SoulMedley

Three Fishing Stories

2012-01-18T09:58:00.000-08:00

1. An old-timer sat on the river bank, obviously awaiting a nibble, though the fishing season had not officially opened. A uniformed officer stood behind him quietly for several minutes. "You the game warden?" the old-timer inquired.

"Yup."

Unruffled, the old man began to move the fishing pole from side to side. Finally, he lifted the line out of the water. Pointing to a minnow wriggling on the end of the line, he said, "Just teaching him how to swim."

2. Mark Twain once spent a pleasant three weeks in the Maine woods. On his way home making himself comfortable in the train to New York, a sour-faced man sat down next to him, and the two struck up a conversation. "Been to the woods, have ye?" asked the stranger.

"I have indeed," replied Twain. "And let me tell you something. It may be closed season for fishing up here in Maine, but I have a couple of hundred pounds of the finest rock bass you ever saw iced down in the baggage car. By the way, who are you, sir?"

"I'm the state game warden. Who are you?"

Said Twain, "Pleased to meet you. Who am I? Only the biggest liar in these United States."

3. Two ardent fishermen met on their vacation and began swapping stories about the different places they had fished, the kind of tackle used, the best bait, and finally about some of the fish they had caught. One of them told of a vicious battle he once had with a 300-pound salmon. The other man listened attentively. He frankly admitted he had never caught anything quite that big. However, he told about the time his hook snagged a lantern from the depths of a lake. The lantern carried a tag proving it was lost back in 1912. But the strangest thing of all was the fact that it was a waterproof lantern and the light was still lit.

For a long time the first man said nothing. Then he took one long deep breath. "I'll tell you what I'll do," he said slowly. "I'll take 200 pounds off my fish, if you'll put out the light in your lantern."

Fish stories. Gotta love 'em.

Jacob M. Braude, Braude's Treasury of Humor, (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1964)

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

torn apart for good

2012-01-10T14:20:00.000-08:00

Elsie Dewitt was upset when she came into the sanctuary. She wasn't able to sit in her place near the middle of her usual pew. The Murphys usually saved it for her, but they were out of town today, and there were several visitors in their places. Elsie had to sit near the end of the pew, next to the center aisle. She didn't like to sit next to the aisle. That was where her late husband had always sat.

But that wasn't the only reason she was upset. It was the second Sunday of the month, baptism Sunday, the Sunday her congregation set aside for baptisms. She could see at least three families with babies sitting near the front, not far from the baptismal font. No doubt the visitors in her pew were relatives of one of these families.

Elsie had to force herself to come to church on baptism Sundays. She came partly because she didn't know how she could explain to her friends why she didn't want to come, but mostly because she could never justify not going to worship. Elsie had been raised to believe that the Lord's day belonged to God. She always went to worship on Sunday. She wouldn't miss for any reason. Any other Sunday she would have been glad to have been there. Worship was a joy for her. Elsie had never thought of it as a duty. But baptism Sundays were different. They were something she suffered, like one might endure the occasional migraine headache. She viewed it as part of her lot in life.

The reason was a secret, a secret that she had shared with no one, not even her late husband. Her parents had known, of course, but they were long gone.

Then it happened. Her discomfort grew to panic, near terror. At the end of the baptismal liturgy, Elsie's heart skipped a beat. The pastor was headed her way, carrying one of the babies she had just baptized. It was a custom in the church for the pastor to give each baptized baby to someone in the congregation to hold during the baptismal prayer, as a way of welcoming him or her into the family of God. "It couldn't be. Oh no!" Elsie thought, as the pastor smiled at her and handed her the baby. One of her greatest fears had been realized. Now what was she going to do? She couldn't just hand the baby back to the pastor and ask her to give him to someone else. The child deserved better than that on his important day. But it wasn't right, it just wasn't right. If others had known her secret, they would know that she had no business holding the child of another during the consummation of a sacrament.

Elsie bit her lip and hung on to the baby, trying hard not to let her discomfort show. She breathed a sigh of relief when, at last, the pastor finished the prayer and took the baby back to his parents. The worst was over. But she was still so troubled by it all that when people stood for the next hymn, Elsie quietly slipped out of church. She left before the end of the service.

That afternoon Elsie called the pastor and asked if she could see her at her earliest convenience. She was determined to relieve herself of the burden of the terrible secret she had carried alone for all of these years. Elsie knew that if she didn't share it now, she would carry it with her into eternity.

Pastor Carol agreed to see her at two o'clock the next afternoon. Elsie arrived promptly at the appointed hour. She looked pale, and her eyes were swollen and red. "I couldn't sleep at all last night," she told Pastor Carol. "I've been deeply troubled ever since the baptisms yesterday. You may have noticed that I left the service early."

"I did see you go," Pastor Carol said, "and I'm glad you've come to talk about it."

"I'll have to start at the very beginning," Elsie said. And then she poured it all out. "I had a child out of wedlock when I was sixteen. My folks kept me home from school as soon as they found out I was expecting. Dad simply told the teacher that I was needed on the farm. In those days that was a common occurrence, so no one thought anything about it. And no one ever found out about the baby. My mother assisted me in the delivery. That went well enough, but the baby was small, and he had difficulty breathing from the first day. I knew I should have sent for the pastor and had him baptized, but I was afraid of what he might say. So we never sent for him. The baby, I had named him Edward, died two weeks after he was born. We buried him in the family cemetery on the ridge behind the house. I told my husband about the baby before we were married, but I have never been able to tell anyone about my failure to have him baptized. I tried to put it out of my mind, but every time I see a baby baptized in church, I remember, and I wonder if my baby is all right. I can't imagine that God would keep him out of heaven just because he hadn't been baptized, but I don't know. I worry about it, and even more now that I'm older."

Then Elsie broke down and wept. Pastor Carol got up, put her arms around her, and held her for a long time. Finally, Pastor Carol asked Elsie if she would trust her. Elsie said "Yes," and together she and Pastor Carol made some brief plans for the following Sunday.

The next Sunday morning Pastor Carol preached on the baptism of Jesus as recorded in Mark's gospel. She emphasized how Mark chose his words carefully when he said that Jesus saw "the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him." Jesus didn't just see the heavens open; he saw them "torn apart." This was very dramatic! God was needing to break into our world in a big way! Jesus' first sermon, about the sowing of the seed on different kinds of soil, would quote Isaiah when the prophet had said, 'These people have ears but can't hear, eyes but can't see.' In other words, we just weren't getting it. So Jesus when Jesus' ministry began, he didn't just see the heavens open, he saw them torn apart. That's what it was going to take to break into our own little worlds and get through to us.

Through to us about what?? Pastor Carol preached that what God needed to get through to us was about who God is. God is love, and nothing else that isn't about love. Or as John put it in his letter, "that God is light and in him there is no darkness at all" (1 John 1:5). We human beings, God's precious children, keep trying to make God into someone and something else, something besides love. And our religion is the worst of it. That's what most often plugs our ears and covers our eyes. That's why in Mark's Gospel, the only other place that he chooses to use the words "torn apart" was at the end.

Mark uses those words torn apart when Jesus first appears on the scene at his baptism, and when Jesus leaves the scene at his death: "Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom" (Mark 15:37-38). The temple curtain was torn apart. God needed to break through our religion most of all, to get us to see and hear who God is.

And Pastor Carol proceeded to give examples, examples of how our religion keeps leading us to try to know a different God than the God of unconditional love which Jesus came to show us. She carefully avoided the example of requiring baptism to the point of wondering what happens to babies when they aren't baptized, but she hoped that Elsie would 'hear' that God is love and not anything else. Would God have abandoned her little Edward because she had failed to baptize him? No! Pastor Carol avoided that example of how our religion gets in the way but gave many others.

Then, after she said "Amen" to her sermon, Pastor Carol announced that Elsie had something she wanted to share with everyone. Elsie got up from where she was sitting in her usual pew, walked hesitantly all the way up the aisle, then turned and stood facing the congregation about three feet in front of the baptismal font. Pastor Carol handed her the microphone. Elsie took a deep breath, and then she told them the whole story, just as she had related it in the pastor's office. When she was finished Pastor Carol took the cover off the baptismal font and invited everyone in the congregation to join hands as they prayed. And then, calling Elsie's long lost child by name, she commended him to God. Then she prayed the ending to the baptismal Prayer of Thanksgiving Over the Water:

Pour out your Holy Spirit, so that those who are here baptized may be given new life. Wash away the sin of all those who are cleansed by this water and bring them forth as inheritors of your glorious kingdom.

When the prayer was finished, Pastor Carol invited the congregation to come forward and dip their hands into the water and remember their baptisms. They all came. Elsie was the last to come. Her hands trembled as she lifted them up out of the water. Somewhere from deep inside herself she heard a voice saying that all was well: "You are my beloved child."

Why would I tell Elsies story...

There is something for us to hear, every Sunday...

The heavens were torn open for good...
Tearing apart the social fabric that separated rich from poor.
Breaking through hardness of heart to bring forth compassion.
Breaking through rituals that had grown rigid or routine.
Tearing apart the chains that bound some in the demon's power.
Tearing apart the notions of what it means to be God's Beloved Son.

Nothing would ever be the same, for the heavens would never again close so tightly

Note: the story which shapes this sermon is adapted from Lectionary Stories Cycle B, John E. Sumwalt, Lima, OH: CSS Publishing, 1990, pages 44-47.

How Can I Keep From Singing

2011-08-06T20:31:00.000-07:00

An old Lutheran hymn touched me deeply. I just have to share it somewhere!

"My Life Flows On in Endless Song,"

1 My life flows on in endless song;
above earth's lamentation,
I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.

Refrain
No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I'm clinging.
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

2 Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing.
It finds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

Refrain

3 What though my joys and comforts die?
The Lord my Savior liveth.
What though the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night he giveth.

Refrain

4 The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing!
All things are mine since I am his!
How can I keep from singing?

Refrain

Thanks ye old hymn writer!

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

Doxology

2011-06-29T15:33:00.000-07:00

Early one morning some years ago, Robert Raines wrote how he got into his car and started driving through the mountains. There was no one on the road as the mountains were quietly beginning a new day. The beautiful colors of autumn were splashed all over the trees (A great image of the coolness of an autumn mountain is always comforting to me during a heat wave). It was a magnificent and glorious sight as the early morning sun glistened upon the wonders of the mountains and the valleys below.

And then it happened… Robert Raines saw one of the most beautiful things he had ever witnessed in his life.

Right there at the very edge of that great mountain peak and facing the gorgeous valley below… was a young man in his early twenties with a trumpet pressed to his lips. And, do you know what he was playing? With his lungs expanded fully and releasing all of the energy in his soul, he was playing the Doxology on his trumpet! The traditional words are:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly host
Praise, Father, Son and Holy Ghost!

