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Somebody To Love

Somebody To Love

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When the truth is found

To be lies,

And all the joy,

Within you dies…”

(Darby Slick)

 

I read this lyric yesterday from the song Somebody to Love on an internet post.  I had to laugh a little as it struck me as kind of funny given the rhetoric of the current campaigns and the information or the misinformation we are enduring every day.

The song Somebody to Love was written by Darby Slick for his band The Great Society and released as a single in 1966. The Great Society also included his brother Jerry Slick and his sister-in-law Grace Slick.

Grace would ultimately leave The Great Society, and join another band known as The Jefferson Airplane.  She would take the song, then titled Someone to Love, change the title to Somebody to Love, and along with her song White Rabbit, would help build the now classic album, Surrealistic Pillow.

And so it was, Somebody to Love, White Rabbit and Surrealistic Pillow would go down in rock and roll history, considered to be one of the “most influential and quintessential works of the early psychedelic rock era and 1960s counterculture.”

Ironically, in August of 2019, I was also inspired by these lyrics to write an essay titled Three Days of Peace, Love, and Wheels on the Bus. The inspiration for that essay, however, had nothing to do with lies and vanishing joy, just the opposite. The somebodies to love in that story were grandchildren as we made a long overdue visit to Florida.

I’ve heard at least some of the folks in our current contest have been promoting joy as a theme, but I am frankly just not feeling it.

Surrealistic maybe, but not joy.

Yeah, surrealistic, something that has a dreamlike atmosphere or quality. Maybe we are all tripping? Maybe we should all be sleeping on surrealistic pillows and reliving some of those “joys” associated with the sixties.

Well, then again maybe not.

But with less than thirty days left to this election season, regardless of who you are supporting, when all the truth is found to be lies, when all information is misinformation, and all the joy is confined to the ladies on The View, I don’t know about you, but I am ready to go back to listening to some music.

Because I think the truth is we should be praying for our brothers and sisters in the southeast, peace everywhere in the world where there is none, and focusing on a different truth.

 

Because the real “truth doesn’t reside in the minds of humanity, but completely outside of us, in the person of God. “

Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

Maybe all truth isn’t lies.

Maybe there is a way to find some joy in that.

 

I haven’t written much in the past year.

Lack of joy may have contributed to that.

I’ve always enjoyed writing because it always made me happy.

So, bear with me while I practice writing and being happy.

 

But now I think I will go to church.

And hear the truth.

And when I come home, maybe I will listen to some music.

Maybe even some Jefferson Airplane.

And begin to enjoy me some joy.

Because joy and The Truth are not dead.

 

Postscript:

The photo above is from a couple of weeks ago when me and my somebody to love, participated for the third time in the Laurel View Village Que Classic 5K and 10K.  Laurel View Village is the assisted living facility where Kim’s mom lives near Johnstown, PA.  Not to mislead anyone, but the truth here is that we walked a 5K as our running days are behind us.  It was a beautiful late September day in the Laurel View mountains.

Another fun fact, Somebody to Love, aka Someone to Love, was originally titled “Mind Full of Bread.”  Too funny, there might be some truth to that.

Removed…For Now

Removed…For Now

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Who knows what the next six months will bring?

Until then I will keep warm and wait for the day when the first martin returns.

And I will pray that in those six months, time doesn’t change me too much.

And I will be allowed to write about another beautiful day, in another season, in another year, in time.

 

I wrote that while experiencing a beautiful day last October, yet realizing all the signs indicated that the season would soon be gone.  The purple martins, now removed from their houses, were on their long journey back to South America.  On that weekend I had lowered the martin houses for the winter.  In the coming months just as the martins do, I also would be retreating to places that would keep me warm as I waited for a new season to return.

 

Removed

Vanished

Gone

They’re just gone.

He’s just gone.

One day there, the next day gone.

 

Have you ever experienced that?

Someone or something you had one day but were removed from your life the next.

Sometimes, like the purple martins or the seasons, it’s temporary and they return.

Sometimes however, as with death, it is not temporary.

But is it not?

Jesus suffered death on the cross.

He was laid in the tomb only to be found removed a few days later.

But he wasn’t removed as Mary had thought.

“Woman, why are you crying?”  asked the angels.

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”

 

No one took Jesus away.

As was promised, as was the purpose of his crucifixion, he was risen.

