Marriage and the Battle of the Blinds

We once stayed with friends while visiting Kansas City, MO.  They had the habit of always keeping their blinds closed.  It drove us batty, so when they were away at work, we opened them up and let the beautiful rays of the sun enter the room.  We made sure the blinds were fully closed when they came home from work.  After all, we had no other place to stay.

Our present home has a full wall of windows from overhead to nearly the floor.  That’s great for the backyard.  Our living room faces the street, with my lounge chair completely visible, so I raise the curtains enough for others not to see us.  I don’t like living in a fishbowl.  My wife isn’t bothered by open shades, so she opens them more than I feel comfortable with.  I’ll come in and see the big center blind open, and I raise it, only for my wife to come by and put it down.  This happens so much, I think the neighbors across the street are probably thinking we are sending some kind of coded message!

Am I being unfair?  After all, the blinds are fully open that face our beautiful backyard.  Isn’t that enough?  Not.  We do have a mutual friend who is a mediator.  Perhaps we should hire someone from his office to assist us.

We have been asked by several people, “How have you stayed married so long? What’s the secret?”  Here is the secret: Are you ready for this? There is no secret.  It’s out in the open.  The answer lies in two words: love & commitment.  Most believe they have the first word down, but what kind of love are we talking about?  It’s not, “As long as you keep me happy, I’ll love you.”  In other words, “What’s in it for me?” 

As a couple’s therapist, I would ask couples if they agreed with this statement:  “Marriage is a 50/50 proposition?”  Most agreed.  The answer is “Marriage is a 100/100 proposition.”  If we only go halfway and draw a line, we can say, “I did my part, now you do yours.”  We get rid of the line if we both give 100% to the other.  There may be a time when someone can only give 60% because of illness and personal struggles.  That’s when the other partner is there for them.

Back to the blinds.  We have both accepted that we each want something different.  Whomever uses the room positions the blind.  If both are in the room, we leave it where it is presently located or ask the other if they don’t mind us moving it.  We can live with that, after all, we are giving at our best…usually.

 

 

Ignorant Misunderstandings

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Ignorance is a misunderstood word.  One might be called ignorant, but we somehow hear “stupid.” They are not identical twins or even distant cousins.  Ignorance does not mean a lack of intelligence, but of knowledge.  For example, what is hereditary hemorrhagic telangiectasia?  You don’t know?  You are not stupid, but ignorant.  You don’t have the information.

I have to remind myself that there are people around me that act unkindly or out of sorts.  My reaction might be, “What a selfish individual.”  How much do I know what that person is facing.  Perhaps they are ill, recently had some bad news, are hungry, or ate something that makes them nauseous. 

I have hereditary hemorrhagic telangiectasia (known as HHT).  It is a genetic bleeding disorder. Over 95% of us have frequent severe nosebleeds. You would look at me and probably say, “I don’t see anything wrong.”  First of all, thank you for saying that.  There are plenty of disorders that people can see.  They get the attention.  That’s not to take away from the other ailments, it’s just a fact.  If I ask for a seat on a busy transit train, people might say, “What’s his problem?” If I were on crutches, they would understand. 

We never know what others are facing, so it’s important not to jump to judgement.  This is especially handy in traffic.  Avoiding road rage is a good thing.

Jesus was going through a tough Friday. The calendar calls it “Good Friday,” not because it was good for Jesus but because it was good for us. He took our burdens, mistakes, disorders, and imperfections on himself so we would not have to carry them around the rest of our lives. 

This was brilliantly portrayed in the movie, “Mission,” starring Robert De Niro as a priest who formerly enslaved the natives of Paraguay, but also killed his brother in a duel over a woman. I invite you to see the clip below. He carried a heavy weight in a net, up a mountain as penance.  It reminds me of what Jesus did for me while carrying his cross.  Because he took my load, I didn’t have that burden. Later, true forgiveness came amidst the wave of emotions and relief. (especially look at timestamps 146-259).

