The Desk and the Key

Years ago, I was wandering through an antique store in an old house on Central Avenue in Charlotte, NC.    I had been searching for an antique desk for my bedroom for a long time and had never quite found the one that was in my mind.  I walked from room to room, browsing and as I entered a new room, I saw the very desk that I had been searching for for so long.

It was delivered to my home that same night.  But there was a slight problem.  My bedroom is upstairs.  The desk is solid oak and heavy.  The two people who delivered it stood staring at the desk and at the stairs.  I never thought the stairs would be an issue. But the deliverers told me they were usually informed about stairs.  So I offered to help them. 

And so, the three of us pushed and shoved and lifted the desk to the top of the stairs.  As we approached the top, I heard one of the delivery men groan.  I thought he had hurt his back, but as we sat the desk down he motioned to me.  "We will never be able to get this desk into your bedroom.  The turn from this hallway into your bedroom is too sharp.  The desk is too large."

Looking at the desk, I had to agree.  I had always imagined the desk in my bedroom and now I was faced with the prospect of having to put it in another place.  But there was not another place in my home that I wanted that particular desk.  It had to go into my bedroom.  So I looked closer at the desk and found that the top could be removed.  By removing the top, we were able to slide the frame (without the drawers) into my bedroom.

As we stood the frame of the desk in place, I noticed something attached to the underside.  It was a magnet.  And on the magnet was a key.  I assumed that the key was used to lock and unlock the drawers.

We reattached the top of the desk to the frame, and I promptly forgot about the hidden key, until several years later, when I was running my hand underneath the frame, and I rediscovered it.  I put the key in the lock in the way it seemed to fit and turned it; first one way then the other.  But the lock did not move.  So I put the key in the lock the way it did not seem to fit.  I turned it the way most locks turn, and the lock did not move. I turned the key in the opposite direction and the lock did not move.  So I put the key back on its magnet and assumed it was a key for another purpose that the former owner had hidden on his desk.

A few more years went by and I rediscovered the key again.  I tried it again, with the same result.  I put the key back in its place and there it stayed until a few weeks ago when I found it again.

I decided to give it one more try.  And I found that if I put the key in the lock in the way it does not seem to fit, pull it out just a hair before turning it, and turn it anti-clockwise, the key locks the drawer.

All this time, I thought of this key as a secret key; or that the key held some secret.  But the secret that I discovered was that I had stopped trying before I had exhausted all methods of inserting and turning the key.

In the middle of my desk sits a rock with an quote inscribed on it.  It says, "In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity."  The quote is from Albert Einstein.  He is saying that the key to life is to continue our search; to continue our struggle; to be willing to think beyond our boundaries; and to never give up.  Because just around the corner is a most marvelous discovery.

The New Journey

I recently saw the movie, "The 100 Foot Journey,". It is a story about two restaurant owners and staff who are located across the street from one another (100 feet) in very different restaurants (one French, the other Indian).   In the beginning the competition was fierce resulting in hard feelings on each side.  But when the characters learn that all they have to do to end the ever worsening feud is cross the road, the competition ends, friendships blossom and some very positive things begin to happen.

Many times we have to take a step back from our old habits and our old ways of doing things in order to realize that there are other ways, better ways of accomplishing our objectives besides our own tried and true ways.  This point has been driven home to me because of the movie and because I had surgery on my foot this past Thursday.  I am on crutches and unable to put any weight on my left foot.  Thanks to the weather, my wife has been able to be with me for the previous 5 days. She has been a very good nurse, remembering every detail of the post op instructions.  And I am sure my foot will heal properly because of these first five days.

But she had to return to work today. The snow has melted.  And this is my first day alone.  Every journey I take is a new journey; going across the room presents itself with obstacles I had not noticed before; sitting down in a chair requires planning and positioning that I had never considered; bathing in the sink requires new stances and movements that I have never made; Preparing meals while standing on one leg makes the food seem like it was earned; going up and down the stairs...well...it is an entirely new experience, one I find exciting and fun (it is also a very good total body workout).

Sometimes we have to take a new journey to appreciate where we have come from.  The new journey  is built from the stones of the old. And from the old and the new something beautiful blooms.

No Room In the Inn

"And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn." (Luke 2: 7)

I slept in the manger last night.  I was with 12 of Charlotte's outcasts; the people we see but try not to see; the people in parks that we hurry away from; the people who lie in storefronts on cold nights under blankets, newspapers and plastic bags to stay warm while we walk by on the way home from a restaurant pretending we do not notice.

The sounds in the manger were not animal sounds (although many would say they were), but were the sounds of people coughing and sneezing from untreated illnesses; moaning from pains we cannot understand; crying out in their sleep from some nightmare that haunts them.

