I was running in the park near my home several years ago when I heard a father yelling at his son. The father was across the park and apparently wanted to leave, and leave now.
"Get over here and let's go!" he yelled.
The son began to run around the track to get to his father, but he father yelled, "cut across the fields," meaning the two soccer fields between him and his son.
"But, Dad, the signs say the fields are closed," cried the son.
"Cut across the fields," demanded the father.
"The fields are closed, Dad,"
"I said cut across the fields and I mean now!" yelled the father.
The boy reluctantly cut across the soccer fields which had been closed for reseeding and maintenance.
I could not get this interaction between this father and his son out of my head for the rest of my run. I obviously still haven't. As I ran around the soccer fields on the track, I counted the signs that had been posted saying "Field closed. Stay off the grass." There were 8 of them. None of them said, " Stay off the grass, unless you are the father in the gray shirt in a hurry to get home, then it is OK."
This man was forcing his son to disobey the rules of the park. What was he teaching his son? How had this affected his son? How would this affect his son in the years ahead? I am sure none of these questions entered the father's head. He was in a hurry. The rules did not matter to him. The means justified the end.
And we might say that this one child, running across the grass, did not harm the grass. And this may be true. But what if every father who visited the park with his children made them run across the newly sown grass. The grass would never grow. The soccer fields would be nothing but weeds. Soon, there would be no more soccer or soccer teams visiting the park.
The same can be said of the lady that roams the park with a small shovel and a bag. She digs up interesting plants that she sees and loads them in her car. I assume that she is taking them to her home where she plants them in her plant beds. What if everyone who came to the park brought their shovel and a bag and dug up all of the plants they were interested in and transplanted them to their home garden? The park would soon be devoid of plants.
There is a book that I read years ago entitled, "All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" by Robert Fulghum. In it he tells how Kindergarten taught him how to get along with other people and how he still applies these rules to his life today; simple rules like don't yell, don't hit other people, respect the property of others, keep off the grass. But, I guess some people never went to Kindergarten.
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Monday, February 22, 2016
Thinking With the Mind of God
I took a long walk this morning for the first time since my foot surgery. Along the way I saw a male and a female bluebird sitting on a tree limb. Suddenly a mockingbird flew in and hovered above them, chasing them away. The mocking bird settled on the same limb. Then, the male blue bird swooped down and chased the mocking bird away and the blue birds perched again on the limb. This war for perching rights on the limb continued for several minutes until I lost interest and walked on.
Further up the street two cats walked cautiously around each other, making strange cat noises, warning each other not to get too close because an attack was imminent. Two houses up, dogs behind fences barked at the cats.
As I walked I remembered one morning last summer sitting on my patio as humming birds put on a master class of acrobatic flying while attacking one another for the feeding rights at the feeders in my backyard.
Then I thought of the huge, two inch black and yellow female cicada killer wasp that I had seen in my yard dragging a paralyzed cicada down into its underground lair, where the female would lay eggs inside the cicada. When the eggs hatched, the larva would use the cicada for food.
A red-tailed hawk hunts its prey frequently in my neighborhood, gliding silently high overhead, then with its powerful eyesight that is eight times sharper than the sharpest human eye, it spots a mouse or a bird or a squirrel or a kitten and swoops down, diving at speeds that can reach 120 miles per hour.
These animal and insect wars go on each day, every day, unseen or unnoticed by us.
And much like the rest of the animal kingdom, we humans have our wars too. But unlike the birds, the dogs, the cats, or the wasps in my neighborhood, we humans have no excuses. And this makes our wars much more terrible, and much more senseless.
Christianity, Judaism, and Islam teach that God gave human beings dominion over God's creation; the world and everything in it. Can we honestly look at the world and say that we are managing it the way God would manage it?
I have to believe that God gave humans dominion over creation because God made us in such a way that we have the ability to rise above our pride, our greed, our lust, our envy, our anger, our laziness, and our gluttony.
The question that we are all asking, is when will we rise above? When will we stop chasing other birds from the limbs of trees over and over again? When will we stop barking at cats? When will we start thinking with the mind of God?
Further up the street two cats walked cautiously around each other, making strange cat noises, warning each other not to get too close because an attack was imminent. Two houses up, dogs behind fences barked at the cats.
