Looking For The Long Ride

Way back in 2007 I posted an observation on what I had come to understand about reconciliation as it pertained to a church I had been a part of for nearly 20 years.

Sandi and I had left the church amid “leadership” disagreements and overall disatisfaction with the direction the church was heading. We had been hurt by “leadership” and in this had in turn wounded others. The church had a long history of leaving wounded soldiers by the wayside. Our attempts to change the way relationships were handled were not met with a lot of positive feedback which in turn led to us leaving as well.

Within this dynamic, some longstanding relationships were lost and some were in turn strengthened. There were attempts made on our part to restore some friendships that had been damaged as a result of various falling outs over the years we attended this fellowship.

This was pretty much the focus of that 2007 article which can be found at this link:  Click here!

As I mentioned then, Reconcile is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary as:

1. To reestablish a close relationship between.

2. To settle or resolve.

I have recently had the idea of reconciliation come back to me in terms I think we can all relate to.

In talking with a friend the other day, I came to the realization that many of us may still be waiting for the “light” of “acknowledgement” to come on inside of those who have wounded us. We may still be waiting for that phone call or knock on the door which would lead to our “offender” apologizing to us for how they once treated us. After this, all would again be well with the world and the fracture in the force would be repaired. Just like in the movies where nothing is left hanging at the end of the 2 hour playing time.

Yet life is very much not like the movies or our favorite television shows. We continue to carry wounds way beyond what is really necessary and our thinking that these situations will be completely healed at some point is not based in much reality.

Another friend confided in me that every time he sees certain people from his church past, he gets all tense inside and feels really uncomfortable around them. This says to me that he has unresolved issues that may never be taken care of. Especially if we go on thinking that these “other” people are going to wake up one day and see the error of their ways and be completely repentant towards us.

I have come to the major conclusion that if these aforementioned people really thought that there was something wrong about their approach to life and relationships in general, they would not have treated us badly in the first place. Most of these people don’t seem to sit around wondering much about anything  that might be askew with their personalities. Just like most bullies don’t realize they are in fact bullies. The fact that they push people around is just the way things are and not something to be concerned with—not a whole lot of self-analysis going on in other words.

I guess I have reached the point where I am tired of talking about or trying to figure out why these things happen and am ready for God to bind up my broken heart. (Isaiah 61:1)

Don’t get me wrong, I would still welcome that knock on the door or phone call. But realistically, that is out of my control and probably not going to happen. I hope to find it in myself to fully forgive and begin to live, not out of wounding or brokeness, but out of grace and abundance.

And that’s my ride for today.

A couple of my favorite things to do are visiting my son and daughter who live in the Cary, NC area and while there visiting a couple of local, used book stores and a humongus Barnes and Noble’s. Mostly in that order with a mocha latte added at some point. I occasionally stumble upon a rare find or two—which is well worth the trip in and of itself. Ordering online from Amazon is not nearly as rewarding.

My latest trip was last weekend and while there, I picked up several books of poetry by writers that I newly discovered. One of these was a book by Li-Young Lee entitled “Rose”.

In the forward to Li-Young Lee’s book, Gerald Stern makes this comment: “What characterizes Li-Young Lee’s poetry is a certain humility, a kind of cunning, a love of plain speech, a search for wisdom and understanding….a devotion to language, a belief in its holiness…and a moving personal search for redemption.”

Somehow, the last seven words of this forward caused me to ask myself just what it is the reviewer meant by this. What is a “…personal search of redemption” and why am I so suddenly struck by these words. Is it because, in the midst of my “born-again” redemption by Jesus, I am still (we are still) trying to somehow work things out as an atonement for the guilt that we feel about our lives.

Redemption, as defined by Dictionary dot com is a noun which means:

1. an act of redeeming or the state of being redeemed.
2. deliverance; rescue.
3. Theology . deliverance from sin; salvation.
4. atonement for guilt.
5. repurchase, as of something sold.
6. paying off, as of a mortgage, bond, or note.
7. recovery by payment, as of something pledged.
8. conversion of paper money into specie.

