What You See Is What You Get

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. When I get in the pulpit this morning, I think I will talk about being more observant during this season. I'm calling my sermon What You See, Is What You Get. Nothing profound in that title, I guess. But I do know how vulnerable we can be to focusing on the wrong things at this time of the year.

It's easy to get distracted by crowds and annoying people. We can be overly sensitive to the overkill on decorations and gift buying, as if somehow we are responsible for making Christmas happen. We can see the kinds of interpretations of the Christmas story that seem hokey and often gaudy. We can get annoyed by the TV commercials that attempt to convince people that the products being advertised are the things that will make Christmas special, and without it (whatever it is) Christmas will be nothing.

There was a song years ago that was called Looking at the World Through Rose-colored Glasses. It's corny, I admit, but the truth is that how we see things, the perspective we give them, what we choose to focus on, makes all the difference in how we feel inside and what we absorb spiritually for the good of our souls.

You're Already There...

I've been thinking about the fact that it's so easy to spend your life living in the past or looking to the future. Last week when I was walking along the tow path on the canal with our dog, Faye, I had one of those moments that the Japanese call a satori--an instant awakening.

What it was about was that I suddenly realized that for a lot of my life, I've been focusing on what's yet to come as if what is now is not quite "it." I don't know what causes that to happen--restlessness? obliviousness? Desire for something better? I actually don't know, but it is so easy to totally miss the essence of the present moment where life really exists. As John Lennon has said, "Life is what is happening while you're making other plans."

But I looked at Faye and the river and my surroundings and thought to myself that this is it--this is the life I've always thought about living in a kind of place that I've always wanted to live and living a healthy retirement with opportunities to do a lot of the things I've always dreamed of doing.

The truth is that there is always more to want, and wanting more is not necessarily a bad thing. For instance, I wouldn't mind having more income than just my social security and pension provide, and to some extent, I do through the part-time position I have. But I'm comfortable. My car died a couple of months ago, and at present, I haven't been able to replace it. I've been borrowing a car, trying to decide what I should do about that. But I'm comfortable. I would love to be able for Chris and me to travel more, and see some of the places that we've always wanted to see. But I'm comfortable.

Thanksgiving was yesterday, and I was determined to live it fully in the present moment with a deep sense of gratitude for all that I already have in so very many categories: family, friends, good health, a place to live that I love, opportunities to express myself through the things I love to do. And I did and I still do feel a deep sense of warmth and appreciation for this moment right now. As the Buddhists say, "Be here now."

Thank you!

Bridge Over Troubled Water

So here's something that I've been thinking about for the last few days: A former parishioner and dear friend passed away last week. Her children contacted me to officiate at a memorial service at my former church in Cranbury. As always, beforehand, I met with them to discuss the order of service, along with any special requests they might have.

One of their requests was for me to sing. I told them that I would be glad to do so, but I asked if they had any special song in mind. "Well, we know that you sing a lot of John Denver songs, but the one song that means a lot to us is "Bridge Over Troubled Water."

When they said that, it totally knocked me for a loop. Just a few nights before Libi's passing, I had a dream about me learning that very song! I hadn't thought of it in years, and when I awoke the next morning, the tune was still in my brain. I thought that that was strange, but then just forgot about it--never tried to play it...until the family brought it up in our discussion.

For the next couple of days I worked on finding the right key for my voice (Art Garfunkel's range is unreachable by most people I know). But the thing is, I was determined to learn it because of the strange "coincidence" that had so blatantly presented itself. In my personal belief, there really was no coincidence involved here at all--it was purely and simply a message. Who sent me the message doesn't matter, but it was definitely meant to be. "Somebody" helped me learn it (in fact, I don't usually learn songs that quickly) and helped me to sing it on the day of the service.

Experiences like that always remind me to pay more attention to what might be behind some of the so-called "coincidences" that come our way--what do they mean? What are we being told?

