Three Little Words

November 14, 2016

"Girlfriend, fiancée, wife." Spending a few hours at college with our daughter and granddaughter somehow brought those words to mind. Our conversations didn't deal with any of that, but on the way home, those three words were swirling around in my head. Three words, all referring to the same person, but each with a weight all its own.

Linda and I have different accounts of our first meeting, so we won't start there. I can't remember how it was that we first started dating, other than I had asked her to an opera. Yes, an opera, can you believe it? Tristan and Isolde, sponsored by the college artist series. At intermission, as we stood on the steps of Wesley Chapel, I asked her how she was enjoying it, and although I didn't know it at the time, she looked me squarely in the eyes and blatantly and deliberately lied to me! So we went from being friends to girlfriend/boyfriend on the basis of a lie. Go figure.

Things moved along for about six months, till she decided that she couldn't handle being with someone who was so serious. Just before Easter break, she broke up with me so she could date Roger, but that whole enterprise foundered when she told her dad about her decision. "Next time, why don't you go with some drunk I don't care about?" were his first and last words to her that entire Easter break. We saw each other at college later that spring, but when summer came, she went home, and I went to work at Miracle Mountain Ranch in Spring Creek, PA, which just happened to be only about an hour from her home.

One day that August, a big green 1961 Galaxie trailing a cloud of dust and containing Linda came roaring up the dirt road to the camp. We talked, and I gave her the ruby ring that had belonged to my grandfather. Friends to girlfriend to nothing to girlfriend again. The following December 1, the relationship deepened when I asked her to marry me. That's a whole story in itself, but she said yes...well, actually she didn't. But her response was affirmative, and she became my fiancée. That word had a nice ring to it, but it didn't have quite the punch of the next word: wife.

I can still remember how that word felt the first time I could claim it, and 46 years later, it still has that magical ring to it. That word still amazes me; to know that sense of belonging that it incurs. I look at my granddaughters, with all the uncertainty of dating yet before them; the questions, the wondering, the joy and heartache that we all endure to get to where Linda and I are today, content with each other, secure in a love that has passed the test of time, endured the storms of life, and now blesses us with deep satisfaction and joy. Three little words brought to mind as we shared time with our granddaughter; three little words that changed my life and make me very thankful tonight.

What Makes it Worthwhile

November 13, 2016

For the past four years, I've engaged in this discipline of gratitude that has been so transformative for me. Last Sunday and this morning I had the opportunity to recount to two different congregations my story of how after a year of renouncing negativity and embracing gratitude, the melancholy that had been my lifelong companion simply and unexpectedly vanished. This four years I've documented the details of my gratitude in writing, posting them nightly on Facebook and on blogspot.com under the title "Refrigerator Word Art." Like our grandkids' paintings and drawings on our refrigerator, I figured my musings wouldn't necessarily interest anyone outside the family, hence the title.

The more I observe people, both face to face, and through social media, the more I realize how our lives are poisoned by all the negativity that surrounds us. I suppose some of it is unavoidable; we cannot hide our heads in the sand and pretend that the world is all sweetness and light. Evil is real, the world is often harsh and cruel; there is plenty to complain about, and more than enough work to be done to try to make it a better place. But making a better world is not accomplished by negativity, hostility, anger, or complaining; those attitudes and activities that are so prevalent among those who claim to be making a difference.

Since retiring from preaching, it has been especially gratifying to put in writing that for which I am thankful. Without the discipline of writing sermons, it would be easy to just stop thinking altogether. I had been worried that in retirement my world would shrink to the dimensions of our 2 1/2 acres, a pretty small world, indeed. I am content here, but need more than this as a reason to get up in the morning. Nightly writing has made me stay aware of a world larger than my immediate surroundings, kept me looking for grace in unlikely places. I am grateful for many things tonight, not the least of which is what this discipline has done for me, and for the opportunity to share it with others. If just one or two people take it seriously and begin to similarly forsake criticism, complaining, and negativity and begin learning to give thanks in all situations, all my writings will have been worth the effort.

When You Don't Feel Like It

November 12, 2016

The blessing often comes quite by surprise, when you don't expect it and don't deserve it. Two funerals in as many days, a full day tomorrow preaching twenty miles away in Sherman, driving another twenty to East Randolph for a church conference, then School of the Arts at Park church, I didn't much feel like going anywhere today. But Linda had told our friend Kelly that we would show up for the small group ministries scavenger hunt, and even though Linda told me it would be OK if I stayed home and rested, I wasn't about to be the killjoy in it all. So dutifully and a slight bit reluctantly, I joined her and headed to church.

