THE LUNCHBOX

        

If my dad were still living, he would be 111 years old. However he died in 1982, one month to the day that my first son was born. He unfortunately had to retire early at age 58 due to a heart condition. It was unfortunate for two particular reasons: (1) He loved his job as an electrician at SKF Industries in Philadelphia and (2) because, though he had a pension, he worried about money for the rest of his days trying to make ends meet.

       After all these years, I still have the lunchbox he carried to work every day. It’s on display in our corner cabinet in the living room where we keep some family artifacts. It’s gray metal with leather straps and with a lid that is shaped to hold a thermos. It’s rusted and worn—nothing beautiful about it, mind you, but it’s a treasure in its own right—at least to me.

       I remember playing with it when I was a kid, probably 7 or 8 years old. I’d carry it around the house pretending I had just come home from work. My parents would still be at the kitchen table and they would ask me how my day was, and I would complain that my boss, “Mr. Bleemy,” was grouchy and was yelling at everybody all day. And they would pretend to be sympathetic (with a slight grin as they looked at each other.) That was my “cute” era, I suppose.

       Anyway, I thought about that lunchbox the other day when I went over to the corner cabinet to put a CD in the stereo. As I looked up and spotted it on the shelf, I suddenly remembered its history and its meaning. I’ve shared a bit of its history, but its meaning is more than sentimental to me. It reminds me that in every life there are everyday objects that we carry or touch or use that symbolize that life is good.

       I can picture my dad sitting down somewhere in the SKF factory, opening his lunchbox, taking out a bologna and cheese sandwich, pouring coffee from his thermos into that thermos cap designed to be a handy mug, and thinking to himself that on Saturday maybe he’ll start the garden or maybe we’ll go crabbing in Tuckerton or maybe we’ll go to the beach. Or maybe he would simply be thinking about nothing in particular except that it feels good to sit down.   

       Then in just a little while, he’ll close the lid on his lunchbox, satisfied, and go back to work for a few more hours, nourished by the simple truth that those were a few treasured moments and life is good.

HOW LIFE WORKS-I THINK

 

Thoughts of an old guy:

Maine 2011

 I don’t know how I got to be old—it just happened. Once I was in Milton H Allen Elementary School playing with blocks and doing finger painting in Miss Adams kindergarten, and the next day I was retired, trying to remember that distinct clinking sound of wooden blocks and trying to recall the delightful smell of finger paints.

What I do know is that, in spite of the fact that most of my life is behind me now, it’s not that bad getting older. I can say that, of course, because I’ve been fortunate to be in reasonably good health. There’s a tendency among old folks to want to take credit for that sort of thing, and I suppose in some ways the choices we make about our lifestyles and general habits are influential factors. For making good decisions along those lines as we go throughout our lives, we can take some  cedit in being a little bit wise.

I love the story of the man who was celebrating his 100^th birthday, and was asked to what he attributed his longevity, and he replied that it was because he was born before they discovered germs.

I do want to say, though, to anyone of any age, today is the only day we hold in our hands. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow isn’t here yet, and in spite of whatever is happening for us in this very second, it is our only living, breathing moment available for any of us. Besides, everything we do, every event we experience, every person we know, and every decision we make are all chapters in our life story.

During my years as a minister, once in awhile someone would ask me if I thought that God has a plan for each of us. Truthfully, I don’t know the answer to that in specific terms. I have thought about that a lot because I’ve wanted to know if I am living the life I am supposed to be living. But then I would be reminded that we are not puppets made to entertain God the Puppeteer. We are given free will to live as we see fit according to whatever particular talents and interests we have.That’s a very general answer to the question of “what is my purpose?”

There have been many times in my career when I have wondered if my becoming a minister was more my idea than the following some Divine plan (usually when I have managed to screw things up). In the days when I was in the process of being ordained, candidates for ordination had to be interviewed by various committees who would examine our “fitness for ministry,”  One of the big questions that was sure to be asked was “How do you know that you have been called?”

Naturally you would want to answer in a way that will gain the committee’s approval, and yet, there is the honest response, which seems to be the more appropriate way to go. So when asked that question, I recall saying something like “It feels like what I’m supposed to do with my life.”  There have been many moments since that seem to have been pretty good indicators that I was on the right path for which I was very thankful.

I guess the main point I want to make is that our lives unfold decade by decade in ways that are sometimes exactly according to plan (our plan, that is) and sometimes completely different than anything we could have imagined. But these are the stories of our lives—the best-selling novels about who we are and what life means to us.

To me, the Divine plan is for us to follow our hearts, minds, and spirits with the assurance that we are loved no matter what. We each have certain gifts, talents, and inclinations that mean that we have been “called” to live with the joy of some purpose, great or small—but all important in their own right. But keep open to what surprises might be in the next chapter of your novel.

Just a thought.

The View From Here

          

         

My friend at Preservation Jazz Hall  in New Orleans

Maybe it’s the rainy day; maybe it’s a desire to write; or maybe it’s neither of those things in particular, but this is my attempt to do another blog posting which I have not done in quite a while. Or perhaps it’s just because this is my birthday month and the fact that I always get pensive around my birthday each year.

          This will be my 77^th birthday. Nothing sad about that or depressing in any way. As a matter of fact I feel very fortunate to have made it thus far in my allotted years, however many they may be, and I am feeling pretty healthy for the most part. Oh, I have a few issues like glaucoma and atrial fibrillation, but both are well under control. Other than that and in spite of that, life is good.

          I still play the guitar and sing, mostly for my own entertainment.  I go for regular, almost daily walks on the tow path along the canal here in Lambertville. I love going out to eat (one of my favorite things to do) and travel to places I am fond of—places like Colonial Williamsburg and the coast of New England for a couple of examples. I enjoy our home and where we live. I love reading, doing crossword puzzles, sitting by the fire, having company visit, listening to music (classical, spiritual, and New Age in the morning, classic folk and light rock in the afternoon, and jazz in the late afternoon and evening.) And it’s really nice to be retired after 44 years as a church professional, aka clergy.

          So, life is good.

          The things that are upsetting to me in addition to the political environment in our country at the moment, are: what’s happening within the United Methodist Church these days, the many things that are effecting the relationships within the human family around the world, the sad disregard for our environment, and the potential political threats to our National Parks. There are a few other things, but that’s enough for now.

          So 77 years will have gone by for me on the day of my birthday. As a kid, I never wanted to ever move away from my hometown of Medford. When my parents would talk of doing that, I let them know that they didn’t have my approval. I don’t think that that was the reason we never moved, but maybe it was of some influence. Of course, as an adult, I moved to many places, including Fort Dix during the Vietnam War at the request of Uncle Sam. 

          I will have to say that not all of my dreams have come true, not all of my ambitions have been fulfilled, and not all of my plans have come into fruition. On the one hand, you could say that that’s too bad, but it really isn’t—far from it. It’s not too bad because I have a very happy and contented life. Not all things are meant to be and for good reason I suppose. God’s will?  I don’t know. Most certainly it’s in part due to decisions I made along the way because, after all, we are free to make choices along our life’s journey. But I will say this:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair…

                       [from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost]