Brainwaves

In the comments of a recent post, a friend and I spoke of how Christmas often brings with it a “collision of feelings”. Personally, I find that life, in general, is akin to that description. There may well be those who seemingly have it “all together”, those who always have a “Plan B” to initiate when the immediate course gets interrupted; but I am not one of them. In May of ’02, retirement brought with it change in more ways than one. My insurance company through the railroad walked us into the new phase, issuing us both health and dental cards, then reneging on the coverage when my wife had work done on her teeth. Long story. We lost the argument. This past October I turned sixty-five, crossed into Medicare and they immediately dumped us both on all accounts. After two months of existing in limbo while they continued to take our payments, after two months of “Press one, press two, press three” and then talking with some agent (a different one each time), Beth finally discovered one who cared enough to listen and investigate. Now the school where I work is telling me I failed to check the right box on their computer form and the Flex-spending arrangement we have is unavailable to me this year. It would be an understatement to say I presently wrestle with an emotional desire to strangle a few folk…………..

My mother is eighty-four, living in one of those senior high-rise developments, and still doing well other than her face is partially paralyzed from a bout with palsy she suffered several years ago. In conversation with her the other day about life in general as it exists around us, I noted how she comes into my mind often as I deal with such things. “This is not the world as I have always known it,” I observed. She laughed; but, then, what else is there to do? For the last few weeks Blogspot, who has obviously sold out to Google, encouraged its member to switch over to a new, improved version of correspondence. Me? The guy who is still trying to figure out how to post a picture on this site? No thanks. Thursday I tried to log in and found it was no longer a matter of choice. Wading, therefore, into the procedure, I received an e-mail verifying the transition, clicked on their link provided, and found myself staring at a page telling me all kinds of features now possible, links to answer questions and lead me through procedures, but now way at all to regain my blog. All day long I searched, unable to contact one live human being with whom I could discuss my dilemma. No luck. Then, about six: Voila! A portal to at least express my condition to someone out there fell into my lap. I stated my utter ignorance in such matters, pleading for help, only to immediately afterward find another e-mail informing me Brainwaves had finally crossed over into accessibility……………

I’d give this up, but it’s not worth the confusion. Peace, my friend. In Him………

Emotions. My mind is on emotions. I watched a television interview recently with Dick Hoyt and his son, Rick, who was born forty-four years ago with cerebral palsy. This past April 17th marked their twenty-fifth anniversary of competing as a unit in athletic events. An initial five-mile “sprint” marked that occasion, the father pushing his boy in a wheelchair; but gradually it grew to include the added bicycling and swimming segments that a triathalon requires. Now, as he listened to another dad express gratitude for such witness of paternal devotion, Dick began to weep, his whole being filled, not with sorrow, but a “completeness”. It was a sincere display of the bond that these two unlikely racing contestants shared; and, in watching it, my own eyes released their own tears in a heart-felt connection. The flow wasn’t thought-induced, but came up out of an inner well; and I wondered: What is this gift? More than any animal I know, we humans operate by something more than instinct, something more than the gears in our brain running the show. There is a place within us where we are able to be one, not only with the Eternal, but also each other. A point where, if we will allow it, life comes forth………

It doesn’t require “Christ in me”, of course, to walk in love, but I am of the opinion that union with Him can produce a more ideal working of the matter. Not that our conversion ensures we always operate in such perfection. In possessing both a spirit and a soul, suffice it to say that one brings to us our ability to reason and the other, our sensitivity; but how well we navigate by that part of who we are is individually determined. Gender may somewhat differentiate us as to which side we tend to follow, but not so much as to establish a truth. Surely a balance is necessary in the giving of our trust, or at least a wise hand upon the reins of both factors; and, within the faith, we divide that authority into two agents: the Bible and the Holy Ghost. Then, of course, we turn around and designate ourselves “Chief Executor of the Estate”, splitting the kingdom up into our personal view of things. I prefer a relationship, a “hook-up”, if I may so describe it, where not only does His reality come forth on occasion to manifest His grace, but also where I may go on a regular basis for consultation as to my state of affairs. We journey together, me disabled in my own weakness, His strength enabling me to attempt the race……

