His mercies are indeed new every morning.
September 08, 2015
It's September, and that Means Sunrises
Of course, the sun rises everyday. And yes, the approach of dawn can be beautiful any time of year, if the conditions are just right. For the past few years however, it seems that September is the prime month for the kind of sunrises that reach beyond the barriers I so carefully erect, filling my eyes with colors and sometimes tears. I age with the seasons, and perhaps it truly is for such a time as this, when my reserves are low and I ache for renewal, that these masterpieces of divine tapestry arrive in quiet splendor.
His mercies are indeed new every morning.
His mercies are indeed new every morning.
August 07, 2015
Random MishMash
I'm not writing much these days, as should be quite apparent by now. There are many reasons for this, many having to do with the notion that "discretion is the better part of valor," which to take the true Shakespearean meaning serves as an indictment against the type of man I think I claim to be. I could say I am busy, which would also be true, but even this does not tell the whole story. I could say I am concerned with the Orwellian trends in our discourse, and that some exercise of caution may be warranted, particularly with respect to future employment given the public nature of our social media, blogs, and the like.
Needless to say, I've been doing some soul searching as to what I should be writing about, what I want to write about, and whether there is much to be gained by writing at all. (Hey, if I'm going to have a crisis of faith, better that it involves something like this than anything else more important!)
Below are a couple of nuggets, bite-size rants if you will, that are standalone thoughts I've jotted down or copied off over the last month or so, but never developed into anything more meaningful. They are generally devoid of context, so I'll leave it to your imagination what drove me to put them down.
Key quotes:
And finally:
I also have a story about a bison, that perhaps one day I will put to print. I've started the composition several times, but end up marveling at the idea that perhaps I am more like the bison than I would have ever imagined. When I get that figured out, I'll have a story worth telling.
Needless to say, I've been doing some soul searching as to what I should be writing about, what I want to write about, and whether there is much to be gained by writing at all. (Hey, if I'm going to have a crisis of faith, better that it involves something like this than anything else more important!)
Below are a couple of nuggets, bite-size rants if you will, that are standalone thoughts I've jotted down or copied off over the last month or so, but never developed into anything more meaningful. They are generally devoid of context, so I'll leave it to your imagination what drove me to put them down.
- I am forever amazed at those who believe progress means nullifying history rather than learning from it, and each other. And yet I shouldn't be, for this is a tale as old as civilization itself.
- Willful blindness and the inability to accept the humanity and fallibility of our forebears for what they are makes my head explode.
Key quotes:
"Everything is permissible"--but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible"--but not everything is constructive. - 1 Corinthians 10:23
“For under the smooth legal surface of our society there are already moving very lawless things. We are always near the breaking-point when we care only for what is legal and nothing for what is lawful. Unless we have a moral principle about such delicate matters as marriage and murder, the whole world will become a welter of exceptions with no rules. There will be so many hard cases that everything will go soft.”- G. K. Chesterton
And finally:
- If a fool happens to speak the truth, that a fool said it makes it no less the truth.
- Truth is more about what is, and less about what you think it is, or even who said it. Objective truth matters.
I also have a story about a bison, that perhaps one day I will put to print. I've started the composition several times, but end up marveling at the idea that perhaps I am more like the bison than I would have ever imagined. When I get that figured out, I'll have a story worth telling.
June 06, 2015
A Dad's Lament
Later this week, my boys are finally going to learn to fish, and I'm not going to be there. Someone else will be teaching them, and that depresses me.
Some of my fondest childhood memories hail back to a time when the highlight of the summer was a week-long fishing trip to a lake in the woods of northern Minnesota, where the target catch was walleye, Northern Pike, and the occasional perch. Learning at the feet of my grandfather, my father, and my uncle all the while competing with my cousins as to who could catch the most fish, these hold a special significance for me. Of course, if I am honest, many days were spent just hoping to catch anything at all. Nevertheless, the lessons in tying fishing line, setting the hook, getting out of the weeds, casting without hooking anyone in the process, cleaning a fish … all these foundational experiences set forth in me a life-long love for being on the water, with a line in, passing the time.
And then, the sad resignation that since one trip in college, I haven't been fishing in 20 years.
As Boy Scouts, my sons are heading to camp, where each will work to earn their Fishing Merit Badge. Yesterday, I bought each of them new gear, including rod and reel, to replace those that I had once owned but was unable to recover from the storm.
Today, I taught them what a swivel barrel is, and how to tie the line to the swivel. I showed them what the different lures were for, the difference between a jig and a spinner, and how to attach a bobber. I showed them proper casting technique, taking advantage of the yard's tall grass to simulate the effect of having the lure get caught in the weeds, and how to gently but firmly tug at it without breaking the line.
I then went inside, while they continued to practice off the back deck.
I know there is still time, but the fact is there is not nearly enough of it. My oldest will be off to college in just a couple of years. They will have a different set of memories and experiences than I had growing up, and I suppose that is okay. But my heart hurts that I have not managed to make this one thing that was so important to me a part of their experience.
My boys might catch a fish this week. And if they do, I won't be there to see it, or to share in their joy.
The thought of this makes me ache, far more than I care to admit.
But I still hope they catch the fish.
Some of my fondest childhood memories hail back to a time when the highlight of the summer was a week-long fishing trip to a lake in the woods of northern Minnesota, where the target catch was walleye, Northern Pike, and the occasional perch. Learning at the feet of my grandfather, my father, and my uncle all the while competing with my cousins as to who could catch the most fish, these hold a special significance for me. Of course, if I am honest, many days were spent just hoping to catch anything at all. Nevertheless, the lessons in tying fishing line, setting the hook, getting out of the weeds, casting without hooking anyone in the process, cleaning a fish … all these foundational experiences set forth in me a life-long love for being on the water, with a line in, passing the time.
And then, the sad resignation that since one trip in college, I haven't been fishing in 20 years.
As Boy Scouts, my sons are heading to camp, where each will work to earn their Fishing Merit Badge. Yesterday, I bought each of them new gear, including rod and reel, to replace those that I had once owned but was unable to recover from the storm.
Today, I taught them what a swivel barrel is, and how to tie the line to the swivel. I showed them what the different lures were for, the difference between a jig and a spinner, and how to attach a bobber. I showed them proper casting technique, taking advantage of the yard's tall grass to simulate the effect of having the lure get caught in the weeds, and how to gently but firmly tug at it without breaking the line.
I then went inside, while they continued to practice off the back deck.
I know there is still time, but the fact is there is not nearly enough of it. My oldest will be off to college in just a couple of years. They will have a different set of memories and experiences than I had growing up, and I suppose that is okay. But my heart hurts that I have not managed to make this one thing that was so important to me a part of their experience.
My boys might catch a fish this week. And if they do, I won't be there to see it, or to share in their joy.
The thought of this makes me ache, far more than I care to admit.
