A New Pencil Box, New Clothes, and A Fresh Start

 
In the last week of August or the first of September, my friends and I would go to the schoolyard of Milton H. Allen Elementary, checking to see if they had put up the playground equipment yet--the swings, the seesaw, the sliding board, etc. If they had, we'd hang around there a bit, the air filled with the wonderful aroma of freshly mowed fall grasses. As excited as we had been about school getting out for the summer, we were equally ready for it to begin again. We pledged (though no handshake was involved) that we were going to be better students this year. No, really, we meant it--at least, we honestly thought we did--and maybe we were--it's too long ago to remember now.

I remember walking to school on the first day, wearing my new clothes that were often uncomfortably stiff and too big (because my mother insisted that I would grow into them in no time at all) and they were more appropriate for cooler temperatures. But I wanted to look good for some reason, which is strange because I never cared about that at any other time.

By the end of the first day, of course, they didn't look all that new anymore. A half hour on the playground took care of that, and I kind of wished (or maybe it was my mother who wished) that I was in my old comfortable jeans instead of my new corduroys, and a t-shirt instead of my new long sleeve flannel one.

Then there was the new loose-leaf notebook, with fresh dividers, new pencils and in 4th grade, a pencil box, with a six-inch ruler, a pullout drawer with a map of the US, and some hefty erasers for the really big mistakes.

I suppose it was all somehow related to a sense of a fresh start, but at 8 or 10 or 12, who would think about that? But perhaps it's inherent in human nature to want to have another chance or to start anew or to make the past be the past. I don't really know what that's all about, but probably some expert could analyze it and label it.
 
But one thing remains, Labor Day is like a curtain slowly closing on the last days of summer; enter stage right, unofficial fall. No doubt at picnics or cookouts or on hikes or wherever else people enter the philosophical realm of heartfelt conversation on this day, they will talk of what they hope for and what they plan to do "this year." Nothing wrong with that. In fact, it's a good thing, but follow-up is another. 

The activity of the schools and playgrounds of life can rumple and soil the new clothes of good intentions. Yet, this truth also remains: while we cannot change or bury the past--which is good because it has brought us to this day and made us who we are--we can actually accept and nurture the reality of the gift of a fresh start every morning when we wake up. Just a thought as I contemplate what I shall do with this day of September 7, 2015.

The Time of Our Lives

Last week we were in the Poconos at a lake house that someone loaned us. It was a great time just hanging out by the water, soaking up the atmosphere in a beautiful wooded and quiet area in the mountains. It was actually one of my favorite ways to take a vacation--settling in someplace located either by a lake or by the sea. Don't misunderstand me: I do like to travel, but in my book that's in a different category of human experience than what I just described.

When I was growing up, my parents and I had but two vacations. One was to Niagara Falls and the other was to Luray Caverns, although one time my sister and my mother rented a house on Long Beach Island--a house that has long since been torn down to make way for modernity. That happened to be a very rainy week, so the beach, per se, didn't happen. Instead we all had to find other ways to entertain ourselves. Even so, I have fond memories of that time.

My telling you this is in no way meant to be a "poor me" tale. I had a great childhood. I grew up in a small town with nice people, good friends, and with a safe environment for kids to have great adventures (not to be confused with Six Flags). It was, I suppose, as many people say, a simpler time. But who's to say what that means for any generation. When my father was a boy, it was an even simpler time, measured by the standards of my childhood--and so forth, back well past his generation.

I have fun reminiscing with people when the opportunity arises, but I in no way think that life was necessarily better then. It was what it was for when it was in the unfolding of the human story. The present generation of kids will have similar feelings about their childhood and it no doubt will be thought of by many as simpler and better even though that's hard to imagine for those of us who have gone before.

In Ralph Waldo Emerson's essay, Self-Reliance, he writes, "Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events." As I understand that, it means that we each live in the time in which we are meant to live. There is no question that there are times that are better to live or to have lived, based upon the conditions of the world. But here we are, the people of this age who can either make the most of of our time on this plane of existence before moving on to the next, or waste our time complaining about how terrible the world is getting and criticizing any present generations for their new ways of thinking and being. In other words, this is as simple as it's going to get and will ever be again. And this is our time.

A CASUAL COMMENT

Chris said something very interesting to me this past week that has been lingering in my mind ever since. She said, “Nothing seems to rattle you anymore.” I, of course, assume that she meant that as a compliment or at least a positive observation. Whatever is the case, she is right. Admittedly I have never been a person who has gotten especially “rattled” anyway.

