It’s a brilliant, sunny late Spring day here in North Texas. Soon I’ll head off to Opal’s Farm. It’s been incredibly busy. Our first harvest of French Breakfast Radishes came in. We have about a hundred pounds bundled for sale and another hundreds pounds still to harvest. The beans and peas are in full bloom and squash is getting almost big enough to pick.
I haven’t had a great deal of time to write this last week with all the goings on. This week marked the 75th anniversary of the Normandy invasion that turned the tide in the Allies favor during World War Two. Those who know me might find it peculiar I’m memorializing warfare. My faith calls me to be a non-violent peacemaker. Still, I know my calling is not shared by everyone and I honor the veterans who fought for their beliefs and each other.
Tom Brokaw coined the term “the greatest generation” when speaking of my parents peers. As a history student I was always intrigued by the men who fought so gallantly during “The War” as it came to be known. I grew up on the great epic movies about WWII- “Patton”, “The Battle of the Bulge”, Guns of Navarrone”, John Wayne and “The Fighting Seabees” and so forth. I saw “The Great Escape” at the long since demolished Gateway Theater twice a day on three successive Saturday matinees (for 50 cents admission I might add). Steve McQueen was my hero…
Things changed and I grew past the illusions I was taught. After all, “history is written by the victors” and subsequent wars proved to be void of morality. It’s no longer about defense but about gain. War is usually started by men who have never served. They were wealthy or powerful enough to worm their way out of military service. They’re quite content to let your young men fight for their wants while they talk about how patriotic they are; but enough said or I’ll get started…
Still, those WWII vets always held a special place of honor above all others. Perhaps its because of my father and my uncle’s (one of whom died at Anzio, Italy) service. It’s a way I hang onto them as well. They never spoke of their service. They did what they were called to do and now they’re gone, like so many of their generation. I miss them.
There are only 1.7 million WWII vets alive today. Their time is growing short. The “greatest generation” will pass away and become memory. That’s why it’s so important (for me anyway) to cherish the time I’m given with some of the men who served. They’re more likely to share about it today if you ask. I encourage you to ask. Not only will you be riveted to their stories, you’ll pay them honor and respect as well.
This is my small tribute to those men that leapt of the boats at Normandy seventy-five years ago. Thank you for being part of my life and sharing your stories.
“I cherish the memories of a question my grandson asked me the other day when he said, ‘Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?’ Grandpa said, ‘No, but I served in a company of heroes.'” —Major Richard Winters
“I love America more than any other country in this world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.” —James Baldwin
Life loves to grant opportunities for introspection and
growth. Sometimes they come from unexpected, and often, unpleasant places.
Sadie, our Rottweiler/we’re not sure what else, is the happiest dog that has ever graced our home. She’s the smallest of our three rescue pups but has been known to take on a pit bull that made the mistake of jumping into our (more appropriately “her”) backyard. She’s sweet, gentle, and incredibly smart. The “smart” part can sometimes be a problem…
Our little stinker! I can’t stay mad when I see this face…
She recently discovered a space where she can jump the fence into our neighbor’s yard and escape to the front yard. She loves to explore, and our cul-de-sac offers endless opportunities. Our other two dogs, Jameson and Maggie, are bigger and I just assumed she had found a hole somewhere to crawl through. After several attempts to block any small holes she might have found, our neighbor informed me where she was jumping the fence. Our neighbor went on to explain that he didn’t want her in his yard. He has a two-year old daughter and was fearful of Sadie. I dutifully affixed a guard to prevent her from jumping in the same spot.
Did I mention Sadie was incredibly bright? She apparently
found another spot. I put her in the house and tried to figure out where she
was jumping the fence. It wasn’t long before the White Settlement Police came
knocking on my door asking about the “dog problem”.
I’m somewhat ashamed of my initial response. While I was quite friendly to our local law enforcement (who threatened us with “doggie jail”), I wasn’t so gracious thinking about our neighbor. I fantasized all the possible ways I could make his life miserable. After all, we had put up with the chaos coming from their house – the noise, the loud swearing at the kids, and the dog who stayed on our front porch rather than in their backyard (a cute little cuss who ate our cat’s food) and never said a word. They, they, they! Mouthing off to anyone who would listen (sorry Son for interfering with the hockey game), I made for a great self-righteous, pompous victim…
Self-righteous anger doesn’t serve me well. I had time to
calm down and go on to bed. Sleep is amazing. I awoke with a far calmer
attitude: that is until my morning routine was broken by having to take time to
take Sadie out on her leash. Agitation quickly returned.
I finally grabbed my coffee and greeted the morning in my usual way with morning prayer and meditation on the porch. However, thoughts of the previous evening’s police visit kept interfering with my prayers. Suddenly, I remembered Jesus’ words:
“If you enter your place of worship and, about to make an offering, you
suddenly remember a grudge a friend (or in this case, a neighbor) has against
you, abandon your offering, leave immediately, go to this friend and make
things right. Then and only then, come back and work things out with God.”