Our Chalice Hymnal has the alternate words:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise God all creatures here below
Praise God above ye heavenly hosts:
Creator, Christ, and Holy Ghost.

The point is clear: With all the stresses and problems in this life, still the truth is:
- We have so many doxologies to sing,
- So much to be grateful for,
- So many blessings to count.

The point is: Life is more than a grueling endurance test. Life is more than a survival game. Life is more than a coping competition.

So, you see… it’s not enough to just escape the stress. It’s not enough to just endure the stress. Thank God… there is another option…

With a Song in my Heart,
SoulSongWriter

Praying is Sometimes Selfish Praying

2011-05-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

I had a few things on my mind to share this week, but they seem to have been swept away as I watched coverage of the Oklahoma storm tonight (Tuesday). Now my ideas seem trivial seeing so many suffering such loss and so widespread. I’ve been talking frequently with God tonight, and must confess that yes some of those prayers were the “selfish prayers”, but more about that in a minute. My two grandchildren are in El Reno with their dad for the first six weeks of summer and they were just too damned close to that storm. Tonight they are safe along with the rest of their dad’s family.

And there were other family members who were also in my prayers. Every one of Linda’s brothers and sister were in one of the tornadoes’ paths: Mike in Piedmont, Teresa in Cashion, Bobby in Norman. Along with other nieces and nephews scattered around Oklahoma City. Then there are friends in just about every town listed tonight in storm coverage. One couple who lived West of El Reno has lost their home and all their possessions. Tonight Scott is sleeping in his car at their home site and M’Lynn is at Mercy Hospital in OKC where her brother is in critical condition after a fall earlier in the day. Not to mention that I still have not been able to find out information about a friend in Joplin, MO where a tornado destroyed much of the town Sunday night.

It is natural for us to say selfish prayers when loved ones are in harm’s way. But on an evening filled with storms can we truly expect that our prayers can steer storms away from our loved ones? What about those who perished in this evening’s storms? Didn’t they have someone praying for them? Is my prayer somehow better than someone else’s prayer? Why would God consider my grandchild more important than that three year old who is missing tonight outside of Piedmont? What would it say about God who answers one person’s prayer over another’s prayer? Do you see the dilemma? Many of our prayers are selfish. When we do what we can reasonably do, we should expect the same from God. And we need to spend more of our daily prayer time, listening to God. Listening is very much a part of our relationship with God. Every day is a journey with God. We are in relationship with God, not just asking for things in case of emergency.

Let me illustrate this way. Knowing what we know about automobile accidents, do we use seatbelts? Do we buckle our children into the recommended seats and restraint belts? Or do we depend upon our superior driving skills combined with the strength of our right arm to hold a child safely in place at impact? Oh and, either way we pray that God will keep us safe on our journeys. Accidents happen! We know that. Even with superior driving skills, accidents happen. It is imperative for us to do everything we can do to safely travel but accidents happen. Storms happen! People get hurt, die, and lose property every day somewhere in accidents and storms.

So, when I’m praying for friends and loved ones during storm season, I’m praying for their safety in that they hear the same warnings I’m hearing, and that they will take precautions as they are able. To pray “God protect my grandchildren” is to pray that they have adults around them making sound decisions and doing their very best to secure shelter. Then my daily relationship with God helps make me great enough to accept when accidents happen and storms destroy.

Let me know what you think on this subject. What do you pray in times of storms?

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

In the Sharing of the Bread

2011-05-16T10:18:00.000-07:00

A friend once told me, “If we would but speak the same language, there would be no war.”

To protect her identity I shall simply call her Becky. World War 2 broke out to the East from her home of Russelsheim, Germany. Located along the Main River just a few miles from where the Main and Rheine Rivers come together. The Rheine Main Region has long been known as a fertile agricultural plain.

Her dad was a finance worker for the Opel car manufacturing company which made her hometown a center of commerce since 1898 when Adam Opel, the founder manufactured his first automobile. He worked for the auto company until all the men were called up to serve in the German Army. There was no choice, either you served or you were shot and your family shunned. All of the able bodied men from Russelsheim were sent to the Russian front.

Becky was the second of two daughters. She has wonderful memories of her dad. He rode a motorcycle the few short miles to the auto plant offices. She remembers thrilling rides in the motorcycle’s side-car when she was small and she knew she was a big girl when she graduated to riding behind him on the seat. The country roads were a delight as he taught her to lean into the curves, lean to the right, to the left, and back to the right. One winter he walked with her through fresh snow three or four miles to Mainz, where he bought her a sled and pulled her all the way home on the snow covered road. She remembers hours and hours of sledding down a nearby hill.

In the summer months she and her best friend a nearby neighbor, they lived in a new home on the edge of Russelsheim where all of the prominent auto workers lived, played marbles. Her friend Karl was a sneaky marble player. I reckon German children played keepers as well. Karl was competitive and sneaky in all chidren’s games. Becky was fed up with his tactics, yelling and calling him a name she stormed into the house and right into her dad. He had observed the whole episode and that day she learned not to call anyone a name. Her dad spanked her for the only time she could remember. And it hurt, not because he spanked with any force, but because he was her daddy and he of all the people she loved, gave her a spanking. She had let him down and she learned to never call anyone a name.

And then the war came. Her dad loaded on to a bus in a long line of buses and there she saw him for the last time. On the Russian front early in Hitler’s war, Becky’s dad perished. By the age of seven she knew not to call anyone bad names, but she also learned prejudice and hatred. The Russians killed her dad and she hated anything Russian with all her being.

A few short years later she would experience first hand the shear terror of war, when Russelsheim was targeted for bombing by the allied forces. Her mom taught her a survival faith through the long nights of bombing. The sirens would sound and the girls would huddle with their mom in the basement. She would settle them to restless sleep with the assurance that God would take care of them. God would provide. As Becky speaks, she closes her eyes and nods in the affirmative, yes, God would provide. Every time the Oklahoma storm sirens sound and she hears the thunder, she remembers, God will provide.

During the time of the bombings she witnessed a most evil event of the war right there in her hometown. History tells it this way:

During World War II, Russelsheim was bombed several times by the British RAF. The RAF followed a policy of "area bombing" of cities. The day after one such bombing, August 26th, 1944, an American B-24 Liberator was shot down after bombing nearby Hanover (American policy did not allow for area bombing as did the British; the American crew had been bombing an airport). The nine member America crew was captured and under guard was placed on a train to a POW camp routed thorough Russlesheim. Due to damage done to the railyards, the captured crew and their guards were forced to alight and walk to another location to catch another train. During this walk, the townspeople of Russelsheim saw the crew and vented their anger on the crew, shouting insults and spitting. Assuming the crew were "Canadians" and that they had taken part in the bombing of their town the night before, this group grew larger. One woman shouted out "There are the terror flyers. Tear them to pieces! Beat them to death! They have destroyed our houses!" She threw a brick at the crew and that precipitated a riot during which the townsfolk attacked the crew with rocks, hammers, lumber and shovels. Six of the crew were killed. A local Nazi official administered a final shot to four of the men. The bodies of the dead crew were hidden at the rear, outside of the town cemetery. (Wikipedia, Russelheim)

Why, as a child she did not understand, how could she? But the Americans were buried outside the fence of their community cemetery.

Before the bombing, before the mob’s riot at the tender age of seven, her heart broken knowing, remembering her dad would never return home, Becky learned a lesson so profound that it would change her life and faith.

Across the river in the neighboring town of Florsheim lived some Russian men. Whether they were deserters or prisoners of war, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. These men would walk the seven or eight miles from Florsheim to Russelsheim to work for food and survival. One day after school Becky was doing her homework at the kitchen table when a man knocked at their front door. Becky could hear most of the conversation between the man and her mom as they stood on the front stoop. He inquired if there was a man around the house to do the work that obviously needed to be done?

She clearly heard her mom say her dad’s name, Becky looked out the window and saw her mom point at the man’s chest and say “Kaput”! Kaput, the universal word for dead. Becky held her breath as the man stepped off the front stoop and walked around the side of the house, directly by the kitchen window. She watched as he found his way to the garage out back and went inside. Returning to her school work her mother walked back into the kitchen and started preparing their supper by baking bread.

Becky worked on her math and other homework enjoying the smell of fresh baking bread. Before she knew it, her mom had wrapped a fresh loaf and told her to take it to Frederick in the garage out back. If he did some repairs and cleaning up back their her mom had promised him a loaf of bread. It was a little after 5 in the afternoon and the man was no where to be found. She called his name and looked all around relieved that he was not there and reported back to her mom who investigated for herself. When mom came back into the kitchen she turned to Becky and said, he must have left to walk back to Florsheim. Quick, you have strong legs, run and catch him and give him this loaf of bread.

Becky took off running, out of her neighborhood and down the road, up the bend and to the top of the hill she ran. It was the same hill where the winter before she sled down its slope on her new sled. She could see the backs of men disappearing into the trees down the road. She yelled with all her might, waving the bread over her head. “Frederick! Frederick! Frederick!” Two of the men stopped, looked back at her and then called up the road. Like an echo the name Frederick went up the valley.

About the time she was ready to give up. For a seven year old girl it seemed like eternity, a man emerged from the woods and climbed the hill toward her. She knew it was the same man who had walked by her window earlier that afternoon. As he closed the space between them, Becky held out the loaf of bread to this Russian man, whom she was sure had killed her daddy. Then he did the strangest thing, he looked at the ground and then slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. She not speaking Russian, pointed to herself (my momma) shaking the loaf at him (baked this bread for you Frederick) He smiled gently, leaned over and with his finger made a cross on her forehead, then took the bread, bowed and turned and walked down the hill and disappeared down the road.

The thought had formed the instant he touched her forehead with the sign of the cross. What? These Russians might also be Christian. I never knew they had a church, the Russian Orthodox Church. This man from Russia is a Christian too.

If only we could speak the same language there would be no more war. The young girl knew him in the sharing of the bread.

With a Song in My Heart,
SoulSongWriter

Bring on the Rain

2011-04-13T13:20:00.000-07:00

This is the fourth day that I am praying for rain.

Lord, the crops need moisture badly.

I know I said after witnessing flash floods in my hometown last summer
That I wouldn't again pray for rain,

And maybe I sound fickle, but there is so much suffering

and so much pain

and such a burden for farmers and their families,

please, Lord, bring on the rain.

Gentle, nourishing, pond filling rain
would be ideal.

I can almost hear the music in the rain.

But for now I hear the land lamenting from drought.

Lord bring on the rain.

with a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

How do you recover?