But I still hope they catch the fish.
April 17, 2015
Star Wars Reboot - Yeah, I'm Ready
Ok, what follows is really my brother's domain, but man, I cannot help but to get a little excited about this. Unlike so many others, apparently, I'm a pretty big fan of J.J. Abrams, from his work on Lost as well as the Star Trek reboots. (Some of that, mind you, has much to do with the regular involvement of composer Michael Giacchino for the soundtracks).
Nevertheless, I have high hopes for the new Star Wars coming out in December:
It'll be weird dealing with the new faces, but after further review, that might be a good thing. I mean, Harrison Ford! Indiana Jones once said it wasn't the age, it was the mileage. If that's the case, then geez, the parsecs on that guy!
Nevertheless, I have high hopes for the new Star Wars coming out in December:
It'll be weird dealing with the new faces, but after further review, that might be a good thing. I mean, Harrison Ford! Indiana Jones once said it wasn't the age, it was the mileage. If that's the case, then geez, the parsecs on that guy!
February 26, 2015
Southern Snow
Snowfall in Alabama is rarely a news-driving event, but every now and then, Mother Nature pops in to remind us that with weather, anything can happen. Beginning late yesterday afternoon and continuing late into the evening, she unloaded 8 plus inches of snow across the Tennessee Valley. Here at the house, we managed "only" 5 inches or so. Enough to play in, enough to sled upon, but not enough to survive today's 40-degree high.
So last night and this morning, we took advantage of the gift we receive all too rarely around here. You should be able to click an image below to enlarge.
So last night and this morning, we took advantage of the gift we receive all too rarely around here. You should be able to click an image below to enlarge.
February 05, 2015
Escaping with Copland
Once in a while, I need a little escape, a means of tuning out and tuning in. Sometimes I turn to books, other times I'll binge watch television. I tend to stay away from video games, due to a certain addictive weakness I've had since I was a kid (even moderation is tough for me on this one, all these years later). Of course, in the office, the opportunity to escape is nearly impossible without just giving up and taking a personal day. Be that as it may, on a day like today, I'm turning to music. In particular, Copland. Of course, the risk is that I get lost in the music and lose all semblance of productivity. But sometimes, you just have to. Today is one of those days.
So Copland it is.
So Copland it is.
January 09, 2015
What Is E-Walker's Parade?
Well, here it is 2015. The headlines are divers and depressing, and I have an opinion about most of them, but nary the will to write about any of them. It has been that way for most of 2014, and from this point in January, I don't see much changing in that regard. This alone explains the big decline in posting frequency on this blog.
I'm not entirely sure what that means for the future, but I do know enough to know that I am not ready to give up on writing, and subsequently, I'm not ready to give up on this blog. So to kick off the new year, perhaps it is time for an origin story.
I find it mildly interesting that in the five years I've been blogging, no one has ever actually asked me to explain the story behind the title and tagline of my blog. It is especially interesting given that I am an Auburn University alumnus and I have an elephant head background on the site (more indicative of that other school across the state). It is not that riveting a story, but it as good a topic as any right now, I suppose. (Cue wavy camera fade and harp).
Many years ago, I was working for a telecommunications equipment manufacturer that was struggling to survive in the post dot-com-bust economy. Leadership was making questionable choices, and the stock value was plummeting to penny-stock status. Yahoo was the big dog in those days. One day, I found myself on Yahoo Finance (not sure if that was the name back then), watching my company's stock performance. Yahoo had a message board, and thus began one of my earliest introductions to the morass that makes up the comments sections on the internet. Most of the posters were just bashing the company, purporting to have inside knowledge that they didn't have, and me - being prone to fits of righteous indignation - took umbrage. So I created an alias called "elephant-walker" (the origin of which I will get to in a moment), and while extremely careful not to reveal anything that could be considered insider or proprietary in any way, fought back against the haters. I learned very quickly that you cannot defeat haters, because the haters never acknowledge defeat. In the end, the alias survived longer than the company. Go figure.
So why "elephant-walker"? It all comes back to the job, or rather, my caricature of the job function for which I seem most suited. Some engineers get to design stuff; me, at that point in my career, my job was to fix stuff. Products would get designed and released to market, and then the engineering responsibility (feature enhancements, bug fixes, part obsolescence, quality) for those product lines fell to me. Joking one day, I came up with what is now the tagline for this blog: "Everyone's got a role to play … even if it is walking behind the elephant". Somebody has to clean up the, well, you know.
Before you think me too cynical, you should know that over time I began to wear it as a badge of honor. I carved a niche for myself in being able to come into a task, assess the situation, propose and execute a solution that resulted in better products and better processes. Indeed, a former supervisor of mine once told me that I had special knack at turning stinking elephant dung into fine, expensive stationery. (I told him then that he was seriously straining the analogy, but the compliment was well received).
So when I finally decided to create a blog in 2004 (it would take me until 2009 to really do anything with it), it just seemed to make sense to extend this online persona. I shortened elephant-walker to E-Walker, and well, elephant parades are a thing, so, well, there it is. E-Walker's Parade. And the tagline. (I like the tag line). The elephant graphic came much later after Google blogger updated its blog template.
And there you have it. The origin story for E-Walker's Parade. I trust that your day has been enriched by this provocative insight. No? Well, at least now I have a post for January.
If you will excuse me, I need to go clean off my shovel. Until next time!
I'm not entirely sure what that means for the future, but I do know enough to know that I am not ready to give up on writing, and subsequently, I'm not ready to give up on this blog. So to kick off the new year, perhaps it is time for an origin story.
I find it mildly interesting that in the five years I've been blogging, no one has ever actually asked me to explain the story behind the title and tagline of my blog. It is especially interesting given that I am an Auburn University alumnus and I have an elephant head background on the site (more indicative of that other school across the state). It is not that riveting a story, but it as good a topic as any right now, I suppose. (Cue wavy camera fade and harp).
Many years ago, I was working for a telecommunications equipment manufacturer that was struggling to survive in the post dot-com-bust economy. Leadership was making questionable choices, and the stock value was plummeting to penny-stock status. Yahoo was the big dog in those days. One day, I found myself on Yahoo Finance (not sure if that was the name back then), watching my company's stock performance. Yahoo had a message board, and thus began one of my earliest introductions to the morass that makes up the comments sections on the internet. Most of the posters were just bashing the company, purporting to have inside knowledge that they didn't have, and me - being prone to fits of righteous indignation - took umbrage. So I created an alias called "elephant-walker" (the origin of which I will get to in a moment), and while extremely careful not to reveal anything that could be considered insider or proprietary in any way, fought back against the haters. I learned very quickly that you cannot defeat haters, because the haters never acknowledge defeat. In the end, the alias survived longer than the company. Go figure.
