TREASURE IN EARTHEN VESSELS

I can’t help believing that if we could only look at others through the eyes of Jesus, we could penetrate the crumbling clay of mortality and catch a glimpse of the immortal spirit hidden therein just waiting to escape. A psychology professor once confessed to me that he was a psycho-ceramic, meaning a crack pot. But then he added, with a twinkle in his eye, there is a lot of light shining through the cracks. The brightest light of our inner beauty shines through the cracks in our humanity. Oh that we had eyes to see it. Those who first discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls hidden in a Palestinian cave, at first, had no idea of the priceless ancient manuscripts contained within the pottery jars.

In like manner we are often blind to the inner beauty which is contained in every life. The following anonymous poem touched my heart with a new awareness of that. It was found in the personal effects of an elderly man who died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska. It was believed that he had nothing left of any value. Later, however, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

Now this little old man, with nothing left to give, has these simple but profound words winging across the Internet and touching the hearts of thousands.

CRABBY OLD MAN

What do you see nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice; 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a sock or a shoe?

Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding the long day to fill.
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another.

A young boy of sixteen with wings on his feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at twenty my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide, and a secure happy home.
A man of thirty My young now grown fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee.
Again, we know children my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my wife is now dead.
I look at the future and shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man and nature is cruel.
Tries to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young guy still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years, all too few gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people open and see.
Not a crabby old man; look closer see ME!!

The Therapy of Laughter

There is nothing better for the health of soul and body than a good belly laugh. The ancient proverb has it right: “A merry heart does good like a medicine: but a broken spirit dries the bones” (Proverbs 17:22). When we take ourselves too seriously and fail to see the humor of our situation, our life becomes as dry as dust. Holy hilarity is a lubricant that makes everything work better.

I have only two tools in my box: duck tape and WD-4. If it moves and shouldn’t I tape it; if it doesn’t move and should, I squirt it. Duck tape is like the laws of God. They hold everything together lest they fly apart. Laughter is like a lubricant, it keeps everything running smoothly with less friction.

If I were to take a peek in your medicine cabinet, I might find all sorts of over the counter and prescription drugs. When taken in the right dose and for the right ailment, they can be very therapeutic. When taken in the right dose, the medicine of a merry heart can be a powerful potion.

Sometimes we get all wrapped up around the axel and so close to our struggles; we can no longer see the forest for the trees. We need something to help us unwind; we need a buffer zone to put some space between ourselves and our situation. The great comedians knew that quite well; so many of them came out of tragic childhoods. Many have told us, they turned to comedy to cope with the pain of the past. They found that the exhilarating effect of making people laugh was just what the doctor ordered for their own remedy.

In my view, Jesus was no frowning saint. Children were drawn to him like iron to a magnet. They delighted in his joyful spirit. He often exhorted his followers: “Be of good cheer.” They were so prone to becoming glum and grouchy. He who was “anointed with the oil of gladness” could put a smile on the direst of circumstances. Hopefully just a fraction of his positive personality will rub off on us.

Getting Comfortable With "NO."

GETTING COMFORTABLE WITH “NO!”

As a child, it seemed that everything was a “no-no.” As a teenager growing up in a religious home, I felt intimidated by the thunderous negatives of the 10 commandments.
“Thou shall not” seemed to tie me up in knots. What is God trying to do; fence me in and take all the fun out of my life? It’s only as an adult that I began to realize that life outside of borders is ultimately enslaving and life lived within divine prohibitions is liberating. No one is more restricted than the person who does what he wants when he wants it. He quickly is entrapped by his own desires. To do what we ought not as an obligation but as an act of love is far more fulfilling.

How can we get comfortable with divine imperatives? For me the answer has been to turn those negative prohibitions into positive principles, which produce praise. Turned from tails to heads, “you shall not steal” becomes you shall respect the person and property of your neighbor and honor his right to ownership. When we go around to the back door, we find that each commandment has a friendly side where we can enter without knocking and get comfortable.

Did Jesus follow this same course? He turned all the negatives into one glorious positive: “You shall love God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself.” One might say: “love and live as you please.” Motivated by love everything that pleases God will be pleasing to you and everything that pleases you will be pleasing to others. Assuming that you have a high respect for God and a healthy regard for yourself, this first and greatest commandment is all you need. Kick off your shoes, loosen your tie and get comfortable.

Bathing Butterflys Hold Their Wings Up

As a child, one day I was walking past grandma’s bedroom when I saw her kneeling at her bed, Bible open, head turned up like an overflowing cup and her hands lifted in the air. I was shocked and surprised. Normally she prayed with her head bowed and her hands folded in a very subdued manner. At mealtime and at church this was her style of worship, so this was new for me and different. I asked her about it and she simply said: “Bathing butterflies hold their wings up.” It has taken me years to decipher her meaning.

True enough; when a butterfly lands on a pond, it holds up its wings, as sails, to skim over the surface. Granny was sailing on a pool of praise and catching the winds of the Spirit. Even then, I could catch a glimpse of the inner beauty that shined through her wrinkled face.

I have no doubt that as she lifted her hands and her heart to God she was including me in her prayers. Whatever serenity and smooth sailing I have experienced is somehow mysteriously connected to those bedside intercessions. Decades later, the memory of it still inspires me to be and do my best.

In my church indoctrination, I have been trained not to get too exuberant. That doesn’t stop me, however, from letting my spirit soar on the inside. As I told a friend: I may be sitting on this pew with my hands folded on my lap looking very dignified. But if you could see my spirit soar you would realize that, like granny, I’m holding my wings up for the slightest spiritual breeze that may be moving through the congregation.