2011-03-31T10:15:00.000-07:00

it's now old news in the way of our world. if it weren't for the continuing nuclear concerns I doubt we would even hear about Japan. they are a developed nation. so why should we care?

the fact that thousands remain missing and that they may never be accounted for should tap our compassion. and then there are all those thousands upon thousands of people living in shelters. from our church's emergency response ministries read this article with a kleenex in hand: http://www.weekofcompassion.org/updates/

New Orleans and much of the Gulf Coast are still recovering from Hurricane Katrina. i just can't imagine adding on an earthquake/tsunami/nuclear disaster. and then there is the third world country of Haiti. have they rebuilt?

drop every bit of spare change in a bucket. give it to Week of Compassion so they can keep helping.

with a song in my heart (a soulful sad one today)
SoulSongWriter

what good is blogging?

2011-03-30T12:07:00.000-07:00

what good is it to start a blog and rarely write? i've been asking myself lately. lots of times i have an idea but never get around to writing about it. which reminds me of my book i'm writing. i'd give you the title but then you might be tempted to steal my idea.

i suppose that myers/briggs was right, i am a definitely a "fp". i would explain that but i've got to run now.

with a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

T’Rex and Buttons

2010-08-17T14:02:00.000-07:00

A friend gave me a cute button the other day. Now, I didn’t say he was as cute as a button, although I’m sure his bride thinks so. But the button was cute.

It has a simply drawn fish facing another simply drawn fish that happens to have feet. The first fish has the word “Jesus” printed across it, and the second fish with feet has the word “Darwin” printed across it. They are facing each other, like two fish kissing and hearts are bubbling up from their embrace.

The message of the button is pretty clear to me. Christians and Evolutionists embrace each other. I’ve never considered either to be exclusive of the other. Mind, heart, and faith go together for a wholly complete life. Yes, I am interested to from whence I came to be. Yes, I’m a believer.

What is all the fuss about? How come so many folks have this tendency to choose up sides? I just don’t accept the “us versus them” mentality. (Mayhaps, when it comes to football, but that’s a different story. Go TCU Horned Frogs!) I don’t want to be one of those Christians with a chip on my shoulder and looking for a fight, or worse a crusade. Let’s face it, Godless Evolution vs Creationism are labels for fighting positions. We should just take off our labels and dialogue.

I drive an automobile. My car does not run on corn syrup, it prefers petrol gas. That gasoline comes from decayed T’Rexes and numerous other dinosaurs. I cannot find one dinosaur named in my Bible, but I’m pretty sure they existed at one time. As a matter of observance, if you go by the way the Bible describes time, history only goes back so many thousand years and that just doesn’t give enough time for dinosaurs to turn into petroleum oil.

I believe God measures time on a whole different level than the way I do. I’m not so sure that a day as written by the ancients in Genesis equals one of my 24 hour days. I’m not limiting God, but I’m just sayin’ as another song writer once did, “there’s a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on!”

Let’s talk sometime about from whence we came.

With a song in my heart.
SoulSongWriter

Chapter Two

2010-06-28T15:22:00.000-07:00

Well, a friend told me yesterday they had read my blog, which reminded me I should probably make a new entry. Funny how time flies. My last entry was back in April. So much since then. My daughter had back surgery. My grandkids are at their dad's for summer break as the divorce decreed. I've had a week of vacation. Here it is almost the Fourth of July and I'm still addicted to Dr. Pepper.

My friend also said that he understood my problem with Dr. Pepper because he has been working on giving up smoking. I had not made a connection with D.P. and cigarettes. At least that's one addiction I don't suffer, smoking. We all know there is a physical addiction to smoking called nicotine. There's nothing like nicotine in Dr. Pepper.

But there is Sugar! Well more precisely, corn syrup. Maybe the old formula is better with cane sugar. I like that form of D.P. too. And I've been told by many friends that the stuff in diet drinks is more harmful than sugar. But then that all feels like rationalizing.

I guess there are worse addictions than D.P. At least I've moderated my D.P. drinking. Only twice since April have I gotten a refill. Okay, three times, but other than that I'm limiting it to just one 12 oz. serving.

Does sweet tea count against me?

With a song in my heart and sweet tea in my cup.
SoulSong Writer

No More d.p.

2010-04-21T12:15:00.000-07:00

It all started 10 years ago when I woke up from a coma. I was thirsty, I mean really, really thirsty. They gave me popsicles. Like that relieves a guy's thirst. They knew what I wanted, and as soon as my voice recovered from the intubation tube, I'd let 'em know. IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE? i want dr. pepper and i want it now!!! I vowed then that I would always have a dr. pepper ready and waiting. I fully recovered from my illness but d.p. had it's vicious hold on me. Frequently I would say in my whisper of a voice, "Did you ever dance with the Devil by the Pale Moonlight?" Now I know that devil's name, d.p.

Breaking News, this just in. My blood test results. I'm .2 below the acceptable amount for glucose. In a year, maybe two I could become another American statistic: obese and diabetic. As my good friend Mr. Bill used to say, "O NOOOOOOO!" So I must give up d.p. i Must give up d.p. i must GiveUP d.p.

With a song in my heart, and a glass of tea in my hand,
SoulSongWriter

APRIL NINETEENTH

2010-04-19T12:23:00.000-07:00

April 19, 1995. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was getting ready to turn off the morning news and head out the door. "Breaking News!" "A bomb or some explosion in downtown Oklahoma City" "We think it is the Federal Courthouse." I take mental family inventory. Wife - at work at the eye doctor's office. Daughter - at school. My secretary had just served on jury duty at the Federal Courthouse. I pick up the phone. We talk about the absurdity of a bombing in OKC.

OKC, my hometown. Why would anyone pick downtown OKC?

"Breaking News" "We've confirmed that some kind of explosion has occurred in downtown Oklahoma City. All emergency personnel are requested to report to work."

"Breaking News." "St. Anthony Hospital is on full alert. The first victims are being brought their."

St. Anthony Hospital? I was born there.

My wife calls. My daughter is on a school bus in OKC. They have a field trip to the science museum. She is fine. Saw the explosion from the Interstate and thought it was a lightning strike. When they got to the museum, all children were held on the buses. By noon they were on their way home. She called from McD's where they had stopped.

Watching CNN News in the afternoon. "The first rescue team to enter the basement of the Murrah Building has just come out. Here's one of the firemen, we'll interview him."

There he was, my childhood best friend. His Dad had been a Fireman. That's Boone on CNN. I've got to talk to him. I'll call his mom and get the phone number.

APRIL 19 - REMEMBERING THE VICTIMS, THEIR FAMILIES, AND THE RESCUE WORKERS!

A Prayer for Children

2009-09-16T12:58:00.000-07:00

I'm studying Mark 9:37 this week and came across the following prayer for children. Warning I had to reach for a tissue before I finished it. The words are not my own. But I thank Author Unknown for writing them:

A Prayer for the Children

We pray for the Children
who sneak popsicles before supper,
who erase holes in math workbooks,
who can never find their shoes.

And we pray for those
who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
who can't bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who never "counted potatoes,"
who are born in places where we wouldn't be caught dead,
who never go to the circus,
who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children
who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money.

And we pray for those
who never get dessert,
who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can't find any bread to steal,
who don't have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
whose monsters are real.

We pray for children
who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
who never rinse out the tub,
who get visits from the tooth fairy,
who don't like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
who squirm in church and scream in the phone,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those
whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who have never seen a dentist,
who aren't spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children
who want to be carried and for those who must,
who we never give up on and for those who don't get a second chance.
For those we smother and...
for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it.

Amen. And Amen.

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

Pilgrimage Continues

2009-09-09T13:45:00.000-07:00

If life has taught me anything, it has taught me that the journey is always "to be continued". It has been one year since I returned from my first week at the monastery and I still struggle with a daily disciplined prayer life. It's so easy until I get busy. The busier I am, the more I need prayer. The more I need prayer, the less I find time to pray because I'm "too busy."

Knowing what I need with my "head" is not enough, I must quest with my "heart." So I return today to Psalm 46:10 "Be still and know that I am God." And I return to the first part of the prayer equation. BE STILL!

In a little over an hour I begin coaching youth, first Middle School, then High School Youth on taking a prayer pilgrimage. I will be honest with them. I will tell them that I have difficulty with it, but I will be able to encourage them because a pilgrimage is a continuing journey.

So, over the river and through the hills, I go. Until I find a rest area along the side of the road, and then for a few minutes I remember..."BE STILL!"

hAVE A bLEST dAY!
SoulSongWriter

Home Where It's Hot, But Still Home

2009-07-01T13:22:00.000-07:00

Back in the mountains...

The air was cool and refreshing.
The well water was cool and refreshing.

Back home the air is HOT!
The water is warm.
The land is flat.

And I wonder??????

What's it like in Afghanistan?

What's it like in Iraq?

(Talk 'bout hot, gotta be hot there!)

When will our boys and girls get to come home?

Where the air's hot, the water's warm, the land is flat?

The 4th of July is coming.

God bless those who are so far from their home!!!!

Come home!

Come home soon!

HOME WHERE IT'S HOT, BUT STILL HOME!

sOULsONGwRITER

Will America Ever Harmonize Again?

2009-05-21T13:18:00.000-07:00

Have we grown so cynical as a people that it is impossible to carry on a conversation with disagreements and remain civil to each other? Must we demonize those with whom we disagree, or risk being demonized? President Barack Obama stood before the 2009 Notre Dame graduating class and spoke of our global polarization:

"We too often seek advantage over others. We cling to outworn prejudice and fear those who are unfamiliar. Too many of us view life only through the lens of immediate self-interest and crass materialism; in which the world is necessarily a zero-sum game. The strong too often dominate the weak, and too many of those with wealth and with power find all manner of justification for their own privilege in the face of poverty and injustice. And so, for all our technology and scientific advances, we see here in this country and around the globe violence and want and strife that would seem sadly familiar to those in ancient times."

Yet the news reporters only chose to focus upon the abortion protest. In case you missed Obama's words on the issue:

"Maybe we won't agree on abortion, but we can still agree that this heart-wrenching decision for any woman is not made casually; it has both moral and spiritual dimensions. So let us work together to reduce the number of women seeking abortions; let's reduce unintended pregnancies. Let's make adoption more available. Let's provide care and support for women who do carry their children to term. Let's honor the conscience of those who disagree with abortion, and draft a sensible conscience clause ..."

Finally he spoke of humility and doubt as virtuous:

"Remember, too, that the ultimate irony of faith is that it necessarily admits doubt. It's the belief in things not seen. It's beyond our capacity as human beings to know with certainty what God has planned for us or what [God] asks of us. And those of us who believe must trust that [God's] wisdom is greater than our own.

"And this doubt should not push us away from our faith. But it should humble us. It should temper our passions, cause us to be wary of too much self-righteousness. It should compel us to remain open and curious and eager to continue the spiritual and moral debate that began for so many of you within the walls of Notre Dame. And within our vast democracy, this doubt should remind us even as we cling to our faith to persuade through reason, through an appeal whenever we can to universal rather than parochial principles, and most of all through an abiding example of good works and charity and kindness and service that moves hearts and minds."