Christmas morning in a household emptied of all the sounds and commotion that children bring to it. That will change this Thursday with the arrival of my youngest daughter’s crew. With hubby’s new job beginning January 2nd, they’re moving here from Winchester and in with us until the house there sells. Three youngins plus mom and dad will soon put a bit of excitement into the state of affairs around here. At the moment, however, Ma is still “in her kerchief” and I “in my cap”, she being the only one yet taking “a long winter’s nap”. Rain is falling outside. A drizzly rain. But I almost prefer that to shoveling snow. The grandsons who live right next door and who share our existence on an almost daily basis have passed beyond the Santa Claus stage. We’ll walk over there shortly for some biscuits and sausage; and then gather this afternoon with the son-in-law’s family for dinner…………..

These last five days since my last post have been filled with a mixture of emotions. A good friend from my years at the railroad passed away last week. Beth and I drove north through holiday traffic to attend the layout Friday evening. Wednesday night Tony and I visited the rescue mission; and Sunday five of us led worship at the Youth Detention Center. Amazing to me to watch God, through the Spirit, bring unity in the midst of our feeble offerings. The men at the mission seemed different on this occasion, a few new faces behaving somewhat as if the service was no more than singing some carols in exchange for their meal. Slowly, though, that changed as our words penetrated and connected with their hearts. One man, in particular, approached us afterwards, concerned for his father lying in a hospital bed dying. With others of our tiny congregation, we began to join with him in prayer……………

“March 27th, 1972, 1:30 p.m., in the middle of my living-room!” I told the kids over at the Center. That was my response to a fellow who recently, in noting that the 25th was not the actual birth date of Christ, followed his revelation by wondering the actual point in time. I don’t know that he immediately grasped such answer; but, in explaining the incident to the kids at the Center, I tied it into an old Peanuts cartoon where Linus has asked Lucy to read him a story. Begrudgingly she begins, “Once there was a man. He lived; and he died. The end.” As she slams the book shut and walks away, baby brother, deep in thought, observes: “Kind of makes me wish I knew him.” Just another Charles Schultz nugget. A sermon he delivers within four picture frames. Yet if faith is grounded in no more than that, we might just as well forget it. The celebration’s over until December next year…………

These last three days before Christmas break have little to do with education. It isn't all fun and games, but major issues like homework and tests are out the window. We go through the routine, but everyone, teachers and students alike, are well aware it is an exercise of pretense. "Christmas is a'comin', now don't you make a fuss, cause come this Wednesday afternoon we're getting on the bus; and for ten whole days we don't have school, our comin' here is through. If you can't feel that in your bones, may God bless you!"..........

Yesterday afternoon, just before dismissal and after a morning sprinkled with videos geared to give an appearance of keeping young brains tuned into where we're at in our studies, Fifth Grade relaxed with a behavior party for those who managed to stay out of trouble for the last week or so. That amounted to a half hour of playing Twister down in the cafeteria in competition with each other. Pencils were awarded (a) first to the winners; then (b)to one and all. From there we marched to the library for a special musical presentation by the kids in Chorus...........

It's times like this that are a part of what makes me appreciate retiring to a job in Elementary SpecEd. Ms. Swainheart sat at an old upright piano that isn't completely up-to-date with its tune-up, just to the right of risers filled willed with four rows of kids. Quiet Kaitlyn with her signature hair-band holding her long blonde curls in place. She smiled proudly from her upper left-end position, while Alex, dressed in sweats with a Santa Claus hat atop his head, several inches off his girth since I first met him on a kindergarten playground, on the opposite end of that tier............

Several others surprised me by their participation. Children I've known merely by passing in the halls, a field-trip perhaps, or sitting in a classroom with them as I monitored my own charge. I've watched them grow and now share with us their desire to "fit in", to contribute, to feel good about themselves. I listened as they sang familiar carols, rang bells to accompany themselves, and harmonized their renditions via several methods. Traditional. Comical. One number, "Let Me Be an Instrument of Peace" especially touched my heart............

