We are, in some sense, a part of every problem that we encounter.
We can be a passive observer,
We can be an enabler, or
We could be someone who gives their best to facilitate positive change.
We Get To Decide !
We are, in a similar way, a part of every problem that we face within.
We can be passive observers,
We can be enablers, or
WE could be explorers that dig deeply and honestly to
uncover the true obstacles that keep us from
moving forward.
In 2024 - We Get To Decide !
I like to think that there's a big difference between acting stupid
and being stupid, but periodically I have blurred that line. The ability
to ignore red flags of reason was a trait I picked up from my father.
It's never intentional, but like many maladaptive behaviors
it just weaves its way into one's life story.
A Beautiful, Horrifying Experience
When my daughter was just a toddler, my wife and I took her to
the Knoxville Zoo in Tennessee. Relatively few animals were confined
to small cages and most, such as the grey wolves, had large enclosures.
All three of us enjoyed aimlessly wandering, as we took in the
marvels of God's handiwork. By late afternoon however, I started
to wonder. How could any respectable zoo not have a big cat area?
We turned onto the only remaining asphalt path which eventually
led to a huge enclosure in the trees. Bordering the path was an old
split-rail fence. And set back from that was a tall heavy-duty
anchor fence surrounding the enclosure. A small cement building sat
in the front corner, surrounded by a bright halo of the setting sun.
It was then that I got to "thinking." Even with my toddler on my
shoulders, it would be so easy to just step over that fence. What mortal
could resist? As we neared the dark building, the sun's glare eased,
and my eyes started to adjust. I saw a heavy door with a few bars in its
opening. As I started to look in, there was an enormous WHAM as a
Siberian tiger pounced and shook that door. The encounter lasted a mere
second but I still vividly recall that amazing animal eying my precious
daughter like she was some twenty-five pound Big Mac. "Oh Shit," was
all I could get out as I slithered away.
Over the years I've thought about this little incident many times and it
still gets my juices flowing. Then there are the lessons, the biggest
being a new perspective on those ridiculous warnings that we all detest.
"Don't carry packages from strangers onto airplanes," or "Don't operate
chainsaws while on mind-altering drugs." Those messages are for everyday
people, all too much like me.
sensed a connection with a force or spirit beyond comprehension. Maybe it's
a fleeting glimpse of some bigger picture or the suggestion of a higher purpose
which rattles our spiritual foundation or lack thereof.
One pristine summer day, maybe twelve years ago, I was headed from the
mountains of Upstate New York to Wrightsville Beach in Virginia. I was riding
my newly acquired, 600 cc Honda Shadow. It was pretty much a toy version of a
Harley Davidson Sportster. Think "Easy Rider", but with a top speed of eighty in
a racing tuck. I had worked my way from country roads to the eight-lane beltway
around Annapolis. My throttle was wide open, I was lost, and continuously
tail-gated / surrounded by tractor trailers. I could be cool and suggest it was
just a hassle, but I truly thought I was going to die right there - my legacy being
an unrecognizable splat in the road. To my great relief, the traffic eventually
thinned and I triumphantly exited at the first rest area I saw.
As I relaxed my derriere on the wide supportive surface of a picnic table,
an elderly couple walked by, talking in hushed tones. I said something
like, "How are you folks doing on such a beautiful day?" They gave a positive
answer but their tone betrayed them as they looked at each other. My response
was, "I'm not convinced." They came toward me and over the next twenty
minutes or so, shared a snapshot of what they and their seriously ill daughter
were dealing with. I listened as they shared the many dead ends they were
facing. Their story was heart-breaking, but the despair they initially emanated
lessened as their floodgates opened.
After we hugged and parted, I pulled out my map to figure out where
I was, and how to get back on track. Then I had a thought - What
if I was on the right track the whole time?
Last month, I met a guy named Tim while traveling through Racine,
a city near Milwaukee. He was in the local Kwik-Trip gas station blindly tapping
his way up the aisle - I mean literally! He was holding a frozen chicken pot pie
in one hand and finding his way with the other. When I said - “Hello,” to let him
know I was up ahead, he gave a hearty “Hi” like we were old friends. He
looked to be close to fifty and had a ruddy complexion suggesting he wasn't
any homebody. He asked - “could you do me a favor and tell me how I'm
supposed to cook this?” I slowly read the instructions, then reminded myself
that this guy is blind, not dull. He thanked me, and we said our goodbyes.
