Brainwaves

Last week’s October chill ended with two days of continuous drizzle. Now there was just enough coolness in the breeze to make one shiver in the shadow of the mausoleum. Across the paved road, however, the sun spilled its warmth over a hillside covered with tombstones, some so aged that they no longer stood erect, their whiteness marred by crumbling. We were waiting for the family to synchronize the program; but, with that finally accomplished, as a unit we now marched to a grave-sight but a few hundred yards away. A grassy slope rose to meet a line of brush and trees. There, much in its own secluded portion of the cemetery, a large marker was positioned between two benches, proclaiming the call of Christ for us to bring our little ones unto Him; and, from such hub, small, four-inch bronze squares dotted the ground in all directions. Each gave identity to a particular child laid to rest beneath it. We, of course, were there to address the latest. The old man sat, drew his bow, and began to provide us with several strains of old hymns. Comfort came from the preacher. A couple of poems and the service ended. The dead were left to their consignment. The living turned to meet whatever the day would bring……………

Sunday morning that same day had me seated on a pew next to my niece who has just been given little options concerning a cranial cancer that has returned. Her older brother, facing a form of ALS that is crippling his body, hobbled along behind me to his car after classes. Of a truth, our passage through this time segment allotted unto us is no Garden of Eden. Yet to speak in such terms is a misconception of that Biblical picture of genesis. To say that death and disease and a wrestling with the enigma of it all weren’t part of God’s original agenda in the first place is a matter of opinion. It wasn’t Utopia that we lost in the fall, but an inner connection with the One able to inject strength into our struggle, to provide peace no matter our location. With no wish to dismiss the truth of a heaven to gain and a hell to shun, I still believe our claim of Christianity was never meant to be the deciding factor as to which door is opened unto us. That version of “Let’s Make a Deal” wasn’t what Calvary purchased for us. Grace, after all, isn’t measured by our definition, but by God’s determination. We may frame it via vocabulary, but Jesus resurrects it from a well of living water within us and the flow thereof testifies of the eternal, not six feet of dirt……………

When my autistic charge failed to show the other day, I found myself with a half-hour of lunch time to spend at my own discretion; and, as any conversation I between me and the Fifth Grade teachers is mostly limited to classroom dialogue, it seemed a good chance for me to break bread with them. Entering that area, however, I was a bit taken aback to hear the young Science instructor announce: “And that’s why (insert her name here) won’t be back next year!” Discussion, then, revealed “the rest of the story”. Here reason, from the start, for choosing such profession, was the kids. Earning more money had nothing to do with her decision to go. Regimented administrative policies funneled down from upper levels failed to impress her as having any beneficial value to her students. “No child left behind”, by her definition, merely equated to “everybody passes, educated or not”……..

Working in Special-Ed is my third involvement with some sort of professional vocation. My decade spent in the Navy remains something in which I take pride. Not necessarily because my history there gives record of deeds accomplished or battles won. To keep it short and sweet: I served my country and that makes me feel good. I never rose in rank above an E-6, though, doing what I was told to do, often pondering the insanity of it all. Marriage altered my course. A clerical career with the railroad certainly didn’t help me keep any of my language skills, but it did provide a paycheck and a pension. Again, in looking back, my employment there isn’t noted in a Hall of Fame somewhere. The job, itself, required no great skills. Somebody upstairs called all the shots. If their reasoning made no sense to you, it was their freight-cars. You just shuffled papers………

Somewhere in such attitude, however, I think it possible to lose sight of your purpose. Where is one’s dignity? Worth? Belief in that what you’re accomplishing really matters? I fully understand my school friend’s frustration and resignation. Yet it seems to me, no matter where she goes, the system remains the system and the kids will have lost a great teacher. The answer, in my opinion, isn’t necessarily in a transfer, but in transformation. You give your assignment your best efforts, but you do not rest in life as it comes at you. You rest in Him. The world is an enigma. Institutions and programs and individuals can get so wrapped up in red tape that it’s hard to see what it was all about in the first place. If, in the center of your soul, there resides an assurance of His hand in your affairs, then you learn to appreciate the journey and simply take each day as it comes……….