Mr. President is calling us to sing a new song! Will we? And will we harmonize?

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

Easter Mini Miracle

2009-04-15T13:37:00.000-07:00

Holy Week and Easter Sunday 2009 – now a recent passing. I experienced my Easter panic and Easter mini-miracle over the last few days. I gathered my sermon notes and Easter offerings and rushed out the door Easter morning at 6:15 a.m. I grabbed the newspaper, tossed it into the garage and hopped in my car for the one minute commute to church. Easter Sonrise Service would begin at 6:40 a.m. It was cool and misty.

Upon arrival in my office I had my Easter Offering Envelope but our check for the weekly offering was nowhere to be found. No time for thorough search it’s time for Sonrise Service, then Easter Breakfast. Back in the office, the check was missing. I walked out on the now wet and puddly parking lot. The breeze was gentle from the East, it couldn’t have gone far. My precious wife searched the counter back home where I had scooped it all up. No check.

Monday came. I walked the whole parking lot, searched the grass all along our side of the busy street. No check to be found. Now a little worried I checked my account at the bank on line. Nothing unusual there. I worked on and finished my taxes.

Tuesday came. I rechecked the kitchen counter, my office, the church side of the street, then crossed and searched the grass and ditch across the busy road. I spotted trash in the culvert, but none of it looked like a check. It was gone. Checked the account online and found it in its usual order. I thought about closing the account and opening a new one. I know, what a hassle, but what if the one who found my check was of the criminal mind. Just dry it out from the rain. Everything you need to print your own checks was there. I would lose my identity and face financial ruin. I watch the news. I know how they work.

Wednesday, still stewing over my certain disaster, I stepped out the door to go to lunch. A potato chip bag caught my eye tumbling across the church lawn. There, I haven’t looked there around those bushes. My shoes sunk into the mud. How clumsy of me I thought. What’s that on the ground on the West side of the bushes? It looks like a crumpled tissue. I walked to it. There it was, the check, all wrinkled and mud covered, but dry. A piece of trash? NO! It was my own mini Easter miracle.

I won’t be changing my account now. It is OK, I might even say it runneth over. Why, Oh Why do I worry so?

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

Farewell Paul Harvey

2009-03-09T09:57:00.000-07:00

“Stand by for Newwws! …and now for the rest of the story.” Two lines from Paul Harvey. With his death last week came a flood of nostalgia. You wouldn’t think that a bunch of high school boys were Paul Harvey fans, but that’s the way it was for our lunch hour back in 1970-71. We were Sophomores at Capitol Hill, and no one was driving yet, so we grabbed our lunch at the fast line and headed for Garnand’s house, a five block jog. Off we went – me, Garnand, Terry, and Donnie. Donnie was the biggest and we new we were safe when he was with us. The last thing you wanted was to be caught by yourself.

We escaped the campus because it was the best way to stay out of trouble. Racism and fighting were at a rampant. It was “Remember the Titans” without the victories. Our high school football team went totally defeated for five years. We made the NBC today show when our losing streak hit 45. Lunch time was a likely time for a fight or two in the cafeteria or hallway leading to it. All we wanted was to avoid getting hurt, so we did what all the sane kids did, we left the campus. We didn’t want anything to do with switchblades, chains, and tire irons – the weapons of choice in those days.

We’d get to Garnand’s unwrap our sandwiches just time to here that familiar voice, “Stand by for Newwws!” Maybe it was his voice, and the daily ritual that kept our sanity. And every day I always had the same lunch: Barbecue Sandwich (never new what the meat was / didn’t care), Fritos, and a school cafeteria cinnamon roll(the best ever!), and no-bake chocolate oatmeal cookies. Maybe it was the cinnamon roll and chocolate that got us through.

Paul Harvey kept us in touch with the quirky news. We’d here about the stupid criminal mistakes, the unsung heroes, and of course – “the rest of the story”. Then right back for afternoon class. Occasionally I would hear that voice driving across town. I’d wonder where the guys are now. I’ve lost touch with the lunch bunch gang, didn’t even see them at the 30 year class reunion. But wherever they were, I’d hope they’d hear, “Stand by for Newwws!”

Farewell Paul Harvey!

with a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

Looking for the Music

2009-03-04T12:46:00.000-08:00

Two keyboards and there they sit silent, one in my office and one at home. I've tinkered just a few times since I've come back to work. Makes last Fall all the more special. I just cannot find the time for music. I miss it, truly I do. Mayhaps a break will come.

Music is there, even new music. One of the songwriters I met in Nashville is releasing a new country album, her debut album. She has had success with others singing her songs. Sara Evans sang Saints and Angels. Jessica Simpson sang Come On Over. Now she has recorded her own. If you like country, check it out at http://www.VictoriaBanks.net She's a fresh a voice and good country music.

At least there is always time to listen to the music. The season is changing. There's more music in the air. Listen. I can listen. Even if there's not time to play. I'll listen.

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

Did I Miss Ash Wednesday?

2009-02-26T09:51:00.001-08:00

Somehow, someway Ash Wednesday came and went and I did not give up anything for Lent this year. Excuse #1 No one requested an Ash Wednesday Service. Excuse #2 I did not inflict an Ash Wednesday Service upon the church. Excuse #3 I did not attend an Ash Wednesday Service.

As a matter of fact, I did not see any reminders it was Ash Wednesday nor did I see anyone with ashes on their forehead until late last night, a little before 10:00 p.m. when I tuned into the OSU vs Colorado basketball game. There on the television screen was a player from Colorado with the mark of the Ashes.

Did I miss Ash Wednesday? Forgive me for I am a sinner, but truthfully, I did not experience the feeling of missing as in "missing out" on anything. I really didn't want to give up anything for Lent this particular year. The Doctor has already limited me to just one Dr. Pepper per day, and told me to limit my chocolate intake. Furthermore, he told me to buy a Nintendo Wii and the Wii Fit and get to playing it, because I might accidentally exercise in the process.

On the other hand, I would like to give up the feeling of HECTIC pace of life. I would like to find the SERENITY I found while on Sabbatical and not wait 5 years for the next Sabbatical. So I have given myself the gift of resuming the prayer schedule the Monastics gave to me last Fall. I'm positive that a dose of daily Contemplation will help me.

So, I'm going to take up a few moments of silence and solitude three times a day during Lent. I'm fine with the monastic name for these prayer times, Morning Vigil, Midday Prayer, and Evening Vespers. So if you see me walking down the street or out around the church, simply know that I'm not just walking for exercise, but I've decided to take a prayer walk.

With a song in my Heart,
SoulSongWriter

DOUBT?!

2009-01-13T08:04:00.000-08:00

Doubt?!?!

In my youth I remember reading an essay suggesting a new punctuation mark, a mark that combined the “?” with the “!”. The idea struck a resonance with me as a teenager that continues to this very day for such a mark communicates for me the nature of doubt… ?!?!?!?!?!?

It brings a certain symmetry to life’s doubts?! It could even be expressed, “!?” I had not thought much about doubt until a recent movie. On a trip to the City (I doubt “Doubt” will be shown in Enid) my wife and I agreed on a very rare date at the movies. We saw “Doubt”. Here’s what the press release says about it:

DOUBT
Synopsis
John Patrick Shanley brings his play DOUBT to the screen, in a story about the quest for truth, the forces of change, and the devastating consequences of blind justice in an age defined by moral conviction.

It’s 1964, St. Nicholas in the Bronx. A vibrant, charismatic priest, Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman), is trying to upend the school’s strict customs, which have long been fiercely guarded by Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep), the iron-gloved Principal who believes in the power of fear and discipline. The winds of political change are sweeping through the community, and, indeed, the school has just accepted its first black student, Donald Miller. But when Sister James (Amy Adams), a hopeful innocent, shares with Sister Aloysius her guilt-inducing suspicion that Father Flynn is paying too much personal attention to Donald, Sister Aloysius is galvanized to begin a crusade to both unearth the truth and expunge Flynn from the school. Now, without a shred of proof or evidence except her moral certainty, Sister Aloysius locks into a battle of wills with Father Flynn, a battle that threatens to tear apart the church and school with devastating consequences.

DOUBT was written for the screen and directed by John Patrick Shanley. The film stars Meryl Streep, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams and Viola Davis. The film is produced by Scott Rudin and Mark Roybal, with Celia Costas as Executive Producer. Director of Photography is Roger Deakins, ASC, BSC; Production Designer is David Gropman; Editor is Dylan Tichenor, ACE; Costume Designer is Ann Roth; Music is by Howard Shore; Casting is by Ellen Chenoweth; Sound Mixing is by Danny Michael, CAS, Lee Dichter, CAS and Ron Bochar, CAS; Sound Editing is by Ron Bochar.

If you are still thinking about a movie a few weeks after viewing it, I would suggest it has made an impression!?!? Such it is with “Doubt”. I joked about having my doubts when we entered the theatre. I continue to have my doubt, and always will. The only certainty I find is that life is fluid. Perhaps that’s why water is so prevalently mentioned in Scripture.

With a song in my heart,
SoulSongWriter

Time Compressed

2009-01-05T09:21:00.000-08:00

Am I the only person that feels like I must have been living in fast forward for the last month? How is it that time has become so compressed? It seems like Thanksgiving was just last week, and here we are in the New Year. No wonder I have trouble writing 2009.

A friend who has lived longer and is much wiser than me, once explained it to me this way. When you are a youngster, say aged 11, you have only experienced eleven Christmases, and most likely only remember seven of them. When you are 52, you have experienced 52 Christmases, when 76 - 76, and so on. Since you have lived through more, the perspective is different about time. The longer you live, the quicker the seasons, even years come and go.

I find a conspiracy theory much more plausible. The time has simply been stolen from me. I'd be glad to explain it more, but I'm out of time. Besides, I still have Christmas Cards to mail.

with a song in my heart,
SoulSong Writer

Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas

2008-12-01T13:23:00.000-08:00

I've already heard "the Rant" on a local television station about some community changing the name of their "Christmas" parade to "Holiday" parade. Here we go again. Why are some Christians in such an uproar, expressing hurt and anger when the word "Christmas" is deleted from a community/ cultural event? It seems to me that the true meaning Christmas was stolen by the culture years ago, when "Merry Christmas" replaced "Thank You" from retailers. Christmas has become a Consumer holiday rather than a true Holy Day.

This morning's news talked about the economy hurting local charities (http://www.enidnews.com/localnews/local_story_336001950.html). And at the same time "Black Friday" (where merchants measure the sales to post their profits) seems to measure the christmas spirit of shoppers. Is that what Christmas is all about?