…and that my friends is a lot of weight put on this 3 syllable noun.

Paul mentions in one epistle that we “…work out our salvation with fear and trembling” yet the concept of our redemption by Jesus couldn’t be any clearer. We were stained by sin and deserved punishment (from a legal standpoint) for them and He took our punishment for us. He died that we might live.

A week or so ago, I was pondering two short words that both begin with a “g”—Guilt and Grace.

This thought revolved around thinking that most motivation in our culture is based on making us “feel” guilty about something so that we are motivated to work harder in order to please the motivator and/or assuage our feelings of guilt about it.

Guilt is partly defined as:

You can rest assured that each of our life journeys have been more or
less unique to us. There may be some overlap in shared experiences, but
overall, it is our shoes that we have filled and no one else’s.

And what I see today is that each mile that we have walked brings with
it some understanding of the purpose of the mile before it. In other
words, it seems we are never quite current in our overall assessment of
where we have been and why. In this sense, revelation comes to us in
bits and pieces over time—and that only if we are tuned into anything
that is happening to and around us.

It is like I have heard said about hearing God—He is always broadcasting but we are not always tuned into His channel.

Knowledge comes in pieces as well. Scripture tells us that it is, “…line upon line, precept upon precept”.

So, it is with interest that I think about a conversation my wife and I
had this morning in bed as we found ourselves both awake at about 5am.

The conversation seemed to revolve around having and nurturing a daily
relationship with Jesus/God and how we fill our free days with lots of
other activities rather than pursuing one of the most important.

This line of conversation led us to remembering our early house church
experiences and how fulfilled we felt being a part of a local church
body in pursuit of the Holy Spirit.

Which brought us to the point of how hard it is to find what we experienced as early Christians in today’s hustle bustle world.

After having attended a church we were actively involved in for 20 plus
years, we left there for another local expression, which in turn lasted
for about 3 1/2 years. So, for the past 4 or 5 months, we have not
attended (been a part of) a local church service.

Granted, we are still a part of the “church” but are not fellow-shipping
with the brethren on a weekly basis. We get together with Christian
friends, but have not found that place of corporate worship and service
that we are now missing.

What we are looking for is a place of abiding where we are a part of
what is happening, rather than being passive participants sitting in
pews or folding chairs—a place where what we say matters and the feeling
is of a family rather than the customary clergy/laity divide.

Sandi likes to dance and use beautiful flags in worship and I like to
use my musical giftings in order to usher in the majesty of Holy Spirit
awareness.

Sounds like we are between a rock and a hard place in terms of finding a
local expression that meets our needs—or is life-giving—in other words.
Not that we are always looking to be fed—we have opportunity to serve
others—but mostly when we are filled can we in turn be used to fill
others.

I am sure there is more to this train of thought than what I have time
for right now. Suffice it to say, the dialogue has begun and as our
revelation unfolds, we will end up in the very place that we need to be.

It seems almost a shame to have a blog and not post something related to the year ending or the new one beginning. We all know by now that New Year’s resolutions hardly last beyond the first few weeks and that real change comes from deep within not from a feeling you get about going to the gym a little more often.

If anything, I would have to say that my ship has a little more water in it than it needs. In other words I feel like I have been more influenced by my culture than I have influenced it.

Not that my light has been completely hidden under a bushel but perhaps I have gone through a pack and a half of matches keeping it lit during the past year.

I began this blog in November of 2006 to allow the creativity—that had mostly dried up during my 20 year sojourn at a local church—new freedom. In retrospect I realize the church I was a part of was not that much  different than many of the secular jobs we find ourselves in.

In addition, there was a lack of appreciation on the part of leadership, for those that served the body in the myriad ways that happens locally. It was a big deal to say that GOD created each of us unique, but on a daily, experiential level, this belief was not lived out. Sound familiar.

It was certainly not the “church” that Jesus died for.

And yes, in saying that, I am also saying that I perpetuated some of what I now realize is religious bullshit.

My how we have grown.