As a matter of fact, many years ago when I was having lunch with some clergy colleagues of mine during Annual Conference in Ocean City, the discussion got around to talking about the stresses of ministry. A couple of people in our little group were apparently feeling overwhelmed by the problems of their particular churches. Others were sharing some ways that they dealt with anxiety and conflict.  Then I mentioned the fact that I meditate every day and that helps me to relax and not get swept along with the tides of tension. Then one of them said, “Jack, if you get any more relaxed, we’d have to carry you into the Conference sessions.”

As I've gotten older, I still meditate regularly and it continues to be a meaningful practice of my spiritual life. Of course, Chris’s comment implies that she has seen me lose my cool sometimes, but that she has not seen it happen for quite a while. I don’t think it is entirely the result of getting older—it’s more a case of a slight paradigm shift in my psyche.

That part which is related to my age is the result of looking back over the years of my life and realizing that whatever issues or problems I have had, they have long ago disappeared in the dust of the passing of time. In other words, to a large extent, other than the invaluable lessons I learned in some cases from them, they have become irrelevant to my present life. So, if that is true, then the things that happen in the present must be made of the same material that, in turn, will also become irrelevant to my well-being. i.e. - they cannot destroy my soul.

Another thing that comes into play is the simple recognition that we humans tend to make far too much out of little things that really don’t matter very much in the first place, and we give those little things permission to take over our emotions and cause conflict, stress, and sleepless nights. We make them so important that we lose perspective on things that really matter like relationships and happiness and harmony and living a good healthy life.

Where the big things that do matter are concerned, we are at the mercy of the flow of life. And yet, we have at our disposal no less than the power of hope and prayer and a wondrous creating Spirit behind all there is—a Spirit that urges us to let go and let God.

 WISDOM PEOPLE

Sitting on our front porch on an early Saturday evening, listening to James Taylor, enjoying a breeze pushing the heat out of the way, and for some reason, thinking about the wise people who have guided me throughout my life. My guess is that most of them never thought of themselves as wise--they just had some key insights at the right moments. 

I think of my father who several times said to me when I was facing some situation I was not that happy about (like the time I was drafted during the Vietnam War), "Son, you'll never regret the experience." As I was doing KP or in some kind of training maneuver in Basic Training, I thought of his words and in those particular moments, they didn't exactly ring true. But later, I got it.

Then there was a man I worked with in Johnson's Department Store in my hometown of Medford. He would give me a task, and me being me, I made it harder and longer than it should have been. And after he watched me for a while he would say, "Make your head save your heels." i.e.-Think! I suppose it's somewhat related to that saying from the world of carpentry: "Measure twice, cut once." 

Then there was the woman at St. Andrew's United Methodist Church in Cherry Hill where I was the youth minister for 4 years. She gave me some advice on my spiritual life. She introduced me to "picture praying," in which you develop a picture of something you want or need in your life; see yourself enjoying your life in whatever way that which you desire creates for you...a new job, a new place to live, a healthy body, or see yourself or a loved one in white light, etc; let that picture replay in your mind throughout your day and days. If nothing else it will bring you peace.

The wisdom people of my life have been children, adults, or elderly. They have been people I've known intimately or hardly at all. They have given me simple insights or major paradigm shifts. 

Their wisdom has come through words or by example or both, such as the time when my middle son who was about six years old and was sitting at the table in the kitchen eating his breakfast, and I was at the sink doing dishes. He had a favorite mug that actually was from a time way before he was born. It was one of those milk-glass-like mugs with a picture of Hopalong Cassidy on the side--a cowboy hero from my childhood. I used to tease him about trading mugs with him, which pleased him to no end that he had something that I wanted. 

Anyway, I was washing that mug and it slipped out of my hands into the sink and broke into a gazillion pieces. His eyes got big and he came over to the sink and looked down and saw the remains of his favorite mug. I said, "i'm so sorry, Pete!" He looked up at me and simply said in a very comforting tone, "That's all right, Daddy--you didn't mean to do that." 

That day I learned the way of gracious forgiveness from the words and example of a child. I wonder what else we could learn from one another if we got our egos out of the way and simply listened to one another with open hearts and minds?