Now as Easter approaches, it is April and another beautiful day, in a different season, and in a different year. It has been almost six months, and as I prayed for, time hasn’t changed me too much.  On a recent weekend I cleaned out the tiny rooms where the birds would live and raised the three purple martin houses back to their high perch on top of the poles.  It was warming up, and like the new season, the martins should be back soon too.  In fact, three or four days later, I spoke with my mother, the martins had returned.  The older ones go ahead first, returning to the places they are familiar with, places where they had nested before.  They would soon be followed by the younger birds breeding for the first time.

 

In the coming days we will celebrate the resurrection of Jesus and we will return once again to a place we are familiar with.

The story of the tomb.

Jesus was gone, but he was not removed.

In this single event we are given hope.  Hope of life eternal as was promised, hope of being reunited with those who went ahead first. Hope that maybe he’s not just gone forever.

And as we are reminded in Philippians Jesus is not a dead martyr to be pitied, but a living, reigning, returning Lord to be loved and emulated, both in present suffering and in future reward.

 

So as this beautiful day comes to an end, in this Holy season, this Easter season, I pray once again that time doesn’t change me too much, and for the hope and faith everlasting that this new season brings.

 

Postscript:

On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent I was participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church.  The daily themes based on one word each day and some associated scripture.  Today’s word is Removed . This post concludes my participation. Thank you for reading.  If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link here in this postscript.

 

MWWK17 and Other Stuff

MWWK17 and Other Stuff

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I saw this license plate while driving this week.

It read MWWK17.

I took it to mean Mark 17.

Curious, I went to my Bible and found that the license plate couldn’t have meant Mark 17 because there is no Mark 17.

Mark ends at Chapter 16.

So then I decided it had to be Mark 1:7.

“And this was his message: After me will come one more powerful than I, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie.”

“Not worthy.”

That was John the Baptist who wasn’t worthy, prophesizing in this early Chapter of Mark about the coming of Jesus.

 

A week or so ago I got one of my daily devotionals through my email that I must admit I don’t read much anymore.   It was titled the Angel of Strength.  Thinking I could maybe use a little of that right now I quickly skimmed the message.

 

First, it mentioned Paul, imprisoned in Rome, and his letter to the Philippians.  In spite of being imprisoned Paul maintained a positive perspective, ”I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Then the writer mentioned Gideon and refers to him as a “nobody” in Israel, yet Gideon was called on by the “Angel of the Lord” to save Israel from the Midianites.

The writer goes on to say that even in the Old Testament, these theophanies, these visible appearances of God were in fact, Jesus.

.

John the Baptist, “not worthy.”

Paul, down on his luck.

Gideon, a “nobody.”

 

Man, I thought, this stuff is right up my alley.

 

 

I have had a good week.

Sunday was my grandson Ethan’s birthday.

He turned four years old.

Kim, who had to work over the weekend, encouraged me at the last minute to book a flight to Florida and attend Ethan’s party.

So Friday I flew to Florida spent the weekend and returned on Monday.

It was awesome.

For the first time ever, this year I was able to attend the birthday parties of all three of my grandkids, Christian and Cameron’s in June, and Ethan’s on Sunday.

God is good.

 

I don’t ask for much.

I am not a messenger preparing the way for Jesus’ return.

I am not the most influential leader of the early or modern Christian church.

And I am not a mighty man of valor whose mission is to save a country.

And to my knowledge, I have never been visited by an Angel.

 

But I have been blessed.

I have the strength to get up every day and do the best I can.

And most importantly, I know where that strength comes from.

 

Not a sermon, just a blog.

 

Postscript:

After saving Israel Gideon lived a long and happy life.

Not so for Paul and John the Baptist who were both beheaded.

 

And the Angel of the Lord appeared to [Gideon], and said to him, “The Lord is with you, you mighty man of valor!”
(Judges 6:12) 

It is written in Isaiah the prophet:  “I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way. A voice of one calling in the desert “prepare a way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.”  (Mark 1:2-3)

 

…as it happened to Gideon who was called to deliver Israel from the Midianites (Judges 6). Gideon was a “nobody” in Israel, but he learned, like Paul, he could do all things through Christ (the Angel of the Lord) who strengthened him.  (David Jeremiah)

Ethan, who turned four on Sunday.
Christian
Cameron, who is on vacation in the mountains this week, eating ice cream.

Finding Grace

Finding Grace

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Fifty Nine!

“The fear of death is gone…because what Christ did for me on the cross.   I’m saved by the grace of God…the person that faces Christ straight out and totally rejects Him will pay a fearful price…it’s separation from God and that in itself will be Hell…the person who rejects God in a sense is already in Hell in this world.”  (Billy Graham)

 

Already in Hell.

