Category: Personal Reflections on Life

I just dropped off our little Cavalier King Charles Spaniel at the Vet. Today is a big day for him because he is getting “fixed.” Who came up with that word? I know it is better than “castrated” and too many people get neutered and spayed confused. So “fix” is an easy alternative.

Whatever you call it, it still makes me wince. Admit it, you shuddered when you read the first paragraph, didn’t you! Is this something that needs to be discussed, especially in polite company? Just get it done. It’s better for him. It’s also better for us, as I hope it will stop his wanderlust before it begins. Even so, I wish there were a better way.

But there isn’t. I trust our Vet because I have known her for almost twenty years. She says it’s not only good for him, it is the socially responsible thing to do. So why do I feel I need to apologize to Sancho?

While not many of us have had to face Sancho’s trial, if you live long enough you will face pain, suffering, and loss. Yesterday I mentioned to Julie how someone we just met has had a lot of loss in his life. I then quickly added, “just like the rest of the world.” Have you ever wondered what God thinks and feels about how difficult life is?

Through my journey of grief, I have a clearer view of the presence of God in the midst of my suffering. While there is much yet to learn, I do know that he is not disinterested or immune from our pain. God feels. God deeply grieves when we face the pain, suffering and loss. Even when sometimes such experiences can be redemptive, God suffers with us. Even when those losses are seemingly random, without purpose, God suffers.

We live in midst of a mystery called life. Many have tried to explain why suffering exists. How can a good and loving God allow such pain? I used to be pretty confident of my theology of suffering, called theodicy. Then I experienced the greatest loss of my life and my theology let me down. Now all I know is that it is a deep, ineffable mystery but that doesn’t mean God is absent from our pain. God is present. Fully, deeply and intimately. We may never know why we face all of the pain of this life. But we can know and experience a love that transcends the loss and upholds us in the midst of it.

When we dropped off Sancho this morning I felt compelled to apologize to him. I cannot explain to him why the pain he will experience will soon be replaced with chasing balls and jumping around like a little bunny but I can hold him, soothe him and let him know that I care. Where did I learn to do that? I learned it from a God that I trust because I have known God most of my life. When I faced great pain, God did not leave me to deal with it alone. God was and continues to be in the middle of the pain, walking with me and calling me to continue to trust God.

Until next time,

DP

Since I began my project of writing a book, I have noticed that there are many people who are trying to do the same. One of my favorite books when I was growing up was called The First Man on the Moon. I read it over and over and dreamed what it would be like when I was the first man on the moon. I read about certain activities that the astronauts would practice, including being on a machine that turned round and round. I thought being an astronaut was in my future, but the problem was I got dizzy on a merry go round. At some level I knew my aspirations fell short of my abilities. I feel that way about writing a book. But aren’t all the cool kids doing it?

Evidently they are. I have noticed that both Google and Facebook have discovered my desire and the ads that fill both have to do with the newest, shiniest online course that claim to “help you become a best-selling author.” I admit that when one of my favorite non-fiction author recommended a seminar, I clicked on the ad.

The temptation to shell out the 25 dollars a month is palpable. It is the magic pill approach. Maybe there is gnostic, hidden approach that will help the neophyte author discover her voice and produce a product people will stand in line to read. Of course, if there were such a secret method, there will soon be thousands of best-selling authors.

Both writing and story-telling have always come easy to me. I like to both. I enjoy either going back to a time when something happened, or sharing a story that emerges in my imagination. I like the challenge of going beyond the details and discover the smells, taste the food and pay attention to the details that surround me as I experience the stories as they unfold. I find two-dimensional writing that simply describes “this happened and then this happened” to be unfulfilling. It’s like the difference between a five course meal and a cheeseburger, French fries and a Coke, even if it’s supersized.

I find it pretentious and empty to seek to become a “best-selling author.” I have no interest in that. That is not why I feel compelled to write, including this blog that you are reading. It is not that I don’t think I have anything to say. I do. But the purpose is not to sell books but to get the stories out of my head, on to paper, and in the process, sleep better at night. If they are helpful to others, then I will be pleased. But there are songs in my head that need expression. I write in order to find peace.