With my treadmill having “given up the ghost”, I’m once more walking that four-lane highway that runs north and south just above the creek. There’s a broad area on either side of the road and not much danger in accomplishing the journey, but it does have its moments. I usually travel it just before sundown, when rush-hour traffic is in a hurry to get home, and my eyes are focused on the ground, my thoughts elsewhere. Every now and then a friend will honk at the old man who still stops to pick up pennies. Tonight, though, when some young pup in his souped-up Mustang geared down just as he blew by, surely someone got a good laugh. The “brrrrrata-dat-tats” pouring out his exhaust had me nearly three feet in the air thinking my time had come. No basketball in my hands; but a perfect jump shot. Forty-five years too late.…………

Returning to “the real world”, of course, doesn’t always have to be such a sudden, rude awakening; and how much humor there was in my own experience might well depend on whether you’re the guy in the car or the fellow with the surprised look on your face.
We all, however, tend to get lost in our own mentality on occasion; and, in some ways, maybe that’s healthy. At least we’re thinking. During last Sunday’s visit to the Center, less than half of the current batch of inmates raised their hands as to possessing some sort of church history. That’s fairly normal. What bothered me was the response to my other question. “How many in here”, I asked, “will admit to having sin in their life?”; and when not one single drug-addicted kid saw any reason to pin that description on who they were, I just stood there for a moment in shock…………..

Not that society has given them any reason to think of themselves in such terms. Not that the ecclesiastical community has successfully fared any better in clarifying what the term means. The world wants to believe that if everybody’s doing it, how wrong can it be. The Church wants to give you a list that starts with “blasphemy” and filters down to “little white lies”. Jesus, though, made it pretty simple. Declaring Himself to have come “that they which see not might see, and that they which see might be made blind”, He then announced: “If ye were blind, ye should have no sin; but now ye say, We see: therefore your sin remaineth”. It’s not so much who we are or, for that matter, what we’ve done, that determines the issue. It’s whether we’re willing to sit down and discuss the situation, heart to heart, with Him……………..

Television has never been my choice of entertainment. Give me a good book, some crossword puzzles, a journal to fill, or just a quiet walk somewhere. My wife, however, enjoys the tube and usually, on any given night, we reconnect for a couple of hours to watch one of the CSI or Law and Order series. For so many years now that, in viewing Sam Waterson commercially plug an investing firm, I no longer see the actor, but the district attorney. Indeed, I wonder if he, himself, after all this time, hasn’t so saturated his brain with the life of his character that somehow he no longer just steps into a role, but dwells in some sort of osmosis in between? Maybe the real trick to such a career is not so much “crossing over” as it is managing to return to the real you………..

Some time ago I found myself in conversation regarding homosexuality. The general opinion seemed to accept the modern proposition that the condition is merely a matter of our genetic make-up. It’s not my fault. I was born this way. Now I’m hearing much the same diagnosis about alcoholism. It’s no longer just a disease, but part of our DNA making some of us more prone than others to be so snared. Could be. As noted recently, there are no degrees behind my name. Yet I wonder where we draw the line? What part of our psychic is determined by our own free will? I ask this not to throw stones, but to ponder if it all doesn’t go back to the Garden? For me, the question isn’t about who or what I am, but can I improve on the situation?..............

If there be no difference between that person driven to lie and the other fellow addicted to drugs, if our strengths and our weaknesses are nothing more than the materials given us at birth, or even if our identity is shaped by the road we walk, it yet remains that our response is limited to either surrender or dare to hope. Coincidence? I picked up Annie Dillard’s “For the Time Being” this morning and read how we “can live as a particle crashing about and colliding in a welter of materials” with or without God, but you can not live outside the welter of colliding materials. The journey, for each of us, I believe to be individual. The answer is the same. We were meant to travel this path, not via our own understanding, but coupled in a relationship with Him………..

