Edersheim’s “Jesus the Messiah” to my last point of perusal. The text before me began to draw a picture of, not only the political environment, religious and otherwise, back when Christ, as a young boy, was taken to the temple in Jerusalem, but also the inner structure of that sacred edifice. If, in the last forty years, my education in this ever included knowledge of the stone within the Muslim’s Dome of the Rock being believed by some to be the actual foundation upon which the Ark of the Covenant once rested, somewhere along the way it got lost in the shuffle. It’s funny just how much our mind, in gathering together information, shapes data according to our individual perceptions at the time, often losing vital contributions to the “whole story” while becoming a point we would defend as absolute truth. That’s why I enjoy a mid-week Bible class where we all can discuss various portions of Scripture, disagree perhaps here and there, but walk out still brothers and sisters solidified in Him. It’s why Friday afternoon a young Catholic committed to the teachings of his church and an old Pentecostal deeply planted in a Holy Ghost experience that has lasted for forty years now could both relate and rejoice via an inner connection as they shared their faith. It’s the sword “of the Spirit”, not a leather-covered hammer given to beat people over the head. Compromise doesn’t necessarily equate to surrender; but it could well require admitting that you’re not the only guy in the room......

"Still Here......"

Returning to work in an Elementary Special-Ed unit has certainly kept me busy the last few days, trying to mesh the daily schedules for five children in three different grade levels, each attached to a separate home room and only three of us to escort them to and fro, a bit of a challenge. This past Wednesday the church school, a week behind the county facilities as usual, opened its doors and my daughter dropped off my three grandkids with mixed emotions. She drove down to our house afterwards and spoke to me with a tear in her eye, the last year a long, hard walk for all of us and such anxiety now, even after the trial, not lost on me. The moment has remained with me, several attempts to express my thoughts here being deleted. It suffices to say that my mind just hasn’t been all that clear, at least to the point that I was satisfied with where I kept going; but, at the same time, life has not been lived under a cloud. There are four boys and one girl assigned to us and, as noted, it’s been a bit of a shuffle thus far. On Monday, my main charge, who has an occasional mild anger problem, needed to leave his Math class and walk with me to an isolated area where the two of us could work by ourselves. Seated at a table and leaning over his paper, a pencil in his hand as he tackled a work sheet, he turned to me and almost whispered “Be vehrwee quiet!” He wasn’t “hunting wabbits”, so I’m not sure where the line came from. It reminded me of the Fourth Grader who was my introduction to this job. That fellow would often, in the middle of whatever he was doing, be singing the theme song for Barney, and then the next break into a rendition of “When they begin the beguine… In spite of everything, God keeps me amused. Add a great Bible study the other evening and me learning today that this young male teacher whom I am assisting is an avid reader of Christian literature (he and his wife both involved in Catholic lay ministry), what you’ve got is an old man who is thankful for His blessings. It sure beats just sitting here and slowly rotting on the vine…..

"Retrospect........................."

My second oldest grandson starts college today. It’s just a local extension of the state university, within his parent’s budget and just a short drive, keeping them happy and making him excited. I remember my own time of leaving the nest. My father had died six months earlier, an accident that changed the future for all of us, me abandoning a scholarship in engineering and working a short time for the company who had already lost money in sponsoring such venture. I was just eighteen, though. How many of us really have any sense of direction at that point? When the airplane began to taxi toward the runway that night in 1960, my mother and siblings were waving at me from the windows of the terminal and there was a “lump” inside me fully aware that a part of me was being left behind. At the same time, however, youth was anxious for whatever was waiting for me at the other end of this leap. No plan. No purpose. Let’s get this thing off the ground… Fifty-two years later. I found myself Sunday evening sitting in the church balcony and looking down on a handful of others like Elijah, recent graduates who are about to embark on their own journey. Some have known our sanctuary from birth. All will set forth with more spiritual experience than this old man possessed in the beginning. Nonetheless, four decades in Christ have taught me that “faith” isn’t so much a personal sword one swings as a “conqueror of all things”, but rather an “anchor in Him” that has held me in spite of whatever life brought to me. Hopefully, I pray, somewhere beyond all the boasts of promised prosperity, guaranteed healing, and assured victory in all that they do, some mother and father has taught their child that tomorrow is “through the veil”, each day holding its own lesson to learn, and their best shot is a daily return to the well……

The Umbilical Cord...................."