In this world.

 

Kim and I listened to an old Johnny Carson interview with Billy Graham from the early 70’s over the weekend.

Mr. Graham went on to say that at the time, 99% of Americans said that they believed in God.

That was 1973.

That’s changed quite a bit.

More recent surveys put that number for younger adults at less than 50% and for those 18 to 29 as low as 43%.

That’s a lot of people.

 

“Already in Hell in this world.”

 

I overheard my almost son-in-law Leon make a comment one day after hearing someone in his neighborhood click their car remote to lock their car doors.  In this case, he heard the car horn beep multiple times and said something like “Geez, do you have to do it eight times? Once is enough!”

 

Ah, Grasshopper, I thought to myself, you don’t understand.

Someday you will.

There is a reason that some of us need to hit that button more than once.

First of all, we can’t hear the beep.  Old folks push the button, then when we don’t hear anything, we push it again, and again all the time walking closer to the parked vehicle outside in the street until the comforting sound of the horn is confirmed.

 

Then, there is the fact that sometimes, we just don’t remember.

It’s kind of like taking a shower and not remembering if I washed that body part or not…

“Okay I’m done…wait, did I wash my feet yet?  I don’t remember! Ah, shoot I better wash them again just in case.”

It’s the same with locking my truck

I push the button and then moments later I think…

“Did I lock my truck doors?”

“I don’t remember…ah I will just push it again…and maybe I better walk towards it until I hear the horn just to be sure…”

 

Then there is also that inclination to believe that more is always better.

It comes from growing up and not having everything we think we should have had and the need to overcompensate  for that as adults.  We are determined to quell any doubt that what we set out to do, is accomplished. We have to get that last beep in.

“Ha!  I will make sure those darn doors are locked! I am going to push the button again! And maybe a couple more times to be sure! And maybe I should walk towards it until I hear the horn to be extra sure.”

 

 

This is kind of a weird week for me.

In one respect, a rite of passage in some sense, a graduation of sorts, into a new generation, an older generation.

Confirmed by the fact that I got my first Social Security check this week.

And my Medicare card is in the cabinet (though it’s not good until June).

 

But by contrast, I was also reminded that this week seven years ago I ran my first and only half marathon through the streets of my hometown of Oceanport, New Jersey, and neighboring Long Branch in the Long Branch Half Marathon on Team Move For Hunger.

What a difference seven years can make.

In 2014 I was fifty-seven about to turn fifty-eight.  This year I am sixty-four about to turn sixty-five.

And I have a Medicare card in the cabinet.

Half marathons I am afraid might now be just a thing of my past, serving only to make for nice Facebook memories.

I remember running over the Pleasure Bay Bridge, leaving Oceanport and entering Long Branch and catching up to this young lady who was running even slower than I was.  I remember thinking wow good for her to be out there doing this event, she didn’t have your typical runner’s body, in fact you could say she was a bit overweight and not someone you might expect to be out running a 5K, let alone a half marathon.

So we struck up a little conversation as we began the incline that was the Oceanport side of the bridge and I explained to her that this was my first half marathon and I expected her response to be the same.

But it wasn’t.

No, she said, “I try to run one of these a week. Yeah, last week I was in (someplace I don’t remember where she said) and the week before that I was in (someplace else).”

“Wow”, I said “Good for you!” and with that, I took advantage of the downhill Long Branch side of the bridge and increased my pace.

As I left her behind, I felt silly for my assumption and a little humbled as well.

I judged her.

And that was unfair and I was totally incorrect in my assumption.

 

 

Believe it or not, Kim and I still have our Christmas tree set up in the living room.

No, we didn’t forget to take it down.

I am not that far gone yet.

Apparently, I purchased such a cool-looking artificial tree that this year,  once we took the ornaments off, it kind of blended in with the rest of the forestry in my living room and became kind of fun to have.

And this week is also special to me because Saturday is the running of the Kentucky Derby, therefore this week is “Derby Week.”

So since I had the tree already up I decided to decorate it for the occasion.

I even made my meatballs already.

 

And finally, this week, after eleven years of non-production, The Little Chickens Winery fired up what will be the next vintage of Little Chickens Cabernet Sauvignon 2021.  Hopefully no snowstorms on bottling day this time.

 

 

So, for the most part, I am enjoying this week.

I am not running any half marathons but I am moving around as much as my aches and pains allow me to.  I will at least want to wait until my Medicare becomes active should I ever attempt to run another half marathon, I might need the hospitalization.

And as for you Grasshopper, my new soon-to-be son-in-law, patience.  You too will learn that with age comes wisdom…but also the need to hit the lock button multiple times.

And it is also true that with age and wisdom, more people come to God in their older years.  Maybe it is the desire to not fear death, maybe it is the desire to just accept the Grace of God and enjoy the happiness of inner peace…finally.

I hope that is true.

Because like my humbling experience of unfairly judging someone for the way that she looked, whether you are already in Hell in this world or not, nowadays, we still seem to do a lot of that.

Judging that is.

 

And so, I hope you watch the race on Saturday.

I hope you enjoy this nice weather.

I hope you relax with your beverage of choice and maybe eat a meatball.

I hope you get your vaccine and take your mask off while dining outside at a restaurant.

I hope you remember that you already washed your feet and lock your car only once.

 

But most of all, I hope you find grace.

 

 

Postscript:

The photo above is from April 27, 2014 before the start of the New Jersey Marathon and the Long Branch Half Marathon and includes the Move For Hunger Team including Coach Emily Cebulski in the center.

It’s hard to believe it has been 59 weeks since the pandemic officially kicked off.  Get your vaccine!

 

 

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

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Wake Up

 

“Wake up, wake up…we’ve got to move, patrols will be out soon, we’ve got to get back on the Trail.”

It’s Sunday.

This morning we attended church with a small group of Patriots. Services are different now, they are held quietly and secretly in basements by candlelight since all church buildings were destroyed by the early anarchists bent on eliminating Christian-Judaic traditions.

But that was before the Socialists gained power, ushered in by the failure of leaders to control their left after years of isolation, a pandemic, and the collapse of the economy.

Chaos ensued, opportunity knocked, and the North Korean missiles rained down.  Smoke and ash still linger in the air of the cities.  But in the mountains, the trail once known as the Appalachia Trail, now serves Patriots who want to travel north and south, staying away from the cities controlled by the Communists and their socialist natives in servitude.

The once majestic skyline of our Capital lies broken, its white stones darkened by fire and ash. Yet, the  statue of Saunders, the hero of the Socialist uprising, ironically still stands intact on the Mall covered in graffiti in a language once foreign to our country, a reminder of what can happen when a country loses its values.

But in the mountains and the rural areas, there is safety.  The new Government chooses not to worry about those who are too hard to control.  Besides, there are plenty of “comrades” falling in line in the cities, no need to care about folks like us.

We are traveling to Western Pennsylvania.  We have people there and it’s far from the metropolitan areas controlled by the invaders.  There we will have food and shelter.  We will follow the trail north through West Virginia and Maryland and into Pennsylvania, then travel at night on the rural highways west to the Laurel Highlands and safety, and some home cooking since the once-bustling free enterprises of “Eat More…” and “Have it Your…” have been converted into distribution kitchens serving those who serve our captors.  The food, mostly rice brought in from the homeland and provided by the Government since the fields within fifty miles no longer support crops or pasturing of livestock.

It’s a different world now. Once worried about the burning of fossil fuels, instead now we choke in the carbon monoxide tainted air left by missiles, fires, and barren tracks of land that one day were green, taking in the carbon dioxide and providing us oxygen.

I am sad. Sad for myself, sad for my family, sad for those who didn’t see it coming.

For now, though, I must concentrate on putting one foot after the other as I walk the ridges of protruding rocks. We have many more miles to travel.

 

“Wake up honey, wake up, you are going to be late for class!”

“I’m up, I’m up…wow Mom…I was dreaming, I mean I had this really weird dream.

“It was scary.”

“But it’s okay…

I am awake now.”

 

 

According to Masterclass.com:

Flash fiction is a favored genre … for its ability to convey deep truths and universal human emotions in just a few short paragraphs.

Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story. While there is no set word count that separates flash fiction from more traditional short stories, flash fiction stories can be as short as a few words (while short stories typically run for several pages).

 

I don’t like to write fiction, but it was fun to try for a contest.

But I don’t expect I have conveyed deep truths and human emotions as described above.

 

I would prefer to do that with non-fiction.

 

 

 

It’s Palm Sunday.

The day Jesus entered Jerusalem.

I heard an awesome prayer this morning that moved me.

“You come among us in unexpected ways, whoever heard of a king on a donkey, a savior on a cross.  How do we know it is you?  How should we recognize your presence? Will we see you when you stand among us? Will we hear your voice and understand your message?