(Matthew 5.23-24 The Message)
I didn’t think it wise to go to my neighbor at six o’clock in the morning. I pondered the situation further. I began to look at the incident from God’s perspective, forcing me to look inward rather than outward toward my neighbor. To be honest, I wasn’t thrilled with what I found.
A little back story is in order…
We live in a well-kept, older working-class neighborhood.
Most of our neighbors have lived here for years. They are either retired
military or retired Lockheed Martin employees. The only time children are
playing outside is when grandkids (or great-grandkids) come to visit, so it
tends to be quiet.
The neighborhood demographics are changing. There’s far more diversity even in the few years we’ve been here. There’s more younger people, families, and racially and culturally diverse residents. Several of the older residents on the block have passed away over the last couple of years. Their children, who already have places of their own, usually put the homes up for sale. The housing market is tight in our area, so a couple of the houses have been purchased by investors to either “flip” or keep as rental properties. There’s far more diversity even in the few years we’ve been here.
The house next door is one such property. It’s always been
bit more run down than other homes on the block. It’s been bought and sold a
couple of time in the last year and a half. The first owners did little in the
way of improvements so when the present owners began working hard to bring it
up to current building code, we were thrilled.
New Neighbors…
We watched with a degree of trepidation as the new family
moved in next door. They were loud and seemed to have a hundred people helping
them. After they settled in, we learned all the “helpers” were family members.
It turned out they had ten children and one on the way. So much for our quiet
little cul-de-sac!
The solitude of my evening porch time has often been broken
since they arrived; by the younger one’s screaming and crying and the parents
yelling at them with a variety of swearing and threats. The two and
three-year-old kids have repeatedly been found walking around the block without
parental supervision (or clothes). The older ones often block the street
playing basketball daring neighbor’s vehicles to interrupt them. It goes without
saying that our new neighbors are difficult to live with. No wonder I felt
justified in my anger about the dog incident.
Unfortunately, justification only goes so far. It’s a great substitute for reality. Was I mad because they called the cops on my dog or was it because I couldn’t stop Sadie from getting out? Who was I upset with? What was I afraid of? It always seems to come down to fear.
The questioning began growing deeper and deeper. The guy had told me he was concerned about his two-year old. I know Sadie wouldn’t hurt a fly, but does he? Could I not see he had a point? The deeper I looked inside the less I could point fingers at him. I hate it when that happens!
Shifting Perspectives
One of my favorite prayers is the “Saint Francis Prayer”,
especially when the line asking to “understand, rather than be understood”.
It’s amazing to me how quickly I forget it when things don’t go my way. While
I’m grateful my perception, my thoughts, and my actions are less self-centered
than they used to be, I still have days when the world just needs to “do as I
say”. Father may know best. I do not.
I probably won’t be running next door and apologize for my
ill thoughts. Thank God for the pause button between my thoughts and my
actions. I tend to re-act slower and think a bit more before acting these days.
I don’t appear to step on as many toes and quite frankly, making amends and
corrective action is not on my favorite list of things to do. As my friend Jim
used to say, “Crow is best eaten fresh…”
What I will do is pray to “understand, rather than be understood” and stay here on the porch enjoying my morning coffee. It’s funny how much easier it is to bask in the peace and solitude that follows a bit of understanding…
Thoughts From the Porch: Saturday was Margaret’s
birthday. Yesterday was my oldest son’s birthday. April is a good month! I pay
little attention to the whole horoscope thing, but I sometimes wonder why my
life is filled with so many Aries signs. Could be something to it but who
knows?
Sitting on the porch this morning, enjoying the sunrise, I thought back to the day each of my boys were born. My memory isn’t so great anymore. I can’t tell you specifics like the weather and surroundings, unless of course it’s my youngest son. His birth was rather unforgettable. He decided to make his appearance on the very day a hundred-year blizzard hit Denver in 1982. We went to the hospital in a Jeep Wagoneer someone had volunteered to haul the paramedics since the ambulances couldn’t get around. The snow was so deep it took a week to dig out. You don’t forget something like that.
Adrian, my older one, had the misfortune to be born in
Dallas (that’s the only hospital that honored our insurance). We were concerned
that friends and family wouldn’t recognize him as a native Texan and hence, his
birthright. We’re not real sure Dallas is really part of Texas. However, he
overcame that disability in quick fashion. After much legal (and family)
wrangling, his birth certificate mandates his Texas citizenship…
The boys are as different as night and day, and the
differences were apparent early on. The standing joke is that Adrian popped out
of the birth canal asking if he could rest and get something to eat if that was
no problem. He was laid back and easygoing, even as a baby. His brother,
however, was the complete opposite. When he made his appearance almost two
years later, he instantly demanded to be fed and have the nursery redone to
suit his tastes. Anyone who knows them today will see the humor in that.
