It’s been an interesting Spring at Opal’s Farm. I’ve been busier than a one-armed paper hanger as my uncle used to say.
For one thing, I received a letter from the Social Security Administration this week. It said I’ve reached the age where I am now considered retired. I have to laugh when I realize Ms. Opal “retired” the year after I graduated high school. If that’s what retirement looks like, then I’m grateful for it. It means I can focus on loving and serving others full-time just like her. At ninety-eight, she reminds me that she just keeps running forward so the good Lord can’t catch her to take her home. Besides, there’s so much more to do. Especially now…
The other thing that happened is a little less humorous. My left knee blew out on me last Wednesday as I was putting tools away for the day. That wouldn’t have been unusual as it tends to happen now that I’m old enough to suffer the consequences of an overactive youth. This time was different. It didn’t stop hurting the next day and the pain was in a different part of my knee and increasing rather than decreasing. I decided Friday afternoon I had better go to the ER and have it checked out.
Fortunately, nothing is broken, but since X-rays don’t show cartilage or ligament damage, I’ll be seeing the orthopedic surgeon this week. Moreover, the ER doc said I had a lot of arthritis, and the next step was a knee replacement. I feared that might be the case. I guess I’ll find out this week. It’s a pretty big bump in the road.
He also told me to take steroids and pain medicine, wear the immobilizer, use the crutches, and stay off my knee for a few days. I can take medication. I can use the immobilizer most of the time. I can even use the crutches sometimes. However, for a farmer four days of bed rest isn’t possible this time of year. My doctor and I have an agreement – I don’t tell him how to practice medicine and he doesn’t tell me how to farm.
I went market and “Taste the C.U.R.E” class yesterday. If people ask me what happened I simply tell the truth – I got older!
I guess there’s more news to come and a lot of decisions to be made. I’ll just hobble along and work on the farm until then. I’m going to be much slower so I’m extra grateful for the volunteers we have right now. Spring is the busiest time of year for farmers and Opal’s is no exception. The farm still needs daily care. I’ll be there as long as the good Lord lets me, but we need extra volunteer help right now. Please think of us if you have a little spare time and want to get you’re hands dirty. After all, dirt don’t hurt.
Happy New Year to you all! I find this a time of reflection on the past year and look forward toward the new one. I haven’t been in the best place emotionally during the holidays since my son passed away four-and-a-half years ago (he was born on Christmas Day), so reflection comes much easier this time of year. If there is anything positive about grief is that it makes reflection more honest.
If I’m honest, 2024 was a difficult year. It really doesn’t apply to the farm – we’re having record year. I have been blessed to have found two good men to be part of our mission and I give all the credit to their independent thinking, hard work, and new ideas. I’ve been able to let go of several work things because I have good people to help me walk this path together. It’s been my personal life that has been difficult. Difficulties seem to be directly tied the growth rates – the more growth that occurs, the greater the degree of difficulty. Actually, come to think of it, it’s not the changes growth brings that bring on the difficulty, but my resistance to the changes.
Most of the time I’m a pretty levelheaded, compassionate, person: at least that’s what people tell me. The Golden Rule has become a guidepost for most of my interactions with people, but I found myself holding folks to a set of unrealistic expectations. Experience has taught me that whenever I place expectations on others, I’m bound to be disappointed.
However, take the expectations away and people will be people. They’ll make decisions that baffle me (the election of the Great Pumpkin) and they certainly won’t change when I want them to. People are unintentionally uncooperative. I don’t get it, but then again, I don’t have to get it. Reality often conflicts with idealism. Maybe that’s the problem – I’m just too idealistic.
If you’re like me, the pendulum swings both ways (balance is the beam I trip on while running between extremes), and suddenly I find myself letting go of idealism and grabbing onto an unflattering picture of reality. That picture is most often accompanied by a sense of self-righteousness, self-absorption, and self-centeredness. I’m blessed to have been given the tools to see this much more quickly and return to the idealism I hated just a moment ago…
Idealism isn’t necessarily negative though. I like being idealistic. It’s not seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, boundless optimism, and being disconnected from reality like I’ve always been told. It’s seeing the world as it is, with all its ugliness and human failures and yet choosing to see the world as it could be. I think that’s what Jesus meant when he said, “unless you become like the little children you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven”.