 Will we wave palms of enthusiasm today, but drop our arms in confusion tomorrow?”

 

The crowd mentality ensued that day.

Hosanna…” save us” they cried.

But that was quickly forgotten and replaced.

“Crucify Him.”

The prayer I heard this morning went on to question our ability to stand on our own beliefs and not to succumb to what may be the popular opinion.

The opinion of the crowd.

 

I guess it’s not so popular to believe in this story anymore.

This story of Jesus riding on the back of a donkey.

It’s certainly not so popular to yell “Hosanna.”

And it’s not so popular to believe Jesus died to save us.

 

But I believe.

And it’s okay.

I am awake now.

 

 

Post Script:

The photo above popped up on my Google memories or Facebook this week.  It’s from a year when we were still able to welcome the community and particularly the children to our church at Easter. We pray that will change again soon.

That’s me under the bunny head.  I get to play many roles in my job.  Even representing the fictional aspects of this season.

Happy Easter!

 

Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Eleven

 

“Curtis! Put that down! You will poke your eye out.”

If you are someone my age how many times growing up do you remember your mother saying that to you?

I was cutting the grass this week at work.  Working within the evergreens with many cut off branches about eye level along the west side of the property, I was thinking about heeding my mother’s advice and my need to be careful that I didn’t “poke my eye out” when all of a sudden I was jarred back to reality by a sharp pain and my head being knocked back.

I felt the blood dripping down my eyebrow and watched it hit the sleeve of my shirt.  With my head hung out ahead of me so the blood would now drop down to the ground and not on me, I walked back to my truck to find a paper towel to apply pressure to the bleeding.

With my glasses now off and holding a towel to my head, I went inside the building and  to the first aid kit that I knew was on the kitchen counter  grabbing the first band aid I could find from the box that happened to be lying open on top of the kit.  I headed to the restroom to get a look.  The gash was about an inch and a half above my right eye.

Happy I didn’t “poke my eye out,” I washed the wound out thoroughly and applied my band aid.

The band aid I had grabbed was a Bert and Ernie band aid.

Back at my desk in the spirit of never letting a good crisis go to waste or, as it may apply to my kids, never let a good boo boo go to waste without getting some sympathy, I took a selfie to send to my wife.     Knowing that seeking some sympathy from Kim “No blood, no bones, no sympathy” Christiansen was a risk, I hoped for the best and sent the photo.

Upon closer inspection of the photo there was me, with Bert and Ernie, and over my right shoulder was Jesus.

How cool is that? I thought.

 

It’s already Memorial Day Weekend and we are, based on my beer bottle counting system, eleven weeks into this new world of Covid-19.

Along with my image of Bert, Ernie, Jesus, and me, photos seemed to be the theme of the week as reminders of this week from years past kept resurfacing.

My Facebook memories popped up this photo from 2018 of Ethan.

isn’t he cute?

Here is another from that same trip to Florida of Christian and Alexa and Namaan.

At the beach, isn’t he cute?
Alexa and Namaan

From Hayley, came this photo from  thirteen years ago  of the two of us on our adventure from Des Moines, Iowa to Fort Lauderdale, Florida when we joined other truckers on the road again moving Alexa to her  new home.  It was a hoot.  By the time we got to Florida we knew all the words to every popular country song at the time. I even bought a cowboy hat somewhere in Indiana.

Next to the rental truck somewhere on the road

Savannah posted a photo that goes back further than that of her and Donny with the McLaughlin boys.  She posted it on May 19, which  would have been Jimmy’s 32nd birthday.  Both Jimmy and Donny were taken from us way too young in life, both by tragic accidents. In fact Jimmy’s accident was four years ago this week as well.

 

Donny on the far left, Jimmy on the far right.

Courtesy of Google, here is when I accompanied Cameron on a field trip this same week in 2017.  Here he is showing me his grilled cheese.  That was a fun day.

On the field trip with Cam. Isn’t he cute?

There was the video from the Preakness in 2015 that popped up on my Facebook memories.  That was the year American Pharoah won in a downpour and ultimately went on to win the Triple Crown.  I can’t post the video here but here is a photo from that same day.

Baffert discussing the race with Victor Espinoza before riders up

And another from the Preakness in 2012.

Kim and I at the 2012 Preakness

And yet another Preakness in 2010:

Kimmy in the Winners Circle at the Preakness 2010. Isn’t she cute?

 

Memories of this week from the present and from years past.

All nice, but some bittersweet.