When we left the aforementioned church, another was begun to take its place, and that expression lasted a few years until it diminished to 2 or 3 couples. From 60 to 6 in under four years—isn’t it supposed to be the other way around.

Be that as it may, Sandi and I have taken to sleeping late on Sunday and getting together with our Christian friends on covered dish occasions and such. Not bad but not totally fulfilling either.

However, late 2009 and most of 2010 found us focused on our family. Our daughter Lydia had serious complications late in her pregnancy which required our attention and prayers. Yet our grand daughter Kaydence has gone from skin and bones preemie to a healthy 18 pound one year old. She is a blessing and a blast to baby sit.

Son Joseph and wife Amanda had Ayla Jade several weeks later by c-section (not the easiest way to go) and we have spent time in their house and fully enjoyed her as well.

Jessica, our oldest and her husband both lived through significant job changes in 2010 and are now better off than they were before.

All in all I see that not much in life comes easily—at least later in life. There are always situations to work through and and things to deal with. As scripture tells us it is a gift from God if we can enjoy our days and the jobs we have and the fruit of our labor.

I am also aware of the fact that I had to die to many of the things I thought I knew about the church in order to be free to actually see the pattern Jesus set before us. And though I am not totally on the other side of all of this, I have made many positive strides during the past year.

I can say that I am a little more understanding (except maybe in traffic) and calmer than in previous years. I could just be tired but I think more is at play than that.

I am grateful for my family, my job and my health.

There is more that I could say—I could get deep and wordy but that would not serve.

What I do know is that you can’t believe that it is good to stop and smell the roses if you never take the time to do just that.

Social Media is all the rage these days. Everywhere you look, you are apt to run into an invitation to connect with your past, present and sometimes future (ie: Match dot com).

As an avid newspaper reader (USA Today mostly) I often find myself amused by the articles about Facebook, Twitter, My Space, Linkedin, etc. that speculate on their respective influences, both good and bad, for our modern lives.

I will have to admit, I am often one of the first to investigate new trends that involve the internet. I remember the days of AOL and dial-up connections at a speedy (I jest) 300 BPS. It took hours to send a small file to a printer and the cost of the next generation modem was astronomical.

Yet I digress!

Today’s high speed DSL connections have opened us up to a new world of technology. We now buy online, download music, movies and TV and use to Internet to keep in touch through e-mail, IM and social media sites and blogging.

If you are like me, you have more friends than the people you actually really know and relate to on a daily or weekly basis. I have often found myself clicking through pages of photos of people I barely know, just to pass the time away (don’t cha hear the whistle blowing).

If it wasn’t for the fact that most of our “friends” want us to look at their lives, we’d be classified as voyeurs.

Having said that, let me say this: it is fascinating to see how some of our friends have changed over the years. Some people I once knew 30 years ago, don’t look anything like they did way back then. There may be a vestige left of the person we remember physically, but often the change in appearance is rather drastic. Sometimes, the person looks almost like they did, only older—almost like those CSI computer aging programs we have have seen on TV. Add a few wrinkles, white hair and a little weight and Wah Lah, we have a match.

In thinking about all this, I remembered a piece about faces written by Rainer Maria Rilke that I have always thought to be brilliant. So I did a Google search and found it all typed out for me and now I share it with you.

Enjoy your ride today.