I can’t count the times I heard “you’ll grow out of your idealism and begin to see how things really are”, “there’s no place for idealism, it just isn’t reality”, or you’re such a Pollyanna”. I have to admit I’ve even used those words myself – usually as a defense for acting in opposition to my deep-seated values about right and wrong. Now I see this anti-idealism sentiment for what it is – a denial that there is indeed a Kingdom of Heaven. Perhaps that’s a part of what Dietrich Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace” and a willingness to carry on as a citizen of the world rather than the Kingdom of God while claiming grace for one’s self.
Jesus instructed His followers to pray for “your (God’s) kingdom come, your will be done on Earth as it is in heaven”. Nowhere did he say I can be a part of the world’s mechanics with all the division, selfishness, and false patriotism. He asked that we bring the Kingdom of God to Earth and what is the Kingdom of God but the ideal state – a place of justice, goodness, compassion, empathy, and love. So, where does that leave me?
I must return to a childlike faith that recognizes all is grace and a dependency on God. When my boys were little, they depended on me as their father for everything. That’s been the goal of my life today. I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering how I’m going to deal with the consequences of the November 5th election. It’s the same way I would act had the outcome been different – trust my Father and act accordingly.
In twelve step programs the idea of prayer is limited to praying “only knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.” He makes his will clear – “love God with all your heart, mind, and soul and love your neighbor as yourself.” Seems like pretty simple, childlike instructions to me. It’s not about what other people do (which I can never understand anyway), but about what I do.
I don’t get to choose who I show love and kindness to. Quite frankly, I’m always a bit amazed when simply loving (and acting like it!) someone despite their often “unlovableness” can bring about unexpected results. It also means standing up for those bullied by the world: the marginalized and left behind. It means action.
I’m not sure what 2025 will bring. Many of my friends dread the New Year and the shitstorm that’s likely to come with it, especially after the election results of November 5th. I was angry for a couple of days and probably grieved a couple of more until I figured out it’s just the same way the world and all its powers and principalities have always worked. It doesn’t change a thing for an idealist who will continue to get up, get busy, and do what they did the day before – love God and love others. Everything else will take care of itself, and don’t forget, grow up to be a kid…
“Don’t worry about being effective. Just concentrate on being faithful to the truth.” – Dorothy Day
It’s a grey, yet glorious, Sunday morning. A gentle soaking rain started awhile ago and the dripping from the roof is a constant reminder of the gratitude I have today. I’m grateful for the rain that allows me to sit here and write rather than be at the farm irrigating (it’s been an unusually dry October). I’m grateful for the quiet of the house (I’m the only one awake). I’m grateful for the coffee that seems to be extra tasty this morning. I’m grateful for my four dogs who are all curled up and sleeping around my feet as I write this even if I can’t get up for more coffee without disturbing them. Life is just pretty darn good…
I’m truly thankful that the election is only two days away and the constant barrage of negative political ads will cease. I’m worn out simply watching the weather before I go to bed. Through much of this campaign season I’ve chosen to disconnect (not completely mind you) from the unceasing bombardment of campaign coverage, put on some great music, and get on with the day. I took advantage of early voting here in Texas and plan to offer rides to the polls on Tuesday for those that can’t drive.
I struggled with voting several years ago. As my relationship with God began to deepen, I began to realize that my true sovereign was the God of my understanding; that my citizenship likes in the Kingdom of God rather than my country of birth. If this is the case, my civic responsibility is somewhat different. I had become increasingly cynical of the electoral process anyway so maybe I should refuse to participate in the politics of empire. After all, many early Christians refused to acknowledge Ceasar as God, often with severe consequences.
My questions were answered when it occurred to me that I don’t vote for myself or my personal beliefs. I vote for others. I vote for the voiceless to give them a voice – the immigrants who are often left in the shadows. I vote for the powerless and the marginalized. I vote for all of those that fought for the opportunity to vote and to have a seat at the table. I vote for the common good. It’s not about class, color, religious beliefs, or party. What benefits the “least of these”?