I wonder…In a world where such is so desperately needed, how does one accomplish that goal? Surely it has to begin within each of us as individuals, for we can give no more than that which we possess………….

Even though our scheduled trip to Florida was cancelled, too many other obligations demanded our plans to celebrate Christmas Eve a week early remained intact. Mostly, the event is merely a smother-the-grandkids-with-gifts arrangement anyway. When the recognition of His birth, death, and resurrection is ingrained into yhour everyday living, the assignment of a calendar date to any one portion doesn't turn it into a yearly set-in-concrete ritual. I did go to the early service Sunday, having to miss next time around for the Youth Detention Center, and we did pray over the food before we ate. But, of a truth, no one sang carols, no one mentioned the nativity, no one got "religious" at all. We gathered, took some pictures, and shared that which makes us family...........

There's an old tree out back whose trunk comes forth from the ground at about a forty-five degree angle. The kids have always loved it for the freedom it extends to climb up into its branches by simply running up that portion of its torso. Even better, from such heights, the limbs then twist and curl almost horizontally, rather that continue upward, and the weight of each year's growth brings them closer and closer back to earth. Having all six grandchildren amassed at the same time and enjoying unusually warm weather for December, I posed them all like birds of a feather perched there on its leafless form and captured the moment with both my digital camera and my mind. It's times such as this that makes life living............

My old church was birthed out of a flow of His presence. One never knew at just what point during worship a manifestation of His glory might come; but this much was sure: when it did come, we were no longer just individuals seated on a pew. We were "the Body", His Holy Spirit completing a circuit effected by our surrender unto each other as much as anything else. Was He there any less beforehand? Were we any less snactified when we fellowshipped elsewhere? I'm of the opinion that, in either location, "one-ness" is a matter of choice, whether we speak of communion with Him or those around us. Do we so desire? Are we willing? He remains the Source; but this is "the tie that binds". All else is what makes Christianity just another religion...........

It’s five-thirty in the a.m. in my neck of the woods. Saturday morning and no real reason to be up and stirring around. I love the peace and quiet of such times; although Clint Brown is softly singing worship tunes just over my shoulder. One of the teachers at school subscribes to Time magazine, getting two copies for some reason and passing the extra one to me. I was a little amused to read in the last issue that, while cancer and heart disease remains at the top of the list for “how Americans die”, one hundred seventy-four of us bit the dust last year by falling out of bed. My apologies to anyone who has so lost a loved one. It does seem to rate, however, right up there with the guy who reached into his chimney to clear it of leaves, was shocked by the squirrel trying to escape his intrusion, and catapulted off the roof to meet his Maker. Which proves, I suppose, that one never knows about the spontaneity of any given moment and, also, that listening to religious music doesn’t necessarily guarantee one’s thoughts will travel with the flow………….

Attending Fifth Grade for the third time after having reached my sixties has been a learning experience in more ways than one. I was a little astonished, myself, yesterday, to be told by the science instructor that dogs see only in black and white. Their eyes, for whatever reason, were constructed by the Creator in a different manner than our own. If I knew that particular fact, I’d long ago forgotten it; and the re-entrance of such information made me wonder how their brain works in “light” of that truth. We humans know the gift of color, recognizing the different shades and hues existing in all that’s out there, but so often still think in black and white when it comes to defining our view of life in general. And yet, in terms of knowledge being filtered through the prism of our ability to think for ourselves, maybe it would be more correct to note us as opinionating in individual concrete slots of the rainbow, no two of us seeing all things alike………….

With the Camry temporarily out of service, I borrowed my niece’s SUV the other night to conquer a collision of schedules, and she had me listen to a Brad Paisley song that was part of the loan. Driving down the road in the darkness, I melted into the flow of the words that poured into the depths of my mood. “When I get where I’m going on the far side of the sky,” he sang, “the first thing that I’m gonna do is spread my wings and fly”; and tears ran down my face as he went on to speak of shedding “sin and struggles carried all these years”. Most certainly not all within the ranks of Christianity would embrace his lyrics. Indeed, in letting the CD continue, I found it strange where he could travel having just delivered a message that had so touched my heart. Nonetheless, it remains that in God’s grace we had shared a connection that spanned the gulf……………..

