Art Takes on New Meaning

I just got back from one of my favorite places on the planet--the Martin Guitar Factory in Nazareth, PA. I had to take my guitar up for adjustment. As usual, the technician did some marvelous work. 

For those of you who have never been there, I highly recommend it as a great place to visit. You can take a tour of the factory and watch true artists at work at each station, each one adding something different to the finished product. From where I live, it's a mere hour and a half, so I feel privileged to be able to hop in my car and make my way up Route 31 to 78 and into PA. 

I bought my first Martin back in 1971 for $450. The particular model I got at the time now costs around $3900. I saved for a year for it and it became my sidekick, so to speak, in all kinds of settings. I performed with it at the Music Pier in Ocean City, took it on retreats in the Poconos and various other places, used it for singing at weddings and funerals, and did special music in church with it. Through the years it had taken a beating having been exposed to all kinds of weather and temperatures, not to mention from constant use.

So a few years ago, I took it back to the factory and had it refurbished as a gift for my oldest son (his only inheritance, I'm afraid). As the original owner the work was done at minimal cost--a great added feature to owning a Martin. 

When I retired, the congregation of the Cranbury United Methodist Church presented me with my present Martin guitar which has been a true treasure for these days of my life. I put it that way because "these days of my life" are rich with opportunities to learn new things and to spend time improving in things that have already been a part of who I am. 

Regarding that, I had a revelation. The area in which I live is filled with artists and craftspeople. I've had the opportunity to observe many of those folks at work doing their thing. I've been to studios and workshops and art galleries and have seen firsthand the incredible results of their talents.  It's truly inspiring!

Well, on one particular day I was thinking about all that and I thought that what I needed was a hobby...something that would be a fulfilling expression of who I am.  I knew one thing: I am not an artist or good at crafts. Putting two boards together without light showing through is a real challenge for me. Then it suddenly struck me: my music, my guitar--that's my art. (Please don't misunderstand me: I'm not professing to be some great performer). What I mean is that it was right in front of me. I had been thinking of it as just something I do and have done since the age of 12, but what if I made a mental and spiritual shift to more fully appreciate that part of me? What if I focused on that as that perfect hobby? And I did that and it has come alive for me in a way that boggles my mind.

The thing is that I had grown so used to it being just another aspect of my life that I had actually treated it matter of factly. 

I guess my point is that each of us has something that represents who we are that is more significant than perhaps we're giving it credit. In other words, we've dismissed it as "just something we do fairly well" or we're pretty good at, but we look at it as being no more than that. I think a lot of us have a tendency to downplay our abilities and therefore tend to focus on what we can't do. Sometimes we even go to the extent of envying someone else's life and looking at our own as not all that interesting. 

My father was an electrician and when he retired, he looked for ways to fill his days. I would never have guessed in a hundred years that he would have turned to crafts, with his hands rough and tough from hard work, yet he discovered something about himself that led to a hobby, the results of which have produced great enjoyment for many, many people. He created models of buildings and houses using popsicle sticks. They were of my hometown of Medford but particularly of the time in which he was growing up. They are definite representations of genuine folk art. 

I think that something lies within each of us that if we had more respect for it and gave it more attention, it would enhance our lives a hundredfold, not to mention the lives of others. It may have nothing whatsoever to do with our jobs, but the truth is that it's probably right in front us or just under our feet.

Come to think of it, life itself is an art and we are the artists. 

Thinking With the Heart

I've been working on this particular posting for over a week now. Usually I finish them in just one sitting, but for some reason, each time I got into writing it, something didn't feel right. So, as a result, I stopped and did something else. This morning as I was having my coffee, I figured out what was going on for me. It's simple really: I was trying too hard.

In other words, I was relying too much on my head and not enough on my heart. I had an idea of what I wanted to say, but I treated it linearly, not spiritually. That, I think, is a common thing for a lot of us with regards to the way we approach life.

I'm not saying that linear thinking isn't necessary in getting our ducks in a row. Certainly our bank accounts and budgets (if, in fact, we bother to make one) are dependent on our ability to use our brains in calculating where we stand financially. And our calendars are pretty concrete indicators of our obligations, socially and otherwise (although, for the life of me, I can't remember when I'm supposed to go get a particular test this month at the Capital Health Center). And knowing the directions to a destination we need to reach by a certain time pretty much rely on clock and map or GPS.