 

Another virus induced practice for me is that I have started to do video recordings of reading children’s books for my two little guys in Florida since I can’t go to visit yet.

This week I read them “Ralph Tells A Story” by Abby Hanlon.  The book is about how Ralph, unlike his classmates, struggles to come up with ideas to write his stories and about  how he overcomes this problem to become a very productive writer.  Ralph’s writing tips were to:

  1. Get comfortable.
  2. It’s okay to ask for help.
  3. You can always write about what you had for breakfast.
  4. And to eat lots of chocolate.

In other words, you can pretty much write a story about anything and it will be okay.

 

Even one about boo boos, and Bert and Ernie, and Jesus looking over your right shoulder.

 

 

 

The Coronavirus Post Script:

 

And remember to keep in your prayers:

Healthcare workers and their families. Remember “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8);

All those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues;

Those non healthcare caregivers working to take care of a loved one while isolated at home;

Families who have lost loved ones;

Those who have lost jobs and businesses.

And keep reaching out to those who may need some attention.

 

 

 

 

The Harvest, We Reap What We Sow

The Harvest, We Reap What We Sow

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Observe them carefully, for this will show your wisdom and understanding to the nations, who will hear about all the decrees and say, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the Lord our God is near us whenever we pray to him? And what other nation is so great as to have such righteous decrees and laws as this body of laws I am setting before you today?  Deuteronomy 4:6-8

 

The laws, the rules we live by.

The speaker introducing the message at church this Sunday used the analogy of playing with fire.  Our innate insistence on sometimes challenging wisdom, rules, and laws out of a curious need to know more,  or the feeling that we know better maybe. Our inability to trust what we are being told, our need to learn it ourselves… like playing with fire, until we get burned.

 

I am in western Pennsylvania again and this time of year it’s the harvest, the time when you reap what you sow.

It was a good week, the predicted rain held off and “the boys” (Kim’s brothers Kerry and Keith,  and nephew Josh) were able to finish harvesting the soybeans in the fields down by Scullton and return the two large combines back to the farm to be moved to another field when work started again on Monday.

Unlike the last time I shared my harvest experience, a time when there was uncertainty in my life and uncertainty in our country with the upcoming election, I didn’t get to ride in the combine.   But by the end of the weekend I would feel that it was me who was benefiting from the reaping.

Having moved from the intro message delivered in the sanctuary to the basement classroom for Sunday school, we discussed Deuteronomy some more and the laws being passed on to the new nation of Israel.

Later those same rules to live by would be shared to other nations through the life of Jesus and his disciples.

On this Sunday, as we always do when we are at Kim’s home in Somerset, we attended services at the Geiger Church of the Brethren.  I have been to church here many times over the last twenty years, but not until this visit was I ever at the Geiger Church of the Brethren for their communion.

The Brethren have communion only twice per year. That may be because it is different.  Communion for The Church of the Brethren is not just the bread and cup.  It is referred to as the Love Feast.

And the Love Feast does include a meal as you might guess, but more importantly it includes, just as Jesus did for the disciples at the Last Supper, the washing of feet.

Only after they wash each other’s feet, a simple meal is served.  And finally after the meal the bread and the cup, the body and blood of Christ is served.

So just like Jesus did at the last supper, I sat in a chair while another brother washed my feet, then dried my feet with the long apron tied around his waist, then he kissed me on the cheek and blessed me.  When it was my turn, and I received the apron, I washed the feet of the next brother behind me.  I dried his feet with the apron around my waist, kissed him on the cheek and blessed him. Then I untied the apron… and so on and so on.

It’s hard not to be reminded in that moment of what Jesus was reminding the disciples;  take his message, and live by God’s rules as he had lived out for them to see, in the time leading up this last meal of fellowship.  By washing their feet he was demonstrating the ultimate act of love for your brother, in humbleness and service.

 

Now, we have another great nation that seems to be in constant turmoil.  As a nation we may not have our God as close to us as He used to be.

I can’t help imagining our leaders, our members of Congress, experiencing this act of love and service to one another; each taking their turn to have their feet washed, dried by the apron, and finished with a kiss on the cheek and receiving a blessing.   Then turning to the member in the next seat, kneeling with the basin, washing and drying their feet, a kiss on the cheek and a blessing.

And so on and so on.

 

Might be different vibe in the room after that.

You reap what you sow.

 

So he got up from the meal. Took off his outer clothing. And wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with a towel that was wrapped around him.

I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.

