My wife's father was a master woodworker. Using his many talents, he built us a bedroom suit as a wedding gift. He sculpted a grandfather clock that stands in our den. A set of wooden hurricane lamps rest on our fireplace mantle. A wooden mirror frame hangs on our wall. But, I think his favorite things to build were his bluebird boxes. He had a love for bluebirds and it is impossible for me to see a bluebird and not think of him.
He built the bluebird boxes with love and care for detail. He discovered that bluebirds would only nest in a box that was so many inches tall, so many inches deep. The hole of the bluebird box could not exceed a certain circumference. All of the boxes that he built complied with these set of specification. But his love for the bluebird was so great that he built the boxes with a hinged top, so that he could open the lid and peer inside to see the mother with her babies. Over the years he recorded the number of eggs in each box, the number of eggs that hatched, the rate of growth of each baby bluebird, and the time when each baby flew away. He read somewhere that the babies as adults would return to the box in which they were raised and lay their own eggs in them. So, when the box was empty, he would clean the nest from the box, and await their return.
He passed his love of the bluebird to me and he built two boxes for me that I hung in my backyard. However, he neglected to tell me two very important things.
First, he did not tell me that the mother bluebird flies out of the box at 100 miles per our when you lift the lid of the box. So, it is important to stand to the side of the hole rather than in front of the hole when you lift the lid. But, no worries. After you do this once you always remember to stand to the side.
The second and most important thing that he did not tell me was that snakes will occasionally climb into the bluebird box and eat all the baby bluebirds. Had I known this important detail I would have asked him to nail the lids of the box shut. But I didn't.
So, one beautiful Saturday morning I went into my backyard and walked to the bluebird box to check on the babies. I stood to one side and carefully opened the lid. The mother did not fly out, so I figured that she was out gathering food. I lowered my head to the box and peered inside. It took one nanosecond for me to realize that I was looking straight down the throat of a black snake. I slammed the lid down on the box so hard that the box fell off the pole on which it was mounted and the snake crawled out the hole into the yard.
Then I did something that all human beings have done since the beginning of time when they have had a close encounter with a snake- the snake dance. I can't explain it. This movement takes over your body and your arms and legs begin to twist and turn and you shimmy and you shiver and once in a while a sound like a whoop or a hoot will come from deep within your throat. Anyone seeing this from a distance without knowing about the snake will think you have lost your mind. When you tell them about the snake it all makes sense and your behavior is seen as perfectly natural.
After I recovered and went inside, my daughter Erin was standing in the kitchen by the window. "Daddy," she asked, "why were you dancing in the backyard?" "Well, " I said, " I saw a snake." And she replied, "Oh, OK. That explains it."
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Cleaning Out the Car
A few years ago my wife, Melanie, was on her way home when a car, traveling in the opposite direction, crossed the center line and struck her car head on. Fortunately, Melanie's injuries were not serious, but her car was totaled.
Before the car was disposed of, I traveled to the lot where it had been towed so that I could clean it out. Melanie is a teacher so she always carries a car full of "stuff" for her classes and her children. Her front and back seats are full of treasurers that, until that time, I had called "trash". Whenever I rode in the car with her she had to clean out a space for me. Waiting for her to do this was aggravating and she would never let me do it. God forbid that I rearrange her papers that were strewn about in what appeared to be a random fashion. This caused some arguments about the virtues of a clean car, which I never won.
I arrived at the lot where a number of other wrecked cars sat looking like some scene from a movie about the end of the world. And in the middle of them sat Melanie's car; crumpled and broken and dented. And the full impact of her accident began to creep upon me. It dawned on me that she was alive by the smallest of margins; a few inches, a half a second, the blink of an eye.
I looked into the interior of her car. Her "stuff" was scattered about. I pried the door open and sat down on front the passenger seat. I began to load her "stuff" into a bag. I looked at each paper, each pencil, each item connected to her, and suddenly her "stuff" was no longer "trash" but had been transformed into treasure. And I handled each book, each clipping, each rubber band and piece of cloth as if it were made of gold.
I still tease her about her untidy car. But I now know, after she has cleaned a spot for me to sit, how lucky I am to be sitting with her among her "trash".
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Before the car was disposed of, I traveled to the lot where it had been towed so that I could clean it out. Melanie is a teacher so she always carries a car full of "stuff" for her classes and her children. Her front and back seats are full of treasurers that, until that time, I had called "trash". Whenever I rode in the car with her she had to clean out a space for me. Waiting for her to do this was aggravating and she would never let me do it. God forbid that I rearrange her papers that were strewn about in what appeared to be a random fashion. This caused some arguments about the virtues of a clean car, which I never won.
I arrived at the lot where a number of other wrecked cars sat looking like some scene from a movie about the end of the world. And in the middle of them sat Melanie's car; crumpled and broken and dented. And the full impact of her accident began to creep upon me. It dawned on me that she was alive by the smallest of margins; a few inches, a half a second, the blink of an eye.
I looked into the interior of her car. Her "stuff" was scattered about. I pried the door open and sat down on front the passenger seat. I began to load her "stuff" into a bag. I looked at each paper, each pencil, each item connected to her, and suddenly her "stuff" was no longer "trash" but had been transformed into treasure. And I handled each book, each clipping, each rubber band and piece of cloth as if it were made of gold.
I still tease her about her untidy car. But I now know, after she has cleaned a spot for me to sit, how lucky I am to be sitting with her among her "trash".
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Monday, April 1, 2013
The Tree
There is a tree in a neighborhood near where I used to work. It is a very large, old tree; tall with a gnarled, thick trunk. Its limbs are long and winding and as thick as the trunks of most trees. And on these limbs are scars where old branches had been. There are old carvings of initials encircled by hearts. Further up is a limb with an old chain sprouting out of it. The chain, once part of a swing, is now part of the tree and the children who once laughed and swung in its shade are now adults with children of their own. Near the top of the tree are traces of an old lightening strike and I could see where the top of the tree once died and one of the upper limbs took its place.
This may sound strange, but whenever I was under a lot of stress or was dealing with a problem at work I would take a break from what I was doing and walk over to this tree and I would instantly find comfort and calm. Something about this tree put all of my problems and worries in perspective for me. This tree actually spoke to me, not in words, but in a way that nature speaks, through God. This tree had originally grown in a forest surrounded by other trees. It had suffered and barely survived when the neighborhood was built. But from that neighborhood had come children who had played in its limbs, and lovers who had spread a blanket near by in its shade. And as the years passed it had survived hurricanes and thunderstorms and lightening strikes. Old limbs were replaced with new, the neighborhood was replaced with condos. A new tire swing was now hanging by a rope on one of its larger limbs. And now I, standing beneath it, was part of its story and it was part of mine.
After these trips to the tree, my problems did not seem so large or insurmountable. I had learned that the problems of work were but one limb of my life; and if I stepped back just a little I could see the totality of my life. I could see the limbs of the people I loved; the limbs where childeren played; the limbs of home; the limbs of faith; the limbs that had survived the hurricanes and lightening strikes of the past. And I was filled with a sense of purpose and hope.
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
This may sound strange, but whenever I was under a lot of stress or was dealing with a problem at work I would take a break from what I was doing and walk over to this tree and I would instantly find comfort and calm. Something about this tree put all of my problems and worries in perspective for me. This tree actually spoke to me, not in words, but in a way that nature speaks, through God. This tree had originally grown in a forest surrounded by other trees. It had suffered and barely survived when the neighborhood was built. But from that neighborhood had come children who had played in its limbs, and lovers who had spread a blanket near by in its shade. And as the years passed it had survived hurricanes and thunderstorms and lightening strikes. Old limbs were replaced with new, the neighborhood was replaced with condos. A new tire swing was now hanging by a rope on one of its larger limbs. And now I, standing beneath it, was part of its story and it was part of mine.
After these trips to the tree, my problems did not seem so large or insurmountable. I had learned that the problems of work were but one limb of my life; and if I stepped back just a little I could see the totality of my life. I could see the limbs of the people I loved; the limbs where childeren played; the limbs of home; the limbs of faith; the limbs that had survived the hurricanes and lightening strikes of the past. And I was filled with a sense of purpose and hope.
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
A Day at the DMV
"I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguous and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique event, filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities. I shall not be fool enough to suppose that trouble and pain are a wholly evil parentheses in my existence, but just as likely ladders to be climbed toward moral and spiritual manhood {personhood}."
We spend so much time waiting for the big things to happen. It is a hard lesson to learn that life is contained in the small things; and that life, all of life, is meant to be experienced rather than endured, but this has to be a conscious decision; our choice to do this. Spending time in the lobby of the DMV may seem like a colossal waste of time, until you decide that it is not.
It was time to renew my license. I had received renewal notices months before my birthday. But I put it off until after my birthday. Now, not only was I 60 years old, but I could look forward to an impending trip to the DMV.
I have never had a good experience at the DMV. From the beginning of my driving all of my experiences with them were uncategorically bad. There were lines that led to more lines. There were unhappy employees who displayed their unhappiness openly and unabashedly. There were unhappy people confronting the unhappy employees. There were things (too numerous to go into here) that happened that made no sense at all. There were numbers handed to you and when you looked at your number and saw how far down the list your number was, multiplied by the amount of time it was taking to call a new number, you knew you were in for a long, long day.
And at the end of the line there was a room filled with chairs with people in each chair and as each number was called a person would leave their chair and the next in line would sit down. And in this room was nothing; nothing on the walls, nothing to read, nothing to watch except the back of the peoples’ heads in front of you. And everyone in the room looked numb. Each visit to the DMV was like the waiting room scene in a Beatlejuice movie.
And so, I dreaded going to the DMV more than I dreaded turning 60 years old. But the day before I had to go, I ran across the quote at the top of the page written by Clyde Kilby. Kilby, as I interpret him, was saying that we can choose to see God’s hand in all aspects of our lives; in the good as well as the bad. If we so choose, trouble and pain can be viewed as growth opportunities, both morally and spiritually, instead of obstacles.
I was determined to view my visit to the DMV as a “unique event filled…with worthy potentialities.” And so, as I waited in line outside the locked door of the DMV in the rain on that cold dreary morning, I chose to see the people who worked at the DMV and those in line with me as children of God. I chose to ignore the line and dwell on the God who was with me, who watered the earth; whose rivers flowed into the sea; the God who caused the sun to rise and to set, the wind to blow and the snow to fall. And my day at the DMV was over before I wanted it to be.
I was intrigued. I wanted to know more about Dr. Kilby and I discovered in my research that the quote above was one of 10 rules for living that he developed. And I was amazed. I present them to you now:
1. At least once every day I shall look steadily up at the sky and remember that I, a consciousness with a conscience, am on a planet traveling in space with wonderfully mysterious things above and about me.
2. Instead of the accustomed idea of a mindless and endless evolutionary change to which we can neither add nor subtract, I shall suppose the universe guided by an Intelligence which, as Aristotle said of Greek drama, requires a beginning, a middle, and an end. I think this will save me from the cynicism expressed by Bertrand Russell before his death when he said: "There is darkness without, and when I die there will be darkness within. There is no splendor, no vastness anywhere, only triviality for a moment, and then nothing."
3. I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguous and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique event, filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities. I shall not be fool enough to suppose that trouble and pain are wholly evil parentheses in my existence, but just as likely ladders to be climbed toward moral and spiritual manhood.
4. I shall not turn my life into a thin, straight line which prefers abstractions to reality. I shall know what I am doing when I abstract, which of course I shall often have to do.
5. I shall not demean my own uniqueness by envy of others. I shall stop boring into myself to discover what psychological or social categories I might belong to. Mostly I shall simply forget about myself and do my work.