Pointing But Never Pulling The Trigger?

As I try to psych myself up to travel the world, I find another thing to do in preparation. Brushing up on my German; is it an avoidance mechanism? Am I cutting bait when it’s past time to start fishing? At any rate, it seems like good stimulation for my stroke ravaged brain. I’m a little surprised that I have so much archived in my long term memory.

Thoughts come to me from afar that I thought I had long forgotten. I feel, somehow, I’m stretching out and warming up for the big challenge; that first space A flight. It might or might not be across the Pond to Germany. Regardless, I’m having too much fun to quite now! If I can refresh my second language, why can’t I renew my whole weltanschauung (world view)? Das ist die Frage (that is the question).

When you’ve been through bypass surgery, cancer, stroke and the death of a spouse, you get a little backward about coming forward. I keep telling myself, if my body says: “you need to retreat” my spirit replies: “the retreat is only to advance, fall back if need be, regroup and prepare for another assault.” Will I listen to my spirit or my body? I should probably listen to both but which one will I follow? Can I convince myself or, must I keep treading water and not launch out into the deep? I guess the future will determine that. Whatever the outcome, I’m sure enjoying the process. So I say again: Trying is winning.

Desperate at the Dell

When my son offered to drive me down to San Diego to visit an old friend I’ve known for 50 years, I jumped at the chance. One night we went to the world famous Dell hotel in beautiful Coronado to listen to a band that was led by my friend’s grandson. We got in as guests of the band. What a wonderful evening listening to the music and watching the sun illumine the beach and set behind Point Loma.

I did something, however, that I never do. I took my credit card out of my wallet and put it in my front pocket. The next morning my credit card was no where to be found. “Panic!” as I imagined someone finding it and going on a shopping spree. Thinking I had pulled it out of my pocket when I withdrew my cell phone, we phoned the hotel and security checked the area. They found nothing.

Now I was fit to be tied fearing the worst. We drove back to the Dell to make our own search. Tracing our steps back to the entrance, we passed some birds perched on a tree looking very peaceful and contented. They seemed to be saying: “Why are you fretting, fuming and fussing? Don’t you know you have a Heavenly Father who knows when one of us falls to the ground. O you of little faith.”

Entering the area, I walked over to the couch and there, partially hidden behind one of the legs was my credit card safe and just waiting for me to find it. Instant relief came to me. Those bird brains got it right: we do have a Heavenly Father who watches over us ! Why can’t my human brain get it? Why am I so fidgety about traveling space A? Why can’t I rest and relax in the awareness that I am in the hands of a Higher Power?

I will keep relearning that lesson and maybe someday, I can launch out in faith and enjoy whatever opportunities present themselves. In the meantime, in between time; let’s just let life teach us how to trust.

Locked in with Love

Today I was fantasizing on my upcoming cruise through the Panama Canal. In my mind’s eye, I could see that gigantic ocean liner positioning herself in one of the locks. Sea water from a higher source flows into the lock effortlessly lifting those two thousand passengers and several thousand tons of steel to the next higher level in her stair-stepped journey. The lifting power of water is truly amazing.

For over half a century, I was wed-locked to one of the finest women who ever walked the earth. Her selfless, sacrificial love flowed freely and lifted me to the next higher level in my cruise through time toward an ocean of eternity. Human love, at its best, is a reflection of divine love. There is no bottom to it. It gets under us and flows around us lifting. The heaviest burden is carried, like a feather, on the buoyancy of such love.

My Easter faith leads me to believe that not even death can quench it. When the transition is made through the canal of time, it keeps right on loving.

A Homespun Philosophy with a Sense of Humor

Knowing my background as retired clergy, you might expect me to frame my armchair philosophy with religious language. Theology is so ingrained in my character, I expect it will burst out from time to time.

As this blogger continues to evolve, however, I can see that one of my most effective tools in escaping the rocking chair for a more rock and roll lifestyle is a belief system that is seasoned with a sense of humor. One of the pillars of my philosophy is that any circumstance has a humorous aspect if we will look for it.

I am told that traveling space available is like public speaking; the first speech and you are frozen with fear. It gets easier as you keep at it. I can remember one of the first Easter sermons I gave: I was quoting the biblical phrase, “this mortal must put on immortality.” I was so nervous, I got my tongue twisted and out came: “this mortal must put on immorality.” Several of the faithful enthusiastically responded, “amen!” Being Easter, I suppose, it was appropriate for me to lay an egg.

Right now I am in the nervous stage, thinking about all the uncertainties that could happen. A sense of humor is one of my best resources in getting comfortable with that eight hundred pound gorilla in the adjoining seat.

A Clash of Cultures

Coming from a rural area in Western Montana to visit my daughter and her family, I experienced a cultural crisis. I was informed that in walking the dog, I should take a plastic bag to scoop the poop. Heck, where I come from, we just leave the cow pies in the pasture for fertilization. I started cramming the bag in my pocket out of sight. When I got some strange looks, I displayed it more prominently, so other dog walkers could see I had good intentions. I might be an alien but I was a friendly one.

I just assumed that people would meet and greet, when dog walking, to engage in some friendly banter. Not so! Even the dogs seemed outright hostile to one another. I tried saying hello but people would walk right past me as though I didn’t exist. I would flash my most engaging smile but they would stare at me as though I were from another planet and maybe they were right.

Back home when we meet someone, even if we don’t know them; we kid and joke as if they were family. That doesn’t work here; no sir! People hang on to their wallets lest you might be a mugger disguised behind a smiling face.

Truly, there IS no place like home. I fear these people are so brain washed by their urban culture that they actually think that their aloof impersonality is normal. Come to Montana and experience a new normal.