John 13: 4-5, – 15-17

It’s All Over Now

It’s All Over Now

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I am in a funk.

At 3:50 AM this morning, while I was sleeping, my summer officially ended.

Today at 3:50 AM, the first day of fall began.

Summer is over.

My favorite season of the year has ended.

And I slept through it.

 

And then there is the Steelers.

In preparation for the football season in a moment of team spirit, I pushed the send order button on a really cool, somewhat expensive, Hawaiian style Steelers shirt to replace my AB shirt that is now as valuable as koi poo.  I was pumped, I was ready for the new season.

But alas the Steelers are 0 and 3 to start their season and Big Ben is out at least for this year.  I fear that the season is over.

 

And don’t bust out the sweatshirts just yet because then there is Climate Change!

Because,  even though my Steelers Hawaiian shirt is still sitting in the same place I put it the day I received it in the mail, it’s not due to the weather because we have climate change and it’s the first day of fall and its 91 degrees!

 

This climate change movement is really scary.  It’s like something has our young people possessed.

Friday I listened to a young female college student who said she had no reason to finish college because of climate change we were all going to be dead anyway. Still, others said there was no reason to have children.  And one of the signs I saw displayed in D.C. today said: “capitalism kills.”  I am guessing that means socialism doesn’t.

The world as we knew it, is over, we are going to die.

 

Last week my grandson Christian played Jesus in his Chapel skit at his preschool.

Alexa video chatted me to have Christian tell me about this and the dialog went something like this:

 

Alexa: “Christian who were you in chapel today?”

Christian: “Jesus”

Alexa: “Who was Owen?”  (His friend)

Christian: “He was Matthew the cash register.” (I think he meant tax collector)

Alexa: “Who was Royce?”  (Another classmate)

Christian: “He was a fisher of men.”  (Fisherman probably…Simon Peter I am guessing)

 

In another video Alexa sent the next day,  Christian was singing “I will make you fishers of men…fishers of men…if you follow me…”

Experiencing this, I am reminded of the reason you have children.  And maybe teaching them about Jesus and why it’s important to be a good steward of the world and how we treat each other may be more effective than promoting socialism, creating severe harmful anxiety in our youth, and living with the expectation we are all going to die before I am going to be able to access my 401K.

 

You know what, it’s probably not worth worrying about anyway.

Because…

I read something recently that our attention span has decreased from 12 seconds in the year 2000, to 8 seconds in 2015.  So do the math and that means that in 2019 we are down to 7 seconds and surely by now none of you who are reading this are paying any attention and are off to something else.

Hello…

But think about it, in 26 years, if we all aren’t dead from climate change we probably won’t care because our attention spans will have been reduced to nothing and we won’t have the ability to focus on or have an opinion about anything. Our ability to think will be over.

 

It won’t be business as usual anymore.

And now this, if any of you are still paying attention…

Is over.

 

 

 

Jesus…We Are Busy!

Jesus…We Are Busy!

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This past week one of my Florida grandsons in the first weeks of his new Hollywood Hills United Methodist Church preschool (he is three),  video called me to share his project from preschool that included a working set of “lungs” (on a poster board) complete with baggies for lungs, straws for bronchi and a trachea.  It was awesome.  He is three!

Having had a background in Respiratory Therapy and pulmonary medicine it made me proud, and a little sad I had given that up that work some years ago.

It’s Labor Day.

And it is about work.

Though I had an awesome week, it was one deserving of a three day break in my opinion.

I work at a church.

Some people might think that working at a church isn’t really working.

Kind of like the Dire Straits song:

“That ain’t workin’ that’s the way you do it
Get your money for nothin’ get your chicks for free”

Well I certainly don’t know anything about getting “chicks” anymore and don’t want to and to the best of my knowledge working at a church doesn’t make for chick magnets anyway.

But I get work.

I like to work.

And let me tell you something, after finishing one of my busier weeks working at my church… working for Jesus is tough.

Jesus is busy!

And though sometimes I think my “to do” list is out of control, Jesus has to have a “to do” list beyond belief.

I have a hard time getting to all the things on my “to do” list, sometimes it takes me weeks, maybe an occasional month even to get to some things.

So I get it.

Two years ago today, I wrote on my Musings of an Aging Nobody, My Prayer for Hayley.

Hayley is one of my daughters.

At the end of My Prayer for Hayley I wrote, “And so my prayer for Hayley is that God answers my prayer for Hayley the same way he answered my prayer for myself some years ago.

And may she never look back.”

 

This week my prayer for Hayley was answered.  It took two years.