After I’d made a pit stop and gotten my coffee, I headed out toward my car.
There he was, cheerfully tapping his red and white cane through the gas
pumps and cars toward the four-lane highway. I “nonchalantly” raced over
and asked if I could help him, to which he responded - “I’ve been here a lot
and I’m just headed to the motel down the road”, as he pointed toward the
setting sun. But I didn’t see any motel. I gave him a ride and about a
half-mile down the road he told me to “go in the next driveway” (based on my
speed). As we went around the curve, he pointed ahead - “room 34 should
be “about there” and he was off by one car width in the pothole-laden parking
lot. The motel was a dive but he seemed perfectly content. As we came to a
stop, he put out his hand, and with a smile, introduced himself. “I’m Tim, but
there are a lot of Tim's out there, so my friends just call me ‘Blind Tim’"
Thanks for the ride. “
As I drove off I realized Tim showed no outward signs of carrying any extra
burdens in life. He seemed perfectly OK with the hand he'd been dealt.
As for me, I'm afraid I would have found a little room for self pity.
But then again, I'm not close to a finished project.
My six year old granddaughter “Belle” and I were having a heated discussion this morning about how long dragons live. She was riding a green rubberized, pre-adolescent "girl dragon." According to attached paperwork "Waddles" had immigrated from China. Belle has spent literally half her life with this gentle dragoness from Walmart who, disappointingly, has never even let out so much as a puff of smoke, let alone fire. Nonetheless, Belle just knew, “dragons live twenty-three years.”
My wife chimed in - "hundreds of years." She's into metaphysics, and was adamant. She’s so well read about this kind of thing and even knew about real drawings of dragons who had been thriving for centuries. That kind of information is hard to argue with.
But I got to thinkin’. I’m the oldest and wisest here - and I’m not buying any of this. There are actual scientific wizards somewhere who can prove it’s impossible for dragons to survive beyond one year after they’ve burped their last fireball! Just imagine all of the action figures out there who have dedicated their entire lives to eradicating these vermin and now they’re gonna be defenseless!
The truth is, “I may not have any actual evidence but I have a lot of theories.” Thus, the facts are irrefutable. A dragon's days are numbered after it passes it's last flaming gas. I challenge anyone to prove me wrong!
It’s 2 AM, and my cup is full - not with coffee but with blessings (the java was consumed five hours earlier while driving home from a concert). I had just slowly awakened to the song - “The Rebel Jesus” by Jackson Browne. It was running through my head but I was stuck on the first line: “The streets are filled with laughter and light and the music of the season,” but I couldn’t remember the word laughter. In my half-sleep, I kept wanting to insert the word Magic.
Back to last night - with my precious granddaughter on my lap, and my wife Emily & daughter Vera to my left side, we are watching my nine year old grandson, Nathan*, on a Christmas stage with fifty other kids. They are singing their hearts out. “Nathan” is not, and probably never will. He’s on the non-verbal “end” of the autism spectrum if there is one. We watch as he smiles and makes a slow turn to check out the voices behind him. Then, with his hand on his butt, he checks out the singers on the other side. The clarity & beauty of voices surrounding him almost hurts, but it’s therapeutic.
( *Nathan is not his real name)
As my wife dries her eyes, I see my daughter's loving arm wrap around her shoulder, and I silently pray. I’m praying, not for him to sing, but merely for a sign that he can in some way connect with those kids that are having silly fun all around him. Nathan turns again and I realize his pivot point hasn’t changed in over five minutes and that’s amazing progress for him. As the third song ends, the crowd goes wild and Nathan joyfully claps. My daughter comforts her mom with a smile, adding - “he's having a blast” - and it’s true.
We make our way to their van and then back to their house. Nathan runs into the dark to his frost-covered swing. Ten minutes later he joins us for a parting hug as we head out the back door. My bride and I walk slowly to the car parked out front. As I get in, I notice silhouettes. Nathan and Vera are watching us from the front picture window. I wave like I have dozens of times over the years. I see Vera point to us as she waves. And for the first time ever, my much loved grandson waves back!