I can be a slow learner, but once the lesson gets into my head, it usually sticks. Some years ago, I learned that even though staying home might be appealing to the hermit in me, missing out on the camaraderie and fellowship wasn't worth the trade. It wasn't tonight, either. It took me a couple stops on the scavenger hunt, but I soon got into the swing of it all, and the four of us sixty-something adults were like goofy kids, singing at a lighthouse, saying the pledge of allegiance in a dollar store, and taking selfies of ourselves with Ugly Lucy.

The dinner group our sons are in got their instructions mixed up and ended up singing Amazing Grace to the residents of a nursing home. As the residents teared up, so did our daughter in law Jeanine. Maybe it wasn't such of a mixup after all. After all, those blessings often come by surprise, where and when you least expect them. And now at the end of it all, I am home, feeling much more fulfilled than had I stayed home to prepare for tomorrow's preaching. Lesson reinforced: When you make the effort to be with other Christians even when you don't feel like it, they bless you, and you go home thankful.

Satisfaction's Source

November 11, 2016

A dvd from the five dollar Walmart bin, eight grandkids with bellies full of Meema's macaroni and cheese, and all is under control. It's not often that I have them alone; it's much more common for me to have some commitment on a Friday night that leaves her with the entire crew. One would think that this old codger would take all these kids in stride, but I have to admit to some apprehension. On those evenings when the both of us are tag-teaming it through the night, she is the one with the most time in the ring.

One blessing that comes with the age span of the kids is the older ones who just take charge keeping the younger ones entertained. Abi and Izzi helped little Gemma build a snap-block snake that ran from the bedroom, around the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room, while I cleaned up the kitchen and did the dishes.

I'm about to pull the plug on all the political commentary on Facebook. Everyone seems to be angry, vindictive, and bitter, with it making little difference between which side of the aisle one is on. I made the commitment a couple years ago to stop forwarding all those posts; it's about time I stopped even reading them. The time spent with the grandkids tonight around the dinner table, making block snakes, and listening to their laughter as they watched the dvd fills me up inside, and lends credence to my observation that most of what makes our lives meaningful has little to do with the big events swirling around on the national scene.

I had a conversation with someone recently concerning our well-intentioned resolve to stay in touch with friends who move away. It lasts for a few months, but is increasingly difficult to maintain as the years go by because life is built mainly with small bricks and boards, one at a time. It's the everyday commonplace activities that are the glue holding us together, like sharing a meal together, making small talk after church, and simply greeting one another as we pass on the street. There was a bonding tonight with the grandkids, and I am thankful.

One Blessed Day

November 10, 2016

The sun came up again this morning, casting shadows from the trees, slowly drying the dew. Hector, our stray cat soaks up the warmth sitting on the end I cut off the barn beam when I made the mantle for our living room fireplace. It sits in front of the house next to a half barrel filled with the remnants of the summer's marigolds. Emma charges across the creek chasing scents and sounds only she can detect, while I changed the oil on my bike and sorted out some of the junk in my shop. It's amazing how quickly stuff can accumulate when you're a packrat.

Spruce needles covering the surface of the goldfish pond needed to be removed, so donning my boots, I waded in with the pool skimmer. My fish thanked me profusely, if that's what's meant by their darting to and fro as I moved the net across the water. Otherwise, they were just trying to avoid being tossed in the grass with the needles, a task at which they were eminently successful.

Earlier in the morning, Harry and I met at a friend's house, taking in the lay of the land as we figured what would need to be done to solve the soggy lawn and water seepage into his basement. I'll get my tractor back next week, just in time to haul it down the road to move the gravel we'll put in the ditch along with the drainage tile. Being able to help our friends is one of the blessings of being a part of a congregation that takes seriously the gospel injunction to love one another with brotherly love, ministering in practical ways to each other's needs.

Jordan's Funeral Home is one of the anchorages of our community. No one looks forward to going there, but we all do, and when we gather, comfort is given and received, and old friendships renewed. The gentleman in whose honor we will gather tomorrow was a pillar of the community for years, having lived his entire life in Sinclairville, except for his military service overseas during World War II. A longtime member of the Methodist church, a dedicated member of the volunteer fire department, and an even more dedicated husband, father, and grandfather, his quiet ways didn't garner much attention, but his sterling character lives on in his children and grandchildren.