No more than my Camry gave up the ghost this past Saturday, the oldest daughter’s truck began leaking brake fluid, making the last few days a serious game of scheduling “which way do they go?” for my wife. She’s been chauffeuring everybody but the son-in-law to and fro, making ends meet. It’s been a challenge, but we have survived. Tomorrow the Camry returns and the truck should be an easy fix for the son-in-law. Barring any more unforeseen events, we’re still planning an early family Christmas Eve get-together this Sunday. Beth and I were invited to spend the actual holiday in Florida; and, as it turned out, the middle daughter had to work that weekend anyhow, so it seemed a good idea. If it doesn’t snow between here and there, it could be a pleasant trip………….

The youngest daughter is the other half of what’s going on around here. It’s been pretty much a struggle for her household ever since hubby’s job moved elsewhere a couple of years ago. Unable to find employment anywhere for quite some time, he finally grabbed what opportunity provided; but eking out an existence from payday to payday can eat at your spirituality. To make a long story short, then, when his continued efforts suddenly resulted in his being hired once more at his old position here in our area just the other day, we’ve all had reason to rejoice in spite of all else. He starts January 2nd and that means, until the house down there sells, they’ll be living with us for awhile. We’ll be a bit cramped, but are believing we can make it work……………..

The question was posed to me the other night in my journal as to what I considered my “most treasured possession”. It would have been easy to have answered “my wife, my girls, and my grandchildren”. That’s not stretching the truth at all. At sixty-five, though, and with at least three decades on either side of my conversion, the plain fact is: what I found in my living room March 27th, 1972, remains the glue that holds it all together. Of this I am sure, even in knowing I do not have all the pieces to the puzzle: The reality of His presence brings peace and the confirming of His grace, meeting me so often when I least expect it and dwelling otherwise in the depths of who I am with little more than a “sense” of His abiding. Life keeps me guessing. He, alone, is sanity……………

Yesterday the Camry blew a water pump (or an engine?) and I found myself suddenly stranded on the expressway with three of my grandsons about seventy miles south of here. This morning, after spending the night in a recliner across from my wife whose recent back problems have forced her to the living room sofa for relief, I awoke early and reached for a journal I’m trying to finish. “What word best describes your life?” one page asked; “Explain why.” Just how anyone is supposed to boil their existence down into a single word is beyond me. Indeed, I wonder sometimes who in the world dreams up such questions. At the moment, all that came to me was “grit”, thinking all the while how others’ immediate response would probably be “blessed”. “What if”, I asked myself, “it all does measure out like the parable of the talents? What have you accomplished along the way to give back to Him?” The first thirty years were void of any relationship with Him, any knowledge of Him, and all about me. No drastic ego problems; but about me, my family, and my searching for some sense to it all. Having found Him to BE the answer, it yet remains true that the last thirty-five years have also been a stumbling down the path. I am thankful for His faithfulness, but find nothing to brag about on my part…………..

In such frame of mind, then, I went to church this morning, assuming my usual seating in the rear of the congregation, talking with a few friends, but really expecting no more than to enjoy the musical Christmas program scheduled. I’m already into Chapter Three of Ms. Suchocki’s definition of getting into God’s presence, her second point of interest having dealt with the various images we assign the Almighty in our approach to prayer: Genie in a bottle. Divine egotist. Personal secretary. The King holding audience. I don’t know as I’m guilty of any of those; but, of a certainty, there are some infractions I could name: Finding my thoughts somewhere else when but a second before I was talking to Him. Dropping to my knees and beginning a conversation as if interrupting Him in the middle of whatever He was doing didn’t matter. Losing my zeal concerning the task at hand if I don’t make contact within the first fifteen minutes or so. It’s not that I feel such efforts possess no value; rather that I have learned I do not control the process. He meets me at His discretion, often when I least expect it, and faith is confirmed. This morning I sat there only half listening to the pastor’s opening words, by no means in any state of depression, but not “stirred” to any degree either. From out of nowhere the river began to rise and tears filled my eyes. No deep anointing. Yet I know when it’s coming up out of my belly and not just bouncing around in my head……………

“Please, God, let me live again”, George Bailey cried from that bridge in the Frank Capra classic. And so God did, and does, if we but continue to look to Him…………..