No one followed a star to come see them to give them gifts.  Angels did not announce their arrival.  Shepherds did not leave their flocks.

They were not dressed lovingly by their mothers in swaddling clothes, but wore clothes that were picked up here and there; clothes that were worn more for the weather and for availability and convenience than for style.

They did not smell of frankincense and myrrh, but of the street from which they came and to which they would return.

Their presence was not marked by a light in the sky for all to see.  Very few people knew they were at our church that night.  

We fed them.
We prayed with them.
We spoke with them.
We offered them showers.
And finally we gave them a mattress, some sheets, a pillow for their heads, a blanket for the  night, and a one way light rail ticket back into the city for the next day.  

As I watched them get on the light rail this morning, I wondered what would become of them.  Would any of them be able to overcome their circumstances?  Would any of them be able to defeat their illnesses?  Would one of them walk out of his or her wilderness and begin preaching the Kingdom of God?  I do not know.  I have my doubts.  But it was into such a doubting, troubled world that the Son of Man was born.

So until that day, the people of the manger will be taken to another church, and after that another church, and the night after that and the night after that and on and on.

A Lunch Hour Walk

About two years ago, I was walking during my lunch hour on the UNC Charlotte campus.  It was a nice fall day and as I was walking a young male student suddenly started running in front of me as hard as he could run straight toward a brick wall.  Just before he reached the wall he put his foot out, pushed off and jumped straight up, catching hold of a ledge about 12 feet up.  He hung there by his fingers for a few moments then dropped back down to the sidewalk and resumed walking, as if his acrobatic display was a common ordinary thing that anyone would do on such a day, at such a time, at such a place.

My walk took me to the other side of campus, onto the greenway trail, below the athletic fields.  Two young female students ran past me, dashed off the paved trail, ran up the bank, crossed over to the soccer field, and without rest or missing the slightest beat began kicking a soccer ball, yelling and shrieking and running.

And I thought, wouldn't it be wonderful if I could approach every obstacle or problem with enthusiasm instead of dread and see them as opportunities to grow and sharpen my skills and my strengths?  Wouldn't it be wonderful to joyfully run to work and to shriek and laugh and have fun while I was there?  Wouldn't it be wonderful if I had no fear of trying new things because I had no fear of failure?

Ralph Waldo Emerson is credited with saying, "Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm."  If this is true, and I think it is, we should do everything we can do to help young people entering the workforce to stay positive, to approach their work with passion, to have fun, and remain creative.  It should be a great tragedy when someone in the workforce loses their enthusiasm.

Walking back on the main campus near the library I overheard two students talking.  One student said, "My father just got laid off from his job.  He said it was OK, though, because he hated his job and especially the people he worked with."  The other student said, "Yeah.  I really dread getting into the job market."

The Importance of Place

We all need a place; somewhere we can call our own; somewhere we can call our home.  My wife and I recently traveled from our home in North Carolina to 5 western states; South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Utah. As a child I had dreamed of traveling to the places that Lewis and Clark had actually stood, or walking on the Custer Battlefield trying to envision the battle; standing on the Oregon Trail where over a half million people either found or lost their dreams; seeing Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument; being close to a buffalo herd in Yellowstone and standing beside Old Faithful as it erupted right on time; seeing the Grand Teton Mountains.  I got to see and do all of these things this summer.

But the entire time I was traveling I never reset my watch to reflect the two hour time difference.  I wanted to be able to look at my wrist and know what time it was in my home state, the place I am from, where the people who know me and love me live. When we met new people on our tour, the first thing we would ask was "Where are you from?"  And they would tell us.  And then we would tell them where we are from.

Everyone needs a place.  A place provides a person with a sense of belonging and a connection with people. It reminds us of a way of life; who we are.

When I travel from my home in Charlotte to my hometown of Rocky Mount, several hours across the state of North Carolina, I return, not to a small town in Eastern NC, but to my childhood where everything has changed but remains familiar.

Over there is a Nursing Home that used to be a vacant lot where we played all-day sandlot football games.  And over there, in the building used to store furniture, is where I went to first grade.  In that field over there is where Rocky Mount Municipal Stadium stood and I would go at night to watch the single A baseball team play.  At one game, the announcer called my name for the wining ticket of 20 dollars worth of free dry cleaning.  But I was only 10 years old at the time, so it was quite a let down.  They tore down the stadium about 20 years ago and replaced it with a practice field for the high school team.

Across the way is the town Library where I checked out my first book. I still remember the smell of the books, and the excitement I felt when I opened the drawers of the card catalogue to find a book. This library is now closed and not far from it is the new, high tech library with computers and an on-line catalogue.