As I walked I remembered one morning last summer sitting on my patio as humming birds put on a master class of acrobatic flying while attacking one another for the feeding rights at the feeders in my backyard.
Then I thought of the huge, two inch black and yellow female cicada killer wasp that I had seen in my yard dragging a paralyzed cicada down into its underground lair, where the female would lay eggs inside the cicada. When the eggs hatched, the larva would use the cicada for food.
A red-tailed hawk hunts its prey frequently in my neighborhood, gliding silently high overhead, then with its powerful eyesight that is eight times sharper than the sharpest human eye, it spots a mouse or a bird or a squirrel or a kitten and swoops down, diving at speeds that can reach 120 miles per hour.
These animal and insect wars go on each day, every day, unseen or unnoticed by us.
And much like the rest of the animal kingdom, we humans have our wars too. But unlike the birds, the dogs, the cats, or the wasps in my neighborhood, we humans have no excuses. And this makes our wars much more terrible, and much more senseless.
Christianity, Judaism, and Islam teach that God gave human beings dominion over God's creation; the world and everything in it. Can we honestly look at the world and say that we are managing it the way God would manage it?
I have to believe that God gave humans dominion over creation because God made us in such a way that we have the ability to rise above our pride, our greed, our lust, our envy, our anger, our laziness, and our gluttony.
The question that we are all asking, is when will we rise above? When will we stop chasing other birds from the limbs of trees over and over again? When will we stop barking at cats? When will we start thinking with the mind of God?
Monday, February 8, 2016
The Unfamiliar Drive
Over the last two years, my wife and I have noticed a brown car driving through our neighborhood several times a day. A man drives the car slowly, ever so slowly, through the entire length and width of the neighborhood, looking at houses, stopping occasionally, then continuing his casual drive.
Of course, my first thought was that the driver was casing the neighborhood and I considered calling the police. But before I could do so my wife, Melanie, told me she knew the identity of the mystery driver.
"He used to live in the neighborhood," she said. "His wife left him, remember."
I remembered. He had lived just up the street for a short time after his divorce, then moved away. I wondered why he would drive so regularly through a place that had given him so much pain.
Several weeks later, I knew the answer. Melanie was walking through the neighborhood, saw the brown car and waved at the driver. He stopped and they talked.
She told me that he did not remember her and when she asked about his mother, he pulled a sticky note from the dashboard and told her that his mother had died. "I'm not able to remember things any more,"he said with a smile.
So, now when I see him driving through our neighborhood, or driving through the streets of our small town, I see him in a different light.
He is not a thief. He is the victim of a thief; a disease that is robbing him of his memories. His endless driving is an attempt to look for places that are familiar; to reclaim the people and the places and events that were once his but are now slowly fading away.
One day, maybe one day soon, we will not see him any more. He will have forgotten his old neighborhood. The brown car will be forever parked. The robbery will be complete and he will stare blankly at the people in front of him and he will not remember to look at his sticky notes.
Of course, my first thought was that the driver was casing the neighborhood and I considered calling the police. But before I could do so my wife, Melanie, told me she knew the identity of the mystery driver.
"He used to live in the neighborhood," she said. "His wife left him, remember."
I remembered. He had lived just up the street for a short time after his divorce, then moved away. I wondered why he would drive so regularly through a place that had given him so much pain.
Several weeks later, I knew the answer. Melanie was walking through the neighborhood, saw the brown car and waved at the driver. He stopped and they talked.
She told me that he did not remember her and when she asked about his mother, he pulled a sticky note from the dashboard and told her that his mother had died. "I'm not able to remember things any more,"he said with a smile.
So, now when I see him driving through our neighborhood, or driving through the streets of our small town, I see him in a different light.
He is not a thief. He is the victim of a thief; a disease that is robbing him of his memories. His endless driving is an attempt to look for places that are familiar; to reclaim the people and the places and events that were once his but are now slowly fading away.
One day, maybe one day soon, we will not see him any more. He will have forgotten his old neighborhood. The brown car will be forever parked. The robbery will be complete and he will stare blankly at the people in front of him and he will not remember to look at his sticky notes.
Monday, February 1, 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, November 5, 2015
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."
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