It’s a beautiful morning out on
the porch. Margaret left in the pre-dawn hours to stay with a friend who’s four-month-old
is undergoing a procedure this morning. In respect for HIPPA laws, I won’t name
her friend, but I will ask that all lift them up in prayer for a successful
outcome.
One of the things that always
attracted me to Margaret (we knew each other for several years before we
married…) was her love for others. In the years since we married, I’ve been
blessed to see it up close. She’s much better at it than I am. I’m grateful for
the example she shows me every day. She is truly an amazing lady and the very
best of God’s gifts to me.
Her absence left me more time on the porch this morning than usual. I watched the sun rise and enjoyed a rare warm January morning. The birds were particularly soulful in their songs today. They were probably enjoying the mild weather as much as I was. The weather will change later this morning so I’m sure they’re soaking up the sunshine as much as I am. One learns to relish in the warmth anytime they can here in North Texas since it will change in an instant – a reminder that nature can never be tamed to our liking…
Three Dog Morning…
I get the rare opportunity to enjoy the solitude of the day and an empty house. Our dogs ran outside to send Margaret off earlier, but they didn’t hesitate to run back inside so they could have the bed all to themselves. I couldn’t even make the bed.
The “To Do” list is long today. After all, it is Monday, but the unusual quiet is nice. My thoughts seemed to be about everything but the day’s business ahead of me. Sometimes that’s a good thing…
Thoughts from the Porch: We had another Arctic visitor yesterday. It’s the time of the year for frequent, though thankfully short-lived, visitations from our far northern neighbors. I awoke to a chill in the house. When the wind chill drops the thermometer, our heater takes a while to catch up in the morning. Jumping out of a cozy, warm bed to shut off the alarm is a bit of a shock on days like these. Such is January in North Texas…
This week was one of the few Wednesday’s
I missed my Fort Worth Development
Group meeting. Ms. Opal and I had a meeting causing a time conflict. The
good news is that I got to spend the drive time with one of my heroes for two
days in a row. That doesn’t happen often enough for me. Sometimes I just need
“Ms. Opal time”.
We were able to spend some time
together yesterday discussing business and having good conversation. I brag
about Ms. Opal only because she lives the kind of life that I hope to lead: one
full of love and service for others. It’s one of the main reasons I’m so
passionate about Opal’s Farm. It’s a reflection of the loving service of Ms.
Opal and the realization of a dream and doing something tangible for the
community.
We were speaking about the
events of Martin Luther King Day. It’s not simply a commemoration of Dr. King,
but a National Day of Service as well. She told me that, according to the Fort
Worth Star Telegram, over 800 people showed up at her small church to meet
prior to going out and serving various non-profits throughout Tarrant County.
Over 800 people giving up their day off to serve others!
Many of you know that I’m a bit
of a politics junkie. I usually spend some time on the newsfeed after my
morning quiet time. Sometimes I’m not sure why I do. It’s a long string of
cultural insanity, full of stories of human suffering, violence, and
hatefulness, particularly as it pertains to our current administration in
Washington, D.C. While it usually spurs me on to action, it’s often
overwhelming and leaves me feeling a bit hopeless. The future is bleak at
times. But…
Then I read or hear things like
800 people that gave their time to serve others. Despite all the negativity
that bombards us about society, there is an amazing amount of goodness out
there. I forget that sometimes…
It reminds me of the biblical
story of the prophet Elijah in I Kings 19. It seems that speaking the truth to a
corrupt King wasn’t a good idea, even if it was the right thing to do. In fact,
the King was so angry he put a price on Elijah’s head. Poor Elijah ran for his
life until he was hiding out in a cave, crying out to God that he was the only
good guy left in the world.
I get it. Doing the right thing
can be tiring at times and it can feel terribly lonely. Frustration keeps me
from seeing any good in the world. Fortunately, that wasn’t the end of the story
for old Elijah. You see, God answered him in a still quiet voice, assuring him
there was still a remnant of good, godly people in Israel: seven thousand to be
exact. He wasn’t alone. It just felt that way.
That isn’t the end of the story
for me, either. I guess that’s why I love my “Ms. Opal Time” so much. She
reminds me of the goodness in people. God hasn’t spoken to me in a cave (at
least not yet), but He always sends me someone like Ms. Opal. I’m not alone. I
know of at least 800 other folks working to make our little world a better
place…
Thoughts From the Porch: Yesterday
would have been my father’s ninety-third birthday. He passed in 2002 and nary a
day goes by that I don’t miss him. Even after sixteen years there are days when
grief feels overwhelming. I often
stop by the cemetery on my way to and from so I can sit and “talk” to him. It’s
a great way to work through the grief I feel some days.
One can argue that the cemetery is a resting place for the body only. For those that share my religious faith it’s understood that Dad’s spirit probably left that place to go wherever it is that our spirits go after death. It may sound childish, but I believe it’s a place for our spirits to be together.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
says something to the effect that when one with a great soul passes, a strong
wind will begin to blow. I remember stepping outside the hospital to have a smoke
after he had passed. A blustery wind made it almost impossible to light my
cigarette. I was so overcome with grief that I didn’t put two and two together
until a cemetery visit some time later.