So why "elephant-walker"? It all comes back to the job, or rather, my caricature of the job function for which I seem most suited. Some engineers get to design stuff; me, at that point in my career, my job was to fix stuff. Products would get designed and released to market, and then the engineering responsibility (feature enhancements, bug fixes, part obsolescence, quality) for those product lines fell to me. Joking one day, I came up with what is now the tagline for this blog: "Everyone's got a role to play … even if it is walking behind the elephant". Somebody has to clean up the, well, you know.
Before you think me too cynical, you should know that over time I began to wear it as a badge of honor. I carved a niche for myself in being able to come into a task, assess the situation, propose and execute a solution that resulted in better products and better processes. Indeed, a former supervisor of mine once told me that I had special knack at turning stinking elephant dung into fine, expensive stationery. (I told him then that he was seriously straining the analogy, but the compliment was well received).
So when I finally decided to create a blog in 2004 (it would take me until 2009 to really do anything with it), it just seemed to make sense to extend this online persona. I shortened elephant-walker to E-Walker, and well, elephant parades are a thing, so, well, there it is. E-Walker's Parade. And the tagline. (I like the tag line). The elephant graphic came much later after Google blogger updated its blog template.
And there you have it. The origin story for E-Walker's Parade. I trust that your day has been enriched by this provocative insight. No? Well, at least now I have a post for January.
If you will excuse me, I need to go clean off my shovel. Until next time!
December 24, 2014
Christmas Meditation: What Can I Give?
I thought this would be easy. Foolish me. Having years of written devotions and reflections at my disposal, I figured it would be a simple matter to select and adapt one to suit my purposes for this year's Christmas meditation. And yet, out of all of that precious raw material, none seems to satisfy, none seem suited to the moment.
I grew up in a stable family with loving parents, with means afforded to that of a military officer coupled with wise saving and financial discipline. Gift giving at Christmas, while never extravagant, was nothing I would ever consider meager. I suppose I could write about Christmases past, shuttling between grandparents and Christmas Eve services in Chicago, sharing a plethora of memories that are warm and comforting, but in the end these offer little material for public consumption.
In the years between my childhood and young adulthood, I began to place less value on both the receiving and giving of gifts. I'm really not sure why. The act of giving brought some joy, and the act of receiving, while a little more difficult, brought some pleasure too. But for whatever reason, the gifts (the objects themselves) became less important or precious. A personal failing perhaps. Or perhaps a simple reordering of personal priorities. I began to take a little more seriously this idea of laying up treasures in heaven, rather than accumulating them on earth. Gifts continued to be given and received, but always with the knowledge of their temporal nature. We continued to prosper, and in turn, where we could, we endeavored to share that prosperity. In a word, we have been comfortable.
The past few years have been particularly trying, putting to the test that comfort. Early in 2011, a severely ruptured appendix that was nearly missed as the result of inconclusive ultrasounds and CT scans put me in the hospital for a week. That same spring, a couple of months later, another near miss as a massive tornado outbreak swept across the south, coming as close as half a mile, leaving us in the dark - but safe - for seven days. In the summer of 2011, I came home with one son from a camping trip to find my wife and other son bruised and sore from a car accident from which they somehow walked away. And then finally, in 2012, standing above the rubble of my home - destroyed by a direct hit from a high-end EF2 tornado - I could do nothing but give thanks for the fact that the love of my life and our children were safe. The outpouring of love and support from family, friends, and community - locally and online - was a gift beyond measure. And today, we are once again living day by day, with jobs and kids and crazy calendars, in a rebuilt home on the spot where so much could have been lost. And yet wasn't.
I have been given so much. Indeed, the greatest gifts I have ever received is the air I breathe, the family I love, and the faith to which I cling.
What should one do with a life that, when compared to so many, seems so fortunate and blessed? What can I give that could compare to the mercy and grace I have received, and continue to find sitting on my doorstep? I can give things, money, time … all this could help make me feel better, but to feel better is to attempt to assuage a guilt that I need not carry.
No, the burden is not one born of guilt, but rather one born of debt. For one who has been given so much, what can I give? What light can I bring to push back the darkness, today and everyday? What joy, what hope, what love can I extend that will touch the lives of those who so desperately need those things?
What can I give? Things, money, and time? Yes. Perhaps a kind word, a prayer, or even a holy kick in the rear.
In the end, I have been given life. I have been given love. I have been given grace I have never once deserved. I have been given modest means, and I have been given a voice. And yet, to hoard these gifts would be to squander them.
The picture below is of an ornament in the heart of our Christmas tree. Recovered from the storm, this is the ornament I most cherish. Not because of the thing itself, but because of the scene it captures, the truth it represents.
What can I give? Perhaps, as the old hymn says, simply this: my soul, my life, my all.
How can I possibly live up to such a high ideal? I don't know that I can. But I will try, and pray that grace covers the rest. Such is the promise, such is much my hope.
To you, and to your families, peace and grace.
Merry Christmas!
I grew up in a stable family with loving parents, with means afforded to that of a military officer coupled with wise saving and financial discipline. Gift giving at Christmas, while never extravagant, was nothing I would ever consider meager. I suppose I could write about Christmases past, shuttling between grandparents and Christmas Eve services in Chicago, sharing a plethora of memories that are warm and comforting, but in the end these offer little material for public consumption.
In the years between my childhood and young adulthood, I began to place less value on both the receiving and giving of gifts. I'm really not sure why. The act of giving brought some joy, and the act of receiving, while a little more difficult, brought some pleasure too. But for whatever reason, the gifts (the objects themselves) became less important or precious. A personal failing perhaps. Or perhaps a simple reordering of personal priorities. I began to take a little more seriously this idea of laying up treasures in heaven, rather than accumulating them on earth. Gifts continued to be given and received, but always with the knowledge of their temporal nature. We continued to prosper, and in turn, where we could, we endeavored to share that prosperity. In a word, we have been comfortable.
The past few years have been particularly trying, putting to the test that comfort. Early in 2011, a severely ruptured appendix that was nearly missed as the result of inconclusive ultrasounds and CT scans put me in the hospital for a week. That same spring, a couple of months later, another near miss as a massive tornado outbreak swept across the south, coming as close as half a mile, leaving us in the dark - but safe - for seven days. In the summer of 2011, I came home with one son from a camping trip to find my wife and other son bruised and sore from a car accident from which they somehow walked away. And then finally, in 2012, standing above the rubble of my home - destroyed by a direct hit from a high-end EF2 tornado - I could do nothing but give thanks for the fact that the love of my life and our children were safe. The outpouring of love and support from family, friends, and community - locally and online - was a gift beyond measure. And today, we are once again living day by day, with jobs and kids and crazy calendars, in a rebuilt home on the spot where so much could have been lost. And yet wasn't.
I have been given so much. Indeed, the greatest gifts I have ever received is the air I breathe, the family I love, and the faith to which I cling.