Faces
Have I said it before? I am learning to see. Yes, I am beginning. It’s still going badly. But I intend to make the most of my time.
For example, it never occurred to me before how many faces there are. There are multitudes of people, but there are so many more faces, because each person has several of them. There are people who wear the same face for years; naturally it wears out, gets dirty, splits at the seams, stretches like gloves worn during a long journey. They are thrifty, uncomplicated people; they never change it, never even have it cleaned. It’s good enough, they say, and who can convince them of the contrary? Of course, since they have several faces, you might wonder what they do with the other ones. They keep them in storage. Their children wear them. But sometimes it also happens that their dogs go out wearing them. And why not? A face is a face.
   Other people change faces incredibly fast, put on one after another, and wear them out. At first, they think they have an unlimited supply; but when they are barely forty years old they come to their last one. There is, to be sure, something tragic about this. They are not accustomed to taking care of faces; their last one is worn through in a week, has holes in it, is in many places as thin as paper, and then, little by little, the lining shows through, the non-face, and they walk around with that on.
   But the woman, the woman: she had completely fallen into herself, forward into her hands. It was on the corner of rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. I began to walk quietly as soon as I saw her. When poor people are thinking, they shouldn’t be disturbed. Perhaps their idea will still occur to them.
   The street was too empty; its emptiness had gotten bored and pulled my steps out from under my feet and clattered around in them, all over the street, as if they were wooden clogs. The woman sat up, frightened, she pulled out of herself, too quickly, to violently, so that her face was left in her two hands. I could see it lying there: its hollow form. It cost me an indescribable effort to stay with those two hands, not to look at what had been torn out of them. I shuddered to see a face from the inside, but I was much more afraid of that bare flayed head waiting there, faceless.

It’s no secret amongst our family and friends that Sandi and I love to visit New York City every couple of years. We first visited together in 1991 or 1992 when we tagged along with a group from our local college, Appalachian State. It was some kind of advanced English class going up to tour the city and there were several seats left on the bus they had leased. I think it cost us $40 bucks a piece for both ways. We stayed in a loft owned by the university on the lower west side and slept in bunk beds in a dorm room setting. The rest of the group stayed someplace else, so it was really kind of private, in a low-rent sort of way. We don’t remember what we did with our children, but we do remember that we had a great time.

I had lived in the city in the late sixties and was familiar with the basic north/south, east/west street layout and so brought a confidence to my wife about our wandering around one of the greatest and most overwhelming cities in the world.

We have since been back five times with last week our most recent trek into the world of Manhattan.

Our plan is simple: go for about 4 days and make it a point to have one or two things we really want to do. That way our trips are always a success and fulfilling. We always make plans to see a Broadway show and visit at least one of the major art museums. We hit TKTS, a discount ticket operation, as soon as we get into the city and normally our first night is spent heading towards the theater district (TImes Square) and taking in a show. This year, we saw Mama Mia, a play that has been around for at least a couple of years. It is a musical set to the songs of ABBA, a pop group from the mid-seventies. And this is where I say there is a good reason why it has been on Broadway for so long—it is simply a fantastic show—a full 2 1/2 hours of energy that leaves you feeling like a million bucks. The tickets are not cheap—even at half price—but are well worth it.

This year, in addition to Mama Mia, we visited MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) and viewed a special exhibit of Matisse paintings from the early 1900’s. We took the Circle Line boat tour of lower Manhattan (a real tourist type of thing) and saw the city, and the Statue of Liberty in a whole different way. We ate at our favorite Vietnamese restaurant, had lunch in Little Italy, did the Canal Street shopping thing and walked nearly 10 miles a day.

One of our destinations is Sandi’s favorite—a trip to Lilac Chocolates on 8th Avenue. Their dark chocolate is some the the best in the world—very addictive. One of my favorites is to wander around the Strand Bookstore on Broadway Avenue. This year I bought four books of poetry that hadn’t even made it to the shelves—they were stuffed and stacked on a rolling book-shelf type of thing which is probably used to store the books until there is space on the main shelves. I only wish it wasn’t so far away.

Did I say we walked nearly 10 miles a day! In the process of our time in the city, we spent time in Central Park, which is another world on Sunday. It seems most of the roads are closed to car traffic and the streets throughout the park are filled with thousands of joggers, bikers, roller-bladders, walkers—locals and tourists alike—all enjoying the fantastic fall weather that each day presented to us.

When we needed a break, we took in a few films that will never find their way to Boone, North Carolina. The Lincoln Plaza Theater only shows films that have won awards—we saw Heartbreaker, Cairo Time and Get Low during three of those we-need-a-real-rest times. All I can say is that each film was great and if you get a chance, check them out.