Mayhaps, I'm out of step, but we best remember the Prophets of old about providing for the widows and children and least among us, rather than the profits of greed and selfishness. Something has gone terribly wrong when a WalMart worker is trampled to death upon opening the store for black friday christmas shoppers ...(http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2008/11/28/2008-11-28_worker_dies_at_long_island_walmart_after.html)

With a prayer of confession in my heart, maybe tomorrow I will sing again.

SoulSongWriter

The Serenity Prayer

2008-11-19T11:39:00.000-08:00

It's been two weeks since my last posting. I guess I haven't had anything to say. A good friend passed away yesterday, and his family shared with me the full version of the Serenity Prayer to be read at his memorial service. I've been familiar with this quote for many years, and now with this writing, I guess it is obvious that I didn't pay enough attention to everything that Reinhold Niebuhr wrote for here is the full version:

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right

if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life

and supremely happy with Him

Forever in the next.

Amen.

Rienhold Neibuhr (1892-1971)

Grace and peace, with a song in my heart

SoulSongWriter

Election Results

2008-11-04T09:50:00.000-08:00

It's almost lunch time, 11:45 a.m. on November 4, and I am ready to be the first to publicly declare a winner in today's election. The winner is...

The American People!

At 7:30 a.m. this morning the church parking lot was full. Why? Because a polling place is located in the lobby of the apartments behind our building. The parking lot has filled and emptied all morning long. I voted down the street at the location of another church that held a polling place. The line went out the door and down the sidewalk. It took thirty-five minutes to vote. Where else but in America is there such a demonstration of Freedom and the right of the people to Choose leadership! I truly wish the turnout was this good on every election, local and national. Could it be that our greatest threat is complacency?

In my young life, this was my tenth time to have the privilege to vote in a presidential election. I asked the couple behind me in line, how many presidential elections have you voted in? "I don't know", she said, "Eisenhour, 1952 was our first election." I thought to myself, that was just a few years before I was born.

I simply want to lift up and accentuate the positive today, that even with all of the bad news, there remains some good news. People of America, we all won the election today. We all have the right to vote on our governing leadership.

Thank you Lord, for letting me live in a corner of the world where my opinion officially counts.

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

Final Week of Sabbatical

2008-10-27T20:46:00.000-07:00

Wow! What a wonderful journey this has been. Since my last writing, words came to me for the tune “healing waters” and the title is changed to “A Saint’s Prayer”. Late in the night the words came to me based on the outpouring of the man’s life at the laundry. In summary, “I know you’re there Lord, just hear my plea.” We’ve all said that at one time or another.

For worship Sunday I attended worship with the Episcopalian congregation where Padre Steve is one of my Lectionary study buddies. (I’m actually meeting with my buddies to help me prepare to return this Sunday before I take my last few days to visit my mother.) As I entered the worship service, I felt that my journey had come full circle. Episcopalians share much in common with the Roman Catholic tradition at the Pecos Benedictine Community and having begun my journey I felt it unique that I was concluding at a worship experience so very similar, but with one important difference, the Eucharist. Having been excluded from the full fellowship of the table at Pecos, it brought tears to my eyes to receive communion at the altar rail of the Episcopal church. All our traditions are near yet so far!

I am grateful to all who have made this Sabbatical journey possible. The dedicated Lay Leadership at Christian Church of the Covenant has made a huge difference in this Pastor’s life. I’ve been given the freedom and resources to pursue a dream of music. In many ways the song is only just begun. Some exciting adventures lay ahead with the Seasons of Thanks, Advent, and Christmas. I’ve been invited to participate in an Ordination the first Saturday of December. Thanks for sharing this journey with me. I will try to keep the blog going from week to week.

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

Two Songs, Well Almost

2008-10-23T11:40:00.000-07:00

I know it’s been over a week since I’ve written. Linda was here and we attended our first ever War Eagle Mill Craft Weekend and still didn’t make it to all the craft shows in the area. We spent Saturday night with Mindi and her boys Carson and Cole in Fayetteville and attended the early worship “praise” service at First Christian with Mindi. It was a delightful service. We appreciated the wonderful hospitality. When I returned to my campsite, I encountered my first real problem of the stay, no water. My one neighbor explained that a major water leak had shut down the back side of the camp. She helped round up enough hose to cover a football field and helped me hook up to water at the front of the camp.

I finished an instrumental song… no words yet and perhaps it doesn’t need any words. I’ve decided to call it “Healing Waters” after visiting the Blue Spring Heritage Center and gardens, and learning the history of Eureka Springs. I visited there on Tuesday. Words alone cannot describe. I’ll try to remember to put the pictures on my church web site. And I would hope that the song might convey, even without words, the feeling of the place.

My first song, “Time Won’t Wait for Friends” is close to completion. I just need to spend some time on the computer manually correcting my “midi” mistakes. I’m still no musician but I’m finding it easier to play, the more I play. The music is definitely all around me. If I had another month I’m sure I could write several songs now. However, I am having a few technical problems with my computer.

I met an interesting man at the laundry yesterday. He told me a good bit of his life story. It is truly interesting what happens when you simply listen. I even visited his home where he showed me a video of his work with big cats, you know lions and tigers and more, oh my! We then went out to the game reserve he founded. The rain chased us back inside before we could complete the tour. I suppose our meeting was another one of those “God” things. We just happened to cross paths at the laundry. I wish I had met him sooner in my stay here. Hopefully, if the weather clears, I will visit with him again before I leave. He would like to show me a place he describes as a “Holy Place”.

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

God Understands Giggles in Church (I hope)

2008-10-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

Is it OK to get the giggles in church? It doesn’t happen to me very often (I can’t remember the last time), but there I sat during Holy Communion, no less, doing my absolute best to hold back the giggles. You see, we didn’t read the fine print in the bulletin well enough. I did glance at it to see the “trespasses… trespassed” part and that “everyone who believes is invited to partake…” but I missed the part about “hold the elements for unison participation.” We received the bread and placed it in our mouths, when the lady deacon said, “don’t take that until the end.” I removed the wafer from my tongue (you know those round ones that are almost like Styrofoam anyway) and picked up a cup, but she was in such a tizzy to correct us, that the deacon went on before Linda was served. So I handed my little cup to Linda, and that’s when the absurdity of it all hit me, and I jiggled as I stifled my giggle. So, here’s my reflection on attending church at a Disciples church near Eureka Springs…

Lord, I got the giggles today,
The Deacon corrected me then she turned away,
Lord, I know it is time to simply pray
But I thought it funny how she removed the tray.

Lord, I didn’t mean any disrespect.
The Deacon’s reprimand I didn’t expect.
The instructions I missed, I was not correct.
Does this mean I’m doomed at the resurrect?

The sermon had gone on and on,
Eight points is simply much too long.
That deacon told me I was doing it wrong
I guess at this church I just don’t belong.

Don’t worry Miss Deacon I won’t be back.
Unwanted attention I don’t like to attract.
I was just a visitor, didn’t mean to distract
And from your Order I won’t again subtract.

In a few weeks I’ll be back at my home.
I’ll try to remember what it was like to roam,
And when someone’s different I won’t moan,
I’ll think of my giggles and be glad to be home.

Hmmm. Now what about a tune?

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

The Jesus Prayer

2008-10-10T14:47:00.000-07:00

I have a much greater appreciation for song writers now. I’m seeing that at the worst I will have a draft of a song when I conclude. It seems like such an uphill journey at this time. The software and keyboard are working together just fine, they simply have problems with the aspiring SongWriter, or as when trying to learn to drive a standard shift automobile, we are encountering “operator problems”. But the journey is worth it all. At least I’m only inflicting pain upon the critters around me. It might be encouraging to hear a song-bird instead of a crow. Then again, the crow just might be in closer harmony with my sound presently. I’m no song crooner, but I’ll croon a song to the song crooner comes.

I’ve been reading an interesting book written by and about the spiritual journey of a Russian peasant, The Way of a Pilgrim. His travels are primarily an interior spiritual journey. The peasant seeks to learn how to pray without ceasing. Early on he is encouraged to pray “The Jesus Prayer.” Are you familiar with the Jesus Prayer? I had not encountered it before. At first I thought perhaps the Lord’s Prayer, but it is not. The Jesus Prayer is stated as, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me a sinner.”

I’ve found it to be a profound prayer. I’ve even wondered if perhaps all these years we would be bettered identified as members of the sinner’s church instead of the Christian church. Imagine coming into a community and encountering the “First Sinner’s Church” or “Sinner Church of the Covenant.” I’ve noted that the word “Harvest” is a frequent word in new churches where I’ve travelled. Almost every community has a “Harvest” church. But I have yet to see a Sinner Church. Even the Apostle Paul recognized he was first among those least likely to become followers of Jesus.

If you put the Jesus Prayer on the forefront of your thinking, it does begin to influence your thinking. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me a sinner. (I’m a sinner and I approve this message.)

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

HOSPITALITY

2008-10-07T16:19:00.000-07:00

I’m well on my way now with my first song. “Time Won’t Wait for Friends”. I shared a bit of it last week and even that has changed now. It’s about relationships and the passage of time. It’s a story that we can all identify in our friendships, but also about a story shared with me by another friend.

While visiting the Monastery in Pecos, N.M. last month I said something about their hospitality and wanting to talk a little more on the subject. Just the other day, I overheard a manager and crew meeting at McD’s. You tend to overhear a lot of things when you spend some time in solitude. Some would call it “eavesdropping”, but I just call it listening to my surroundings. I heard the manager say something like this, “I don’t care what they look like to you. Even if their dressed shabby and smelly, I want you to treat them just like any other customer.” Isn’t that the essence of hospitality? Sure, we’re more comfortable when we’re with people just like ourselves, but the object of hospitality is to make the stranger feel at home. I’m beginning to understand exactly what it feels like to receive genuine hospitality.

Even the words that we use trying to show hospitality sometimes fall quite short of our intentions. I remember receiving a note in my early days at Covenant from Dr. Masters after he had visited calling my attention to my use of the phrase, “It’s so nice to have you with us this morning.” I knew what he meant when I was told that repeatedly one Sunday morning and realized that I’m not a ham sandwich. One might have a ham sandwich, but you’re not having me.

I have a minister friend in Louisiana who was accused of “radical hospitality” last month. I received a note from someone who was helping a family member relocate to Ruston, Louisiana over the Labor Day Weekend. They had some special needs and found tremendous help from this minister and his congregation there. In the midst of it all, this person was able to connect the Ruston minister with me (once again it is a small world) and then sent me an email about the experience. The last time I called his number, it had changed, so it was great to get back in touch with my friend.

