CHARTING THE STORMS

Ozark Storm, Lake of the Ozarks, MO

Life isn’t about randomly wandering about trying to find ourselves. It’s about purposely developing our character or soul in a way that would find favor with our creator; enabling us to maneuver through the storms of life so that we can continue to emerge on the other side while living a meaningful life.

TIME WARP

Past and Present Reflections, Emporia, KS

Hugs, Handshakes & Good Conversation

I just returned to the Kansas City area where I lived for thirty years before moving to the Carolinas fifteen years ago. Stepping outside the airport terminal where I may have come and gone about one hundred times initiates the memory recall odyssey. As I sense the wind waving in nearby tree branches, I’m reminded that this land has a haunting familiarity unique to my existence. These same shuttle buses that previously carried me to the satellite parking lot to retrieve my personal car now detour to the new central rental facility. It occupies land that I passed multiple times which contained shimmering prairie grasslands moving in concert with the vast green inland ocean.

After negotiating an upgrade, I exit onto familiar interstate highways for the surreal drive past the somewhat familiar city skyline before I blend into the suburbs we roamed for many years. I traversed these streets when I moved to the area after college graduation and then after marriage, childbirth, three apartments, three houses and two different employers. When I enter some streets their signs and buildings register as known images. And then totally foreign images of intersections, shopping centers and office complexes confuse and obscure my mind’s GPS system recall.

I check into a hotel room instead of driving home. I’ve arrived alone as I did at the outset almost fifty years ago as the circle of life continues its relentless course through time and space. The local news is always a conundrum. Young energetic anchors have morphed into older men and women with graying hair. Fresh faces have been overlaid with carefully sculpted character lines. The voices are familiar but the images; not so much.

As I drive south toward our last home neighborhood, the expected landmarks have been obliterated and completely replaced with expanded round-about intersections surrounded by familiar retail brands that have seemingly sprung up overnight while I apparently lapsed into a deep Rip Van Winkle sleep. Instead of driving home to greet my wife and daughter, I find life has happened. I stop at the Memorial Gardens to pause at my wife’s and my final resting place. The eternal rustle of leaves from the nearby oak tree provides a serene background sound, masking the nearby traffic.

It has become a somber homecoming, but then I join old friends to share a meal, a hug, a handshake and good conversation. Later, I circle back to the airport to pick up my daughter and son-in-law arriving on a flight from Chicago. The next morning we drive together to my hometown birthplace in central Kansas for a family wedding where hugs, handshakes and good conversation over dinner again lightens the load as the circle of life continues to rotate through time. I read wisdom scripture in the old stone Lutheran church where I was confirmed and we gathered with cousins to recite “good news” scripture at Christmas time. We drive to the reception through the once bustling Main Street thriving with family businesses which has now been abandoned as shoppers converge on the ubiquitous Wal-Mart on the edge of town.

As I fly back to the Carolinas, I arrive at the airport where I used to pick up rental cars on business trips. New friends and neighbors now drive me to and from my present home with hugs, handshakes and good conversation. I’m reminded that we may never get completely comfortable with our surroundings on this planet which we call home. This may explain a lingering anxiety that hovers just below the surface of our daily lives. Perhaps we shouldn’t even attempt to strive for it, as these environs are very temporary at best. And our permanent home actually resides on the other side of the thin veil that separates it from whatever reality our senses perceive around us.

LAKE THERAPY

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La Casa, Lake of the Ozarks, MO
Lake Therapy, Lake of the Ozarks, MO

The healing process continues after four months of knee replacement physical therapy. A round of golf was one of the primary driving goals from the outset and is now imminent. I’m recording the dawn of a new day in one of the myriad sheltered coves on 1200 miles of shoreline at the Lake of the Ozarks. Chickadees and wrens are joined in praise songs for another spectacular sunrise creation over the vast lake waters. Large bodies of water instinctively draw the human spirit to them, perhaps for the serenity we always enjoy there and possibly because they stir long forgotten memories of our sheltered time in the fluid of the womb.

A long fresh air boating excursion on the lake with close family is another leap forward from a major operation. The whole being of body and soul experience a renewal as the miracle of God’s healing power is released. Puffy early summer cumulus clouds lazily drift overhead against a clear blue sky, remnants of the violent storms that were spawned just days before. A great blue heron regally sits atop his throne on the surrounding canopy of trees lining the steep limestone bluffs created by ancient primordial oceans. Fresh water spray cools the temple and exposed skin.

There’s nothing more therapeutic than moving through warm waters and cool morning breezes on a large expanse of relatively placid water while breathing in the filtered fresh air that naturally wafts over and around you. You can sense the healing power of vitamin C being absorbed from the warm sunbeams that offset the cool air. You can’t leave the lake without reflecting the sun’s glow from exposed skin that has been naturally pampered by nature’s spa. Even the fading red character line extending along the full breadth of my knee has now been feathered into the overall whole. And the painful reality of my recovery has now been feathered into the fading memory of the distant past as I clean up my golf clubs.

SALT WATER

Beach Walking, KI, SC

"The cure for anything is salt water -- sweat, tears, or the sea". -Isak Dinesen

When you think about it, salt water really is a timeless panacea. There’s really nothing to compare to an honest day’s work or workout where you are making a difference and contributing value to society or your health. I’ve often remarked that bailing hay in the middle of a Midwestern summer was the most honest, invigorating, hot and sweaty work that I accomplished at a minimum wage during my lifetime.

Tears of joy or grief almost always provide both the body and soul with an emotional release that ultimately leaves mankind with the fortitude to go on with life. And a first light sunrise walk along a deserted sandy beach will cure even the most melancholy or broken spirit as the foaming waves break ceaselessly over your bare feet.