The past two times we have visited New York, we have stayed in a hotel in Newark, NJ which is only a half a mile walk from the PATH train into the World Trade Center site in downtown Manhattan. The twenty minute ride into NY is a small price to pay for the significant savings of staying in Newark. Maybe when we are rich, we can stay in Mid-Town and have a place to retreat to when we are tired in the afternoon—although the Lincoln Plaza seems to welcome us with open arms.

At the pace we go, 4 1/2 days is just about enough. With our internal computers re-booted, we returned to our country mansion, where you can actually hear yourself think and the katydids are friendly all evening. Hopefully we will still be healthy enough in the future to visit the city again—until that time adieu!

I was struck last week by a large headline in one of the daily newspapers that I pass by on my way to the USA Today paper box. The big block letters on the front page almost screamed, “Can We Win In Afghanistan?”

I didn’t take time to read the article and what it related but the very question itself set me on a course of thought and reflection that is still in the process of coming to a boil in my ever active imagination.

My first thought was this: If we can’t win then lets get out which in turn led to—if we can’t win then why not?

Just for the record, I am not very active politically—I know a little bit about a lot but not very much about any one democratic process or structure.

However, I do know that our form of government is a Republic and not a Democracy—we are governed by representatives that we “elect” every so often and the hope is that these paid reps will do what is best for us and our country.

And I guess that is the point that I am getting to in a round-a-bout way. I feel that we, as a people group, have almost totally lost control of our government (for and by the people), our food production and our stewardship of mother earth.

From a simple and biblically logical standpoint, if we can’t win the war in the Afghanistan, then we need to immediately get out before any more or our nations’ men and women are put in harms way.

Luke 14:28-32 reads:

“For which one of you, when he wants to build a tower, does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if he has enough to complete it?

“Or else, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace.

I am no biblical scholar but the implication seems pretty clear—don’t start something you can’t finish.

Not only this, but recent reports of high suicide rates among soldiers, mental illness discharges, drug and alcohol addiction and just plain wearing out bodies because of multiple deployments says that the system is not working on so many different fronts not to mention whether or not we should even be in-country.

I guess the older I get, the less I think about the idea that the USA needs to come to the rescue of every nation that is in political turmoil.

Then again, this whole Iraq and Afghanistan thing is much more complex than we have been led to believe. Once we realized that we were never going to find Bin Laden or nuclear weapons, we should have said see you later—instead we have spent literally billions of dollars on a war, within a country, for a people group that we will probably never see eye to eye with.

Muslims and Christians are like oil and water—historically and realistically—two very separate groups of people, each thinking that the other group are infidel. Books have been written about the divide between these two religious groups. And because of time and energy on my part, we are not even going to delve into the fact that these eastern countries are governed by hundreds of thousand year old tribes rather than some form of united representative government.

Yes, this whole conflict is so wrong on so many different fronts. Just thinking about it has frustrated me and in turn made me aware of the acute sense of impotence many must feel. How can we the people change public policy—if that is even what this is. How can we meaningfully make our voices heard in the board rooms and congressional halls of our vast country.

And in closing, what response is appropriate for a man of faith—a man who believes in a living, active God and savior. How shall we then pray into this situation and our collective sense of betrayal and frustration?

Those and many others are questions I am pondering on this very long and twisted ride.

I won’t be the first to say this and I won’t be the last: the digital age sucks big time—the digital age is the greatest thing that has ever happened to us.

A certain dichotomy.

As I read an article in the current USA Today about the fact that stockholders don’t have confidence that Barnes and Noble Book Sellers can compete in the “digital” age, I was at once appalled at the ultimate consequence of this belief and/or train of thought.

I will admit: I have an Android phone and I think it is just below the invention of sliced bread. I can make regular phone calls, respond to text messages, check my e-mail, listen to music, watch videos and surf the web on this amazing device. This little phone, which can fit in my shirt pocket, is a more powerful computer than the Mac SE that my wife wrote her first book on.

However, the changing landscape that this digital age has brought to the forefront is not necessarily in my best interest.