So Jesus, c’mon man, I know I am busy…

But it’s okay.

Because I know you are busier!

And I understand that it might take two years to get to my prayer.

I do get it.

I just hope that those that I work with are as patient with me getting to those things on my “to do” list.

This week I feel particularly blessed.

I am blessed to have a grandson in a pre-med pre-school, another starting to talk and walk, and another down the hall right now pushing his Mimi’s buttons and having a great time doing it.

And Jesus thank you for keeping me so busy.

But especially thank you for answering my prayer for Hayley.

And just like the analogy I like to use for my life…just like Secretariat winning the Belmont by 31 lengths, and never looking back,

“may she never look back.”

Again.

Christian’s lung project!
Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do on Saturday?

Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do on Saturday?

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On Good Friday Jesus was crucified.

On Easter Sunday he was resurrected.

So what did Jesus do on Saturday?

That question was posed at my house as we celebrated on Easter Sunday.

 

I heard a story recently about a local physician who every year on Good Friday, instead of the typical white lab coat look he normally wears, will put on a dark suit instead.  His patients, used to him looking medical like, would ask why he was wearing a suit, are you going to a wedding or going to a funeral?

“A funeral” he would answer.

“Well who died?”

“Jesus.”

This was his way of reminding people.

Kim and I went to church on Good Friday.  The service is always moving and somber.  It is, well, like a funeral.

 

When I was a kid growing up in New Jersey I didn’t go to church on Good Friday, only on Easter Sunday. After church, my parents would pack us all into the Corvair and we would make the drive north through Little Silver and Red Bank to the McDonald’s in Middletown.  This was one of the few times we would go out to eat at any restaurant so it was a real event.  Our Easter dinner would be hamburgers or cheeseburgers, French fries, and milk shakes because that is all they served back then.  You just drove up, parked, walked up to the window and got your food and ate it in the car.  No indoor playrooms or sitting at a table.  It was great.

Easter was also, other than maybe Christmas or the start of the new school year, one of the few times we got new clothes.  My sister would get a frilly dress and the rest of us little suits and maybe a hat.

In our new clothes, we would visit with the extended family and that was about it,  but it was always a nice day.

Easter traditions change.  The suits and hats are now replaced by Hawaiian shirts and khakis.  There is nothing really special about McDonald’s anymore so thankfully home cooking is a better option.  And they don’t make Corvairs anymore, maybe we should be thankful for that too.

 

I got up this past Saturday morning and did the usual; I paid a couple of bills and ran some errands.  Like other holidays, now that the kids are older, they have their own obligations so I was expecting to see them and feed them more in shifts this year and had to plan accordingly.

In the afternoon we did what we have always done this time of the year for the last almost 15 years, we took our dirt and our tools and some potted flowers and went up to the cemetery to plant new at Donny’s grave site.  Cameron helped this year getting the water and unloading the truck.

 

We cooked dinner on grill and then sat outside on the patio.   When it got a little later we put Cameron to bed.  Kim always says prayers with Cameron before bed and on this evening he thanked God for the nice day and for planting flowers for Uncle Donny.

He made a comment to Kim that Uncle Donny was “as tall as the world” or “taller than the world” and when she asked him to explain he just said that Uncle Donny “was in Heaven with Jesus.”

“Cameron how do you know that?” she asked.

“I just know” he said.

 

Church on Sunday was awesome.  To our surprise we had the whole local family with us at church and we filled a pew.  The preacher’s sermon was great.

Who will roll away the stone?  The question asked by Mary and Mary in Mark 16 verse 3 on their way to the tomb early on that Sunday morning.

The stone.

The stone of great weight blocking their way to Jesus in the tomb.

In our sermon the preacher explained that the stone represented all those hard times in our lives.  Those times of tragedy, divorce, loss of a job, an unexpected diagnosis.  All things tough.

It spoke to all of those sitting in my pew.

Just as I am sure it spoke to all of those in the pews surrounding me.

We all have had those stones.  Some have been heavier and harder to move than others. Many we still feel the weight of.

Sometimes we even plant flowers around them.

 

What did Jesus do on Saturday?

Maybe it was meant to be that way, to have that day in between.

Maybe Jesus, like us, needed a day of contemplation.

A day of reflection.

Maybe he was focusing on the weight of that stone and what was to be.

Maybe he was even starting to move that stone, as the world and life beyond it became clearer.

I think so.

How do I know?

“I just know.”

 

One of our heavier stones on the Saturday before Easter