Sometimes songs are happy and bright and other times they are filled with pathos and darkness. My heart connects to both. I can put a song on repeat as it fells my heart with emotions. I do this with books as well. If it made a difference in my life or worldview or faith, I keep it. Pulling it out of my bookshelf and re-reading it in entirety or just small segments, can bring to life the original help that it brought me and sometimes teaches me something it did not the first time. That is my hope. Once written, I will not simply place it on a dusty bookshelf but bring it out on a regular basis to hear the song sung again. That’s why I write. Ultimately it is rather self-serving. I am not trying to sell my story, but simply to tell it.

So I will save my 25 dollars a month and just write. My first book is already finding expression and it feels good to get the song out of my heart and head and sing it.

Until next time,

DP

I have an app on my IPhone call Waze. It is intended to rhyme with “ways” but I affectionately call it Waze-eee. It is an amazing little social network GPS app. It will warn you when there is construction ahead, a car stalled on the shoulder and even if there are policeman up ahead. But that is not why I like it.

Because it communicates with other users, when a route is found to be better, it will suggest another path. Driving in Houston, it would often take me off the interstate to travel local streets. It has been so effective that I no longer doubt that Waze will take care of me.

On our trip back from Texas last week, we were headed out of the Hill Country and traveling north to our ultimate destination. Left to my own devices, I would have taken the Interstate. But Waze had a different idea. Instead of going due east and going through Austin and heading north, I was directed to take a two lane road through a series of charming small towns. The beauty of the surrounding countryside was matched by the uniqueness of each town.

Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to tell where you are in the country when you travel on the Interstate? Austin looks like Topeka which looks like Denver. All of the typical chain restaurants, motels and gas stations dot the landscape. While it may be handy to find a familiar chain store to get gas or buy food, it is also rather mundane.

I did not experience that once I followed the directions that Waze suggested. To be sure there were several typical chain stores along the way but there were also many, many “mom and pop” stores. If I had followed my instincts, a fascinating drive would have been lost.

Isn’t that like life? I can get in such a hurry to get from point a to point b that I forget to look around at the beauty of life around me. If I am not mindful, I can miss the really important. Life is supposed to be lived, not rushed through. There is a beauty in the “mom and pop” stores along all of our journeys. The chain stores along the way may get us back on the road in a hurry but consider what may be lost in the urgency to arrive at the destination.

The journey is more important than the destination. Have you ever regretted not taking the time to notice all that is going on around you? Have you been in such a hurry that your focus ahead misses out on the beauty around you? Do you feel that sometime life is just mundane?

Wouldn’t it be great if we had a Waze app that would remind us that the typical route we tend to take can lead us to miss out on the depth and uniqueness of life? I cannot do anything about yesterday and tomorrow is not yet here. I have today. I do not have an app to listen to but I do have my heart, my soul and my life. I will not waste today but will pay attention to all the beauty around me. Perhaps I will do the same tomorrow. What about you?

I chronicled part of our journey to the Hill Country in my post yesterday. As I mentioned, the problems with Big Red and the catastrophes that included both self-inflicted issues and a problem with which I had nothing to do (really!) were not all that happened. If one pays close attention to life many lessons can be learned. I am often amazed how much God can use the normal details of life to reveal God’s love and mercy.

We arrived a day before the Casita Rally that led us to camp in the Hill Country. This was our first Rally and we did not know what to expect. A group of people met us at the campground and helped us register and find an adequate camping space. We jumped on a golf cart as someone showed us the various campsites, some were set aside for one Casita, others for two. There were places that were shaded and others that were not. How does one choose a site?

After driving through the campground, we decided that the first one we had seen seemed to be the best. What did it matter anyway? It was close to where all the action of the Rally would take place so we decided that it would work. Little did we know that God was breaking through the normal details of life to reveal God’s love and mercy.

Each morning a small group would gather to start the day with a short devotional and prayer. There is no better way to start a day than to pray and focus on God, so we showed up. Introductions were made, as each person shared a story about their life. We are not hesitant to share our narrative, especially our experience of grief since the death of Joseph, our son, on March 22, 2017. Indeed, since his death our lives have dramatically changed and we have seen God’s love, mercy and grace throughout the experience. From the beginning we have chosen to share our story since it may be helpful to others.

As stories were shared, we heard one man talk about his daughter who had died only a few months ago. His words were full of emotion as he recalled the suddenness of her death and their struggles of grief since then. The amazing thing to us was that his Casita was parked right next to ours. Over the next several days we had an opportunity to share stories, songs and poetry that had been helpful to them and to us. Was it a coincidence that we camped next to them? No, it was a God incident.

