"Worth.............................."

About eight-o’clock this morning on my way to an appointment for an oil-change, I stopped at the local McDonald’s for a senior coffee; but, with the drive-thru being at a stand-still for some reason, purchasing it inside seemed a better option. An older man was the only one in front of me, the markings on his ball cap identifying him as a “former” Marine; and when I touched his shoulder to get his attention, to express my gratitude for his service, he turned to look me in the eye. “Thanks;” he replied, “but I’m afraid it was all for nothing.” His words surprised me. My inquiry, though, brought forth passionate explanation. Saipan and the Pacific counted for zilch, in his opinion, “by the time Congress and this s.o.b. in the White House get through with what they’re doing to this country!” He got my agreement, although not brought forth as heatedly as his sentiments. Further mention concerning his respect for Hillary being “the only one up there in Washington with enough sense to handle our affairs” revealed his probable political alliance as with the Democrat Party. He was one of “them”. I paid for his breakfast nonetheless, having read a few books about Saipan and what our service men endured in the Pacific back in the 40s. He had my respect even if our voter registrations fell on opposite sides of the fence. Our young men, from the beginning, and, nowadays, our women as well, offer their lives for no more than those basic principles upon which this nation was founded. Those seven red stripes in our flag represent a lot of blood shed along the way to insure, not just our freedom, but also our identity as a body of people locked together in the belief that, “under God”, we are one. Somewhere the latter has been lost and here we are. God save us……

"Occupational Blessings......"

It was an easy day at school today, three of our charges absent for one reason or another, giving me opportunity to mostly relax after administering a couple of tests to one fellow. Work did not cease; but, with three of us and only four children, the whole atmosphere in the room was changed. There are many things about this job that keep me coming back each year. The little Mexican boy in our room persistently calls me “papa” even though I repeatedly correct him that, to him, I am “oso feo” (ugly bear). One fellow in our Fourth Grade math class, whose behavior marks him as one to keep an eye on, has warmed to my instruction thanks to my bribing him with an occasional peppermint. There’s also, though, the girl who continues to dine at my table in the cafeteria. I thought, at first, that she simply had a crush on the lad who comes in there with me for lunch; but it’s beginning to look like my Cheez-Its are the main attraction. You learn their names and their personalities. You watch them grow as they go, bumping into some of them often, in one way or another, from kindergarten all the way Fifth Grade and graduation. One lass spoke to me in the doorway this morning, waiting to go in to her Science class and I learned she was the baby sister born to the family of that autistic lad who was my introduction to Special-Ed some eleven years ago. Somehow she had slipped by me during the last decade, this old man’s mind unable to connect the dots that a decade is a decade. Thursday was a rarity, me encountering a First grader in the nurse’s station whose mother, at least, came here from the Ukraine. Asked in her own language if she spoke Russian, she gave me a smile, her whole face lighting up in a glow. It was mixed conversation for a moment, me telling her that I had learned it in an Army School; but, after fifty years, “pochti zaboravio vsyo”. That latter phrase put together, no doubt, with error, roughly translating to having “almost forgotten it all” and explaining my lack of good grammar. She told me her name was “Looby” and grinned when I expressed my knowledge of it meaning “Love” in some form or another. A new friend. This job has fringe benefits that don’t come in a contract…….

"Follow-up.........................."

It’s four o’clock in the morning, my wife and granddaughter asleep in the bedroom, this old man sacked out for the night in his recliner, his mind now having a conversation with itself, I suppose, something left unsaid in my last post. In talking to the Detention Center kids this weekend, I pointed to an old iced-tea commercial as an illustration of how to connect with the Spirit of God. The original ad portrayed a fellow, sweaty and hot, lifting a glass of that beverage to drink, its effect being such as to make him totally relaxed, enough to fall back into a pool of water. Even so, I suggested, when we are willing to surrender our humanity, to admit who and what we are to our Creator, there is a place where we also might simply fall back into the flow of His reality…. Sunday evening, then, my pastor would paint a different image of that event, picturing the merger occurring when we enter into a worship formed from an honest plea brought forth from the depths of our identity. The musical tone of such message was not restricted to any one culture as he, himself, attempted to demonstrate it manner, his own voice reflecting his Appalachian heritage, a sort of “back hill country wail” sung unto God. Both examples, it seems to me, are true; and neither were given with any intent to teach a method guaranteeing success, the Holy Ghost certainly not bound by any of our formulas. The merger occurs through grace, His wisdom dictating the whole affair; but I believe people need to know that such experience is possible, much of Christianity having lost that part of the promise along the way, others disappointed after learning that trying to reproduce it out of our own making leaves one with nothing more than sand. To each of us, our own encounter, of course; but, without one, what do we possess other than religion?.....

"Interim.........................."

Our visit to the Youth Detention Center Sunday morning was blessed by clear roads, predicted snowfall evidently finding somewhere else to manifest its weather conditions. Two of my group had dismissed themselves due to illness; but, because of the scheduling having been altered, our number merely dropped to six, four of whom would actually share with the kids. The hour went well, the Spirit tying together our thoughts and a theme somehow emerging of our existence here no more than a small slice of infinity we occupy, culture, environment, and history all shaping us into individuals, all of us with a need for the reality of God being much more than something we profess to believe. Several among our congregation listened with tears in their eyes. The six girls would enter into prayer with our women in a separate room after we closed… My pastor, during evening service, would speak to us out of that portion of Scripture where Hezekiah, faced with a prophetic sentence of death, “turned his face toward the wall” and got hold of the Almighty. The message was a good one and I am in agreement with the truth that we all need such connection in our life, our journey down the path a matter of days and weeks filled with drudgery, perplexity, stress, triviality, trauma, and traffic jams. As one fellow put it,: “What kind of person do we become in the math and aftermath of all the fecality slung at us between diapers and Depends?” Faith ought to be more than mental doctrine acquired from the Book, an inanimate totem we worship out of some sense of it gaining us entrance into heaven in the end. Must we all find assurance in the same manner, though? Is it required that each of us be cloned by another’s experience of “hooking up with the Holy Ghost”? For this old man, the “mystery of the Gospel” is verified, not so much by what gets us into God’s presence, but by how much of Him is shown in our walk, manifested in our identity, once we’ve come out of that merger……

"Dessert........................."