That makes me responsible for going to vote. That makes us responsible for voting. I’m not going to tell anyone who to vote for a specific individual or party, but I am going to ask that we all take a moment to ask ourselves what benefits the common good; not what benefits only “me”. What is consistent with the values we claim to possess? In other words, I’m asking to look beyond our individual selfishness and seek people and policies that build our common community and unify our brutally broken population.
I don’t know what’s going to happen this Tuesday, but I do know this: I’m hopeful that we can begin to overcome the petty nonsense that divides us and return to some degree of sanity in our communal civic life. That may seem naïve to most these days, but my faith dictates that I constantly seek the best in others and act accordingly. I voted Friday and I hope you do too on Tuesday.
“Faith in God is not just faith to believe in spiritual ideas. It’s to have confidence in Love itself. It’s to have confidence in reality itself. At its core, reality is okay. God is in it. God is revealed in all things, even through the tragic and sad, as the revolutionary doctrine of the cross reveals!” —Richard Rohr, Essential Teachings on Love
It was sometime during the early years of the Reagan Administration. I can’t remember the date exactly, but I’ve never forgotten the events that night. It was clear and despite the city lights, the stars twinkled brightly on the late winter’s night. I had taken a moment to sit on our big front porch to take in the beauty of the evening before going to bed. I smoked my last cigarette of the day and shut off the lights as I walked through the living room, the kitchen, and down the back stairs to the warmth of our small bedroom in the basement.
Our house was an old farmhouse built in 1890 and sat on two large city lots. It was built long before the area known as Washington Park grew up around it and had much different architecture than the Craftsmen and Victorian homes that came in the early 1900s. It was small – only 950 square feet – and finished in stucco with a flat roof. It even had the old concrete path to where the outhouse would’ve been in its early years. The basement had been finished with two small bedrooms my first wife and I shared next to our boy’s bedroom. It always felt so cozy on a long winter’s night, and I rarely had insomnia issues after sliding into the inviting warmth of the covers and my wife’s arms. It wasn’t much but it was our piece of paradise in the middle of Denver’s urban sprawl.
I’m not sure of the exact time it happened but it was in the early morning hours when sleep is so deep that even one’s dreams are on hold. It was the kind of sleep that we all long for: peaceful and restful. It was also the deep sleep that made it virtually impossible to awaken with a clear mind – the mind remained in that state long after the body was jolted awake. That’s when it happened.
The long, loud scream of the warning sirens blew in the basement window; waning and ebbing as the siren made its circular motion. My wife and I sat up in bed. “What in the hell?”, I demanded as we looked at one another trying to figure out what was up.
I had grown up with warning sirens in Texas, but there we called them tornado sirens. They were tested monthly so if they ever went off other than 1:00 PM on the first Wednesday of the month it meant you needed to head for a place in your home away from windows and doors and hold on. A tornado was nearby and may hit you soon. North Texas marked the southern end of tornado alley. Growing up in Fort Worth meant having a solemn respect for tornado warnings.
The warning sirens were also called Civil Defense sirens. You see, I grew up during the Cold War between the Soviet Union Eastern Bloc and the West. Both sides had a first-strike capability with the ever-growing stockpile of nuclear weapons. The sirens warned us of an imminent attach by the godless communists. We were supposed to file into the basements of buildings marked as Civil Defense shelters if we were downtown working or shopping (this was BM – Before Malls). If we were elsewhere, such as school, we were supposed to “duck and cover” as if our trusty school desks were to help us survive a nuclear blast. I still remember Tommy Turtle and the black-and-white instructional films (this was BV – before video) that told us how to duck low to the ground, cover our heads, and look away from the blast in case of nuclear attack. It mattered little that we were to be vaporized or brutally burned when the bomb went off. The ostrich approach was probably the best way to go…
Unfortunately, this wasn’t North Texas but Denver, Colorado. In the all the years of junior and senior high school and college I had never heard a warning siren. Nor had I ever seen a tornado in Denver, especially in the winter. They just didn’t happen then (climate change changed that scenario years later). Even if they did, the city wouldn’t be testing the sirens at three o’clock in the morning, so something was going on. I reached over to our bedside alarm clock radio and tuned in to see if there was any news about what was happening. There wasn’t. Was this it? Was this the bomb?