If McD’s is concerned about hospitality, how much more should we be concerned about it in the church? I seem to recall one of the ways that Jesus separated the sheep from the goats had a lot to do with hospitality. I experienced hospitality at worship last Sunday. Yes, I was back in Enid for the weekend. I found out that one of my “lectionary” friends were serving hamburgers after church, so I worshipped there. Actually it was one of the most unique and friendly services I have attended. It was held in the midst of one of the Habitat for Humanity Houses being built in Enid.

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

Too Bountiful

2008-10-02T08:36:00.000-07:00

October 2, 2008

As the calendar turns to October the leaves are starting to turn, but many of them are already falling. I begin to wonder will there be any leaves left for Fall Colors? The campground road is practically covered in leaves. And yet, there remain many more on the trees. Is bountiful a word that applies to how you view God? It seems like I remember Jesus telling many parables to describe God’s love and grace as bountiful, indeed too bountiful for many of His listeners. The leaves which remain and will show us bountiful colors, might serve to remind us of God’s bountiful love.

Speaking of bountiful, I guess my words are too bountiful to bring to music. I must figure a way to use fewer words, and still convey texture and meaning and then add music. I’m sure someone might say to me, “Hey, if you can figure out how to convey meaning and texture of feelings with fewer words, your sermons might be better.” One songwriter told me that the process is similar to writing a sermon, just using fewer words and being more precise.

I’ve been told that there is bad financial news all over the world. It is convenient to be without television news right now. Life is simpler without so much input, especially the campaign rhetoric. But if I’m right about the bountiful leaves representing the bountiful God, then sooner or later we might set aright our economy by living as true stewards of all that God has bountifully given us.

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

SOLITUDE or COMMUNITY

2008-09-29T13:02:00.000-07:00

September 29, 2008

It’s been five days since my last confession, I mean blog. I guess the “c” word came to mind because I’ve been debating whether or not to confess that we went to the OU vs TCU football game on Saturday night. But the most extraordinary thing happened, that it simply must be told. The game wasn’t much for TCU, the Christians were slain by the gladiators this time, but the experience of community was beyond words.

Do you remember how before I started Sabbatical that I talked about how connected we are in this world? Well, there were 85,500 folks at the coliseum on Saturday. We parked and made our contribution to the mission trips for the youth of FCC, Norman and began the walk toward the stadium three hours before game time. As we walked I struck up a conversation with another fellow wearing a purple shirt. He was a funeral director from Pampa, Tx. I spotted an empty space on a bench, but by the time we had finished talking, the space was filled. Still looking for a place to rest in the shade we started toward a planter box to sit on the edge, when another space on a bench opened up. We chose the bench.

In conversation with the other couple on the bench we learned that they were from Fairview and season ticket holders for some time. They asked about our TCU attire and we explained that we were born in OKC but graduated from TCU. He said, “I can understand that. Where did you grow up?”

“Oklahoma City,” we told the story of our high school romance. “What school?” he asked. “Capitol Hill” we replied. “Where did you live?” asked he. Linda said, “Just off of SW 29th and Portland.” He leaned forward and said, “What street?” Long story short, he and Linda grew up on different ends of the same block, went to the same elementary school, junior high, and we were all graduates of Capitol Hill High School. I wish I could describe the look on his face as we made connections, but until this day on a bench in a crowd of 85,000 plus our paths had never crossed. He graduated in 1971, I in 1972, and Linda in 1973. We visited for over an hour and a half about memories of high school and how painful it was to survive in the era of racial “desegregation” that actually resulted in more fights than harmony. WOW, it was worth the trip to Norman just for this powerful encounter with a stranger that shared our common community of time and place some 35 plus years ago.

Sunday we worshipped at First Christian Church, Midwest City and had a delightful lunch with Les and Joyce Brown. Les has been pastor there for 22 years. 7 years ago the church relocated and built a new sanctuary and this was our first chance to visit there. During lunch we made further connections of common friends and experiences, although a decade apart, in Perryton, Texas. How small is our world? How great is our Creator!

I’ve returned to my solitude in Arkansas. This week it truly is solitude. My only neighbor at the campground told me on Thursday that she would be gone this week, visiting family in Iowa. Solitude has its place, but I’m beginning to see the power of community. Oh, and a song has started to develop. Melody and words are beginning to come together:

“Like a pebble cast on a pond,
The ripples go on and on and on.
But time won’t wait for me.”

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

September 24

2008-09-24T14:33:00.000-07:00

What do you do when things just won’t go as planned? The last time I wrote, it was my intention to post and then go to the laundry mat. As it turned out I was fortunate to get it posted. You see, I write this at the campsite. Then when I get access to internet, I just copy and post. And I thought I had it all figured out the other day. I decided to go to the McD’s in Berryville since I’m halfway between B’ville and Eureka. Also there is WallyWorld and I thought a laundry there.

Well, B’ville’s McD’s does not have Internet (but they do have Red Box, if I decide to rent a movie), and the laundry was there but not self-serve but full service and more than I wanted to pay for my towels, t-shirts and bvd’s. So, I went to WallyWorld, picked up a few things, then headed to Eureka Springs. The laundry is self-serve, next to the grocery store and McD’s has Internet but not Red Box. So, I got everything done, just not in the way I had planned. Any other time, it would have frustrated me, but at least I’m relaxed enough to not get flustered over something so small.

While at the laundry in Eureka, I met an interesting little ole’ lady. There’s lots of interesting folks at laundry mats I found out. She was eating and feeding her dog outside with the same fork and same food she was eating. Trying not say, “yuck”, I said, “Boy he sure is spoiled.” She said, “He’s 15 years old, and deserves to be spoiled.” I said, “Hm, over a 100 huh?” “105! She corrected me.”

When she came in, she moved her laundry to the dryers and told me she was getting these blankets washed to go camping and attend the National Fiddler’s Contest at Mountain View this weekend. The other fellow interrupted and asked for directions as he said he’d like to play in the competition, but had thought it was at Little Rock. She gave him directions and said it would be a two day competition. He was deflated, he had to work on Sunday, so he guessed he wouldn’t be going then.

She turned back to me and told me she’s got a bed for the back of her van and the lady where she’s camping “Doesn’t mind dogs.” In other words, wherever she went the dogs must be accepted there as well. She put her blankets in the dryer and told me, “I’ll be back. I’m taking the dog to the Basin Spring so he can get a good drink.”

I learned quite a bit without saying much of anything. I was in the presence of a fiddle player and a bluegrass fan but they didn’t talk music at all. He could only fiddle for one day, so he was devoted to something else. She was a music fan but mostly devoted to her dogs, she wouldn’t go if there wasn’t a place for her dogs. The music came second.

I haven’t found any music yet. I must ask myself, “To what are you devoted?” Two praying mantis insects showed up at my trailer. Seems to me that my Creator was hinting to me, to stay with prayer, and let the music take care of it self. Centering Prayer, like I learned from the Benedictines is a daily endeavor.

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

September 22

2008-09-22T15:15:00.001-07:00

Just before my sabbatical began Regional Pastor Tom recommended that I read The Shack by William P. Young. I picked it up at the Enid Christian bookstore. Last week I began reading it. I rarely recommend a book before reading it all the way through, but I am a slow reader, and even if you only read halfway through, it is worth the read. Walk no run to the bookstore and pick up this book today. I’m already looking at things through the lens this book has created for my thinking. Everything important in life boils down to relationships, love, and how less self-serving we can be.

Sunday I visited First Christian Church, Bristow where I served from 1985 to 1990. It is a small church and we arrived a few minutes late. Well, I should have guessed it, but what a loving and expressive greeting we received. I apologize that we disrupted and delayed the start of the worship service. I also must add that amazingly, right in line with my journey of music and song, special guests from FCC, Sand Springs presented the message in music, through gospel hymns and special music.

They were accompanied by no less than their own pianist from FCC, Sand Springs, even though she was actually playing back at the service in their home church. In this age of technology, she had played all the accompaniment on the keyboard and it was digitally recorded on the instrument. All they did was push play and the instrument played itself. What a marvelous age of technology. This kind of technology is the only way that I can reasonably pursue my dream of song writing.

I truly enjoyed visiting with the pastor at Bristow. He is “retired” from ministry, but felt called to serve this congregation. Bill’s background is Southern Baptist by tradition but filled by love in contrast to tradition. Bill had served as a Professor at Southwest Baptist Seminary in Fort Worth, when the denomination and its schools were politically taken by the strong fundamentalist conservatives. When the President of the Seminary was summarily fired for having the “wrong” theological perspective (you know, things like critical thinking) Bill felt it was time to retire.

Yes, Bill is older in years, but you simply cannot tell it by talking to him. He is an avid Harley Biker and this includes a life-long involvement in Biker Ministry. He is as comfortable in black biker leathers as he is in his Sunday suit and pulpit attire of a striking white robe (which reminded me of the attire of the Benedictines I visited a few weeks ago). All of which is to say that, I felt that in visiting with Bill I was indeed visiting with a Holy Person! Bill is not simply comfortable with whatever attire he wears, he is comfortable in his own skin. And that kind of comfort enables him to transmit a loving spirit!

Grace and peace with a song in my heart,
SongWriter

PS. I’m off to find a laundry next. By the way, if you see Mr. Crabbs, please tell him that the sanctuary in Bristow is carpeted with blue carpet.

September 19

2008-09-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the movie, August Rush? It’s been out on video for some time now. August was right, “the music is all around me.” I hear the music, especially at night. A symphony of rhythm and tones can be heard. Oh, and talk about surround sound, wow! Then there is the highway just over the hill, US Hwy 62. Traffic is flowing all the time, and if you listen there is a rhythm to it as well.

There’s a bunch of motorcycles in town, none at my campground. But you can hear them roar down the highway. It’s the sixth annual homecoming for Kawaski enthusiasts. I've noticed that most of the Kawaski riders wear helmets. Good! I’m content with my little Nissan Versa. I even call it a Vespa every now and again. You must know a little about motor scooters to know what a Vespa is. I’ve digressed as usual, but there is a rhythm and tone to motorcycles as well.

The key, now that’s a little different. My fingers are slow to catch back up to playing the keyboard. It’s been too many years without playing, and then there are all those sharps and flats. The key for me now, continues to be to listen. Listen for the rhythm. Listen for the tones. Listen for the Creator.

Then there is the harmony. My inner harmony still needs to be fine-tuned. There was the visitor, night before last. Invading my cupboard, he chewed a hole through the wrapper and nibbled on the bread. That meant a trip to town yesterday. I found a plastic storage container with a snap on lid for my bread, cereal, crackers, and chips. I also found the good old package of mouse traps. Did you know it costs $1.25 for four mouse traps at the Dollar Store? Anyhow, I caught him last night and never heard the “Snap”!

