Ready Or Not

Joy to the World

It's rainy today out here on the farm, but not unpleasantly so. As a matter of fact, it's a bit inspiring. I suppose that's why I'm sitting at the computer, writing. 

We're 19 days away from Christmas at this point and for all I know, it will happen just like it always has. Nobody has to do anything to bring it about, although I have no doubt that many people, if not most, probably think that it can only take place if they do their part.

I passed the Quaker Bridge Mall a few days ago and the lot was jammed packed with cars and still other people driving around to find a place to park--any place would do. And I thought to myself that I was glad I wasn't one of them. But, of course, that's my personal choice and outlook. Don't get me wrong: I'm not against shopping and gifts and decorations and all the other wonderful traditions of the season. Far from it! As a matter of fact, I think all of that adds a lot of joy to the holiday festivities. 

The main thing to keep in mind, though, is that Christmas will happen with or without any of us doing anything. 

Years ago I was on a train from Greenwich, CT to Grand Central Station. It was a few days after Christmas. Along about 125th Street, the train slowly made it's way through an area of high rise apartment buildings. As I looked out, I could see apartment windows decorated with meager strings of lights and star or a face of Santa or a snowman or even a Nativity.

My first thought was along the lines of "isn't that a shame! Those poor people probably didn't have much of a Christmas, and if they have children, they probably got very little, if anything at all." Then I suddenly realized that that was a pretty shallow point of view. How would I know what kind of Christmas they had? As a matter of fact, they may have had a wonderfully rich Christmas, maybe not materially, but spiritually and emotionally. And isn't that which counts most?

Maybe they were all snuggled in, drinking hot chocolate, singing "Rudolph" or "Silent Night" and feeling warm inside the steamy windows. Maybe they celebrated with thanksgiving because someone who was ill--a child, a mother or father or grandparent--was well again. Maybe they were just admiring that single string of lights, their eyes dazzled with hope and love.

No, we don't make Christmas happen. It will happen all by itself. We can add to it if we wish and keep the traditions that mean so much to us. But it will happen all by itself. And if we are alert enough we will find its richness in the simple story of shepherds and Magi and a father and a mother and a child lying in a manger.

A Psalm of Nature

A couple of people have commented that I'm rather haphazard about writing for my blog. They are right, of course, but the thing is I try to do it as something genuinely strikes me that I feel may be worth sharing. I don't want it to be a case of just writing any old thing in order to habitually fill some space. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

This morning when I got up and checked the gage, it was 21 degrees outside. Now there's some inspiration for you! "The times, they are a changin,'" The past few times that we have been out hiking, we've walked a couple meadow-like fields at Fireman's Eddy. The experience for Chris and me as well as our faithful pup, Faye, has been exhilarating. 

The tinge of fall colors and the freshness of the air, the vegetation and the wildlife (Chris almost stepped on a quail), have been like a psalm written by nature itself. 

I've always been a bit of a romanticist, more inclined toward feelings than intellect; more appreciative of inspiration than perspiration (not that I want to spend 40 years in a cave contemplating my life.) I tend to be more interested in how something strikes me rather than why it strikes me in a particular way. All of that, of course, is a good reason why I would not have been a very good engineer or financial wizard. 

But that leads me to say that that is the reason we need everybody. Oh, we could very well do without mean-spirited, egotistical, narcissistic, and selfish people, and above all, most certainly those whom we consider to be evil. But the way life works best is when all of us follow our own inclinations for contributing to the common good.  i.e.-There isn't one universal model that we are all supposed to duplicate--one-single perfect image of a human being.

It's hard, though, because the world is always lifting up examples of the so-called ideal person, either in physique or beauty or intelligence. How sad! The entertainment industry thrives on that; ad agencies are based on that; even religions have an element of it in making judgments as to who is more righteous than whom.  

But to me, the truth is that we need one another. I'm not going to make a list here because it would be too long and I also wouldn't want to leave anybody out. The point is that anything anybody does that makes the world a better place, a more loving place, a more beautiful place, whether on the small or grand scale is exactly the way it's supposed to be.  

I suppose that's what taking those hikes in the meadow or mountain trail or deep in the Pinelands represents for me. Here is nature doing it's thing. The trees aren't in competition with the bushes nor the streams with the river nor the quails with the wild geese. They are all doing what they do best--being themselves. And as a result, they write the perfect psalm.

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