God is active in our lives. Even in the mundane. Getting to know this couple was helpful to us both. When the week came to an end and we were both leaving, we gathered together between our Casitas, held hands and prayed. We continue to hold them in our prayers and know that there was a purpose in what seemed a random occurrence.

God has not removed the pain of grief from us. Yet God has been active in leading us into both situations and new relationships with people who share a similar story. We have never walked alone through our grief. Family, friends and strangers have shared our pain and grief. It has never been a coincidence. It has always been a God incident.

Until next time,

DP

Julie and I just returned from two weeks in Texas. We were not just in Texas, we were in the Hill Country, just west and north of San Antonio. This area is arguably the most beautiful part of Texas, closely rivaling the Ozarks in Arkansas. The rolling hills and thick woods are different than the coastal plains we lived on for a decade. There is a sense of tranquility that is easily experienced in just a few hours while camping there. New experiences, meeting new people and readjusting to being away from one’s typical schedule feels like being on vacation. But I wasn’t. We were just doing life.

This trip had long been planned but we learned before we left that our grandson, who we have been caring for at least eight hours a day since November (Julie has been caring for him since he was three months old) had been accepted into the Montessori school earlier than expected. This news brought conflicting feelings but we realized it was a life-changing event. Our new freedom brought a new schedule. Since we were not expecting this, we had little time to prepare. With a mixture of sadness and joy, we decided to spend a little more time camping than originally planned. So we packed and headed out to the Hill Country.

Heading down the highway pulling our little Casita, I had much time to reflect. At first I could not shake the feeling that we were going on vacation. We had done this many times over the years but it was April not July. The weather was cool not hot. I wasn’t leaving the busy-ness of work, the challenges of the Church, I was not leaving anything. I was simply doing life.

Life is never without its challenges. What is life without a little drama? Over the years I had hoped, year and year that vacations would go smoothly. Rarely did they but I always wanted it to be different than my regular work life. Now as a freshly freed person from the tyranny of the urgent, what I call working a job from 8 to 5, I gradually came to the realization that I was not seeking relief from that. I was just doing life.

The drama did come. First it was Big Red, my truck. For some reason (which I later discovered) if the gas tank dipped below a half a tank, it would simply stop running. So the auto mechanic in me quickly devised a solution: fill up the tank before it got that low. This brilliant solution worked very well until we drove around Dallas. Now despite the amount of gas in the truck, it would inexplicably stop running. I had to pull off the interstate, wait a moment and then attempt to restart it. Fortunately, that worked. But every 90 minutes or so, I would have to do the same. Anxiety is never completely absent from life. Barreling down the highway, concerned about the truck, I could not help but hum an old song with new words: “hello anxiety my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again.” I was doing life.

We stopped in a campground in Austin and enjoyed the weirdness of that Texas town. We found a quirky little place to knock the dust off our journey but I continued to keep an eye on Big Red. He didn’t disappoint me and the next morning, our trip (or is it our life) continued.

Most of problems I face are self-inflicted but not all of them. As I hooked up the Casita to Big Red I noticed that the hitch was not quite flush. Thinking that it would settle down to the place it needed to as soon as I began to tow, I moved on to other things. Finally, we jumped into Big Red and headed off to our camping destination, just a short two-hour drive away, hoping that the previous days struggles with the truck stalling would not become a bigger problem.

The first thing I noticed was that the engine light was now lit up brightly like an unwanted lamp turned on in the middle of the night. Was this a new level of problems or just more of the same? Whispering a quick “help me” prayer, we continued on through the edges of the Hill Country almost hoping against the odds that we would eventually arrive safely despite a nagging sense of doom.

Then it happened. Big Red was chugging along like the little engine that could, yet I had an uneasy sense that a final adventure awaited. We were four miles from our camp site, sitting comfortably at a street light that had been placed without a purpose in an unlikely location between small towns. I slowed to a stop as I watched the traffic light gradually cycle through yellow and red. Finally, it turned green and I moved my foot from the brake to the accelerator.

Then without warning I heard a loud metallic sound from behind the truck. I bolted out of my seat and ran back toward the commotion to find that the Casita had fallen off the hitch and now rested awkwardly on the asphalt. My inattention to detail had led to the final challenge or our journey. A self-inflicted injury that I now hoped would not lead to further damage.

I am not sure if God sent two angels to help or if they were real flesh and blood people who happened to witness the mishap but I had help almost immediately getting the Casita back to where it belonged. This time I made sure to get the hitch and ball connected securely and we arrived in one piece.