Having said all that, those things in general are the black and white and sometimes gray issues of life. But we live in a world which offers us the full spectrum of color. We have been taught and have learned how to think with our brains. That's a wonderfully useful technique. However, just as important, and maybe even more so, is learning to think with our hearts.

Chris and I were away leading  a retreat in Lancaster, PA (specifically Bird-In-Hand) a couple of weekends ago. It was a great time with some wonderful people! Saturday afternoon was free time and so Chris and I took off exploring the area. We had been there before--actually many times through the years--but each time we have had a deep appreciation for the beauty and serenity that emanates from the people and the countryside. There is a gentle charisma to the nature of the people who serve you in restaurants and stores or with whom you simply have conversations.

The point is that that is not something that they have carefully figured out in their brains. It flows naturally from them from their hearts. In all the times that I have been there, I have yet to see anyone who seems panicked or stressed or impatient. Even the traffic respectfully cooperates with the pace of the Amish buggies, and everything seems to flow with ease--unless, of course, you're encountering those from outside the region who are used to life in the fast lane, so to speak.

I made a promise to myself this morning as I came to the realization of which I spoke at the beginning: I promise to start each morning by thinking with my heart about the potentially colorful splendor that awaits me as I live and move and breathe throughout the day. I want to make sure that the source by which I go about this life emanates from deep within to those I meet and has been carefully thought out by my heart.

Some Days Are Diamonds...

When I woke up this morning I had the distinct feeling that it was once again time to write. Actually, I've been especially busy over the last couple of weeks--most of it good, some of it "had-to-do" stuff. But what's fascinating to me is how life from time to time gives us inner signals that "now is the right moment."

When I say that, I don't necessarily mean that "now is the right moment" in some grand, earth-shaking way--just now is the especially opportune time to accomplish something that you've had on your list to do; or now is the moment to sit, relax, and listen to that music or watch that movie or enjoy that sunrise; or now is the moment to write that blog posting or that letter you've been putting off or that phone call you've been thinking about making.

I truly believe that there is a series of those kind of experiences that occur in our lives, but we're not always sensitive to them. We have other things to do-at least that's what we tell ourselves. And it is true that there is a lot of obligations and responsibilities that constantly knock on our door. We can't abandon the things that Stephen Covey says are the urgent and important matters of life. However, what does it mean to truly live life with a sense of joy and freedom and with an ongoing renewal of the spirit? That's a question that's worth considering I think.

I know you all know the, I suppose, overused expression that no one ever reaches old age or even the point of death and says to him or herself, "I wish I'd spent more time at the office." Trite as it may be, there's at least a seed of truth in it. And that sudden feeling that I'm referring to, where life is nudging us to do something or be something or shift gears in some way may be just the right moment to become fully alive in some new wonderful way.

Most of us have been taught to be responsible people. That's a good thing. I do think, however, that sometimes we've been over programmed with that to the degree that we feel guilty if we're not tending to "important" business every single moment of the day. (By the way, I have to confess that "responsibility programming" didn't fully take hold with me.) 

I think that there are regular, everyday moments and then there are the "just the right moments." The first are the normal tasks to do and things to think about,etc. Those are largely ego-based. The second are moments of inspiration. Those are spiritually based. Sometimes the two merge and the experience is exhilarating! 

I guess my overall point in all this rambling is that from time to time we need to abandon even the most urgent and important and indulge ourselves in those things that will remind us that life is not only worth living, but we are worth living it.
 

Some Days Are Diamonds

Time and Place

Chris and I got away for an overnight last week. We drove up on Monday and came back on Tuesday. We went to Plymouth, Massachusetts particularly to go whale watching and to visit the Plimouth Plantation (that's really how they spell it). We also did a tour of the Mayflower II, and of course we feasted on fine food and had morning coffee by the water at the harbor. 

It was a quick trip, and as was the case when we went to Maine for three days back in June, we wished we could have had more time. But it seems like summer has slipped away from us. As many of you know, especially if you read my last posting, we were very occupied taking care of all the things that were involved with my brother-in-law's illness and eventual passing. It was a busy and often very difficult time. We don't regret for a minute any of the the things we had to do--we did them out of love and devotion. Of course, I want to make it very clear that it was really Chris who had the full responsibility on her shoulders. I was mostly a support person for her.