Beth and I watched a “Person of Interest” episode last night, one wherein the computer genius is actually the main character; and, having maneuvered his way into holding a certain high-school teacher’s position, he steps into keeping a young boy from being killed. Possessing high skills in math, he has no problems with the assignment. Gaining the kids’ attention, however, is another matter; so he draws a circle on the board and then writes out the number pi to about the seventy-sixth decimal point, announcing its potential to continue unto infinity without ever repeating any sequence. When his “congregation” finds it “no big deal”, what they’re told is: within that stream of digits, somewhere, is their birth dates, their cell phone number, the combination to open their lockers, etc. Now, they’re listening… Taking toys apart to see what made them work was never a passion of mine in childhood; nor did dad teaching me in my teenage years to change the oil in my car ever evolve into a love of mechanics. Always, though, at least as far back as I can recall, trying to figure out life in general has occupied my thoughts. Humanity, itself, is strange enough; trying to understand myself seeing as how I didn’t seem to fit into that puzzle was even harder; but, when the reality of deity became part of the picture, while a sense of peace came to me in so far as my own situation, exploring the truth of my salvation has been a forty year walk with Him, a lesson still being taught as I go. Some may find the above basic arithmetic fact no more than a coincidence, questioning, as this old man does, if indeed its eternal measurement really contains all that information; but, to me, it represents, either way, the precise tuning of this universe, the hand of God manifested unto us in but one more way. Nothing is solved; much in the same sense that any computation reached with the aid of such numerical assistance is going to be left with an answer hanging out there in limbo. What remains unshakeable is that internal connection given me back in the beginning, the innumerable times along the way two have become one, my faith a matter of having been received and then nurtured in the journey. Finding Him in small “pebbles” like this one, here and there along the path, is just icing on the cake……

"Launch.........................."

Sunday evening, just as the worship service was about to begin, the pastor’s son approached me with a request to begin an at-home Bible study with the youth. There being no time at all for any discussion, my reply was rather short and without any explanation. As I recall, my exact words were: “No thanks; I don’t want to do it.” In truth, it’s more like he didn’t really want me, a man only able to teach it the way he believes it and my theology differs a lot with what I hear coming from the pulpit. That doesn’t mean this old man thinks he has all the answers and, like Elijah up in that cave on the mountain, holds himself to be the only guy left serving God, only that sitting in a position to represent the church carries with it some responsibilities. Though my history with this bunch goes back over four decades, I no longer consider myself a member, occupying a seat in the balcony for the most part and separated from anything that might even suggest I’m one of “the chosen few”. Wednesday evening classes are the main attraction for me, a place where, even if my contributions are not always aligned with everybody else’s perspectives, people never get angry. We talk, laugh, enjoy each other’s company and leave as friends. Would I accept an offer to speak to the kids? Sure! Sharing Christ is my passion; and, in saying that, let it be understood “sharing Christ” doesn’t necessarily equate to preaching a sermon. A one-time opportunity also permits freedom to speak from my heart with the Holy Ghost ensuring what comes forth is out of His well, not mine. In Him, alone, there is unity. E pluribus unum. Anything less than that is just humanity playing with religion……

"Gaps.........................."

My middle daughter, Jamie, has lived in Lexington, a little over an hour away from us, since she got married about twenty-five years ago. The distance is not all that great, but life, in general, has a way of creating its own walls. Jobs, children, commitments keep our schedules conflicted. It doesn’t take much to separate people physically. Beth and I are very happy, therefore, to have her staying with us a few nights before checking into a nearby hotel her new employer is providing while she trains in this area for the next few weeks. She’s going with us to early church service this morning. I’m, as usual, up and stirring before anybody else, hiding out in the computer room, an electric heater here beside me taking the chill off the room. The other truth of the moment would be my realizing just a short while back that, rather than piddling around on this “brain box”, such time would really profit me better if given first to prayer. How others accomplish that latter, I know not; but, for this fellow, it simply means trying to “connect” with that “living water” which is available for me in Christ. If, in seeking that portion of the promise already received, my words are not brought forth in some formulated format, but merely whatever comes to mind and spoken just as I’d talk to anyone else, that doesn’t mean the event is undertaken with no recognition of whose presence is sought. Let it be noted, however, that, for whatever reason, “hook-up” doesn’t always occur and, when that happens, silence on the other end doesn’t discourage me. I simply keep going back to the well. “Failure” to engage in a tangible manner, it seems to me, is usually attributable to fatigue, be it mental or be it physical; and “success” works much like this old man’s solution to sudden loss of memory, a state he finds himself in quite often anymore. Grunting and groaning in some strained attempt to locate whatever it is that has suddenly slipped my mind doesn’t help at all. Relaxing and letting the mystery come to me, though, never seems to let me down, whether trying to recall the name of this guy talking to me or kneeling down to knock on His door. It’s a lot like the old iced-tea commercial where you simply turn around and fall backwards into the pool, the space between forgotten, faith a matter of knowing He has never missed catching you before……