What should one do with a life that, when compared to so many, seems so fortunate and blessed? What can I give that could compare to the mercy and grace I have received, and continue to find sitting on my doorstep? I can give things, money, time … all this could help make me feel better, but to feel better is to attempt to assuage a guilt that I need not carry.
No, the burden is not one born of guilt, but rather one born of debt. For one who has been given so much, what can I give? What light can I bring to push back the darkness, today and everyday? What joy, what hope, what love can I extend that will touch the lives of those who so desperately need those things?
What can I give? Things, money, and time? Yes. Perhaps a kind word, a prayer, or even a holy kick in the rear.
In the end, I have been given life. I have been given love. I have been given grace I have never once deserved. I have been given modest means, and I have been given a voice. And yet, to hoard these gifts would be to squander them.
The picture below is of an ornament in the heart of our Christmas tree. Recovered from the storm, this is the ornament I most cherish. Not because of the thing itself, but because of the scene it captures, the truth it represents.
What can I give? Perhaps, as the old hymn says, simply this: my soul, my life, my all.
How can I possibly live up to such a high ideal? I don't know that I can. But I will try, and pray that grace covers the rest. Such is the promise, such is much my hope.
To you, and to your families, peace and grace.
Merry Christmas!
November 27, 2014
Thanksgiving Reflection
I spent some time on YouTube today, seeking inspiration for this year's Thanksgiving post. While there was plenty to choose from - of all shapes and sizes, in poor taste and good - I settled on "Thanksgiving" by American pianist George Winston. I invite you for a moment to close your eyes, and simply drink it in:
There is a dimension of Thanksgiving that goes higher than its history, deeper than the Detroit Lions, and further than the fowl that may grace our family table. It is more than just a day to take stock and count our blessings, although such an exercise has value.
I've not lived as much life as some, and I've lived more life than many. The music plays, and with each turn of the page I see images of a lifetime, memories of happy times and sad, faces familiar and others that were almost forgotten. Memories, and the emotions they evoke, are treasures to cherish be they bright or bittersweet. Our life is what it is; every moment, every soul, every experience has made us what we are. To discover within ourselves the capacity to be thankful for our lifetime, when so much argues against us to undermine that discovery, takes a spiritual act of will: a courageous choice to be thankful for all that we are, and what has brought us to be, wherever and whatever we are to become. For some, this may be easy while for others it is almost unbearably heartbreaking.
Yet as I close my eyes, and the notes dance upon my mind, I come to the conclusion that Thanksgiving about all those who have shaped our lives, guided our steps, and filled those spaces in our hearts. It is for joy, in the midst of all things, that we are here. It is for the love of family and friends in our presence, and a remembrance of precious loved ones no longer present, but with us just the same. And it is about those we've yet to meet, and embrace.
Therein lies the heart of this Thanksgiving message: Being thankful for a lifetime that was, a life that is, and an eternity that is to come.
May it be so for you and yours.
* Originally posted for Thanksgiving 2010. Thought it was worth reposting. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
There is a dimension of Thanksgiving that goes higher than its history, deeper than the Detroit Lions, and further than the fowl that may grace our family table. It is more than just a day to take stock and count our blessings, although such an exercise has value.
I've not lived as much life as some, and I've lived more life than many. The music plays, and with each turn of the page I see images of a lifetime, memories of happy times and sad, faces familiar and others that were almost forgotten. Memories, and the emotions they evoke, are treasures to cherish be they bright or bittersweet. Our life is what it is; every moment, every soul, every experience has made us what we are. To discover within ourselves the capacity to be thankful for our lifetime, when so much argues against us to undermine that discovery, takes a spiritual act of will: a courageous choice to be thankful for all that we are, and what has brought us to be, wherever and whatever we are to become. For some, this may be easy while for others it is almost unbearably heartbreaking.
Yet as I close my eyes, and the notes dance upon my mind, I come to the conclusion that Thanksgiving about all those who have shaped our lives, guided our steps, and filled those spaces in our hearts. It is for joy, in the midst of all things, that we are here. It is for the love of family and friends in our presence, and a remembrance of precious loved ones no longer present, but with us just the same. And it is about those we've yet to meet, and embrace.
Therein lies the heart of this Thanksgiving message: Being thankful for a lifetime that was, a life that is, and an eternity that is to come.
May it be so for you and yours.
* Originally posted for Thanksgiving 2010. Thought it was worth reposting. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
November 11, 2014
Veterans Day 2014
On this Veterans Day, I offer again a thanks to the many men and women who have stood in harm's way on behalf of the American people, and indeed, on behalf of citizens of nations around the world. No words of mine can adequately express the debt owed to those who stand in the gap for the cause of freedom and liberty.
I do invite you, however, to give pause, and remember that each Soldier, Marine, Seaman, and Airman who volunteered to wear the uniform deserve to have their stories told and their sacrifices honored. There are far too many that are too quick to use a few bad examples to tarnish the whole, and I have little patience for such drivel (for the short-tempered, reader caution is advised).
If you read anything today, read this next link. Writing at Ricochet.com, Dave Carter has penned a most poignant piece that left me naught but tears. Take a few minutes and read "If The Wall Could Speak", and give thanks for those who have gone before us, and also give thanks to those who are still with us.
Really, don't miss Dave's piece. It is worth your time.
I do invite you, however, to give pause, and remember that each Soldier, Marine, Seaman, and Airman who volunteered to wear the uniform deserve to have their stories told and their sacrifices honored. There are far too many that are too quick to use a few bad examples to tarnish the whole, and I have little patience for such drivel (for the short-tempered, reader caution is advised).
If you read anything today, read this next link. Writing at Ricochet.com, Dave Carter has penned a most poignant piece that left me naught but tears. Take a few minutes and read "If The Wall Could Speak", and give thanks for those who have gone before us, and also give thanks to those who are still with us.
Really, don't miss Dave's piece. It is worth your time.
November 01, 2014
Life’s Little Pleasures
I awoke this morning with a mantle of melancholy draped across my shoulders, a not uncommon occurrence with me, but one which I find increasingly tiresome. As the first to rise on this rare Saturday free from the manacles of outside commitments, I walked to the kitchen to start the coffee. Opening the cabinet, I retrieved the can holding the blend of heaven, and smiled, for it was brand new.
Why? You see, there are few pleasures in life quite like the smell you smell when you first open a vacuum-sealed pouch of coffee.
Such are the little pleasures of life. And there are others:
The gentle slap of water against the side of a canoe.
The lights on a Christmas tree in an otherwise darkened room.
The look of pure joy on a child’s face in the presence of a new discovery.
The sound of wind in the leaves on a quiet summer’s eve.
These moments bring little pockets of peace to an otherwise fretful, noisy life, which makes them precious indeed. Like manna from heaven.
Why? You see, there are few pleasures in life quite like the smell you smell when you first open a vacuum-sealed pouch of coffee.
Such are the little pleasures of life. And there are others:
The gentle slap of water against the side of a canoe.