The Cold War had a renewed tension after Reagan was elected President. Saber rattling had become the norm and tensions between East and West were at the highest point since the Cuban Missile Crisis in October of 1963. The nuclear arms race was in full swing. I had proudly been arrested for civil disobedience at the Rocky Flats Nuclear Weapons facility numerous times (once with Father Berrigan!). Nuclear disarmament and peace were the subjects of many a demonstration, however small those might be. Most folks were content to live in fear if it didn’t interfere with making a living and going about normal daily life. The warning sirens made everything suddenly real.
Maybe this was it. Denver would be a prime target in any attack scenario. It boasted the largest Federal center of anywhere outside of Washington, D.C. and was surrounded by Rocky Mountain Nuclear Arsenal, an Air Force Base, and several other military facilities. The likelihood that this would be our last few moments was real. My mind raced with memories of a recent movie sensation, “The Day After”.
Finally, the sirens stopped. My wife, though jolted awake by the sudden emergency, drifted back off to sleep. My boys never woke up through the whole affair. All things slowly returned to normal though I never quite made it back to sleep that night. It had all been too unsettling. The morning news carried a story about the event. It seems somehow water had gotten in a control room and shorted out the wiring, causing the alarms to go off. We were never in danger, only inconvenienced. The event was soon forgotten, and life went about as usual.
Several years later, the Berlin Wall came down, the Soviet Union fell apart and became the Russian Federation, and the Cold War was declared over. Anti-nuke demonstrations faded and the news media found plenty of other things to instill more fear and create more demonstrations over. There were new countries joining the nuclear weapon family. Although they had agendas contrary to the West there has not been the intensity of coverage, nor the fearfulness found in the Cold War years.
2024 is an election year. Many on both sides of the political spectrum say it’s the most important election in America history. I’ve lived long enough to have voted in several “most important” elections. This year really is different though, and for a myriad of reasons. I’ve heard all the arguments but the one that’s been missing is the threat of nuclear catastrophe that is now at its highest point since the 1980s. There may no longer be a Soviet Union but the Cold War between East and West has restarted and could become a “hot” war through miscalculation, misunderstanding, and miscommunication.
Authoritarian rulers like Putin have referred to the nuclear option several times over the last two years in his quest to restore Russian Empire. North Korea improves and expands its nuclear program while other international actors seek to be come nuclear powers. More and more uncertainties enter the equation.
I don’t like fear tactics and that’s not what I hope comes from this story. I hope that this is a subject to be taken seriously when considering election choices in the coming year. Whoever is elected will have the final say over whether we live together or die together. It’s important to consider deeply and prayerfully who we give that power to.
Evaluate real character and integrity. Choose those who demonstrate empathy and compassion for the common good rather than those whose decisions are made for themselves. Who holds up and lives out the values we strive for? Making America great again should be making America what it professes to believe in, and not some idea of selfish, power seekers only seek to make others do their will. Choose wisely. You lives may depend on it…
***I also recommend:
Turning Point: The Bomb and the Cold War available on Netflix
It’s a fantastic late winter/early spring (depending on whether you use the meteorological or the Spring Equinox calendar) day here in North Texas. I’m still reeling from the time change to Daylight Savings. It always gets me no matter how hard I try to plan for it. I’m just tired and don’t want to do much of anything so here I sit on this beautiful afternoon, drinking coffee, and feeling somewhat guilty I’m not out at the farm. Not yet anyway…
I took time to read a bit and catch a couple of lectures in my schoolwork. One of the articles I read was by one of my favorite authors and bloggers, John Pavlovitz. You can find him at https://johnpavlovitz.com/ I got turned on to him several years ago and when he started a social media network for people who still give a damn about things like empathy, compassion, and loving our neighbor I jumped to join. It’s a wonderful community of like-minded but unique individuals who come together to share about politics, organized religion, racial justice, activism and social justice, among many other things.
It gives me hope that people are still committed to loving our neighbors and the common good. That’s in short supply these days if you listen to the media and the extremists who tend to be much louder than most folks, that is. I choose to believe that most people aren’t filled with so much hate and vitriol as the far-right, the White Christian Nationalists, or the radical left for that matter. The media eats it up though. Extremism sells…
I would highly recommend John’s work to any of my fellows who believe the God is love, the Good News is just that, – Good News – and want to follow some good direction on just being a decent person. Love you guys!
gregoryjoel.com 