6. I shall open my eyes and ears. Once every day I shall simply stare at a tree, a flower, a cloud, or a person. I shall not then be concerned at all to ask what they are but simply be glad that they are. I shall joyfully allow them the mystery of what Lewis calls their "divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic" existence.
7. I shall sometimes look back at the freshness of vision I had in childhood and try, at least for a little while, to be, in the words of Lewis Carroll, the "child of the pure unclouded brow, and dreaming eyes of wonder."
8. I shall follow Darwin's advice and turn frequently to imaginative things such as good literature and good music, preferably, as Lewis suggests, an old book and timeless music.
9. I shall not allow the devilish onrush of this century to usurp all my energies but will instead, as Charles Williams suggested, "fulfill the moment as the moment." I shall try to live well just now because the only time that exists is now.
10. Even if I turn out to be wrong, I shall bet my life on the assumption that this world is not idiotic, neither run by an absentee landlord, but that today, this very day, some stroke is being added to the cosmic canvas that in due course I shall understand with joy as a stroke made by the architect who calls himself Alpha and Omega.
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Dr. Clyde Kilby
It was time to renew my license. I had received renewal notices months before my birthday. But I put it off until after my birthday. Now, not only was I 60 years old, but I could look forward to an impending trip to the DMV.
I have never had a good experience at the DMV. From the beginning of my driving all of my experiences with them were uncategorically bad. There were lines that led to more lines. There were unhappy employees who displayed their unhappiness openly and unabashedly. There were unhappy people confronting the unhappy employees. There were things (too numerous to go into here) that happened that made no sense at all. There were numbers handed to you and when you looked at your number and saw how far down the list your number was, multiplied by the amount of time it was taking to call a new number, you knew you were in for a long, long day.
And at the end of the line there was a room filled with chairs with people in each chair and as each number was called a person would leave their chair and the next in line would sit down. And in this room was nothing; nothing on the walls, nothing to read, nothing to watch except the back of the peoples’ heads in front of you. And everyone in the room looked numb. Each visit to the DMV was like the waiting room scene in a Beatlejuice movie.
And so, I dreaded going to the DMV more than I dreaded turning 60 years old. But the day before I had to go, I ran across the quote at the top of the page written by Clyde Kilby. Kilby, as I interpret him, was saying that we can choose to see God’s hand in all aspects of our lives; in the good as well as the bad. If we so choose, trouble and pain can be viewed as growth opportunities, both morally and spiritually, instead of obstacles.
I was determined to view my visit to the DMV as a “unique event filled…with worthy potentialities.” And so, as I waited in line outside the locked door of the DMV in the rain on that cold dreary morning, I chose to see the people who worked at the DMV and those in line with me as children of God. I chose to ignore the line and dwell on the God who was with me, who watered the earth; whose rivers flowed into the sea; the God who caused the sun to rise and to set, the wind to blow and the snow to fall. And my day at the DMV was over before I wanted it to be.
I was intrigued. I wanted to know more about Dr. Kilby and I discovered in my research that the quote above was one of 10 rules for living that he developed. And I was amazed. I present them to you now:
1. At least once every day I shall look steadily up at the sky and remember that I, a consciousness with a conscience, am on a planet traveling in space with wonderfully mysterious things above and about me.
2. Instead of the accustomed idea of a mindless and endless evolutionary change to which we can neither add nor subtract, I shall suppose the universe guided by an Intelligence which, as Aristotle said of Greek drama, requires a beginning, a middle, and an end. I think this will save me from the cynicism expressed by Bertrand Russell before his death when he said: "There is darkness without, and when I die there will be darkness within. There is no splendor, no vastness anywhere, only triviality for a moment, and then nothing."
3. I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguous and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique event, filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities. I shall not be fool enough to suppose that trouble and pain are wholly evil parentheses in my existence, but just as likely ladders to be climbed toward moral and spiritual manhood.