Marjorie Hewitt Suchocki’s “In God’s Presence” was recommended to me by my friend, Jim, several months back. He had described it as “a book on prayer” and enthusiastically noted it had been quite an enlightenment for him in such area. With over thirty-four years in this, however, I thought myself to have probably “heard it all” before. While there yet remained questions, for me it all boiled down to “connecting with the Holy Ghost” and I just wasn’t interested in more formulas and faith equations. He persisted. I agreed to put the title at the top of a list I keep. About two weeks ago Philip Yancey surprised me with a new work entitled (guess what) “Prayer” and, in buying it, I also ordered the above. Mr. Yancey didn’t disappoint me; but Ms. Suchocki “literally lit me up” no more than a few paragraphs into her very first chapter. Without using chapter and verse to construct some theological line of defense, she logically speaks of communion with the Creator……..

That’s not to say the Bible gets tossed out the window. She just proposes that the Book isn’t set in concrete, and that inquiries on our part can take us into deeper realms of faith. Faith “that seeketh understanding” may not make sense to everybody, but it surely rings a bell with me. Even if my initial contact more than three decades ago blew away all doubt of His existence, it didn’t mean I wasn’t left with a lot of unanswered queries about the relationship established. “Full gospel” or not, a lot of things coming forth from the pulpit didn’t always ring true; and I long ago learned that the journey proved itself. All the more reason why I loved her expression of God existing as “a watery power of presence”. He’s “in the cracks” and “under the rocks”, not some “nose-in-the-air” high and mighty whose audience requires a seminary degree along with a list of my accomplishments. I just need to find the flow, get into the flow, and then rest in where it takes me………

My only hesitance, so far, is in wondering how she fits Jesus into the parameters set forth. I thought it beautiful to read her assessment of our coming unto Him via different paths and therefore perceiving Him through different perspectives. It makes sense to me that both our religious training (should we have been so indoctrinated) and our environmental experience along the way should individually “color” our understanding of the matter. But all the more important that which Christ brings unto the arrangement. He didn’t just give us an example to follow. He didn’t just give us a philosophy. He gave us, instead, Himself, restoring unto us that which Adam possessed in the beginning, renewing in us “the kingdom”. Take away that piece of the puzzle and all you have is another ecclesiastical assembly. Take that away and all that’s left is man still struggling to span the gap. Christianity is not the answer. He is; and I can’t wait to discover where Ms. Suchocki goes in Chapter Two………

The Special-Ed unit to which I’m assigned spans three different grade levels; and, while each of we three assistants are assigned to work with specific students, this is not the old L&N. Should circumstances so require, we can be bounced at any time to meet the need of whatever problem arises. Thus I have found myself, lately, being pulled from tutoring my Fifth Graders in order to give my supervisor a break with a youngster on the bottom rung of our particular slice of the ladder. He’s a cute kid. Talks with a bit of a lisp, at a speed I find hard to follow; and is, by no means, unable to conquer whatever the teacher might give him to learn. Trouble is: he’s got more zip than the energizer bunny and if the task at hand no longer interests him, he’s off to the races………

There’s a small isolation room just across the hall from us. A red beanbag accounts for the only piece of furniture in there; blue mats form its perimeter, insuring no one suffers injury by venting their anger on the walls; and the lad visits two or three times a day if all else fails. Usually he trashes our spaces on the way over. Then they attempt to bribe him with some sort of “cool-down” therapy. Last Thursday, however, I just closed the door and observed, on occasion, through a tiny window. Repeatedly, he broke into tears when he learned he was simply on his own and would then quickly return to finish his lessons. This Monday, though, I peeked in after several minutes only to discover him stripped to his underwear and wearing his shirt for his pants. Turtle games with the beanbag………

Discipline. I’m a big advocate of its benefits when properly administered. Old school, I guess. Hard-headed, to be sure. But, to my way of thinking, the last two words of that last sentence say a whole lot. It’s not the hickory switch, per se, that in the past damaged lives through the seat of someone’s britches. A paddle, after all, is just a paddle. The emotional attitude of the person who wields it is another matter. Likewise, I say that a degree is just a degree and it doesn’t necessarily give wisdom to the one who possesses it. When lying, temper tantrums, and even the fine art of swearing are but a few “illnesses” now known as “Child behavior Disorders”, I wonder if we haven’t just traded one can of worms for another, especially when treatment is: “Ignore it and it will go away”……….