Near the Tar River was the best barbecue restaurant that ever existed.  It not only had a sit down restaurant but it had a drive up where you could sit in your car and eat your pork barbecue sandwich while you heard the sound of pigs being killed in the slaughterhouse.  It was a magical experience. This fine restaurant washed away in the flood of 1999.

But, the best part of going home is actually going home- to the street I lived on growing up and to the house where I was raised.  My mom still lives there and when she sees me drive up, she does not see me as a 62 year old man, but she sees me as her child; still drooling as he gets out of the car.   I am a child once more.

I get to see my brothers while I am there and we talk and we laugh about our days at home.  All of us are story tellers and we accuse the others of embellishing the truth, which we do, and the tales grow taller as the night grows longer.

So, while traveling this summer, when someone asked me where I was from, I wanted to say, "I am from a place that is strange but familiar, a place where people remember me and know me, really know me, who love me and accept me, a place where once I sat on my bicycle as the day ended and the sun began to set over the top of the pines on the first day of summer and felt the thrill of being young and alive."

Let Me Tell You About My Sister

Wanda Lanier Higson died on July 24, 2015.  Her life will never be defined by her death, but by the way she lived.

So, let me tell you about my sister.

Wanda was my older sister, although she would deny being older.  Nothing made her happier than to be mistaken for the younger child.  And in many ways she was younger.  Her positive attitude toward life and her desire to squeeze all the fun into every smidgen of life that she could get were the traits of a much younger person.

Wanda and I grew up together.  I remember when she was given her first Tiny Tears Doll; a doll that cried real tears and wet its diaper.  And  I could not understand why anyone would want one.  

I remember when Wanda won the grand prize in a coloring contest when she was in the third or fourth grade.  She won a small roll top desk that is still in her home today.  

I was there when she was given her first turn table record player and her first records.  From that day forward music poured forth from her room in one continuous stream until she left home; from her record player, from the radio or from the ukulele and guitar that she taught herself to play.

I watched as she left through the front door on her first date.  I watched as her first prom date gave her a corsage. 

Most of what I remember of Wanda during those years was how free she seemed to be.  Her life was filled with music and laughter and friends; dancing and parties.  She did not seem to be afraid to step out and try new things.

I was not like her, but I wanted to be.  She tried to encourage me to do things like dance and go out but I never had the self confidence that she had. 

I remember driving her to work at Belk’s and noticed her looking at me with a disgusted look.  I asked her what was wrong.  She said, “You drive like an old man.  Step on the gas.”  Throughout our young lives together she was constantly trying to get me to step on the gas. 

In fact, I never would have gone on my first date had it not been for Wanda arranging a double date with her and her boyfriend and me and a girl that I knew.  At the end of the date, when I was getting out of the car to walk the girl to her front door, I could see Wanda mouthing the words, “Kiss her.  Kiss her.”

Wanda was a wife and mother.  I was there when a guy who had just returned from Vietnam with a dark tan wearing a white suit showed up at our door.  She had met Bill Higson at the Pizza Inn.  Bill said that he knew the first time he saw her in the Pizza Inn that he was going to marry her. In fact he told one of his friends who was with him this very thing.

Several months later, I was in the car with Wanda and we were listening to her favorite radio station, when the song “Make It With You” by Bread was played, requested, the DJ said, by Bill Higson and dedicated to Wanda Lanier.  There are a couple of lines in the song that say, “Life can be short or long, and love can be right or wrong. And if I chose the one to help me through, I’d like to make it with you.   Dreams… they are for those who sleep.  And Life is for us to keep.  If I chose the one to help me through, I’d like to make it with you.”

Not long after that Wanda and Bill were engaged.  I was a groomsman at her wedding and watched her as she and Bill drove away to begin a new life.

The product of this new life include three children, one, named Chad, whose life was cut too short, and two who are with us today, Ashley and Brandon.

Wanda was a good mother, gentle in bearing but fiercely protective of her children.  “Don’t mess with my kids,” is what she used to say.  She encouraged her children to be themselves and to step forward with their ideas and opinions (to step on the gas, so to speak).

She was always her children’s biggest supporter and encourager in everything they did in life, supporting them in their educational and their spiritual endeavors.  Wanda was the person her children turned to for advice and wisdom, the first person who was by their side when they needed anything, and their best friend.

Wanda and Bill’s life also included a house near the Rocky Mount reservoir; a house that they planned and built together, a house where they lived for 37 years and raised their children, a house that they cherished. Wanda said she felt peace and love when she first saw the lot they were to build on and knew that was the place that would build their home. And at that home Wanda loved being outside and working with her flowers and plants in her beautiful yard.  Whenever I think of  Wanda, I   think of her bright, happy home.