There was more to our time in Texas, including finding a very fair and honest truck repair garage in Bandera, but our journey was like life. Sometimes problems come out of nowhere and at other times there are people/events that cause the challenges, including onesself. Anxiety seems to be a natural companion to both. But anxiety does not have to have the last word if you can refocus and know that the only thing that is life and death, is, well, life and death.

So this is life and because it is there are lessons to be learned. My lessons through this journey are that while I cannot eliminate problems I can prepare better, slow down, pray, be expectant that God is always with me and find humor in almost anything. And lastly, I can make sure the hitch is flush.

Until next time,

DP

We are headed back to Texas on Sunday! We are presently getting Quixote (our camping travel trailer) all packed and will head out after the weekend. It has been so cold in Kansas, I have been counting down the days when I can once again say, “It’s hot and humid!” As it turns out, it was 82 degrees today so I will have to find another reason to be excited.

Quixote is a sort of traveling office for me since I do a lot of writing while we camp. There is nothing like camping in the wilderness that brings out the inner Faulkner in me. Well I am not writing fiction, but writing non-fiction still demands creativity. I have found that I cannot just sit and write on demand. I have to get my mind and soul to a place where I can go beyond the superficial and connect to an inner voice that demands to be heard.

I share this because I am close to being able to devote myself completely to writing. Many of asked me why I want to do this and what it is that I am writing about. I have even had a few people suggest they are excited to read my first book. I think they just want a free copy.

Having been a very active preacher for twenty-seven years has given me much to write on but that is not what I am going to do first. Joseph was a writer too. In his short life he traveled much more than I ever have and fortunately kept journals. I have those journals and plan on giving his voice an opportunity to be heard. I may have to change my approach depending on what he says but my hope is to stay true to his reflections and respond to what he experienced. Given his love of Ki Akido and my life long vocation in the Church, alternative world views could emerge. My prayer is to not water down his thoughts and no matter how raw they may be, maintain an integrity to them. Also throughout the book I will periodically share the depth of grief that I have experienced in the context of both of our experiences.. I am looking forward to how the project unfolds.

In the meantime, we head back to Texas for two weeks. There is much in which to look forward and just being there will be cathartic. Who knows, the surroundings are likely to spur a lot of writing.

Until next time,

DP

I don’t remember much about the daily grind of teaching. I once was asked by someone what I missed about teaching and I said, without thinking too deeply about it, that I missed my colleagues. My friend was a high school principal so I will forgive his response. He said, “oh, I would have thought you would say you miss your students.” I did have several students who were remarkable. If you have never taught, or preached, perhaps you don’t know what I mean when I say that there are some people who make teaching and preaching easy. They are alert, with an inquisitive look on their faces, as if to say “I’m really enjoying this, please give me more.” Quite frankly though, there are not many people like that. So when I was asked this question, I didn’t hesitate. It was my colleagues I missed.

Every morning before classes began, and even between classes through out the day, I would stand outside my door and monitor students as they went from locker to classroom. I would be joined by two of my favorite colleagues, two teachers named Mike and Tom. Often the conversation floated between what each of us had done the night before, or what might lie ahead. Other conversations were simply discussions about school policies or new initiatives launched by the administration or sometimes Mike and Tom would talk about esoteric grammar rules or diagramming sentences or other rarefied minutiae. Nothing that was too profound, nothing that was too memorable.

During these times, Mike had returned to school to work on a Master’s degree. This is a typical thing to do for teachers, because the more education, the more one moves down the pay scale. Many male teachers during those years often sought an advanced in degree in school administration. That is what I did, though never finishing it before I transitioned from being a teacher to a full time graduate student. Mike wasn’t interested in that so sought his Master’s degree in literature, with an emphasis on William Faulkner.

I had never read Faulkner but was aware of his influence on American literature. As I questioned Mike why he would choose Faulkner to study, his eyes lit up and began to almost proselytize me about the importance of such study. His passion and fire were impressive. It was as if I was in his class with an alert and inquisitive look on my face. He could tell that I was intrigued and said with my eyes “I’m really enjoying this, please give me more.”

That conversation led me to read Faulkner. With Mike’s help, I read well over a dozen novels. My conversation in the hallway now changed as we discussed what I was reading. It was a fascinating time, as I became an amateur expert on the works of Faulkner.