The lights on a Christmas tree in an otherwise darkened room.
The look of pure joy on a child’s face in the presence of a new discovery.
The sound of wind in the leaves on a quiet summer’s eve.
These moments bring little pockets of peace to an otherwise fretful, noisy life, which makes them precious indeed. Like manna from heaven.
October 28, 2014
Gone Vintage
As a GenXer, I came of age in the era of 70′s and 80′s rock music (classic rock and pop), migrated to late 80′s alternative for a while, then contemporary Christian in the 90′s. With the occasional exception, I really have no love for most the 90′s and 00′s in terms of music. Not really sure why, other than a general disdain for incessant dance tracks and anything auto-tuned.
Over the last decade, my tastes have gone distinctly vintage: Big band. Rarely does a day go by where I don’t have the smooth strains and top-tapping licks of Phil “In the” Blank and His Orchestra swinging in my ears, courtesy Pandora. Indeed, I’ve developed quite the fondness for bygone voices such as Sinatra, Crosby, Martin, Ella, Doris, and so many more. My teenage self would surely be revolted at this transformation in musical tastes, although I would hope he would appreciate the touch of jazz clarinetists Goodman, Fountain, Shaw, and Daniels.
I’ve always been an old soul (I was 40 when I was 20). It seems this has become true of my tastes as well.
I may be an aberration: I have no idea whether it is common or not to have one's tastes in music (and other things) change so drastically with age. I can live with that, so long as I can enjoy classics like this:
Over the last decade, my tastes have gone distinctly vintage: Big band. Rarely does a day go by where I don’t have the smooth strains and top-tapping licks of Phil “In the” Blank and His Orchestra swinging in my ears, courtesy Pandora. Indeed, I’ve developed quite the fondness for bygone voices such as Sinatra, Crosby, Martin, Ella, Doris, and so many more. My teenage self would surely be revolted at this transformation in musical tastes, although I would hope he would appreciate the touch of jazz clarinetists Goodman, Fountain, Shaw, and Daniels.
I’ve always been an old soul (I was 40 when I was 20). It seems this has become true of my tastes as well.
I may be an aberration: I have no idea whether it is common or not to have one's tastes in music (and other things) change so drastically with age. I can live with that, so long as I can enjoy classics like this:
September 20, 2014
An Authentic Swing
Last night found me in shockingly unusual circumstances: I was home alone on a Friday night. With my immediate family split between a campout a couple counties to the east and a high school football game a couple counties to the west, I performed a few domestic duties, made a sandwich, and marveled at the emptiness of the house.
Not one to simply let the opportunity pass, I popped in a movie I've owned for years but never bothered to actually watch: The Legend of Bagger Vance. I found it to be a nice little piece of storytelling, a somewhat metaphysical hero's tale involving the main character's search to rediscover himself following the trauma of war. With help from a mysterious, almost spiritual guide, our lost hero recovers something of himself as he rises to the challenge of the great game of golf. It is an interesting metaphor, given that the game is indeed really not so much a competition between golfers, but a battle between the golfer and the elements, the golfer and himself. Indeed, our greatest battles are often engaged with that most unsuspecting of adversaries: our own doubt.
The key theme of the movie is captured in this one quote:
I confess that I don't know if I have that "one true authentic swing". I am unsure I would recognize it if I had it. I think I know what I'd want it to be, but I imagine I could waste a great deal of life chasing after it, like the wind. This does not mean I should not continue to pursue the prize, mind you, nor should I neglect to discern my proper disposition. It simply means that self-fulfillment is not the highest calling. There are greater things, and fulfillment comes more readily when our aim is not constrained by our never-ending need for validation.
Perhaps it is in that understanding, in that nugget of wisdom, that our "authentic swing" may actually be found.
Not one to simply let the opportunity pass, I popped in a movie I've owned for years but never bothered to actually watch: The Legend of Bagger Vance. I found it to be a nice little piece of storytelling, a somewhat metaphysical hero's tale involving the main character's search to rediscover himself following the trauma of war. With help from a mysterious, almost spiritual guide, our lost hero recovers something of himself as he rises to the challenge of the great game of golf. It is an interesting metaphor, given that the game is indeed really not so much a competition between golfers, but a battle between the golfer and the elements, the golfer and himself. Indeed, our greatest battles are often engaged with that most unsuspecting of adversaries: our own doubt.
The key theme of the movie is captured in this one quote:
Inside each and every one of us is one true authentic swing... Somethin' we was born with... Somethin' that's ours and ours alone... Somethin' that can't be taught to ya or learned... Somethin' that got to be remembered... Over time the world can, rob us of that swing... It gets buried inside us under all our wouldas and couldas and shouldas... Some folk even forget what their swing was like...One true authentic swing. I don't really like the word formulation on this idea, although its meaning is relatively clear. It just doesn't roll off the tongue well. But as I'm unable to restate it more musically without losing the original context of the quote, I'll work with it. There is a Richard Bach quality to the concept, and honestly I am wrestling with how true the idea really is. I do believe that each of one of us is uniquely designed and gifted, created to fulfill a purpose in this life, even unto something far greater than ourselves. Yet I also think we are easily misled into believing that this great destiny is merely limited to the view of man - the idea that this greatness requires the esteem of others. For the believer, we are taught that our identity is found in Christ, and that it is through Him that our true selves can be more fully known. But it is also true that we can lose sight of ourselves rather easily, as "over time the world can rob us" of our sense of self, and who we are "gets buried under all our woulda and couldas and shouldas". We can indeed forget ourselves.
I confess that I don't know if I have that "one true authentic swing". I am unsure I would recognize it if I had it. I think I know what I'd want it to be, but I imagine I could waste a great deal of life chasing after it, like the wind. This does not mean I should not continue to pursue the prize, mind you, nor should I neglect to discern my proper disposition. It simply means that self-fulfillment is not the highest calling. There are greater things, and fulfillment comes more readily when our aim is not constrained by our never-ending need for validation.
Perhaps it is in that understanding, in that nugget of wisdom, that our "authentic swing" may actually be found.
September 11, 2014
Remember the Fear
You know what today is, and you know why we pause to remember the events that took place that day, now thirteen years ago. As is my wont, I am spending some time (as circumstances allow) on Youtube reviewing the archives of "as it happened" video from the major networks, as well as documentaries produced a few years afterwards.
Not everyone chooses to remember this way, and sadly, I've seen some evidence from some who would prefer not to remember at all. But I do, and for me, remembering the shock, remembering the disbelief, and remembering the fear are essential elements to my remembrance.
I know it seems strange to say "remember the fear." Many of you will take issue with the suggestion. I do not look to live in fear, but I do think there is some value in remembering the fear of that day. Hindsight has revealed so much that has both informed and clouded our memories, not the least of which is the long and enduring wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the rebirth of violent Islamism in the form of ISIS that is wreaking havoc in the vacuum left by our withdrawal from the Middle East.