Wanda was a friend to many people.  And, if Wanda was your friend, she was, more than likely, your friend for life.  She had 4 special friends who, with Wanda, called themselves the Ya Ya’s, after a movie entitled “The Divine Order of the Ya Ya Sisterhood”, although I do not think this group was divine.

The Ya Ya's traveled together, laughed together, raised their children together, cried together, and shared crazy moments together.  Like the time they called the fire department when they thought they saw a fire.  As it turned out, it wasn't a fire; just a streetlight that looked like a fire.  "Well, at least we got to see some good looking firemen," said one of the Ya Ya's.

Wanda was a positive, cheerful, funny person who loved to laugh.  And her laughter was contagious.  She did not like to be around negative people, and when she was she did her best to brighten the atmosphere.  “Life is too short,” she would tell me, “to be negative.”  And she was right.

Wanda was a survivor.  Her struggle with cancer spanned over a 15 year period.  She went through many ups and downs, many courses of treatment.  She was knocked down repeatedly but each time she got up, to face another blow.  And through all of this she remained an example of an unbroken spirit, and an example of compassion and unconditional love.

Wanda told me after one of her many visits to the doctor, “I am not going to die with cancer.  I am going to live with cancer.”  That was her mindset.  That was her courage and that was her strength.

But such struggles have to come to an end.  

Wanda’s struggle is over.  And she is in a peaceful place.  I know this because this is what I believe. 

Wanda is in a place where there is no more pain.  No more tears. No more suffering.  No more disease.  No more tests.  No more chemo.  No more radiation.

I will miss Wanda.  We all will miss Wanda.  

This will be a different world without Wanda.  

But, I am a better person because of Wanda's life and what she meant to me.
Wanda's spirit will always live, with me and all who were close to her.   

(The above is an abbreviated, slightly altered version of Wanda's eulogy)

Smooth Places

My wife and I traveled to Alaska about 4 years ago in July/August.  If I had to describe Alaska I  would include the words big and wild, and wide and beautiful.  We saw some fantastic sights while we were there; an ocean full of ice; calving glaciers; a mother grizzly and her cubs; moose; caribou; spouting whales; and mountains so tall that they make the Blue Ridge look like a bump in the road.

The people who live in Alaska year round are different from the people who go to Alaska on vacation.  In my opinion, they are the remnants of the American pioneers who left the East and traveled hundreds of miles to the West and settled in places where there were no support systems.  They had to rely on themselves and their own skills.  And where they lacked knowledge and skill, they had to be creative and invent new ways of doing things.  Or, they had to do without.

When I asked year round residents if they liked living there, without fail, all of them told me they loved it.  Even though roads are not plentiful; even though many people's homes are off the power grid; even though 32 feet of snow may pile up in their yard and on the roofs of their homes; even though many of them cannot just call the plumber when a pipe ruptures; even though neighbors are many miles away and visitors are scarce; they love it.

And I started thinking, why do all the people who live there love it?  And I think it is because all of the people who went there who did not love it have left.  The Alaskan life is not for everyone.  You may go there and wish you could live there, but when you try it, you find that you are not up to the challenge.  Alaska is beautiful, but behind that beauty lies all of the terrible forces that have shaped that land into what it is.  But most people cannot see these things.

One of my earliest memories of my father is of him standing in front of his bedroom mirror shirtless, swinging a baseball bat over and over, watching every nuance of his swing.  People used to talk of his beautiful, natural swing, but none of them ever saw him work in front of the mirror.  They never saw the forces in his life that shaped his love for baseball; the loss of his mother at age 10, a father who could not care for his children.  The baseball diamond was where he found love and friendship.  It became his father and his mother.

Sometimes we see a person who has a great spirituality and we want what they have.  But behind that spirituality often lies a great price; a life of suffering and hardship.  I am reminded of Matthew 20 in which Jesus tells James and John that they do not know what they are asking for when they ask to sit at his right hand in his kingdom.  He asks them if they are prepared to go through the same things that he will have to go through and they answer, yes.  We are able.  And Jesus tells them that he cannot grant this, but such places are granted to those that God has prepared.

Our tour guide told us a story about the moose in Alaska.  They are attracted to the paved roads because they are smooth and warm.  They like to lay down on them and sleep and are soon covered by snow.  Cars, traveling along the roads, especially at night, cannot see these huge animals.  Many cars have been wrecked and people injured and killed because they were not prepared for what lay ahead.

We are all in search of God, whether we realize it or not.  We may look for God in places of comfort, places of great beauty, or places of peace.  Warm spots in the road.  But maybe God can be found in the simple things of our everyday lives; like watering the garden, or mowing the grass.  Maybe the peace and the beauty we are looking for are right here in front of us.