JUST ONE MORE

One More Day, Kiawah Island, SC

Addiction is an interesting component of our human experience. I wonder if anybody has ever escaped it? I once worked for a man during one of my summer college breaks who I shared a beer with after work on one hot afternoon. He raised his glass somewhat dispassionately and mused “one’s too many and a thousand ain’t enough”. And then there’s one of the richest men on the planet at the turn of the century who responded to a reporter’s question about “just how much money is enough” by stating “just a little bit more”. I’m sure we all know someone who is addicted to their work. Their life is way out of balance, but they can’t go home on time. Junk food producers know about addiction all too well as evidenced by today’s obesity epidemic. One potato chip company had a very successful marketing run with the catchy phrase “bet you can’t eat just one”.

I admit to an addiction for vanilla ice cream. When I cave in to a “buy one, get one free” Eddy’s Vanilla Bean special, the containers have my complete attention. Late in the evening I can hear the muffled cries from my freezer calling out to me to free them from their frozen imprisonment. I succumb to freedom’s cry and release the tasty spoonful’s into my anticipating stomach and later onto my expanding stomach. I know that I’ve experienced all the taste that I can after that first spoonful, but I’ve never stopped at just one. Consequently, I don’t believe that I fully appreciated any of them. So, I just try not to bring these guys into my home any more.

Are there any good addictions? Do you think Mother Teresa was addicted to doing good? Was her life out of balance too? Maybe. Our pastor years ago mentioned that he was extremely attracted to a pretty young female in High School, so when she finally agreed to a date he placed his Bible between them in the car--but I don’t recall if he said that it worked. Could it be that most of us are also addicted to life and we never want it to stop? If we were informed that this was our last day on the planet, would we do our best to bargain for “just one more”? Or have we confronted our addiction and really learned to appreciate today—kind of like vanilla ice cream?

SPEAK TO ME

Mountain Stream, Highlands, NC

I’ve listened to a few folks relate how God speaks to them in what seems to be a conversational mode. Well, could be they have a direct line connection while the rest of us seem to be on a party line. Conversely, I’ve talked to people who say they talk to God but they never seem to get an answer. Or at least they don’t hear anything in response, except maybe a busy signal or a recorded message that says “your call is important to us, please hold”. And of course, we don’t want to overlook the fact that there are two equally critical components of communication—speaking AND listening.

Frankly, I’m not sure that we should be so paranoid about waiting for some kind of a literal conversation or even a recorded heavenly robo call message. I believe God reveals himself in a variety of ways and places in this life. I’ve stood and listened to the choir in Notre Dame Cathedral and spent hours in the sanctuaries of neighborhood churches. And I can sense God’s presence wherever I make a mindful effort to receive it. He walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the morning in the garden as they established a relationship together. A relationship that included at its core a new concept of free will—the free will choice to either seek to nourish and grow a relationship or turn and walk away.

Psalm 46:10 informs us to be still and know God. I’m convinced that God is in all things, so that quiet place for us can be found inside a sacred building or outside in the sanctuary of nature. I’ve motionlessly sat on warm boulders at the rim of gapping canyons and listened to the Bernoulli winds sing in the pine needles next to ancient Anasazi cliff dwellings. I’ve listened to gentle breezes rustle the maple leaves in my backyard as they cooled the moisture on my brow. I’ve quietly stood beside a cold, gurgling mountain stream rushing over polished glacier stones and calling out to me as they plunged headlong towards their origin in the vast oceans. I’ve silently swam in these oceans and let the ceaseless rhythms of the incoming waves conjure up reminiscent sounds of my days in the womb. And I’ve silently walked through waving prairie grasses and urban parks and heard the plaintive songs of the birds of the air calm my spirit and give me new strength.

EARN IT

Merci, Normandy, France
Uncle Lewis, Emporia, KS

Our Memorial message this past Sunday included a reflection back on the final scenes from the movie “Saving Private Ryan”. A small squad led by Captain John Miller had been ordered to find the last surviving son of a family so that he could be sent back home from the Normandy invasion. The dialog in those final scenes stirred up my curiosity enough to review them again last night. I fast forwarded to the final gruesome battle scenes when the soldiers were defending both Private James Ryan and a strategic bridge from the advancing German Nazis. The action was intense and gut wrenching, although I’m certain nothing Hollywood can create could come close to the horrors of actual combat.

Captain Miller was mortally wounded as the tide turned in favor of the American troops when reinforcements arrived at a the bridge. Captain Miller beckoned Private Ryan close. He whispered with his dying breath, “James…earn this. Earn it”. Those two words were obviously seared on Private Ryan’s heart for all eternity. The camera then focuses on his face which morphs into that of an aging veteran standing in the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial many years later. It’s one of those hallowed places you encounter in Europe upon cresting a hill to discover that all the memorial markers were set in place at the same time and aligned in perfect rows. There’s no mistaking their origin and there are not too many locations in America like them with the exception of Civil War battlefields in the East.

Like so many other veterans before him, Ryan has returned to honor his fallen comrades and specifically the man who gave his life so that he would live. His family is standing in the background, giving him space. When Ryan’s wife approaches him, he turns to her and asks “Did I live a good life? Am I a good man”? He desperately needs his wife’s affirmation because he deeply understands the ultimate price that has been paid. She quietly responds, “You are”. That poignant exchange choked me up as much as any experience in my life, perhaps because I had just finished my lesson plans to teach a session on Jesus’ final week on this planet. He made the ultimate sacrifice for all of us so that we may have eternal life. My Uncle Lewis served in the medical corps in WWII and tragically lost his life at the all too young age of twenty nine. I too should be living my life to honor their sacrifice. God gave all of us the priceless gift of life. And how we live it is our gift to him. Earn it.