The mouse, that and a few calls from my daughter about a sick Alexis, didn’t contribute to inner harmony. She was up a good bit of the night on Wednesday night complaining of pain in her hand. She tried her best to doctor it herself. So, Christina took Alexis to the doctor. She had blistered her hand on the “monkey bars” last week, now the wound was infected. She didn’t complain much last weekend, but now it’s infected. Bandaids just won’t stick to the palm of the hand. Better ointment and bandages from the doctor. Hope it wasn’t the infection, but she was having tummy troubles too. Phenegran and a little pain medicine for the hand.

Be still, Be still, Be still. The music is all around me. Be still and listen. The song will come.

Grace and peace, SongWriter

September 16

2008-09-17T11:40:00.000-07:00

Before I can even think about writing music, I must pick up again the centering and serenity I found at Pecos. Strange how I said to myself as I drove home just a week ago, maybe I don’t really need this sabbatical. I’ve found the inner peace through the guidance of the spiritual direction. It didn’t take long to resume a frantic schedule. Just a few days and once again I must hear that voice, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Yes, Lord, and so I return to solitude. Now settled into a wonderful trailer just East of Eureka Springs Arkansas at the Shepherd’s Inn Retreat Center.

Perhaps the road I travelled today is a good illustration of the path to serenity. I arrived in Tontitown and Springdale just in time for five o’clock rush hour. I didn’t know there could be so much traffic in Northwest Arkansas. Waiting in line through three four cycles at two stop lights. Then turn North on Interstate 540, wow, 70 mph bumper to bumper. And so it went, exit onto US 62 East toward Eureka Springs. The traffic followed. Now it’s bumper to bumper and the road narrows just past Pea Ridge (another Civil War site), the curves begin, still traffic, brake lights, 40… 30… 20… mph, there I see it, about a quarter mile ahead leading the traffic, a road tractor/grader. Five minutes later he pulled to the side and let us autos pass on by.

Finally, a junction, the commuters exit and curve by curve I become all alone. Every few minutes there’s oncoming traffic, but going my way, no one behind and no one ahead, just curve after curve, some slow you to 15 mph, at best you average 30 to 35. I can almost feel myself slowing down. I’m still a little frantic, I want to get to the camper, light the pilot for hot water, get the electricity on, and unload the car.

A quick call to Ken and Sue to tell them thanks, and that everything is up and running at the trailer. Now a sandwich, and a call to Linda to tell her I’m here safe.

Now it’s a little past 11:00 p.m. The computer just locked up, there I’ve restarted. Hum, maybe this blog session is over, it’s time to be still, and get some rest. I’ll post this on 09/17 when I can get some internet space. Did I tell you how awesome the sounds of the Ozarks are in the moonlight? Oh, and the path to serenity is narrow and tricky with lots of unexpected curves and a few slow moving vehicles. Slow down, you move to fast!

Grace and peace, SongWriter

I Missed Communion Today

2008-09-14T21:32:00.000-07:00

The closest I came to communion today was with fellow travelers around the self-serve waffle iron at LQ this morning. It was fun making waffles with strangers, but I couldn't exactly claim that we formed enough community in the nine minutes it took to cook three waffles. It was a rare treat to spend the weekend in OKC with family, prematurely celebrating my birthday, especially today with my grandkids.

To answer last week's question about communion in the United Church of Christ, I chose to attend Mayflower Congregational Church (UCC) in North OKC. The sermon was excellent and closed with a Fred Craddock story, after all Dr. Robin Meyers told me after church he was a graduate of Phillips Theological Seminary when it was still located in Enid. His topic today followed the lectionary reading from Romans 14 and he talked about all those things we tend to fight over in churches. He challenged the congregation to consider if the church existed for "gratification or transformation?" He asked us to consider that in the end, Jesus would ask us, "Did you love? Did you forgive? Did you encourage?" Too bad he's in OKC, Robin would make a great addition to our weekly lectionary study.

But still, I missed communion. You can find a great sermon most anywhere. You can occasionally find communion around the table with your coffee group. But you can only find Communion when welcomed to Christ's table. It is Christ who fed the 5,000 and who feeds us with the kind of nourishment it takes to make it through each day.

Grace and Peace,
SongWriter

Blogging at McDonald's

2008-09-13T11:54:00.000-07:00

I'm at McDonalds with Linda and my granddaughters. I've come to test my internet capabilities remote, since it appears that while in Eureka Springs, I will only have internet access at McDonald's.

What an age we live in! I can sit at MickeyD's while the grandkids play and be connected to the world. My prayers are with all of the victims of Ike during its massive path of destruction. I did hear from my good friend, Alan, who lives in the Houston area after the storm had passed. He said that all cell phones were out, the electricity was out (he has a generator), but for some reason his land-line phone was working. Lot's of tree limbs down.

Also, here are the updates on my good friend Laura in hospital in Little Rock:

Friday, Sept. 12, 2008
4:10 p.m.
Day 31

Laura is sitting up more in her wheel chair and is working hard in physical therapy. She's still being fed calories through the feeding tube but is able to have clear liquids and soft things like jello. She's in good spirits and is eager to work hard so that she can improve. Her pneumonia seems to be breaking up nicely and they continue to be agressive on her physical therapy. Laura had a "field trip" last night as we wheeled her down to the hospital lobby and walked with her walker. Laura has made many new friends (doctors, nurses, therapists, etc.) and seems to be well-known throughout the hospital. She has been extremely cooperative and polite all the way through this experience.

Thursday, September 11, 2008
3:00 p.m.

Today is day 30. Though Laura will be 22 years of age in a little less than four months, her condition allows her to be treated at Arkansas Children's Hospital. We're extremely blessed as we know there is no better place for Laura to be. She has excellent care.

Last night was a wonderful "graduation" for Laura as she was moved to the rehab floor. She has come such a long way. They had to readjust her feeding tube which was traumatic for her, but she did very well through the procedure. She was given clearance to begin drinking again today and she has had some Sprite. Laura continues to get nourishment from the feeding tube. They have kept Laura busy with Respiratory and Physical Therapy, so she's anything but bored.

Trela's mother, Helen, as well as Trela's sister and brother-in-law, Mike and Karla, are here with us. Other family members are waiting in line to come and help as needed, so we continue to have such great support from our family and friends.

Laura would want us to remember in our prayers the tragic events that happened on this day 7 years ago. Please pray for the families who have lost loved ones and that there will come an end to terrorism and war in this world. Also, we invite you to pray for those who have already been and will be affected by Hurricane Ike.

That's all from Mickey D's.

Grace and Peace,

SongWriter

Back from Pecos

2008-09-10T19:38:00.000-07:00

I did not have any internet connection at Pecos. The last two nights in "Super 8" Motels did not give me a way to update my security software. So, while I can I have posted the following in chronological order - my thoughts over the past eight days. I have been so blest by my time at Pecos. The journey to Eureka Springs will begin after I fix a few things around the house and celebrate my birthday with family in Oklahoma City.

God is Good!
Grace and Peace,

September 2

2008-09-10T19:37:00.000-07:00

Day Two – September 2
I arrived at the Pecos Benedictine Community a little after 4:00 p.m. (5:00 p.m. OK time) today September 2. They say it is all about the journey, well, today’s drive was a wonderful day. Oh, there’s not much to be said for I-40 West of Amarillo, except that when you cross into New Mexico the legal speed limit becomes 75 mph. I was determined to exit the interstate as quickly as possible. Directions at the visitor center confirmed for me to exit at Tucumcari and take State Hwy 104. She said it is the most scenic, and by the way it is a 55 mph two lane. There were 102 beautiful miles with absolutely no cellular signals.
Scenic it was, and yes it was a speed limit of 55 mph. Which at first seemed a little tedious after driving 70 mph for hours in Texas and 75 mph for half an hour in New Mexico. Then it occurred to me, “This is part of the process. Slow down, Patrick. Take in the scenery.” I dropped the agenda. So what if I arrive at 5:00 p.m. instead of 4:00 p.m. I felt the weight just ease off my shoulders as I slowed down and rolled through this 100 miles of scenic vistas! I even giggled to myself about the cell signal.
I called Linda when I reached I-25 at Las Vegas. Cell was restored along the interstate. But it was only 37 miles from Las Vegas (yes New Mexico) to the Pecos exit. I called Christina to wish her well. (Her ambulance partner was a young man who grew up in the same house in El Reno that Christina grew up in. We bought the house from his parents. Talk about small world, they left the markings of his height behind a doorway. We marked Christina’s height there as well.)
I called Linda one last time as I dropped into the valley of the village of Pecos. Guess what, the call dropped. No cell signal. I had to turn around and go back up the incline to finish the conversation. It was in the middle of Pecos National Park. I thought a ranger was pulling up behind me. Turned out it wasn’t a ranger just a worker in a truck with yellow lights on top who was stopping at the same place for the same reason, to use his cell. There is absolutely no cell at the monastery. No internet either. But I did observe a satellite receiver on the roof of the convent. Yes, there are both Monks and Sisters here.
I attended vespers. Had supper in silence. It seems I entered silence accidentally, before I intended to. Everyone is silent for Breakfast and Supper. Does that mean I can talk at lunch tomorrow? I will meet my Spiritual Director tomorrow. This person will help guide me in the process of silence and centering prayer.
The sunset was beautiful behind the mountain. The Pecos River runs through the West side of the compound of buildings. I went for a walk and skipped the Eucharist, after all, since I’m not Catholic, that is the one barrier here, but still I found a bridge across the Pecos River. Thank you Lord for safe travel!

September 3

2008-09-10T19:35:00.002-07:00

Third Day – September 3
Today was a talking day at all meals. OK, I confess, I talked at meal time, all of them. Today was a talking day for the monks. I also talked at the gift store. I shared with the storekeeper about Father Liam Lawton and his praise music from Ireland. So I have not maintained 100 % silence. I met a retired priest from Lubbock, TX at breakfast. One of the Monks engaged me in conversation at lunch. He was from Poland and has been here in the USA for two years. He knew all about Oklahoma, though. He was stranded in OKC for a day since when the bus arrived late for 8:00 a.m., it was already full. He had to wait for the next bus. He explored downtown OKC. At supper I was ready to talk. The Monk seated next to me was preparing for a sabbatical himself. He said, “I’m not taking one of those $4,000 trips to Europe.”
Cynthia, an Oblate who has just been placed in charge of the registration office said, “You could go as a Spiritual Director for free.” And I chimed in, “but that would not be a sabbatical, would it?”
Though he seemed surprised he smiled and nodded agreement. I wonder, where do you go for sabbatical when you live at a retreat center?
I finally met my Spiritual Director after supper. His name is Sam. We set a time to meet at 11:00 tomorrow (Thursday).
I set my own theme for today based on Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I am God”. My goal was to simply Be Still. It’s hard to be still. My mind keeps rushing on. I even thought about going up the hill to call Linda about something at the house. It seemed important at the moment, and then I told my mind to “be still.” I rested this afternoon, dozed off telling myself to be still. The thought just occurred to me, that before I can Be Still, I need to simply Be. Imperfect though I am at silence today, I can feel my self relaxing some. If I’ll just stop trying so hard to relax, and simply be.
Thanks Lord, for the walk this evening. For hearing the Sister sing praises to You from across the river. And for another beautiful sunset.