The memory of fear serves as a motivation and a warning that, of all the things we should ask and expect our Government to do, it should "provide for the common defense." Politicians, bureaucrats, and citizens will ever battle over where the lines are to be drawn, and the prices to be paid, for that defense, but to ignore the fact that the threat remains may be fatal in more ways than one.
September 11, 2001 in many ways united us as a nation, for a time. The next verified terrorist attack on our homeland may very well ignite another battle that will shake the republic in ways we are loathe to imagine. Why? Because in the aftermath, the thirst for vengeance will lead many to blame not only on the perpetrators of the act, but those in power who failed to heed the warnings, allowing the act to take place. You think we are polarized now? Which ever party holds power in the next attack will bear the brunt of public anger.
I hope I am wrong. I deeply hope I am wrong. But I can't help but to feel the nation is a tinderbox.
So yes, I choose to remember the fear, even as I commit myself not to live in fear or to let even the memory of fear consume me. Remembering the fear with a certain detachment sobers the mind, and perhaps clears our vision, allowing us to see the world as it is.
We must cherish the liberty we have, and we must ensure that power remains in the hands of the citizenry. But those tasks we delegate to government, particularly the responsibility to provide for the common defense, we must also demand that such be taken seriously, and demand from the government the protection of our national interests. Otherwise, liberty will be compromised and fear will truly take hold.
These are dangerous times. But our God in Heaven remains sovereign. May God bless each of you.
Not everyone chooses to remember this way, and sadly, I've seen some evidence from some who would prefer not to remember at all. But I do, and for me, remembering the shock, remembering the disbelief, and remembering the fear are essential elements to my remembrance.
I know it seems strange to say "remember the fear." Many of you will take issue with the suggestion. I do not look to live in fear, but I do think there is some value in remembering the fear of that day. Hindsight has revealed so much that has both informed and clouded our memories, not the least of which is the long and enduring wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the rebirth of violent Islamism in the form of ISIS that is wreaking havoc in the vacuum left by our withdrawal from the Middle East.
The memory of fear serves as a motivation and a warning that, of all the things we should ask and expect our Government to do, it should "provide for the common defense." Politicians, bureaucrats, and citizens will ever battle over where the lines are to be drawn, and the prices to be paid, for that defense, but to ignore the fact that the threat remains may be fatal in more ways than one.
September 11, 2001 in many ways united us as a nation, for a time. The next verified terrorist attack on our homeland may very well ignite another battle that will shake the republic in ways we are loathe to imagine. Why? Because in the aftermath, the thirst for vengeance will lead many to blame not only on the perpetrators of the act, but those in power who failed to heed the warnings, allowing the act to take place. You think we are polarized now? Which ever party holds power in the next attack will bear the brunt of public anger.
I hope I am wrong. I deeply hope I am wrong. But I can't help but to feel the nation is a tinderbox.
So yes, I choose to remember the fear, even as I commit myself not to live in fear or to let even the memory of fear consume me. Remembering the fear with a certain detachment sobers the mind, and perhaps clears our vision, allowing us to see the world as it is.
We must cherish the liberty we have, and we must ensure that power remains in the hands of the citizenry. But those tasks we delegate to government, particularly the responsibility to provide for the common defense, we must also demand that such be taken seriously, and demand from the government the protection of our national interests. Otherwise, liberty will be compromised and fear will truly take hold.
These are dangerous times. But our God in Heaven remains sovereign. May God bless each of you.
September 01, 2014
Running Ahead
I have had a difficult year maintaining a regular running routine. Many reasons, and all of them excuses. I've completed two races this year, a 5K and my first ever 10K, but each was followed by a self-disciplinary drop-off.
A new and surprising motivation has recently come into play. My older son is working on his Personal Fitness merit badge for Scouts, which involves a 12-week self-training program designed to increase strength, flexibility, and endurance. A part of his regimen is setting a benchmark and improving his time on a 1-mile run. So for the last few weeks, once a week, I've taken him out for the simple run at a local track.
The first time out, I had him keep pace with me. I am not a fast runner by any stretch of the imagination, but I can run more than a mile without walking. Trying to pass on my little bit of wisdom, I encouraged him to first try a pace that would increase the possibility of making the distance at a steady run, without walking. Going on 15 years old, he is lanky and lean, and easily completed the run with energy to spare. Running side by side with my son, even that one time, is a memory I will treasure.
The next few runs, however, I turned him loose, advising him to set his own pace, and not worry about running ahead of me. (I am not built for speed, and I am far more interested in simply being in good enough shape to go the distance, even if I can't run it all, or run fast. For me, it is about staying healthy and keeping the weight off). And so he did. And today, he hit his mile in 9:11, whereas I came in at 10:46.
While some dads might have a hard time with something like this, I couldn't be prouder. Watching him pull ahead of me, I got to thinking about how short a time there is left before he truly starts his own journey of discovery. The time I have left with him under my roof is dwindling rapidly. Yet there he went, racing a quarter of a lap, then half a lap ahead. Exceeding, excelling, exhilarating. When he began a cool down, I caught up, and we began to talk about how next time out, we'd go farther, and maybe even plan on running a 5K together later this year. It wouldn't matter to me if he left me way behind, just the thought of running a race together did this old man some good.
Both of my children, in time, will be running ahead of me. And that is more than okay, as long as they are passionate about what they do, and are pursuing goals that are worthy and honorable, in line with their gifts and talents. They may not always, but I will maintain the hope that they find the joy in discipline, the joy in being, and the joy in living.
They will run ahead, and behind them will be me, huffing and puffing and smiling, encouraging them all the way.
A new and surprising motivation has recently come into play. My older son is working on his Personal Fitness merit badge for Scouts, which involves a 12-week self-training program designed to increase strength, flexibility, and endurance. A part of his regimen is setting a benchmark and improving his time on a 1-mile run. So for the last few weeks, once a week, I've taken him out for the simple run at a local track.
The first time out, I had him keep pace with me. I am not a fast runner by any stretch of the imagination, but I can run more than a mile without walking. Trying to pass on my little bit of wisdom, I encouraged him to first try a pace that would increase the possibility of making the distance at a steady run, without walking. Going on 15 years old, he is lanky and lean, and easily completed the run with energy to spare. Running side by side with my son, even that one time, is a memory I will treasure.
The next few runs, however, I turned him loose, advising him to set his own pace, and not worry about running ahead of me. (I am not built for speed, and I am far more interested in simply being in good enough shape to go the distance, even if I can't run it all, or run fast. For me, it is about staying healthy and keeping the weight off). And so he did. And today, he hit his mile in 9:11, whereas I came in at 10:46.