Contrary to a lot of what is happening “content” wise from an internet standpoint, I am an old-timer in my approach to the world.

I still like going into a bookstore, buying a cup of coffee and looking through the shelves for a book or two that I might be interested in. I still believe that God takes delight in what I do on a daily basis and will accompany me through my travels and highlight stuff that I might be interested in. I know I just got a little spiritual for some of you, but bear with me.

The physical act of walking through a bookstore, interacting with the employees, and walking away with a physical find is still a process that sets my soul into overdrive.

The computer, however fast and slick the browser and experience can be, can never take the place of interacting with real human beings. You cannot feel the pages of the book across the wireless. There are no smells or physical sensations associated with the URl that I have accessed through my desktop or mobile device.

In a nutshell I would say that we have been compromised.

Last week, on a trip to Wrightsville Beach on the North Carolina coast, we took a travel stop for coffee and browsing at our “local” Barnes and Noble Bookstore in Winston-Salem.  After putting in my coffee order, I took a left to the poetry section only to find that it wasn’t where it had been anymore. I went to the desk and asked about it and was pointed to the shelf or two that now housed this particular collection. When I began to scan the shelves, I was acutely aware that the section had been almost demolished from what I had come to expect from it. We are talking about stopping at this particular bookstore every time we passed through Winston over the past 8 to 10 years. Without fail. The fact that there is a Macaroni Grill (a favorite restaurant) that shares the same parking lot is inconsequential. This is what you do when you venture off the mountain that is Boone, North Carolina.

The staff was very nice in trying to diffuse my questions as to what had happened to the poetry section I had come to know and love.

“I know we re-arranged things, but I don’t think we sent a whole lot of books back”, one clerk I talked with said. “You know, poetry doesn’t really sell all that well”, was her retort when it looked like I wasn’t going to let a dead dog lie (sorry). My response was perhaps ill advised, but when I told her I knew quite well that there was at least half of the section gone, she could only shrug and walk away—knowing that another day awaited her and things would be a lot better once I left.

So, not to be denied my find, I went to the periodical section and picked the latest Mother Jones magazine and took it to the checkout counter—where upon I told the guy behind the register what I had discovered (big secret) and that this discovery did not bode well for our collective culture. He replied with a “…I could have told you that several years ago”. With this retort ringing in my head, I paid my bill and as I walked out of the store, silently mourned my loss—a loss which most can not share—and the realization that this might be the last time I stop by this particular bookstore on my way to anywhere.

Indeed—it is the end of an age as I reckon it. I don’t want a Kindle, an I Pad or any other digital device wherein I might read my latest literary find. I want “hands-on” all hands on deck. I want sights and smells and turning physical pages. I want the hunt and the satisfaction that comes from discovering the next great poet or author. I want human interaction.

Is that asking to much.

For the stock holders, it just may be. Is the writing on the wall or are we the ones who control it.

I really don’t want digital delivery—I want paper and ink and all that that entails.

Yet we really can’t say how long that will be an option.

It is a self-fulfilling prophesy—if they don’t carry what I want and I am forced to do business online, it will just hasten the demise of what I have come to love and understand—and that my friends seems to be the way things are going.

To say that I am constantly amazed at the information about life that we pick up in bits and pieces along the way—even in our later years—would be an incredible understatement.

It seems that if we stay connected and keep our ears open, something of interest will inevitably pass our way.

As I have mentioned several times before, vegetable gardening is something that I have done ever since Sandi and I moved to North Carolina in 1978. Our collective journey has been both humorous and highly satisfying. From those early five inch tall corn plants that we didn’t fertilize, right up to this years strawberry harvest and beyond, we have continued to learn the process of growing your own food.

This year, we bought a small greenhouse and began to grow our own plants from seed—a process that we have tried and failed at several times before. It is not that the information for success is not available—it is just spread out over many different sources and people.

What motivated us to plunge in again and get our hands dirty is as simple as it is complex. We have depended on other people for many years to provide something that—given the right political/economic atmospheric conditions—might not always be available.