 

A PERSONAL MOMENT OF TRUTH

On this 4th of July 2015, I'm thinking about what is most meaningful to me at this stage of my life. Of course there are the obvious things: my wife, our children, and my family at large; my ability to still be in reasonably good health with a fair amount of vitality at my age; the fact that I'm still involved in the ministry, though part-time (which is the way I want it); and a wonderful place to live that is both comfortable and rustically beautiful (the kind of place I've always wanted to live)
.
Those things add up to a very nice life and one for which I am extremely grateful. I could add to those a whole host of great memories drawn from years gone by: people, experiences, and places I've been.

Last Monday I stood at the grave of Robert Frost in Old First Congregational Church in Bennington, VT. I was mesmerized by the fact that here lay the body of a man whose name and works I have known for most of my life. Among my favorite of his poems are Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening, Birches, Mending Wall, and certainly, The Road Not Taken. Someone planted a birch tree right next to his grave. 

Also in that cemetery are the graves of several soldiers who fought in the Battle of Bennington on August 16, 1777. Their names have long ago been forgotten with the possible exception of those whose history is directly linked to them. However maudlin that may come across to some people (although I don't know why), I found being there deeply inspiring. It was a profound moment.

Standing at the grave of someone I have admired for his thinking and writing all my life, and also at the graves of those who had fallen during a significant battle of the American Revolution in order for us to live freely, somehow seemed like a perfect blend of truth to me. I am not sure that I can express it the way I'm feeling it, but express your life joyfully and creatively, compassionately and appreciatively because we are all here for but a short time; but we are called to live as if life really matters. Those who died so very long ago now, died for no less a purpose.

APPLES, PEACHES, PUMPKIN PIE....

Now that summer is here, my thoughts have turned back to my childhood days growing up in Medford. It wasn't perfect, but it was, as far as I'm concerned, as close to it as possible. Almost every day was some kind of adventure.  We spent hours swimming at the "Minnie Hole," a wide area of water where a branch of Haines Creek ran through. We'd start in the early afternoon and eventually go home for dinner and then back swimming again.

The evenings until way after dark were spent playing hide-and-seek, and a few games we made up as we went along, which I'm not sure had any specific rules except when somebody objected to losing (which is kind of the way people still are). Along with swimming and hide-and-seek, we had a local movie theater, with Saturday matinees and lots candy and popcorn.

Then there were family trips to the beach on LBI. The arcades at Clementon Lake Park and Seaside (when I had enough pennies, nickles, and dimes),the Steel Pier in Atlantic City, and crabbing in Tuckerton.

My summer jobs were picking blueberries, packing corn, mowing lawns, drying tomato seeds at Stokes Cannery in Vincentown. There's a lot more that I could share, but I better stop here before you quit reading. 

Anyway, there's an old saying that goes "you can't go home again." And to a large part, that's true. On the other hand, you can always go back home in your memories--the advantage being that you can choose to relive the really good times and eliminate the ones that were embarrassing, painful, and nightmarish.
Of course, those also helped to make us what we are in these days.But our treasured memories are still very much alive. 

Neurosurgeon Wilder Penfield performed some experiments on patients (with their permission) during surgery in which he would probe the brain to stimulate various responses. In one of those, he probed a certain area in an attempt to activate a memory. He asked the patient where he was and he said that he was at a ballgame. The patient could smell the smells, hear the noise of the crowd, and experience various other senses of actually being there. 

I don't think we should have our brains probe in surgery, but maybe it is an indication of all those great things we remember are still accessible to us in some way.

Bottom line, though, it isn't just for the purpose of a nostalgic journey. It is an
experience of life being filled with the grace to allow us to appreciate the good things that are still alive in our life stories and for a cleansing of the soul that in anyway is filled with guilt or fear or hostility. Divine love has brought us to where we are and Divine Grace has given us permission to be free.
 

A BUCKET LIST?

So I was sitting in my favorite chair up in the bedroom, thinking about miscellaneous odds and ends, when I was suddenly interrupted by a thought that demanded attention. I don't know the source nor do I know why it occurred to me other than the thoughts I've been having lately about the span of a lifetime. Of course, as a minister I have officiated at more funerals and memorial services than I can count. And they have all been decidedly different--young, middle-aged, elderly--sadly, even infants.

The span of lifetimes are determined by so many factors that it is impossible to say what each of ours would be, other than as marked as we progress along the various stages of our life's journey...childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, middle-age, senior. Now before this turns into some kind of requiem, I want to make the main point that was going on in my mind. I wasn't having maudlin thoughts about death and dying; rather I was thinking about what those who have gone before us might say to us if they could about the living of these days. 