There were so many other conversations between the three of us over those few years I had teaching at the back of the building with my colleagues. Mike and I eventually wrote a curriculum that combined US literature with US history. I never taught it because of my departure from teaching in order to pursue a different career track. But it is because of memories like this that I was able to say with confidence, that I what I missed most about teaching were my colleagues.

As I sit here on Christmas morning, alone in the darkness of early morning, I am filled with the memories of my most recent departure from a career that demanded much. I can smell the aroma of incense long since burned in churches where that was a Christmas Eve tradition. I can almost hear the Men and Boy’s choir as they sang ancient and medieval carols. I can see burning candles, even those that dripped wax carelessly on cloth covered pews. I can even feel the relief that used to calm me on Christmas morning, after the stress of preaching sermons to hundreds and hundreds of people the night before. It is so fresh and tangibly close, I am surprised when others cannot see it. This Christmas Eve was so different. Yet as I looked around at Church last night, no one seemed to notice that I was like a stranded motorist alongside a busy freeway. I felt both nostalgia and a deep sense of longing. I missed something this year. Something I would never have again.

I missed my colleagues. I missed both the excitement and anxiety of the preparations that go on at Church behind the curtain. Most people do not know how hard the staff works to prepare for Christmas. It’s not only hard work but the emotional and spiritual toll this preparation takes on all those who print and publish, who clean and shine, who plan and prepare, and who show up with the hope that Christmas will be just a little more special this year than last, is real and demanding.

When it goes well, very little is said by people in the Church. It is only when something goes wrong that feedback is usually heard. But not so among the staff. The last service on Christmas Eve is met with a knowing look among colleagues. Those who worked so hard to make other people’s Christmas special exchange a gentle hug, a pat on the back and a smile. Even the shared exasperation when criticism is heard, seems to bring everyone closer together. I miss that.

So much of life is lived in a hurry. There is always the next thing. There are plans and dreams and hopes and fears. There are critics who seem to feed on mistakes or plans gone awry. But there are also colleagues and friends. There are those who were willing to go into the fire with you, and ask to share the criticism equally. Sometimes those colleagues look at one another with an alert and inquisitive look on their face as if to say “I am really enjoying myself, please give me more.” It is those people that I miss most. They continue to press on despite the worries and fears. My hope is that they realize how much of a difference they continue to make in so many people’s lives. Even if no one tells them.

When I left Church last night, I walked over to the Pastor and whispered in his ear: “thank you for all you did for me and my family these last few months. Thank you for your leadership and for this community.” I hope someone said that to my colleagues last night. I miss you guys. Thank you for your willingness to give so much, even when no one notices.

Woody Allen once said “Showing up is 80 percent of life.” Sometimes it’s easier to hide home in bed. I’ve done both.” I agree that you would lose out on much if you just stayed in bed, I think there is so much more than just “showing up.” The key is how you show up. Do you just go through the motions, simply wanting to get things done so that you can get on to the next event? I wonder if those who speed around you on the interstate are late to wherever they are going or simply in a hurry to get the next thing done, so they can go on to the next?

Yesterday, the last part of my move from Texas arrived. There is a reason that moving is considered one of the most stressful experiences of life. Beyond the expense, there’s the hassle. I stood around and checked off the list as the movers brought in box after box. I made quick decisions about whether or not a box should go in the master bedroom, the office or maybe the garage. Hour after hour of painstakingly seeing all the material possessions of my life pulled off a moving van and put in our house.

Well, I showed up, but I did so much more. I reflected on what it all meant. It was the end of a chapter of my life. Even though my sabbatical lasts until February 1, there is nothing left of my time in Texas now, except for memories. The move meant change. Clearly my life will never be the same.

As I the moving van was emptied, I realized that with change comes something new. There is something, or I should say Someone who is always present in the new. God is there when a new life begins and even an old one ends. God is there when a new job starts, or an old one is completed. God is there when you leave the familiar and venture into the new. I didn’t see it right away but God was on that moving van. I could feel God. I could almost see God. God clearly was telling me that God is all over this. There is no reason to fear or be anxious or regretful. Who knows what tomorrow brings but today is where God is.

So as the moving van pulled away from my house, I quickly looked to the horizon. It was there that I saw God beckoning me forward. And so I took a step toward that future. I surveyed the boxes and furniture and memories. I am thankful for it all but I am also excited for tomorrow. But I not planting my feet in the day yet to come because I don’t want to miss God who is here today. What a tragic loss it would have been to have just “shown up.” In the midst of the ordinary, I saw the extraordinary.