Big seed companies have created vegetable hybrids that will not continue to produce after their own kind—so saving seeds from your garden year after year has been largely lost to most gardeners. This has spawned a small but growing movement towards open-pollinate/heritage seeds that can be collected and saved year and year and traded with others.

I guess it may be called sustainability.

Anyway, during the process of growing our own plants this 2010 gardening year, I came across a factoid which in turn can be discussed far beyond the scope of this current blog post.

And the fact is that we may be doing things backwards in terms of how we end up growing anything. The culture that I live in is mostly devoted to using chemical and/or organic compounds to feed our plants. This, rather than feeding the soil and letting the soil feed and grow our plants and vegetable crops. It seems that building up our soil for this and future generations has taken a back seat to using 10/10/10 to create a short term green-revolution which is destined to deplete our top soil and increase our dependence on the big oil companies who create these types of chemicals.

What I am saying is that I became aware of the fact that we have slowly lost the ability to really be “self-sufficient” by accepting this approach to gardening and overall farming. We are dependent upon the big growers to provide our local stores with plants, which we put into the ground and feed with stuff also produced by others, ad infinitum.

In talking with a friend the other day who asked me why I had not been blogging, I realized that it has been at least a couple of months since my last posting. The reasons why I would slack off that much after almost 3 years of being relatively consistent are as many and as varied as the pot holes in our Boone roads after what has been a long, cold, snowy winter.

No, I have not lost interest in expressing myself on the various thoughts that pass through what is left of my imagination. It is more like the desire to expound on my life and those around me has been in hibernation and waiting for the thawing rains of spring to bring forth new vegetation.

In the meantime, my daughter Lydia and my son Joseph have welcomed new baby girls into the world, making grandparents for the first time out of Sandi and me.

Lydia’s baby, Kaydence Faith was born in the early hours of January 1st in Forsyth Medical Center in Winston Salem. Joseph’s baby, Ayla Jade, was born to him and wife Amanda on February 10th. Both are doing well and the stories that will be told about both pregnancy’s and labors would take several pages to describe. Each child is a miracle and a blessing and will forever change the way each family lives.

Several weeks ago, we all got together and celebrated a baby day. It is that kind of day where pictures are taken with each parent and grand parent and cousin and child from every conceivable angle and direction. Most of us guys can take about an hour or two of this before we start looking for a newspaper or magazine to read in the other room. Suffice it to say, it was a weekend to remember.

One of the joys (there are many) of parenthood is knowing that your children have grown up with the ability to find happiness, earn a living and in general, take care of themselves. Sandi and I are blessed with three adult children who are doing all this and more. In addition, we have Laura, a rising senior, still with us. They are all a blessing to us in their individual ways and as a family we have shared many special times.

Being a part of our kids special times is something that doesn’t have a price tag. Sitting at your son’s or daughter’s table and breaking bread (having a meal) is a moment in time that makes all of the various times and seasons of raising children worthwhile.

It is a blessing beyond compare.

In other news I have been getting back into painting and am having a lot of fun playing my various tin whistles. I have been reading Mother Jones and Utne Reader and have been provoked and challenged by many of the articles I have read. Much of what they publish doesn’t make it into the mainstream or else goes way beyond what we have been led to believe about current events and the world around us.

Did you know that a decision was made by corporate America/corporate world after one of the world wars to create a system of planned obsolescence in order to help our economy grow. We now have $29 DVD players that can’t be fixed, etc. and have to be replaced every few years as a direct result of this decision. Conversely, there is a movement that would like to see more things manufactured that can be fixed and or repaired and that last a lot longer than a couple or years. And the bottom line is that most people probably don’t care.

I guess you get my gist—life is going on all around us and we would do well to get in the boat and start paddling.

I think Jonatha Brooke said it best in a song called Crumbs off her 10 Cent Wings album:

And you say, that you have come as far as you are able
But you’re not far from the tree

And you say, you’re OK, but you live your life like it’s over.

We really owe it to ourselves to keep connected with this miracle called life. Have a great ride today!