4. I shall not turn my life into a thin, straight line which prefers abstractions to reality. I shall know what I am doing when I abstract, which of course I shall often have to do.
5. I shall not demean my own uniqueness by envy of others. I shall stop boring into myself to discover what psychological or social categories I might belong to. Mostly I shall simply forget about myself and do my work.
6. I shall open my eyes and ears. Once every day I shall simply stare at a tree, a flower, a cloud, or a person. I shall not then be concerned at all to ask what they are but simply be glad that they are. I shall joyfully allow them the mystery of what Lewis calls their "divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic" existence.
7. I shall sometimes look back at the freshness of vision I had in childhood and try, at least for a little while, to be, in the words of Lewis Carroll, the "child of the pure unclouded brow, and dreaming eyes of wonder."
8. I shall follow Darwin's advice and turn frequently to imaginative things such as good literature and good music, preferably, as Lewis suggests, an old book and timeless music.
9. I shall not allow the devilish onrush of this century to usurp all my energies but will instead, as Charles Williams suggested, "fulfill the moment as the moment." I shall try to live well just now because the only time that exists is now.
10. Even if I turn out to be wrong, I shall bet my life on the assumption that this world is not idiotic, neither run by an absentee landlord, but that today, this very day, some stroke is being added to the cosmic canvas that in due course I shall understand with joy as a stroke made by the architect who calls himself Alpha and Omega.
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
The Honking Horn
I once owned a 1995 Buick Le Sabre; 4 doors; leather seats; tape player; automatic windows; and a Dino Ride system that I never understood what it was- but it had one; fuel injection v-6 engine. It gave me a smooth ride. I loved that car, not because of all the equipment and mysterious systems, but because it was our family car- a car we could count on to get us from point A to point B safely; a car we trusted at night on a lonely road when the kids were sleeping in the back seat; a car that could travel safely in snow and ice and rain and sleet; a car that never failed us on family vacations. We always arrived back home.
And then, it got old. And the check engine light came on and no mechanic on the face of the earth could prevent it from glowing. The engine actually quit running as I sped around the Raleigh beltway in rush hour traffic and I had to coast across four lanes of traffic in order to pull off the highway with no power steering. But, I still loved it. And I still pampered it...until the horn went berserk.
I was driving from work one afternoon and pulled up to a stoplight at an intersection. Pedestrians were crossing the street in front of me when my horn blew at them. They jumped, startled, and said some very unkind things to me. I thought that I had accidentally bumped the horn and tried to apologize but they would not accept it.
A few miles further I was following a car when the horn began to beep again. I could see the driver in the car in front of me looking in his rear view mirror. So, I turned right at the next intersection, trying to figure out what was going on.
A few days passed without incident when I switched cars with Melanie so that I could travel out of town, since I no longer trusted the Buick for long distance travel. I don't remember if I told Melanie about the horn problem (I probably didn't), but I should have.
She was driving home in rush hour traffic on Central Avenue when the Buick's horn began beeping. People around her looked at her with hostile eyes. As the beeping continued people began to give her the one finger salute while mouthing a few choice words to her.
Now, you should know that my wife is what some people call a "peacemaker". She does not like conflict, especially conflict with strangers, and will go to great lengths to avoid such conflict. But on this day, there was nothing she could do. The Buick had a mind of its own and the horn continued to honk.
Finally, the only thing she could think of doing was to turn off this busy street into the nearest vacant parking lot- which happened to be the parking lot of a day care center- with children playing on the playground. Melanie is not only a peacemaker, but she is also a teacher who has spent her entire life giving encouragement and love to children. The horn had now elevated in its honking to one loud, long, never ending beeeeeeeeeeeep. The children on the playground clutched their hands to their ears; some fell on the ground crying for their Mothers. The daycare workers turned and stared angrily at Melanie, wondering why she was being so rude. Melanie ran to the fence and explained her predicament and one of the teachers, who knew about cars and fuses, came to her rescue. She pulled the fuse to the car horn and it stopped making its dreadful, child deafening, insulting, ear splitting noise.