Is it any wonder that I can’t sleep and can only think of the word Magic?
When we think of the word “peace,” we tend to default to big conflicts - “out there.” Things like the unfathomable horror in Ukraine, or the worst neighborhoods of Chicago might come to mind. Maybe the deepening battle for limited resources exemplified by the water issues in the Nile Basin,” or in Colorado or Arizona. These are certainly complex and divisive issues that require the insightful work of creative and compassionate peace makers.
But what about the conflicts residing closer to home? Consider the
countless soldiers trained or conditioned to dehumanize the “other” as a pretext for killing in wars. What happens when that other moves in next door? Or the indigenous American farmer forced to till dry, sandy soil because they can’t afford the land with rich dark soil taken from their ancestors . Or consider the uneducated, elderly, black woman, struggling to make ends meet, not knowing that there’s significant help available at that “dreaded government office” a few blocks away.
There can be no enduring peace when our society accepts the exploitation of our most vulnerable - for profit or gain.
Peace ... good conversations around large tables.
For as long as I can remember I’ve been mesmerized by soaring birds…and airplanes.
Being a practical sort, I’ve also taken solace in the concept that pilots don’t usually die while they’re flying but when they stop flying.
Fifteen years ago, I almost did - just that! I was taking off from a grass airfield in Upstate New York. I had a dacron and aluminum hang-glider with a motorcycle engine spinning a wooden prop a thousand times a minute. I had just taken off and was about fifty feet up when a wire connection broke and that screaming engine went silent in a microsecond. Any airplane with its nose up in the air will drop like an anvil if its forward momentum is not sufficient to provide enough lift to the wings. I immediately yanked the control bar in pointing the nose toward the ground and maybe a second later threw the bar out to flare into a landing. The total “flight time” was probably 10 to 15 seconds.
We’ve all heard of the “fight or flight” response. Well, the above is what that looks like on a good day, when training, conditioning and divine intervention join forces to save someone's butt. And we can ponder, what would have happened if I had even entered the “oh shit” phase? A different outcome for sure. Sometimes in life there’s simply no time for fear or emotion to creep in. Fortunately, 99 percent of the time there is and we just have to work through it and then regroup. That’s the time when we’re supposed to reflect, deal with the “what ifs,” and then hopefully move on.
But what if we never move on to a recovery phase - where we step back and mechanically explore what worked or didn’t, and then weigh different corrective measures to minimize the chances that life would go sour in the future? Sometimes we get so stuck in the emotional response to a situation that we end up residing there immersed in its paralysis.
When we lose our objectivity or our ability to step outside our emotions to problem solve, we run the risk of fearing life itself and that could mean -
NEVER FLYING AGAIN!
“Good Fences Make Good Neighbors” - Robert Frost
Wayne is one of my best friends here in our small mid-west town and we have much in common. He is very active in local causes that help the poor and disadvantaged. Like me, he’s done a considerable amount of volunteer work outside our country as well. We go to the same UCC church. We’ve enjoyed working together doing things like mounting the wings on my ultralight, or just plain shooting the breeze over crisp bacon and eggs. Speaking of shooting, we’re both gun owners who would never support taking away the second amendment. However, he’s worked for twenty plus years as an FBI agent and I’ve worked for 35 years as a physician assistant. I’ve spent thousands of hours in emergency and operating rooms and others in two camps for war refugees. We’ve both seen first hand what bullets can do and yet we have widely different views on gun violence … and a few other hot button topics.
Well one fine day, George and I were having a nice, low key discussion and it drifted toward something political. Over the course of ten minutes it became progressively more heated and he put up his hands signaling - “Time Out”. I’m frankly not used to that. He then followed up with - ”I value our friendship way too much to continue this conversation.” With minimal reflection, I not only agreed but especially appreciated his mentally stepping back and establishing boundaries. This was a most valuable lesson for me.
Every conversation or transaction I partake in has risks, benefits, and opportunity costs. I have the option of taking the driver’s seat when I see boulders ahead. How would things be different if every time I witnessed an interaction going sour, I merely stepped back and interjected the thought or words - What’s the most important thing to take away from this moment?”