Today marked our first adventure this year into the community with the kids. We finally located a local bowling alley willing to donate an hour on the lanes. Actually, they opened their doors to us an hour earlier than their normal business schedule and couldn’t have been any nicer concerning any part of the relationship. Both sides of the arrangement had to learn a few things about the other, but it all went well for the most part. This place is computerized and when anyone in our bunch put two consecutive balls in the gutter, a dead chicken would flash on the screen in front of us, signifying their lack of success. You would also be advised as to the speed your missile had just achieved while attempting to reach the pins. As I recall, the average was somewhere between 2 mph and “dead in the water”…………

My assignment on this trip was the Fourth Grade autistic boy who, if nothing changes, will fall into my permanent company on a weekly basis next August. I’ll be back to one-on-one again. Unlike my initial charge, this lad displays little to no ability to grasp basic arithmetic. His communication skills are limited and he exhibits but two main interests: (a) eating just about anything he can get his hands on; and (b) playing with string. That last item can be a shoelace, a jump-rope, or a lanyard. It doesn’t matter. There’s just something about holding one end and making the other end dance that intrigues his intelligence. We’re still working on his bathroom skills. Using a ramp, he had the high score today, but I’m pretty sure the curly fries at Arby’s made more of an impression on him…………..

My pastor friend in Pensacola offered me, this last time there, a ministerial position in the state of New York. It would have involved managing a retreat of sorts, helping others find renewal in their commitment to the Gospel. The Church, much too often it seems to me, is prone to simply throw its own wounded out the door and there exists a great need for such work as this. I turned him down, however, recognizing myself to be, in no way whatsoever, the right man for the job. Sparking a Bible study sounds like fun; but there are no degrees behind my name. After forty-two years of Beth handling all our bills, I’d be lost just trying to balance their budget. Beyond an obvious lack of qualifications, though, is the knowledge that God’s will has already stationed me and filled my heart…………..

Annie Dillard’s “For the Time Being” is not for everyone. She begins its discourse with an introduction to various malformations “common” to human reproduction; and reading of bird-headed dwarfs, leopard syndrome, and leprechaunism (to name a few) can quickly sober a person’s thoughts. If one thinks in terms of the Almighty’s “legal responsibilities” in such matters, it’s easy to conclude life, as we know it, came forth from nothing more than some incident of accidental spontaneous combustion. Indeed, when she then speaks of astronomers “nickel-and-diming us to death” via the Hubble telescope’s revelation of there being at least eighty billion galaxies out there, it almost seems senseless to attempt any other explanation of creation. One is left swimming in the infinity of it all……….

Is it such statistics, though, that have moved us into a realm where little respect is given to another’s identity? As I type this, the morning news reports that “hit and run” driving has become almost common place in America. In an age where cell phones, i-pods, and the liquor bottle have brought about new meaning to the term “road kill”, have we come to think like Ted Bundy, whose comment, after his incarceration, went something like: “With so many people breathing, what’s the big deal about eliminating a few?” It only takes Joseph Stalin’s observation, however, that “One death is a tragedy; a million is a statistic”, to remind me that something other than numbers and enigma degrades our thinking. Man’s inhumanity to man goes all the way back to the Garden……….

I loved it when Ms. Dillard noted the population of China as being 1,198,500,000 and then observed that “to get a feel for what this means, simply take yourself…in all your singularity, importance, complexity, and love…and multiply by 1,198,500,000.” Such advice sounds to me like another version of “Love thy neighbor as thyself”. If only she could now somehow transfer all her questions concerning the Creator from her head to her heart, allowing Him to meet her in the depths of simple surrender concerning it all, she might find similar wording to rephrase the first commandment. As David stated in Psalm 139, some knowledge is just too wonderful, too high for man to reach; but once His reality is renewed in us, we are content to abide in Him…………

In spite of the fact that we had already overshot our limited vacation funds this year, in spite of the truth that Beth's back was in no shape to make such a trip, we reserved a motel room for three days, rented a car, and drove to Pensacola over this last weekend. Twelve hours down Friday, arriving in time for rehearsal; and then the wedding, itself, plus reception, taking place Saturday evening. Church Sunday, with a nap afterwards before visiting a few hours with the bride's godparents. Eleven and a half hours back up today, motoring through rain all the way...........

I've told the story before of my pastor friend and his family taking this Vietnamese girl and her younger brother into their household about seven years ago. Discovering they had basically been abandoned to the streets after their mother and two siblings had been tragically murdered, this preacher didn't just mouth the Gospel. He made it a reality. The ceremony, Sunday, was special. Unique in its circumstances. While her love for the groom was obvious, her love and her gratitude for these four people who had given so much was also woven into the ritual...........