Suffering is difficult, but it can become our mentor regarding life, character, and relationship with others.

(c) Wally Johnston 2025

Language As Story

My new neighbor, Joel, owns a construction business.  He has a wife and three girls.  They are Hispanic.  All of his workers speak Spanish, with half being bilingual in English.  I am bilingual, and I speak Hoosier.  At the end of the workday, they huddle at his house to talk about the day and shoot the breeze.  I like to venture over to tell them a story or a joke.  They listen to me because I often give them some mint candy.  The great part is the punch line. At that point, the bilingual guys laugh. That’s the first wave.  Then they tell the others in Spanish.  That is the second wave. Not every comedian gets a two-wave laugh.

In college, I had a choice of taking Greek or Spanish.  I felt Spanish would be more practical.  What a year that was!  It was a struggle for me and at times it made me frustrated.  Do you know how far a Spanish-language book flies across a room?  It would have gone further if it hadn’t hit the wall.  It was probably at that time that I learned to cuss in Spanish!  I shouldn’t complain.  Most people say English is the most difficult to learn.  English doesn’t make sense.  They have different rules that contradict each other.  One word means many things and we have idioms. 

Language is a gift.  Without it, our stories could not be shared unless we used stick figures. That would leave much to be desired. Kind of like a Rorschach ink psychological test.  That’s the test where they show what looks like ink spilled on paper, then ask you what comes to your mind. People have different ideas as to its meaning.  Have you seen the movie, “What About Bob?,” starring Bill Murray. He is in a mental hospital, sitting on a cafeteria table with several patients and staff around him. 

“I saw a doctor who showed me an ink spot and asked me, “What comes to your mind?”

I said, “sex.”

He showed me another. “Sex.”

A third time, “sex.”

The Doc announced, “It seems you have a problem with sex?”

I told him, “You’re the one with the dirty pictures.” 

Some may think that God didn’t do any favors when he destroyed the tower of Babel and caused people to speak different languages, yet the nuance of the language brings such wonder and beauty to a story.

You can tell a story in a different language, but it doesn’t seem to have the same effect.

My wife and I are from different galaxies. We communicate differently. I’ve often thought we should try out Google Translate to get our ideas across, but I don’t think it works. “No comprenda.”

Language is important to storytelling.  I have gained an appreciation for stories through the ones that communicate, and translate them.

Dysfunctional and Blessed Thanksgiving

 

Thanksgiving is a time for families.  That can be good or difficult, depending on the situation.  When I was working as a law enforcement chaplain, I often saw families at their worst, especially during the holidays.  The Norman Rockwell painting of the family gathered around the Thanksgiving table doesn’t fit for all Americans.  We want to think it applies.  

I have been watching a series called, “The Secret History of Family,” produced by the BBC.  The episodes are based on three young women sisters who grew up in East London in the 1800’s.  It is not a nice place.  You wouldn’t want to rent a B&B there.  They live in poverty and all end up spending time in prison for their imaginative ways of making money that happen to be illegal.  

The story is a look back from the perspective of their decedents.  Some ended up well-to-do and others much dysfunction and estrangement.  It is a journey into story as one views each episode and realizes how knowing one’s story can bring understanding and healing.

My family has a long and short story in America.  My grandfather on my mother’s side, came to the U.S. in the late 1800’s.  My mother’s other side were Pilgrims who came on the Mayflower in 1620.  My father’s family came from before the American Revolution.  At least one was a Patriot who fought in the Revolution and his son in the War of 1812.  So I guess you could say they had plenty of  time to mess up!

What is your story as you gather around the table this Thanksgiving?  Mine includes estrangement, addiction, betrayal, chronic illness, along with other challenges.  It is also mixed with love, blessings, and hope.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.  No gifts or expectation of gifts are needed.  It is simply time for families to gather and be thankful.  If it becomes a gripe session or political wrestling match, that isn’t being thankful.  Let’s put all of that aside and breathe a sigh of thanksgiving.