I think that the first thing they would say would be, "It's all going to be okay. Don't worry about anything. You are being watched over by loving spirits who will see to it that you will always be all right, here and beyond."

Then I think they would tell us that our lives on this earth are purposeful no matter what the duration or circumstance. It's just that we can't see the Big Picture from where we stand now. But the most important thing is to realize that we are worthy to get as much joy and experience as much peace as we will allow ourselves.

That being said, their encouragement might be:

Without any sense of self-imposed guilt...

• Now is the time to enjoy some really great music
• Now is the time to enjoy the company of those you love
• Now is the time to do something fun and creative with your life.
• Now is the time to sit with an afternoon cup of tea and read some poetry
• Now is the time to stop putting yourself down
• Now is the time to fully appreciate what you have
• Now is the time to allow yourself to feel the joy of being alive.
• Now is the time to... (you fill in the rest) 

Down from the Door Where it Began*

A January morning - specifically the 26th. A month away from my 72nd birthday. Lying in bed this morning I traveled back in time to my childhood. Not literally -- mentally and, I suppose, emotionally as well. I thought of various events and circumstances, some of which were delightful and some of which could only be described as embarrassingly painful. Most everybody has that mix of remembrances, so I am not devastated by thoughts of my past by any means.

I'm sure you're familiar with that classic reflective comment that goes "If I only knew then what I know now!" Some of that was going on in my brain until I came to my senses with the intrusion of Truth: That's not how life works...never did, never will. But still, I couldn't help replaying on the screen of my mind certain moments of my childhood and imagining how I may have been or what I might have said had I actually known then what I know now. It's a stretch, to tell you the truth. 

Naturally, I had all the right comebacks. And, of course, I was in complete control of every situation. I was a grade school wonder student to be admired by all and I was a super athlete that amazed others by my speed and prowess. (You are following this, aren't you? I'm talking about in my mind, not in reality.) 
The things by which I was embarrassed were eradicated--never happened--and the things that I shouldn't have done, I never did. And, of course, the things I should have done, I did without hesitation or second thoughts.

Then another thought came to my mind: it was time to make the coffee...to wake up to reality and to accept the fact that my life was what it was and is what it is because of what I was. Does that make sense? In other words, it played out exactly the way it was supposed to because of who and what I am.
My story and your story are but an unfolding of our unique purposeful presence in the world. 

Then I thought of a line from one of my favorite plays by Thornton Wilder, Our Town. Emily is a young girl who has died but is given permission to revisit one of her days on earth. She chooses the day of her 12th birthday, but it turns out to be a very disappointing, even painful experience. No one pays any attention to her because they are so busy doing other things. She asks the Stage Manager, "Doesn't anyone ever realize life while they live it?"

The coffee was good, and so has been and is my life. Some lessons have been hard and painful, others joyful and pleasant. And one thing I know for sure: I am still far from perfect at the almost age of 72, but it's okay because I was never intended to be perfect. And that is a universal truth that applies to the whole human family.

[*The title comes from a song by Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit.]

On the Mediterranean

After-dinner conversation. Topic: you never know. Ancient Chinese folktale:

A farmer had a beautiful horse who was the envy of all his neighbors. One day the horse disappeared for no apparent reason. His neighbors came by to comfort him. They said, "We're so sorry to hear about your horse. This is such bad news!
The farmer said, "We'll see."
A week later, his horse returned with twenty beautiful wild horses. The neighbors said to him, "Congratulations! This is such good news!"
The farmer said, "We'll see."
One day soon after, the farmer's son was attempting to break in one of the wild horses, but the horse threw him off and he broke his leg.
The neighbors said to the farmer, "We're so sorry. This is such bad news. You must be so upset."
The farmer said, "We'll see."
War broke in the country and all young men were being drafted. That is, all young men except the farmer's son, who had a broken leg. The neighbors said to the farmer, "Congratulations! This is such good news!"
The farmer said, "We'll see."

The after-dinner conversation came to an agreeable conclusion: In life, we too easily decide that something is ultimately good or bad, based upon a present moment reality. In fact, many things that have appeared to be bad or even terrible have led to something very good in our lives. i.e.-celebrate or grieve depending on the situation, but don't give up on the ultimate goodness of Divine intentions. We are all on a journey, but not alone.

If you want to think more about this, I suggest Wayne Dyer's book I Can See Clearly Now.

[After a sabbatical from writing for the last several months, doing other things, I am returning to my blog.]