My family gathered together in my living-room last Tuesday evening, concerned about an event taking place the next day, the details of which had troubled our minds for over a year. It was time for one final prayer. We stood in a circle holding hands; but, when they asked me, as patriarch, to lead them into such petition, I went to my knees in their midst and, as best I could, tried to forget they were there. For me, communication with God is a one-on-one affair, difficult in almost any way one goes at it, the goal not so much about making myself known unto Him as it is stepping into a connection wherein words are no longer required. That latter condition can be acquired, of course, in a communal setting. The individual just has to mentally “lose the group”. Once union is established, however, there should be an over-flowing of the vessel that brings everybody into the experience. Merely He and I in a “closet” is not all that different; but it is amazing how one’s thoughts can be so centered on touching the hem of His garment one minute and then, suddenly, you find yourself completely out in left field somewhere else. Humanity remains humanity. It’s not like, because we’ve been “born-again” and the Holy Ghost now abides within, two become one no more than we put ourselves to the task. Meditating in silence might well be as good a way to approach Him as any other, but I’ve found there is no “formula” to this, nothing guaranteed at all other than His promise to never forsake us. The well is there. Worshipping in spirit and in truth is a prerequisite. Humility works better than arrogance. Best I can tell, it’s much like that old iced-tea commercial: in the middle of realizing your appreciation of His grace, you find yourself falling backwards into another dose of it. The Bible speaks of it in terms of being saved by His "life”……

'Surprise!..............................."

Saturday morning I went to the park early, the sun just rising over the hills to the east and bringing a bit of warmth to the old man as he circled the soccer field, head down and lost in thought. Thus it was then that, twice during my usual seven orbits, the shadow of a jogger coming from the opposite direction would catch me unawares, sweeping suddenly into my presence and causing me to audibly blurt out "wooooOOHHH!" One would think this old man would learn to look where he was going or even learn to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps pounding the pavement. As it was, both incidents merely reflected, somewhat, that which occupied my mind at the time. Lee Strobel's paperback, “The Case For a Creator”, keeps reinforcing to me how, not just the universe, but our galaxy and our planet, as well, have all increasingly convinced scientists over the last few decades of such precision in the underlying mechanics of their existence that, for a man to dismiss the probability of divine design, he is simply going through life with his brain not paying attention to much of what’s right in front of him. I say that with no malice toward the atheist, since, in my opinion, there are just as many people out there, sitting in a pew and blind to anything other than a theological image that they, themselves, have manufactured out of chapter and verse, deaf to the voice of God crying unto them out of an inner well that He remains bigger than their little box . The condition, in either scenario, is something known as "humanity" and is common to us all. What often cures it, at least momentarily, is an unexpected “bolt out of the blue”……

"Simplicity....................."

During the last three days of settling into another year of working in an Elementary Special-Ed unit, on two different occasions a door was opened unto me for giving a witness to the Gospel of Christ. Neither time found me referring to chapter and verse nor demanding that my experience had to be duplicated in order to ensure salvation. Sometimes I think that the biggest hindrance to the message going forth is a Church that thinks itself as having personally solved the mystery, each individual offshoot with its own theology and an ego to announce their doctrinal demands. While the Bible is, indeed, an essential part of the foundation upon which we build, yet, by the very fact that humanity is involved in any digestion of its contents, its truths must be learned as we go, step after step in a stumble down the path, the Holy Ghost our teacher. Does exploring the Greek and Hebrew roots of individual words sometimes give better insight to the text? Maybe. Is it necessary for us to factor in cultural background and historical events? It couldn’t hurt. More importantly, perhaps, the Book is to be taken “from cover to cover”, not pulled apart so as to satisfy our own vanity, the real story the one being created in me as He walks with me through its pages. It is a life-long lesson wherein He remains the teacher and I am merely the vessel, a student in His class, at His feet and ever learning……