Where, though, does that leave me? Glad we went, but with my mind quite numb from the distance covered, the short timespan in which we covered it, and an ample amount of Annie Dillard's "For The Time Being" re-read each night before retiring. Sorting it all out right now is about impossible. Tomorrow, after school, I've got to drive halfway to Winchester to retrieve the dog; Wednesday evening is service down at the rescue mission; and this Sunday we visit the Detention Center again. This will have to suffice for now. The pieces to the puzzle just aren't there tonight........

The ground was wet this morning, covered with a layer of Autumn’s dead, brown leaves. The weatherman’s been predicting snow flurries, but my Disney “Grumpy” hoody had me uncomfortably warm. The mood, though, only reflected where my thoughts have been lately. While time, in either direction, is no more than the mere blink of an eye unto God, for we who walk our individual, allotted portion of such infinity, it is a misconception. Weeks sometimes seem forever and years pass much too quickly. What we have is the moment; and yet, if the truth be told, as life takes us forward in a seasonal rotation, the key to whether we’re “living” or just sucking up oxygen has a lot to do with what we have made the center of our universe……

No doubt that sounds like a good lead-in for something I might preach down at the mission or over at the Detention Center. The only difference, however, between the guy in the pew and the fellow on the street is “Christ in me”; and even that radical return to Genesis isn’t always a guarantee that Adam won’t stumble in the journey. Elijah was a big man on campus back in 1st Kings. He called down fire from heaven and whooped up on 450 of Baal’s prophets. Yet, on three separate occasions in that area of Scripture, he declared himself to be the only one still serving Jehovah; and, before it was over, his ministry had been passed to the next guy in line. The chariot ride was nice, but maybe a bit sooner than he had requested……

I’ve known a few Elijahs along the way. I’ve probably BEEN Elijah on more than one occasion. It’s not all that hard to think yourself smack in the middle of what He would have you doing and then find yourself sitting in a cave wondering where the rest of the Church has gone. And it isn’t the positioning that bothers me. Stumbling through this is common to all of us. Nobody continually has it all together. We may walk through some segment rejoicing in the Flow that was there, but who ever feels like any success was a result of his own brilliance? Nope. I recognize the loneliness and wondering what in the world is going on. What I don’t want to miss is having ears that hear. As well as His shelter, let me know the Shepherd’s staff…….

Two of the children I’m currently escorting through Fifth Grade are afflicted with Asberger’s Syndrome. That’s another name for the high end of Autism; but, while there are similarities between my particular duo, in one aspect they are as different as night and day. The little girl takes criticism or correction like it’s the end of the world. Indeed, she’s in love with the world and is simply heart-broken that anyone would not feel the same toward her. The boy, on the other hand, appears to have a set of rules he applies to life around him. Disrupt them in any way and he’s not at all happy. Nothing violent. Some vocal response and perhaps a book slammed on the table. Usually some calm but stern guidance puts him back on track……….

The other fellow suffers seizures. I blogged about him recently. Toothpick legs and arms. Burr hair cut. Glasses and buck teeth. He’s so wrapped up in Momma’s arms that he’s ready to run to her should I “push” him a bit in learning a lesson. I bribe him with mints. He brings me tiny boxes of raisons. Few teachers escape his need for a hug and he’s always trying to sneak up on the assistant principal to scare her. In no way, therefore, was I surprised Wednesday, as we walked through the crowd at Tall Stacks, to have him become ecstatic over one man who resembled Abraham Lincoln. “It’s the President, Mr. Filer!” he shouted; “It’s the President!” And when Abe waved back, it made his day. My feet were sore. He was in heaven.……….

Sometimes I think the only stretch between children and adults is: the “freshness” hardens along the way. In my uneducated opinion, that’s a description of Autism in any of its forms. Those held in its grip seem to have been born locked into a certain mindset and see their existence only through that individual lens. Back in my youth it all fell under the label of being “retarded”. That term, however, developed a nasty slur about it, as if the person using it was such a genius. In truth, it merely means to be “slow or limited” in one’s thinking; and, by such definition, I suggest that many of us could be so categorized. Too often life hardens our mental outlook. Softener isn’t just medication for the other end of our anatomy. I love hanging out with these kids…………