September 4

2008-09-10T19:35:00.001-07:00

Day Four – September 4
It was easier to be silent today for most of the day. The monks only talked at lunchtime, breakfast and dinner were silent. Andrew joked with me at lunch, “are you silent today?” I told him I would be silent after lunch until lunch tomorrow and see how that goes. “Good, you have a plan.” He smiled and said.
I met with my spiritual director, Sam for the first time just before noon day prayers and lunch. He encouraged me to simply relax and rest. He said the time after lunch was called “napsio divina”. In other words, “time to take a nap.” Sam is eighty five years old, and in December will have been a Benedictine Monk for sixty years. He shared some of his life story with me. He was in the Navy during WW II. During training he was hurrying to catch a bus in order to avoid being late from leave, and thus “put on report,” when he fell and was run over by the back wheels of the bus. His pelvic and hip bones were crushed. He said he should have died, but his mom and dad were praying for him every day by going to daily mass and pray for his safe keeping during the war. He survived. He noted how ironic it was to be saved from battle by being run over by a bus, but many of the young men with whom he trained still perished in the war. A few years later he received word of the death of his best friend back home. It affected him enormously and turned his life toward a church vocation.
The hour went by quickly as he shared his story and encouraged me not only to rest now, but to create for myself a disciplined schedule for prayer. He said to consider time spent with a best friend. He also told me how important the Eucharist (communion) is to him. Unfortunately, that is the one barrier for me. We are close regarding communion, but still very different. They take communion every day here. I’ve about decided to drive into Santa Fe, nearest Disciples church for Sunday service and communion. There is also a United Church of Christ in Santa Fe, but I cannot recall if the UCC takes communion every Sunday.
After my “napsio divina”, I walked for two hours. I even found a walking stick. It’s a keeper. I can’t wait to sand it down and stain it. I followed a path down by the river, and eventually came to a lake. I walked around the lake, enjoyed watching some folks fishing. They were having a good time. I kept my distance so I wouldn’t be tempted to talk. I took their picture from across the lake. They are so small as to be unidentifiable. This evening I enjoyed a wonderful sunset beside the still waters of a pond between the buildings and the river. I read all of Psalm 46, Psalm 23, and a friend’s special paraphrase of Psalm 23. I discovered a river was referenced in Psalm 46 and I thank God for the time beside the still waters.

September 5

2008-09-10T19:33:00.000-07:00

Day Five – Friday September 5
Well, I cannot find words to describe, and it’s just too personal to even write about. I’ll just say I had a good heart to heart talk with God last night. That’s enough for now.
I came out of silence at noon today. If any of you were wagering on my ability to stay silent for this entire, week, which would have been foolish in the first place, anyhow those who bet I couldn’t stay completely silent for the week can now place your winnings in the offering plate. Yes, every last nickel of them. At best I maintained two periods of twenty hours each plus one stretch of fifteen hours.
Anyhow, about lunch today: Lunch is a time for talking. Usually not breakfast or supper, but lunch is OK. Well I sat at a table with two women. One was a Benedictine Sister from the Anglican Church, protestant, but dressed in classical nun attire. I introduced myself as a minister in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). The third person at the table said, “Which congregation?” I told her CCC at Enid. And she introduced herself as “Rae” (not sure of spelling) from Western Oaks CC in OKC. She is here because her minister has asked the Elders to consider taking a retreat here. She is here for a few days to see for herself, the Benedictine way. She came through for a weekend a month ago on her way to her cabin in Colorado and is on her way home on Sunday.
This afternoon, I walked through the ruins of ancient pueblos, and the ruins of two Catholic Mission churches at Pecos. The pueblos date back 12,000 years and the Catholic Missions were part of the Spanish Colonial Period. Tonight was a magical night as I stayed out, first by the river, then by the pond closer to the compound, and watched the stars come out. The view is magnificent.

September 7

2008-09-10T19:32:00.000-07:00

Days Six and Seven – September 6-7
I was too tired to write last night, today is about the same. I’ve explored two mountains that are a part of the Benedictine Community. Yesterday, I went up the mountain that is West, across the Pecos River. I made my way to nearly the top (I could see fully in two directions) where I found what I think might be a rock scraper from the ancient natives. Then coming down I found an opening in the fence and a marked path that led me to a white cross with a sacred heart, and to another cross marking a memorial for all those fallen in war. A helmet there appears to be from WW II. The view of the stars tonight revealed the “milkiness” of the Milky Way. I haven’t seen that since childhood. The altitude and lack of city lights make for an ideal view.
Today, Sunday after attending a Disciple Church in Santa Fe, I climbed the mountain to the East in search of Indian ruins that are at the top, but the mountain and the dark clouds (I was climbing via a ravine) got the best of me. Even at that, it was still a two and a half hour hike.
I am planning to leave something behind tomorrow when I depart, a frantic pace of life. Instead of leaving right after breakfast, I’m staying for a Mass which celebrates the birth of Mary, Mother of Jesus. I am told that at this Mass, Brother Andrew will make his “profession” of complete surrender to the Order of Monastic life. And tonight I was invited to stay through lunch which is promised to be “feast” in its own way.
Slow down, you move too fast!

September 8

2008-09-10T19:24:00.000-07:00

DEPARTING THE BENEDICTINE COMMUNITY
It was a little after two this afternoon when I departed from the Pecos Benedictine Community. It was a most unique of all days. This day is marked as the Feast of the Birth of Mary, Mother of Jesus. Additionally, Andrew became Symeon today as he made his profession to the Monastic Order.
Somewhere in heaven I’m sure, Mrs. Danforth, my Latin teacher was smiling down and saying, “See Patrick, I told you that you would need your Latin one day.” It was “high mass” at its best. Most of the Mass was in Latin, and of course in the tradition of the Benedictine Order all of it was Cantor and Response, and Singing of Canticles from alternating sides of the congregation. I have not talked about this before, but every day begins and ends with prayer services, as well as at noon time and they are all in the form of canticle singing of the Psalms and Scripture Readings. The day also includes two times of Lectio Divina, (the silent prayer they have taught me). I will talk about that in days to come.
Following Mass came a huge feast! Since Brother Symeon is a native of Poland, a Polish Feast was prepared. It was indescribably delicious.
I thanked them all for the wonderful hospitality. Hospitality is something I must address soon also. I received a blessing from the Abbot, and a special Benedictine Blessing from Brother Sam, my Spiritual Director.
I will post all of these several thoughts, as soon as I resolve some “security” measures on my computer. Until then, I leave you with the message from this morning’s mass. Brother Steve, Abbot of the Community, concluded his homily (sermon) by quoting the entire song, “Try to Remember the Kind of September”. And his point was so simple, yet so profound, “REMEMBER and FOLLOW!”

Day One

2008-09-01T21:22:00.000-07:00

I’ve arrived at my room in Amarillo. Tomorrow I will travel on to the Benedictine Community at Pecos and hope to enter silence tomorrow (Tuesday) night.

Question: Are you allowed to Blog while you are in silence? If you can blog, what about email? Have the contemplatives entered the www? I don’t even know if I will have Internet access there. But while it will be interesting to ask them, I’ve decided that this blog, if it is like journaling, is permissible. Email and Internet Surfing are a violation of “silence” in my thinking. It would be the same as talking and watching TV. With that in mind, tonight I’m watching my last football until I depart the Community next Monday.

Beginning this Sabbatical was more emotional than I had anticipated. Saying goodbye to my Covenant family brought some near tears from me and I think I saw a few tears among Covenant friends. Many told me they will miss me. I know I am blest and thank God for ministry with this special church family. I felt both anxious and numb yesterday afternoon. Anxious like getting ready to go off to camp and numb from the reality that I was given permission to relax for an extended time. Though I appear calm and collected, my red cheeks tend to give away that relaxation is something I am still learning and it will be good for me.

And yes, saying goodbye to Linda for just this week was emotional for both of us. God has blest us so richly over the years and we do so much together. What a blessing the World Convention in Nashville was for us this summer. Maybe I should look at this as a field training exercise for spiritual health.

Before signing off I have three major prayer requests. First, please join me in continued prayer for Laura Cook. http://www.lauracook.info/What_s_New.html Today is day 20 for her at Children’s Hospital in Little Rock, Ark. Laura is in a step-down from ICU unit. She is in strict isolation because her immune system is completely down and still suffers from swelling in her brain and needing oxygen for her lungs. Laura is the 23 year old daughter of Miles and Trela Cook, Miles is minister of Park Hill Christian Church in Little Rock.

Second, Noah Isaac Brown, born last Wednesday night (August 27). Though full-term his ability to breath is still developing. He was life-flighted to Oklahoma Children’s Hospital on Friday. His condition is stable and improving as of late Sunday afternoon.

Third, pray for all those affected by Hurricane Gustav. I served the church in Lafayette, La. From 1980 to 1985 and still have many friends there. The evening news said that Gustav was a category one when it crossed Lafayette. We remember a category one when we lived there. Power was out for the better part of a week and there were lots of areas flooded and extensive tree damage. In her work, my daughter Christina, a paramedic for EMSA in OKC, transported a patient from the evacuee shelter to a hospital today. OKC was preparing for 400 evacuees yesterday. By this morning there were 1,800 there, most from New Orleans. Pray for the residents of the Caribbean, all the residents of the Gulf Coast, the emergency personnel working throughout it all, and for those still in the storms path for possible widespread flooding.

Grace and peace from Amarillo, Texas.

Sabbatical Countdown Begins

2008-08-28T09:38:00.000-07:00

Thursday, August 28

Wow, I can't believe it. One sermon, three visits, one more yard mowing, and the packing concludes. As September 1 approaches I am so thankful for the gift of this Sabbatical. 28 years and this is my first sabbatical. I've had some extended time off before, but hospitals, doctors, surgeries, tubes, physical rehab do not a sabbatical make.

The journey I've chosen is truly a quest to find my soul's medley. "What Makes Your Heart Sing?" someone asked.

Well, that's it. The question is enough. I've always played the piano/keyboard by ear. I feel music. I have minimal music theory, but I feel it at the center of my being. Nothing has ever moved me to tears faster than a song. I have my older siblings to thank, perhaps. They gathered 'round my crib and sang, "Poor little lamb has lost its way, bah, bah, bah" and they laughed watching me cry.

Now I have the chance of a lifetime to do one of those things "I've always wanted to do." I get to try to find my soul medley.

Grace and peace. God is Good!