Chuck and Kelly are delightful friends who bless us repeatedly with their kindness, their love for Christ, and their devotion to ministry. They blessed us tonight as we sat at their table, talking, laughing, and finally, praying together. They are the kind of friends most people wish they had, but we actually do. An evening with them is never a chore, and sitting with them in the house Chuck grew up in and recently had remodeled, was one of those experiences that fills the soul with deep satisfaction.

Across our country, people are rejoicing or lamenting our president-elect. Some, who two weeks ago were aghast at Mr. Trump's refusal to say he would accept the results of the election, are now refusing to accept the results of the election, rioting in the streets and fomenting the very violence and hatred they claim to fear from a Trump presidency. We live in a crazy, mixed-up world, but most of life consists in the small, everyday events such as I recount for today. Nothing spectacular; nothing earth-shattering, but it is days like today that I know how blessed I am to be a Christian, an American, and a retired pastor living in the same small community where I have invested most of my life. Sometimes I almost want to pinch myself to make sure it is real. It is, and for every moment of it, I give thanks.

One Blessed Day

November 10, 2016

The sun came up again this morning, casting shadows from the trees, slowly drying the dew. Hector, our stray cat soaks up the warmth sitting on the end I cut off the barn beam when I made the mantle for our living room fireplace. It sits in front of the house next to a half barrel filled with the remnants of the summer's marigolds. Emma charges across the creek chasing scents and sounds only she can detect, while I changed the oil on my bike and sorted out some of the junk in my shop. It's amazing how quickly stuff can accumulate when you're a packrat.

Spruce needles covering the surface of the goldfish pond needed to be removed, so donning my boots, I waded in with the pool skimmer. My fish thanked me profusely, if that's what's meant by their darting to and fro as I moved the net across the water. Otherwise, they were just trying to avoid being tossed in the grass with the needles, a task at which they were eminently successful.

Earlier in the morning, Harry and I met at a friend's house, taking in the lay of the land as we figured what would need to be done to solve the soggy lawn and water seepage into his basement. I'll get my tractor back next week, just in time to haul it down the road to move the gravel we'll put in the ditch along with the drainage tile. Being able to help our friends is one of the blessings of being a part of a congregation that takes seriously the gospel injunction to love one another with brotherly love, ministering in practical ways to each other's needs.

Jordan's Funeral Home is one of the anchorages of our community. No one looks forward to going there, but we all do, and when we gather, comfort is given and received, and old friendships renewed. The gentleman in whose honor we will gather tomorrow was a pillar of the community for years, having lived his entire life in Sinclairville, except for his military service overseas during World War II. A longtime member of the Methodist church, a dedicated member of the volunteer fire department, and an even more dedicated husband, father, and grandfather, his quiet ways didn't garner much attention, but his sterling character lives on in his children and grandchildren.

Chuck and Kelly are delightful friends who bless us repeatedly with their kindness, their love for Christ, and their devotion to ministry. They blessed us tonight as we sat at their table, talking, laughing, and finally, praying together. They are the kind of friends most people wish they had, but we actually do. An evening with them is never a chore, and sitting with them in the house Chuck grew up in and recently had remodeled, was one of those experiences that fills the soul with deep satisfaction.

Across our country, people are rejoicing or lamenting our president-elect. Some, who two weeks ago were aghast at Mr. Trump's refusal to say he would accept the results of the election, are now refusing to accept the results of the election, rioting in the streets and fomenting the very violence and hatred they claim to fear from a Trump presidency. We live in a crazy, mixed-up world, but most of life consists in the small, everyday events such as I recount for today. Nothing spectacular; nothing earth-shattering, but it is days like today that I know how blessed I am to be a Christian, an American, and a retired pastor living in the same small community where I have invested most of my life. Sometimes I almost want to pinch myself to make sure it is real. It is, and for every moment of it, I give thanks.

Holding the Future

November 9, 2016

The responses from professing Christians that I've been reading about yesterday's presidential election have been pretty interesting. I'm not sure what to make of them. Some are talking as if the world would have ended had Hillary won, while others are talking that way because Trump won. I'm puzzled. I thought Jesus Christ was our Lord and Savior. This morning's reading from "The Daily Light," written more than a hundred years ago, pretty well sums up my convictions on the matter.

“I, I am the LORD, and besides me there is no savior.”—There is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.—“There is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.” --from Isaiah 43:11, 1 Timothy 2:5, and Acts 4:12.

I wish Mr. Trump the best, and will pray for him as I have been praying for president Obama, for wisdom and humility, strength and grace to endure this most difficult job. And I am thankful tonight that the election is over, and that though we don't know what the future holds, we know who holds the future.