“Tall Stacks has become an annual event here in the Tri-State. The riverboats, themselves, dock on the Cincinnati side of the Ohio, but what my first visit ever revealed is: along both banks, for about a miles in either direction, are lined minor representations of that era. Union soldiers are encamped on the Kentucky side, bivouacked and ready to demonstrate Army life as it was. People everywhere are in costume. Southern belles in hoop skirts and ribbons. Men who resemble Abraham Lincoln providing them escort. And yesterday our entire Fifth Grade marched among them. Indeed, we marched, and marched, and marched. From the landing to the “Purple People Bridge”, across its span to the other side, down to the military folk; then reversing our route till we returned to whence we came, but becoming separated in the dense crowd before finally finding our assigned luncheon spot; then eating and dragging ourselves back to the bus. The four to five mile trek had taken so much time that the schedule we had planned just got lost in the shuffle…………

I find most things in life a similar experience. We sat in the Wednesday evening service last night and discussed Josh McDowell’s visit with us over the week-end. When, at one point, an elderly couple asked just what he’d meant by “not raising your children the way your parents raised you”, opinions started popping up all over the place. The pastor spoke of how each of us passes “through a different filter” and that brought forth the idea that generational values change as we go. One woman, in particular, noted that, in this day and age, people no longer simply swallowed everything in the name of “faith”. In plain English, there was just no way she was about to hang her motherhood on someone else’s view of chapter and verse. “If you want me to believe,” she proclaimed; “then you have to provide me with evidence that your theory works!” I wanted to applaud, but held my piece until the subject had pretty well been exhausted within the camp. Truthfully, I often look at my three girls and, reflecting on those days, wonder what in the world I did right……………

Aboard one ship in the Navy, we were required to always spit-shine our working spaces on Tuesday even though it wouldn’t be inspected until Friday. The chief, when asked, blamed his former duty station for likewise so scheduling the chore. If that seems ludicrous (and it did to me), then why should I assume that raising children is a “by the Book” formula able to be reduced to a “one-size-fits-all” set of instructions? My daughters were all individuals. Each knew their own existence via a series of circumstances peculiar to their own slice of the pie. How does one “connect” with that and, at the same time, fulfill the role of being their father? What is it that Christianity gave to me when I didn’t understand them or, for that matter, when I didn’t even understand myself? Yeah. I’m back to where I usually find myself: stumbling through parentage much as I’ve stumbled through everything else over the past thirty-four years, kneeling at that same inner altar I erected in the beginning, and trusting in the witness of His Presence that springs forth…………….

It’s that simple. Really. You just hold His hand and keep walking…………..

Sunday was a bit of a “fresh dip in the pool” for me. For the first time in over two years, I sat in another man’s Sunday School class and participated in the discussion. Stepping into a new philosophy of worship after leaving the old church was easy. Christ remains Christ. Becoming “one of the bunch” is another matter. People are friendly, of course; but there is yet that old adage about making yourself friendly and it is my wife who finds that easy to do. I’m more that strange duck who’s always lost in his thoughts, inserting his foot into mouth when speaking with others. Only in His well do I find flow…………

There were only about fifteen of us and we had just left a service where Josh McDowell had been the guest speaker. It had been my first encounter with him, his books not part of my collection. It occurs to me, as I type this, that never once, in about thirty-five minutes, did I hear him mention Jesus. His message concerned studies showing a huge percentage of our kids abandoning their faith within a year after leaving home; and the main reason they do so appears to stem from a faulty relationship with their father. The parental male too often fails to provide a living witness of what his gospel proclaims…………

How much trust one can put into such conclusions is, I suppose, an individual matter. I admit to being not all that impressed by polls. Nonetheless, when a last minute call came inviting me to address the afternoon session at the Youth Detention Center, the statistics provided a platform from which to approach my “congregation”. Rather than leave it all as some self-improvement program that dad should tackle, however, my own suggestion was to attack the problem on the other end. Why repeat the cycle? Forget “Christianity”; and invite the reality of Christ into all that you are right now…………..

That last line, no doubt, will probably disturb the religious community. It is, though, my opinion on the issue after more than three decades of life within that very arena. We have turned the membership into a club and either usurped the authority of the Holy Ghost or edited Him right out of the Book. Our lesson, Sunday morning, dealt with transformation. Of the heart. Of the mind. It’s sound Biblical advice; and the series continues. Yet if it is but we who think to change ourselves through “imitating” Him, what do we accomplish? Better, I find, to surrender unto His Presence and then watch it come to pass…………..