Monday--Labor Day--we went to the beach. It was virtually empty because it was overcast and a bit on the rainy side. As you know, most people want the sun to shine brightly as they sit by the sea or lie out on their beach towels soaking up the rays. We, however, like the beach in all kinds of weather (with a few exceptions like hurricanes, for instance). 

I mostly sat in my beach chair contemplating my life as a semi-retired United Methodist minister. While I was doing that, a memory came surging back into my consciousness. I remembered that one time many years ago I asked a youth group what they would ask God if they were granted the privilege of asking God one question. They all had similar answers, mostly about their destinies of love, wealth, fame, and happiness in the future. Then they wanted to know what I would ask God and I told them that I would ask "What time is it, really?" 

What I meant by that was what time is it in the chronology of my life expectancy? what time is it in the stretch of human existence? what time is it in the life of this planet on which we live?

The thing is, I'm not sure I would really want to know the answer. For instance, if I had known such a thing as some of the unfoldings of my life story, say, back when I was a teenager or in my early twenties, I may have been scared to death to go on. But the thing is, I didn't know and I did go on, just taking it one day at a time (there's really no choice in the matter). There have been some scary times, painful times, uncertain times, sad times, and confusing times. I think that's true for mostly everybody.

However I've always seemed to have been all right through it all. As many times as when things have been unpleasant that I have been inclined to say, "Why me?" there were equally as many times or many, many more times when things have been wonderful and I have said "Why me?" So I guess the answer to the question about "what time is it really?" is that it is the appointed time for me to walk on this planet for now--don't worry about tomorrow. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote in his essay Self Reliance, "Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events." And if I read correctly between the lines, the word is that you're going to be all right through it all.

Something I Have To Remember

        Thomas F. Eden                      1953 - 2013
 

Tom and Christopher (about age six)

     My brother-in-law, Chris's brother, passed away peacefully during the night two weeks ago. We had been expecting it. He was in hospice care at the Masonic Home in Burlington. Of course, expecting it does not mean that we were shock-proofed. The call came at 3:30 a.m. The first thought at that hour is that someone has dialed wrong; the second thought is that this is it--the call you been dreading even though you knew it would be coming sooner or later.

     Tom was a great guy. He was a strong but gentle spirit. He loved his family, his friends, and most especially his 12 year old son, Christopher. He had a slow, dry sense of humor even to the end. We would go down to visit him and always be surprised that someone in such a final stage of life could still be so witty. Because he never complained, it didn't seem as if he were suffering any great physical agony of any sort; although he surely must have been quite uncomfortable. But that was Tom--apparently he regarded complaining as a fairly useless exercise of emotions. I have to remember that. 
     Amid all the complaining, blaming, and self-pity that seems to come so naturally to human nature, there is another point of view that is available for those who have eyes to see: life is what it is with or without our permission.
     Though there are certainly exceptions to the rule in the overall scheme of human existence, especially when you consider what is going on in the world at large ("man's inhumanity to man"--I haven't figured out how to phrase that in a politically correct fashion), and even though there are definitely some mean-spirited people in the world, for the most part in our individual lives, things just happen because they happen. In other words, no one was out to get us, hurt us, or punish us. The world is not against us because it rains on the day we were going to the beach. We don't get a cold because someone wanted us to be sick. We didn't have a flat tire on the way to work because God doesn't like us.
     Is there a time to complain, to blame, and to feel sorry for ourselves? Of course there is. I just think we sometimes get carried away with it. We use it not as a healthy source of venting our emotions, but as an excuse for not taking responsibility for ourselves or as a way to control other people ("Do you see what you've done to me?" "it's your fault that I'm this way!" "Do you realize how you have ruined my life, my day, my happiness?"--those sort of things). Tom never complained. I definitely have to remember that.
     He will be missed by his family, his friends and those who knew him because he was a good person and pleasant to be around. He brought good energy to the world, and if there's one thing we need more of, it's that. And if there's one thing we need less of, it's the tendency in human nature to be so caught up with our misery that we make others miserable along with us.