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, the righteous shall live by faith”…Romans 1:16 & 17

If the gospel is the power of God, then it must also be that the power of God is the gospel. If what we preach and teach is not confirmed by what we live, then maybe what we profess is not the gospel. Christianity is not taking chapter and verse to build our individual totem pole before which we and our own fall down, but Christ “in” us; and by that manifestation, alone, is the truth of our declaration revealed. From “faith to faith”, it is His righteousness revealed, not by our interpretation of the printed page, but via a surrender unto that Reality which had indwelt us. We fall into Him, rest in Him, as up out of that well He has provided comes forth His will. Always, He remains Lord, and we but the sheep of His pasture…………..

I listened to my pastor tell, this morning, of his first grandchild’s arrival last Saturday night. Six weeks early. Ten minutes, at one point, during which she had no heartbeat. It’s been that sort of year for him, his ministry challenged by another person’s stumble at the beginning of summer, his life altered forever by the unexpected death of his father a few months after that. Now he could see the fear in the eyes of the staff as they rushed to fulfill that which they had been trained to do, the baby obviously in the hands of a higher authority. He, therefore, did as he knew how to do, dropping physically to his knees and unabashedly allowing the cry of his soul to connect with an inner flow deep in his belly……………..

The little girl is yet in Intensive Care at Children’s, but doing well after corrective surgery was performed on her digestive tract. A six and a half pound happy ending. Others have not always been so blessed. Did a righteous man’s prayer, in this case, handcuff his Creator and force the Almighty to meet his request? I’m of the opinion that prayer doesn’t work that way. We ask, believing He has given us that privilege; and we dare to hope, having already found in Him a strength, a peace, and a promise that, whatever the answer, He will be there to walk with us through it. Jesus doesn’t bring unto us a Book, but a balance, a sure place where, no matter the storm, we can find safe harbor in Him……………….

Last night’s mid-week service was punctuated by one man’s hour-long delivery of his personal perception regarding a Biblical relationship existing between healing and the Cross. He’s writing a book. We got the first thirteen chapters or so. Not that I haven’t been guilty of the same intrusion a time or two in my own journey. Not that what he shared wasn’t without merit. A lot of chapter and verse was brought forth. A lot of nuggets unearthed from depths where most people don’t bother to dig. When all was said and done, however, it yet remained: we were left with no more than a theological premise that came up short. For all his Scriptural equations, there was no proof in his pudding. By his own admission, he yet wrestled the common cold like everybody else; and that made it like giving us a gun, praising its potential, but announcing there to be no bullets to make it work……………

I’ve taped some Peanuts cartoon segments into the front few pages of a couple of my Bibles. One scene has Charlie listening to Linus profess his desire to grow up and be a prophet. “Mr. Good Grief” notes, that while it’s a fine ambition, indeed one the world seems to always await with eager ears, in truth, most turn out to be nothing more than phony baloney. To which the young piano genius replies: “Maybe I can be a sinCERE false prophet.” Right. In the Old Testament, they stoned you, sincere or not. When the New Testament emerged, that was changed to “Let the buyer beware”; and I, for one, choose not to hang eternity, health, and happiness on someone else’s interpretation of the Printed Page. Actually, I don’t even trust my own. Faith, as far as I’m concerned, was never meant to be a commodity of our own creation, but rather a product born of the Spirit as He confirms the Word unto me…………….

You let the Holy Ghost speak unto you “Lazarus, come forth!” and there’s not a grave deep enough, a disease strong enough, a problem big enough..…to hold you bound. Trouble is: while we teach and preach Trinity, most of us have replaced ourselves, in one way or another, with the third member of that triage.