While some dads might have a hard time with something like this, I couldn't be prouder. Watching him pull ahead of me, I got to thinking about how short a time there is left before he truly starts his own journey of discovery. The time I have left with him under my roof is dwindling rapidly. Yet there he went, racing a quarter of a lap, then half a lap ahead. Exceeding, excelling, exhilarating. When he began a cool down, I caught up, and we began to talk about how next time out, we'd go farther, and maybe even plan on running a 5K together later this year. It wouldn't matter to me if he left me way behind, just the thought of running a race together did this old man some good.
Both of my children, in time, will be running ahead of me. And that is more than okay, as long as they are passionate about what they do, and are pursuing goals that are worthy and honorable, in line with their gifts and talents. They may not always, but I will maintain the hope that they find the joy in discipline, the joy in being, and the joy in living.
They will run ahead, and behind them will be me, huffing and puffing and smiling, encouraging them all the way.
August 01, 2014
It's Marching Band Season!
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| Auburn University Marching Band 2002 |
It's that time of year. It's that season. Marching Band Season.
I am a band geek. I marched in high school, and I marched with the Auburn University Marching Band. Today, I am a band dad for my son's high school marching band. There is nothing - nothing - like being out on the field week after week giving a performance in front of thousands, or tens of thousands of people (regardless if they all pay attention or not). I've marched on every SEC field (before expansion) except Arkansas, Kentucky, and South Carolina. Memories I will never forget, and a legacy I am watching grow in my own son's marching exploits.
So a couple times a week, and every Friday night, I'll be there helping to load, move, and unload equipment. I'll be on the sideline, setting up and taking down the drum major podium. I will rove the stands, passing out water, guarding seats, finding music, and stay late until everything is done and stowed. A few Saturday's out of the fall I'll resort to DVR'ing college football to accompany his band to marching competitions. I may grumble at first, but it all washes away the minute my eyes see and my feet touch the playing field. And if I get a chance this year, I'll march with the Auburn Alumni Band later this fall.
Because I am a band geek. And it is Marching Band Season once again.
On to vict'ry. Strike up the Band!
July 03, 2014
July 4th Reflection
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.—That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it; and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.—Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. …
Generations ago, the men we now revere as the founding founders of our Nation lost faith in the system under which each had been born, under which each had been educated, under which each had thrived, and under which they had ultimately been oppressed. At some level, they had to be seriously disillusioned with the hand they had been dealt under a monarchy seeking to maintain control over a distant empire. But they also had a firm grasp of an ideal - notions of natural rights and liberty that is the birthright of every individual. They had to have had a hope and a faith in the potential of such ideals, to propel them through a costly conflict that led to independence.
That hope, that faith, that perseverance gave us the birth of a nation and the ultimate test of civilization - can a people govern themselves, or must they be ruled by others? For 238 years we have been engaged in this noble pursuit, sometimes thriving with the better angels of our nature, other times stumbling as we battle our own corruptibility. We've seen periods of great progress, and we've suffered periods of great regress that we often choose to dismiss or ignore. Prosperity is not the only measure of progress, nor is character the only indicator of regress.
We are in the throes of great political angst, a polarized battle of self-identity, spoils, and systemic institutional decay. We are a nation in crisis, although many would accuse me of exaggeration in saying so. But I believe it to be true, and will stand by this assessment.
A crisis can be faced and surmounted, but there is a cost that will be incurred along the way. We must relearn the fundamentals of our heritage as a free people, and once and for all recognize the aims laid forth in our defining charter. On the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, President Calvin Coolidge said the following words. I'll leave it here for you to ponder, and pray that its truth will take root in you as you celebrate the 4th of July holiday.
Generations ago, the men we now revere as the founding founders of our Nation lost faith in the system under which each had been born, under which each had been educated, under which each had thrived, and under which they had ultimately been oppressed. At some level, they had to be seriously disillusioned with the hand they had been dealt under a monarchy seeking to maintain control over a distant empire. But they also had a firm grasp of an ideal - notions of natural rights and liberty that is the birthright of every individual. They had to have had a hope and a faith in the potential of such ideals, to propel them through a costly conflict that led to independence.
That hope, that faith, that perseverance gave us the birth of a nation and the ultimate test of civilization - can a people govern themselves, or must they be ruled by others? For 238 years we have been engaged in this noble pursuit, sometimes thriving with the better angels of our nature, other times stumbling as we battle our own corruptibility. We've seen periods of great progress, and we've suffered periods of great regress that we often choose to dismiss or ignore. Prosperity is not the only measure of progress, nor is character the only indicator of regress.
We are in the throes of great political angst, a polarized battle of self-identity, spoils, and systemic institutional decay. We are a nation in crisis, although many would accuse me of exaggeration in saying so. But I believe it to be true, and will stand by this assessment.
A crisis can be faced and surmounted, but there is a cost that will be incurred along the way. We must relearn the fundamentals of our heritage as a free people, and once and for all recognize the aims laid forth in our defining charter. On the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, President Calvin Coolidge said the following words. I'll leave it here for you to ponder, and pray that its truth will take root in you as you celebrate the 4th of July holiday.
About the Declaration there is a finality that is exceedingly restful. It is often asserted that the world has made a great deal of progress since 1776, that we have had new thoughts and new experiences which have given us a great advance over the people of that day, and that we may therefore very well discard their conclusions for something more modern. But that reasoning can not be applied to this great charter. If all men are created equal, that is final. If they are endowed with inalienable rights, that is final. If governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed, that is final. No advance, no progress can be made beyond these propositions. If anyone wishes to deny their truth or soundness, the only direction in which he can proceed historically is not forward, but backward toward the time when there was no equality, no rights of the individual, no rule of the people. Those who wish to proceed in that direction can not lay claim to progress. They are reactionary. Their ideas are not more modern, but more ancient, than those of the Revolutionary fathers.
June 06, 2014
70 and 10
Today marks 70 years since the great D-Day invasion by the Allied Powers to liberate western Europe from Nazi control. Yesterday marked the 10th anniversary of the death of President Ronald Reagan. I took some time today to listen again to the speech he gave at Normandy's Point-du-Hoc on the 40th anniversary of the invasion. His remarks on that day are worth 13 minutes of your time.
I've said before, and I'll probably say again: our leaders don't seem to talk this way about America anymore. Yet I digress. One thing jumped out at me after listening to Reagan at Normandy. Toward the end of his presentation he said:
Maybe we just can't afford to protect the peace anymore. Maybe we've just lost the will to do so. Lech Walesa may be the only international voice so willing to declare (and loudly) that the United States must lead. Because if we don't, the vacuum will be filled by someone else.
What does this say to the men and women over the past 70 years and more who have paid great sacrifices for the cause of liberty and peace? What does this say to the next generation who stands in the wings, ready to inherit the world as we've left it?
It is our duty to honor and remember the events that so dramatically shaped the world we have inherited. But that remembrance should carry with it a reaffirmation, a recommitment to the lessons it offers. Our history can inform our present, if we have ears to hear.