Magic Carpet

This picture was taken just this morning. It's the yard in front of our house, which is beautifully adorned with maple trees. Due to the wind from a couple of days ago, virtually every inch is covered with golden leaves--a regular outdoor carpeting of the highest degree.
It reminds me of Leo Busgalia talking about one his neighbors complaining that Leo hadn't raked his leaves. Leo was having one of his classes at his home that day, and so he went outside and gathered up as many leaves as he could and spread them all over his living room.
Needless to say, it was a great class. Not surprising that he did that because Leo was a true free spirit. If you've never read anything by him (though he is now deceased) I would encourage you to do so for a wonderful perspective on love and life. A couple of my favorites are: Living, Loving and Learning and Bus 9 to Paradise.

By the way, I happen to be of the opinion that nature is, in and of itself, one of the greatest classrooms there is, and the course offerings change with each season.

Retirement as a Way of Life

I find retirement to be a confusing time of life. It has many benefits, of course, in that you can pretty much decide for yourself what your day will be like. But that is somewhat deceiving because of life's unpredictable nature.

I decided that I should set up an informal agenda so that I could best make use of my new freedom. I would spend an hour to two hours a day playing my guitar, an hour to two hours reading, another hour to two hours writing, have at least a half hour walk along the canal everyday (or go hiking somewhere), spend the rest of the day doing projects around the house or go out to lunch somewhere, and so on. I've probably already bored you with all that. Sorry!

Anyway the idea made sense, and frankly, still makes sense. The thing is, though, I've never been a regimented person. Intellectually it sounds great; emotionally it rubs me the wrong way. My use of my time has been haphazard by many peoples' standards, I'm sure. Thus, the effort to be "sensible" and practical, as it were, is a major struggle. And I must admit, I'm suffering from a little guilt.

Even when I was in the ministry full-time and going to the office everyday, I was far from the executive type, overseeing the staff and running the business of the church. My day was largely people oriented, which struck me as the main purpose of being a minister, after all. I loved it when people came into the church and we could chat or discuss whatever was on their mind. There was a lot of laughter and, at times, airing of frustrations, and even shared tears.

The dilemma of retirement years for me is the fact that you no longer have to report to work and can usually do whatever you want--within limits, of course, money being a major object. But at the same time, you are presented with the fact that if you don't do some serious thinking and planning (executive skills, might I add), time will slip away from you and you'll end up actually doing nothing worthwhile, except TV, computer games, and crossword puzzles. In my job as a minister, people set my agenda by their sudden delightful appearances in the church.

I guess what I'm saying is, I guess it's time to get organized after all these years.

These are the moments I love best. Nothing to worry about and nothing I have to do but enjoy life just as it enfolds before me.

So, this is where I live. I feel like I stepped in gold. Whatever good fortune I'm experiencing, I won't question it.

Christmas Card Miracle

Living in the country in the rolling hills of New Jersey was always a dream of my life. I look out my window as I type this post and see Baldpate Mountain, adorned with its fall colors (albeit, now fading) and and take a deep breath of thanksgiving to the source which enabled me to be here.

Two years ago, I received a Christmas card from a friend with a picture of a country house with a front porch. It was black and white except for a bright red cardinal in a bush in front. I thought to myself that I would like to live in a home just like that. However I didn't see how that would be possible without winning the lottery or having some surprise inheritance come my way (trust me, that would definitely be a surprise).

I put that picture on the wall in my office, and every once in awhile, for 2 years I would look up at it, and imagining living there.

Two months before retirement, my wife and I had no idea where we were going to live. One of our kids suggested we look on Craig's List, which we did. The first place that popped up was a country home in Lambertville area. As it turned out, it was the first time our landlord had ever posted on Craig's List. We went to look at it, fell in love with it, and decided that that was where we were going to live. By the way, it has a wonderful front porch. By the way, on moving day, I was carrying something in when my father-in-law (who knew nothing about the Christmas card) said to me as I was passing by, "Look, Jack, there's a cardinal."

All I'm saying is that you just don't know what is possible, so why shouldn't we go for it?