A father sees their children differently than the rest of
the world sees them. Fathers lack objectivity in the perception of their kids:
every one of them has the best kids in the world. That’s the way it should be.
I don’t want to start an argument with anyone. Please know that since I have
the best kids in the world, that doesn’t mean you don’t. Most of us have a
perception problem when it comes to our children and despite what our culture
tells us, it’s not a competition.
I got to spend some time with Adrian yesterday. That’s
two weekends in a row and that’s a miracle of biblical proportions. He works a
lot and his schedule rarely fits mine. Our times together are few and much
farther between than I like. He recently started dating a young lady who is far
more attractive and interesting than his old man. I appreciate that she
receives more attention than I do. I’d probably be a bit worried if it were
otherwise…
Thank you, Son for a great weekend. I hope you enjoyed your birthday. I know I did. Funny thing is though, I received the birthday gift – getting to spend time with you.
Thoughts From the Porch: A line of thunderstorms is knocking
on our door this morning. The wind, called an outflow boundary, is the
precursor to the storm that will barge in any second. Jamison the Farm Dog is
huddled beneath my feet, making writing difficult by distancing my fingers from
the keyboard. Thunderstorms are anathema to him. He pants and paces or hides
under my desk to escape the noise. All I can do is reassure him we’ve got it taken
care of and we’d never let anything harm our Jameson.
Today is Margaret’s birthday. Please join me in wishing
my beautiful wife a very happy birthday. I think of myself as one of the most
blessed men in the world. It can’t be easy being married to me, although Margaret
tells me constantly that I’m not difficult. Some days I’m not so sure. I find
myself preoccupied with the daily goings-on of life and fail to stop and enjoy
the company of the best woman I know.
Sometimes I’ll be out and hear other people talk about
their difficulty in relationships. It makes me want to run home and kiss my
wife and tell her how much I love her. I realize what a gift she is in my life.
Our marriage isn’t perfect by any means. We each have our little idiosyncrasies
that cause friction. I’m acutely aware of mine, but to be honest, I can’t think
of any of Margaret’s. I’m sure they are present. They all seem to fade away
when I’m with her.
I used to think that wasn’t normal, that our relationship was too comfortable. I’d hear others speak of their struggles in their marriage or cohabitation. People would talk about how much work their relationship. Everyone talked about “working” out their marriage. Maybe we were doing something wrong because, quite frankly, I can count on less than one hand the number of issues we’ve had to deal with over the years. I’m sure that they each centered around miscommunication or misunderstanding.
My Favorite Picture!
I used to believe we were an anomaly, a blip on the
screen that couldn’t be explained. I thought there was no way anyone would
believe how good our marriage was (and there may not be…). However, I’ve observed
the marriages of our friends and acquaintances, and I’ve seen first hand we’re
not so different after all.
There seems to be one or two constants throughout them
all. The first one is the one my friend Jim told me about. Many years ago, he
asked me if I knew what honor was. The Good Book says to “honor your wife”. What
does it mean? I offered the proper dictionary definition and he laughed. He
said that was nice but didn’t come close. The real definition was… and he drew
in a quick, deep breath. I waited patiently for him to add his definition, but
he just sat there, silent.
“Come on Jim. What’s your definition of honor?”
He again inhaled sharply, “h-h-h-h-h” and fell silent. I was
beginning to get a bit perturbed and asked again to which he gave the same
reply. Now I was ticked off.
I guess he sensed my aggravation because he looked me square
in the eye, took another deep breath, and said “that’s what honor is”.
I sat there a bit perplexed. He went on to explain that
honor was seeing your wife walk in the room and she takes your breath away. It
wasn’t until years later that I really understood what he meant.
Fast forward to March 2nd, 2013 and Jim’s
definition of honor became crystal clear. I was standing in front of many
family and friends next to my Best Man, Edgar, with my brother Craig, the
pastor for the day. Everyone stood and turned to watch Margaret start her walk
down the aisle. She was radiant in her wedding dress, her face beaming. I
inhaled sharply and deeply. She took my breath away…
Fast forward again to April 6th, 2019. Margaret
walks in the room and she still takes my breath away. I can’t believe I am
married to such an incredible woman. I want to honor her in every way possible.
What surprises me is the honor she bestows on me. She makes me a better man.
I’m no marriage counselor but what I know for certain is that
honoring my wife is easy. As a result, our marriage is easy as well. If we are
an anomaly, then so be it. I could spend the rest of my life being different…
So, I wish my wife an unbelievably Happy Birthday. I look forward to sharing many more. I’m not confused my dear – you truly are “my better side” (I hate “half” as we were complete when we joined together) and my best friend. Today I honor you and wish for you a beautiful, joy-filled birthday!
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