"See, I am making all things new." (Revelation 21:5b

    
    

Where Life Is

 

 I had one of those frustrating days yesterday when my laptop and I disagreed on how it should be working. Talking to it did no good; begging was humiliating; and prayer didn't seem like an appropriate way to handle such a technical predicament (although I will confess that I used it anyway--even though I suspect that God probably doesn't regard such a thing as a priority in the world of human spiritual needs).
     I worked all day on it trying to get things back to "normal." I performed the usual system restore and disk cleanup and a few other computer incantations. But, alas, to no avail. I was left with the last resort effort of restoring my hard drive to the original factory settings, which, as many of you know, means that your files won't be saved--they will go to whatever mysterious realm old files go when they suddenly disappear.
     I'm happy to say that by the end of the day I was back in business. The old "all's well that ends well" adage had graciously applied to my situation. As a result, I had a peaceful night's sleep, thinking more highly of myself than I probably ought to have thought (paraphrasing the words of St. Paul in his letter to the church in Rome). All in all, it was a very satisfying result after a time of great frustration.
     Several years ago I did a program at the Pinelands (formerly Mt. Misery) with Gwen White (wife of one of our former bishops, C. Dale White). While we were setting up, we were talking about the fact that we both often refer to sources beyond United Methodist and Christian materials in general when we prepare to lead workshops. That discussion was very liberating for me personally to hear someone I deeply respected so much admit to that. And several years after that I was in correspondence with Bishop Reuben Job regarding a spiritual life center he was proposing in Nashville--also implying the use of some nontraditional resources. At the time,I had an interest in possibly being a part of that.
     So yesterday when I was going through what might have been an extremely frustrating time, I referred to one of my favorite non-Christian thinkers and writers--Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk. He talks about the perspective of "Being Here Now." In other words, be very present in the task or event in which you are engaged at the moment. When you do that, you do so with a nonjudgmental and even appreciative attitude. 
     If it's something fun, your attentiveness to the experience magnifies it with a greater sense of joy. If it's something frustrating, you see it as just what is and not as a curse of some kind.  Therefore you go about it as one of life's peculiar puzzles. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, when you do that, whatever you're doing, you are living life mindfully in the only moment you actually have at the time--the present moment. 
     In other words, if you're preparing dinner, be present in the experience of that. Be mindful of the task as a meaningful and important part of life and not as a terrible chore you have to carry out. And when you sit down to eat, be mindful of the pleasure of the food before you. 
     Anyway, the point is that as John Denver has sung, "Some Days Are Diamonds, Some Days Are Stone."  But both kinds of days are legitimately life. And as such are meant to be experienced, I believe, for what they are--in the present moment. By the way, that's where true peace exists and joy and love.
 


    
     
 

Sometimes That's Just the Way It Is

     It's been a while since I last posted, but we've been really busy with family matters. Chris's brother is in hospice care at the Masonic Home in Burlington. Her mom had a heart attack last week and was in Robert Wood Johnson in New Brunswick. On top of that, Chris has been handling all of the financial responsibilities for her brother's personal life and for his care in hospice. So we've been doing a lot of running around to the Masonic Home, to the hospital, to office buildings and, when possible, to the grocery store for our own lives here on the farm.
     I'm personally without a car these days since the one I was using finally gave up the ghost. But, hey, it was a great car in the sense that it got me to where I needed to be for the last year and a half or so and it made it to 260,000 miles. And considering the fact that I only paid a dollar for it, what's there to complain about?
     Also since I last posted, we've been to Maine once again. We never seem to have enough time up there to satisfy our spirits, but what little time we did spend was as enjoyable as usual. I managed to get to one of my favorite places--the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland,ME. They particularly feature the paintings of Andrew Wyeth along with some of his father's (N.C. Wyeth) and his son's (Jamie Wyeth). I am a major Wyeth fan and have also been to the Brandywine River Museum down in Brandywine, PA, and had a wonderful tour given by his granddaughter. I highly recommend that as a day trip for those of you who are in this general area.
     But life goes on in its inevitable way, doesn't it? We want full control over the circumstances and conditions of our lives, and sometimes we actually have it in a limited sort of way, but the key word there is "limited." The fact is that we can decide to be healthier by doing the things that make that possible. We can decide to pursue certain goals, and if we have the determination and persistence, we can usually bring about the desired results or something similar thereof.Yet no one is guaranteed a life of smooth sailing--not even the wealthiest, most intelligent, healthiest, most religious, or kindest people in the world.
     So what does this unpredictable nature of life mean? I think it means that we should go ahead and live life with a sense of joy and laughter when things are going well, a sense of openness and prayer when they are not, and a sense of thanksgiving that life overall is in the hands of a Divine Spirit whose wisdom and understanding far exceeds our own--even all of ours put together.

Sometimes that's just the way it is.