On that particular visit, I had
come to read my father a letter I’d written acknowledging the fact that I had
caused a lot of harm while in my active addiction. In my program of recovery,
it’s called “making amends” a cleaning up of the wreckage of my past. Some may doubt
that amends, the process of amending or righting a wrong, can be made to
someone who has passed away. My experience that day says otherwise.
I stood in front of the
headstone, wiping away the tears, and reading my letter. The details of my
letter are deeply personal and between Dad and me. Suffice it to say that my
father was an incredible man who loved me dearly and I never gave him much to
work with as a son. It wasn’t until he was gone that I realized his greatness.
People often said that he was
my chief enabler and, while that may be true, it was his love that showed me
what God’s love was all about. As frustrated, and oft-times angry, as he could
become with me, he never stopped loving (or forgiving) me. I can’t think of a
better example of how the God of endless grace loves me…
I finished my letter. The tears
began to subside. I looked up and the wind began to swirl around me. It had
been still just a moment ago.
Our family plot is in an older
part of the cemetery surrounded by beautiful old oak trees. I mention this because
as the wind swirled about, I could see that none of the tree limbs were moving.
That’s when it hit me: “when one with a great soul passes, a strong wind will begin
to blow.” Dad was telling me one more time, “It’s okay. I forgive you and I
love you more than you can ever know. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
I think of that day often,
especially when life shows up with all its occasional difficulties. If Dad, a
mere human, can love me that much – how much more so can the Creator of the
Universe love me?
I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot this week. Not only was it his birthday, but the Stock Show and Rodeo opens on Friday. After Dad retired from the railroad, he would work the Harley Street gate for the Stock Show every year. He would be there a week before the show and a week after, so for a month straight he worked twelve-hour days. We usually didn’t celebrate his birthday until afterwards because he just came home, ate, and went to bed. As tired as he was, especially as he got older, he wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Since 1918, the Fort Worth
Stock Show was called the Southwestern Exposition and “Fat” Stock Show. Now it’s
just the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo. I’m not sure why they changed it. I
guess it’s no longer politically correct to call livestock fat. Maybe “weight-challenged”
is more acceptable. I’m not sure Dad would approve. Cows are supposed to be fat
and it violates tradition. Dad was big on tradition…
Saturday I’ll watch the annual
Stock Show Parade and I’ll think of Dad. Afterwards, I might go by the cemetery
on the way home. It’s no surprise that Saturday is supposed to be a really windy day…
“When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things will happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.” — Edward Teller
One of my favorite scenes from
the “Indiana Jones” movies where Harrison Ford’s character must step out in
faith over a giant chasm in order to reach the Holy Grail. With his nemesis
holding him and the people he loves at gunpoint, he’s at wit’s end and out of
options. He steps out into the darkness of the abyss. As he takes the first
step a narrow bridge begins to come into view. Unfortunately, it can only be
seen with each successive step, one step at a time. Each step requires more
courage, more faith, than the one before. I can’t recall how many steps it took
to get across the dark abyss, but I’d like to think it was twelve. I can
relate…
That scene’s been on my mind a lot lately. Margaret and I are experiencing some difficulties as late. Finances have been tough since my hospital stay earlier this year. Business has been slower than projected. Opal’s Farm still has a way to go before all the start-up costs are in hand and planting is scheduled for February 15th. How are we going to do this? It’s a little overwhelming at times (OK, a lot overwhelming…) The chasm looks awfully vast at times…
If I get honest, I’m a lot like
Indiana Jones (well, except for the whole “dashing adventure hero” thing…). I
usually need to be backed into a corner with no options or solutions in sight. I
know there’s absolutely no way I can get out of the situation before I’m
willing to step out into the darkness. I forget the fact that in looking back, a
path has always been carved through
the darkness and it’s always illuminated. If the path isn’t clear, I learn to
fly before I crash into the bottom of the abyss. Always! Though I usually don’t
see it until later…
You’d think that with such a
proven track record I’d push right through whatever obstacle was in my way. It
doesn’t always work like that. Taking that first step into the abyss isn’t my
first choice. I temporarily forget God’s faithfulness. As my friend Edgar likes
to remind me, “I’m not a slow learner,
just a fast forgetter”.
“Trials are not enemies of
faith but are opportunities to prove God’s faithfulness.” — Author Unknown
Ironically, my memory gets
sharper as I grow older: at least in matters of faith (in other areas, yeah,
not so much…) It doesn’t take as long to remember God’s faithfulness even when
mine is absent. One of my favorite reminders is Psalms 119.105: “Your word for my feet and a lamp for my
path”. The funny thing about a lamp is that it only shows what’s
immediately ahead. I can only see the path if I keep stepping out, one step at
a time…
I’ve spent far too much time stressed out about things beyond my control, so I’m stepping out. Whether I’ll be walking or flying, I’m not sure yet. What I do know is that I’ll see you on the other side…
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