For Melanie, this was a traumatic experience. Through a set of circumstances over which she had no control, she incurred the wrath of people she encountered including some innocent children. Too often, we are quick to judge someone whose set of circumstances are beyond their control. We see a person who appears to us to be acting in a strange way or in a way we would never act (or so we think). But one day, we may be driving along life's highway and our horn may begin to blow. And then, we will understand.
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
And then, it got old. And the check engine light came on and no mechanic on the face of the earth could prevent it from glowing. The engine actually quit running as I sped around the Raleigh beltway in rush hour traffic and I had to coast across four lanes of traffic in order to pull off the highway with no power steering. But, I still loved it. And I still pampered it...until the horn went berserk.
I was driving from work one afternoon and pulled up to a stoplight at an intersection. Pedestrians were crossing the street in front of me when my horn blew at them. They jumped, startled, and said some very unkind things to me. I thought that I had accidentally bumped the horn and tried to apologize but they would not accept it.
A few miles further I was following a car when the horn began to beep again. I could see the driver in the car in front of me looking in his rear view mirror. So, I turned right at the next intersection, trying to figure out what was going on.
A few days passed without incident when I switched cars with Melanie so that I could travel out of town, since I no longer trusted the Buick for long distance travel. I don't remember if I told Melanie about the horn problem (I probably didn't), but I should have.
She was driving home in rush hour traffic on Central Avenue when the Buick's horn began beeping. People around her looked at her with hostile eyes. As the beeping continued people began to give her the one finger salute while mouthing a few choice words to her.
Now, you should know that my wife is what some people call a "peacemaker". She does not like conflict, especially conflict with strangers, and will go to great lengths to avoid such conflict. But on this day, there was nothing she could do. The Buick had a mind of its own and the horn continued to honk.
Finally, the only thing she could think of doing was to turn off this busy street into the nearest vacant parking lot- which happened to be the parking lot of a day care center- with children playing on the playground. Melanie is not only a peacemaker, but she is also a teacher who has spent her entire life giving encouragement and love to children. The horn had now elevated in its honking to one loud, long, never ending beeeeeeeeeeeep. The children on the playground clutched their hands to their ears; some fell on the ground crying for their Mothers. The daycare workers turned and stared angrily at Melanie, wondering why she was being so rude. Melanie ran to the fence and explained her predicament and one of the teachers, who knew about cars and fuses, came to her rescue. She pulled the fuse to the car horn and it stopped making its dreadful, child deafening, insulting, ear splitting noise.
For Melanie, this was a traumatic experience. Through a set of circumstances over which she had no control, she incurred the wrath of people she encountered including some innocent children. Too often, we are quick to judge someone whose set of circumstances are beyond their control. We see a person who appears to us to be acting in a strange way or in a way we would never act (or so we think). But one day, we may be driving along life's highway and our horn may begin to blow. And then, we will understand.
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Lost Luggage
A few years ago, I flew to Washington, D. C. for a
conference. As the plane approached Washington ,
the pilot informed us that a storm would delay our landing and, in the
meantime, we would circle the airport until we were allowed to land.
I could see that we were not the only plane in this
predicament. Behind us and in front of
us were other planes, flying in one long circle over Reagan
National Airport
After we circled the airport for about an hour, the pilot
cheerily announced that we were turning around and flying back to Charlotte, N.
C. because we were nearly out of fuel.
The result of this bit of news caused a new, more energetic round of
cursing and wailing and gnashing of teeth; as if the pilot and his crew were
responsible for the weather.
After we landed in Charlotte and rolled to a stop, everyone
jumped out of their seat at once in a race to grab their carry on bags, jostling
one another to be the first off the plane.
But, more bad news awaited us at the baggage claim. We were informed, after waiting for 30
minutes, that our luggage had successfully landed in Washington D. C. on a
flight ahead of us.