I've said before, and I'll probably say again: our leaders don't seem to talk this way about America anymore. Yet I digress. One thing jumped out at me after listening to Reagan at Normandy. Toward the end of his presentation he said:
"We in America have learned bitter lessons from two World Wars: It is better to be here ready to protect the peace, than to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We've learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments with an expansionist intent."After more than a decade of war in Afghanistan, and the toppling of a tyrant in Baghdad, it is painfully obvious that we have become a war weary nation. The isolationist impulse is increasing dramatically on both sides of the political aisle, although for different reasons. Consider Reagan's words, and it becomes clear that if we have not forgotten the lessons learned after two World Wars, we are clearly in danger of doing so. Authoritarian aggression abounds, and the ties that bind the West are increasingly weak and impotent.
Maybe we just can't afford to protect the peace anymore. Maybe we've just lost the will to do so. Lech Walesa may be the only international voice so willing to declare (and loudly) that the United States must lead. Because if we don't, the vacuum will be filled by someone else.
What does this say to the men and women over the past 70 years and more who have paid great sacrifices for the cause of liberty and peace? What does this say to the next generation who stands in the wings, ready to inherit the world as we've left it?
It is our duty to honor and remember the events that so dramatically shaped the world we have inherited. But that remembrance should carry with it a reaffirmation, a recommitment to the lessons it offers. Our history can inform our present, if we have ears to hear.
May 24, 2014
To Remember
I won't endeavor to add to this, other than to say that despite the cloud of cynicism that frequently hangs over my head, the cause of freedom and peace remain ever just. May I myself learn to view our current struggles with hope, and in the words of Private Martin A. Treptow, "Therefore I will work, I will save, I will sacrifice, I will endure, I will fight cheerfully and do my utmost, as if the whole issue of the struggle depended on me alone."
Remembering our heroes, and giving thanks for the innumerable sacrifices made on my behalf. Amen.
Remembering our heroes, and giving thanks for the innumerable sacrifices made on my behalf. Amen.
May 17, 2014
In Between
Sometimes, walking around my own home is a disorienting exercise.
Like coming back to visit your hometown after an extended absence, only to realize that time has irrevocably altered the landscape in violation of your recollection. The same, only different, and sometimes unrecognizably different. Yet when you venture down that familiar street, in your inner eye you begin to see again that place you once knew.
A trick of the mind, I suppose. I do marvel, though, at how easy it is sometimes to see the world as I remember it, despite the evidence right in front of me.
Even after a year in the rebuild, I walk through the house with a case of ghostly double-vision, making unconscious (if unnecessary) course corrections in my step counts to pass through cased openings just ever so slightly offset from what they once were. I walk down the stairs expecting to see piles of stuff in a dark, unfinished basement only to be jarred by the clean, well-lit space where bookshelves line walls and a ping-pong table sits in waiting for the next match.
Only the deck seems to offer an escape from the blurred memory, because its design is completely new to take advantage of the glorious view created by the terminal rampage of wind against the trees.
The trees. I miss the trees. I miss the gentle rustle of the leaves, the towering majesty splayed overhead. The view of the eastern horizon has opened, however, and each and every morning, the sun rises again. And when the golden light of the afternoon sun rests on a field of corn, well, it eases the spirit.
I still haven't figure out how to mow the lawn. The patterns established by a dozen years of muscle memory are not easily broken, despite a year's absence during reconstruction. The land doesn't lie the way it once did. The light falls differently, and the shadows are nowhere to be found.
Well, there are shadows, but they are those created by my own imagination.
Walking along the back edge of the property, reminders of what once was still litter the ground, if somewhat sparsely: small shards of broken glass, a magnetic letter from a child's alphabet toy, a partially buried segment of the original brick wall, and fragments of PVC from the original plumbing. And yet over my shoulder stands the rebuild, strong and new. I'm living in two worlds at once.
I look in vain for a single item, a commander's coin given me by then Lt. Gen. Thomas Keck of the Eighth Air Force. I don't expect to ever find it, although I suspect it is likely buried several feet underground, in what was the cavity of a fully uprooted tree. But I look for it anyway, because things that are buried have a habit of coming to the surface, often when we least expect it.
Life goes on, as they say, and I suppose that in time I will make peace with this haunting double-vision. For now, though, I continue to straddle the dimensions, a foot in each world. Maybe I'm the ghost, unable to fully let go the past. Like being in between. What a fascinating thought. I am in between.
And I suppose, in a way, aren't we all?
Like coming back to visit your hometown after an extended absence, only to realize that time has irrevocably altered the landscape in violation of your recollection. The same, only different, and sometimes unrecognizably different. Yet when you venture down that familiar street, in your inner eye you begin to see again that place you once knew.
A trick of the mind, I suppose. I do marvel, though, at how easy it is sometimes to see the world as I remember it, despite the evidence right in front of me.
Even after a year in the rebuild, I walk through the house with a case of ghostly double-vision, making unconscious (if unnecessary) course corrections in my step counts to pass through cased openings just ever so slightly offset from what they once were. I walk down the stairs expecting to see piles of stuff in a dark, unfinished basement only to be jarred by the clean, well-lit space where bookshelves line walls and a ping-pong table sits in waiting for the next match.
Only the deck seems to offer an escape from the blurred memory, because its design is completely new to take advantage of the glorious view created by the terminal rampage of wind against the trees.
The trees. I miss the trees. I miss the gentle rustle of the leaves, the towering majesty splayed overhead. The view of the eastern horizon has opened, however, and each and every morning, the sun rises again. And when the golden light of the afternoon sun rests on a field of corn, well, it eases the spirit.
I still haven't figure out how to mow the lawn. The patterns established by a dozen years of muscle memory are not easily broken, despite a year's absence during reconstruction. The land doesn't lie the way it once did. The light falls differently, and the shadows are nowhere to be found.
Well, there are shadows, but they are those created by my own imagination.
Walking along the back edge of the property, reminders of what once was still litter the ground, if somewhat sparsely: small shards of broken glass, a magnetic letter from a child's alphabet toy, a partially buried segment of the original brick wall, and fragments of PVC from the original plumbing. And yet over my shoulder stands the rebuild, strong and new. I'm living in two worlds at once.
I look in vain for a single item, a commander's coin given me by then Lt. Gen. Thomas Keck of the Eighth Air Force. I don't expect to ever find it, although I suspect it is likely buried several feet underground, in what was the cavity of a fully uprooted tree. But I look for it anyway, because things that are buried have a habit of coming to the surface, often when we least expect it.
Life goes on, as they say, and I suppose that in time I will make peace with this haunting double-vision. For now, though, I continue to straddle the dimensions, a foot in each world. Maybe I'm the ghost, unable to fully let go the past. Like being in between. What a fascinating thought. I am in between.
And I suppose, in a way, aren't we all?
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