Once this news spread, total chaos erupted. People were cursing loudly, yelling at no one
in particular or yelling directly at someone; people were running with their
arms waiving wildly, eyes rolling, faces contorted. There was a great deal of pushing and
shoving; disrespect for other people was the rule.
But there was one exception; an island of peace in this sea
of chaos. A father had gathered his wife
and two children together in a circle in the middle of this madness. As I stood close by, I heard him say, “Let’s
hold hands and pray. Let’s thank God
that we landed safely and that we have each other. Let’s thank God for being with us on this
flight and with us in this airport.” And
they stood together and prayed, as people all about them cursed and swirled in
their anger and their confusion; an example of humility and respect in a crowd
that had neither; a reflection of God’s love and peace in a world gone mad.
After I saw this and listened to their words of praise and
thanks, the fact that my bags were in Washington
and I was in Charlotte did not mean
so much to me anymore.
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Copyright ©Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
What is Love?
In the movie Braveheart, Nicolette, a handmaid to the Princess of England, describes love in this way: "A magistrate wished to capture him (William Wallace, played by Mel Gibson), and found he had a secret lover. So he cut the girl's throat to tempt Wallace to fight, and fight he did. Knowing his passion for his lost love, they next plotted to take him by desecrating the graves of his father and brother, and setting an ambush at the grave of his love. He fought his way through the trap and carried her body to a secret place. Now that's love, no? "
I would say yes, that is love, but most of us do not have the opportunity to express our love in such a dramatic fashion. Most of us express our love in thousands of ordinary, sometimes unseen, ways.
So, in honor of the people I love and of Valentine's Day, here is my definition of love.
I would say yes, that is love, but most of us do not have the opportunity to express our love in such a dramatic fashion. Most of us express our love in thousands of ordinary, sometimes unseen, ways.
So, in honor of the people I love and of Valentine's Day, here is my definition of love.
Love is a kiss from your spouse in the morning;
A running hug from your children;
Love is a picture taped to your bedroom wall by your daughter;
Hearing your son say his prayers with his mother.
Love is a pair of worn out boots in a box in the attic
That you wore working your way through college;
It is a box of love letters;
A home movie.
Love is a family Bible with the record of births and deaths
and clippings between the pages.
Love is getting home late at night
and seeing the lights of your home shining through the windows.
Love is a warm fire in winter
and marshmallows roasting on coat hangers.
Love is hearing your children laugh
and knowing you made them laugh.
It is the way the wind blows trees;
The smell of a flower;
The touch of her hand.
The way she smiles;
The stars at night.
The moon in a black night sky.
A whispered word in the silent darkness.
Love is a science project involving insects and spiders;
A puppy with brown eyes brought home unexpectedly.
Love is the firm voice of a parent;
The denial of a privilege; a grounding.
It is doing the right thing
when you know it would be easier to let it slide.
Love is saying no.
Saying yes.
Saying maybe.
Love is letting go;
and holding on;
and easing up;
and bearing down.
Love is hurting when someone you care about hurts;
Crying when a friend cries;
Taking food to the home of someone who needs it.
Love is working thankless hours on unseen projects
and never being recognized but continuing to volunteer.
It is hearing your name in a conversation
and not worrying about what is being said.
Love is being seen and accepted at your very worst.
Love is a long walk;
A summer day that will never end.
Rain on a Saturday afternoon;
Two cups of coffee on the table;
A piece of cheese toast cut in half.
Love is the first good day of fall
when the air is crisp.
It is teaching your child to ride a bicycle
and seeing him wobble across the parking lot for the first time.
Love is a bumpy ride;
It is a hug when you need it.
A hug when you don't need it;
The holding of hands;
The sharing of small moments
And the caring of a lifetime.
Copyright ©2013 by Eric Lanier. The right to download and store output of the materials from this website is granted for your personal use only, and materials may not be produced in any edited form. Any other reproduction or editing by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the express written permission of Eric Lanier is strictly prohibited. For additional information, contact Eric Lanier at ericelanier@gmail.com
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