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What are you thankful for and why?  Please share with us all by clicking on the pencil icon below to reply.  We look forward to hearing what you have to say.

CAR CONNECTIONS

 I have driven different types of cars over the years.  Most of my cars were either given to me, or I bought used.  Used cars come with a certain activity we call “repair.”  

My Dad was old enough to have learned to drive in a Model T Ford, most likely the one with a crank start.  He didn’t keep up with the times.  When my wife and I were first married, we drove a car her father gave us as a wedding present.  When my dad got into it, he exclaimed, “With all of these knobs and contraptions, how can you make this thing go!”  Trust me, it was a standard model from the 1960s or ‘70s.  By the old standards, the cars of today look like the control panels in a rocket ship!

My Dad was a Rambler car man.  His first Rambler was a 1960 American.  I never understood his fascination with them.  Our air conditioning was a 4-40 (4 windows down while going 40 miles per hour.) When it was time for Dad to buy me a car, you guessed it…a Rambler.  We pulled up the front of the seller’s place, he said, “Now that’s the car for you!”  I knew I was going to get stuck with it, but I had no choice…he was buying.  It was a stick shift on the column station wagon.  Later, I bought my car, a Chevy Belair.  I was moving up in the world.

My older brother, Dave, was the mechanic in the family.  I never bothered to learn to work on cars, I had him around until I headed off for college and seminary.  It was time to learn something about car repair.  This was pre-YouTube, so I had to rely on a printed repair manual.  I think my first adventure was replacing brake pads and shoes.  With the mission accomplished, I had fellow students saying, “Hey, I hear you work on cars.”  “Sort of” I replied.  I was willing to take a stab at other repairs, under the condition they bought a repair manual and any tool I needed to get the job done.  That is how my tool inventory began.  Fifty years later, I’m still helping others with repairs.  I recently worked on a car belonging to my friend from Tanzania, Africa.  

Cars seem to take on the characteristics of their owners like couples who grow old and start to look like each other.  I guess you can tell a lot about a person by seeing how they decorate and treat their automobiles.  We also associate certain vehicles with people we know.  Before they get close, I know who is coming.  Sometimes, I only know new neighbors by their vehicles.  Next door is “White Van.”

I see my friend, Dean, every few years.  Out of the blue, he wants to go to breakfast.  Last week he picked me up.  I wasn’t sure what vehicle he was driving.  He sent me a text, “I’ll be there in a few.  Wear a jacket.”  While I was standing outside waiting, I saw this nice, new black pickup as it turned the corner.  He looked like he was going to pull over.  I took one step forward and he continued.  Coming from the other direction was Dean, driving a blue shoe box on wheels, with no windows.  Hence, a need for a jacket.

Cars can be a gift of encouragement.  While living in Santa Monica, California, I served on a church staff.  I held a Bible study for employees of City Hall.  I started this with my friend, Jim.  Jim knew I didn’t make much money.  Perhaps he learned about the time I pulled up by City Hall.  While parking the car, it started to roll back.  Some officers came to my rescue.  I said, “Hold it,” while I reached under the seat to grab a brick and place it under a wheel.  I said, “Sorry.  My emergency brake doesn’t work, so I use this emergency brick.”  One of the officers replied, “Chaplain, you need a new car.”  I couldn’t agree more, and that is where my friend Jim comes in.  He asked me, “Are you taking a vacation this summer?”  I said, “Well, we are just going to stick close to home.  Maybe a day trip.”  The next week at Bible study, he handed me a check and said, “I had a used car I was going to sell and felt the Lord wanted you to have this to help you out.”  We had that vacation.

A lot of memories are created in cars.  As a family, we usually took a driving vacation each summer.  In doing so, we had some wonderful experiences of seeing many of the U.S. States.  Jim, my kid brother, and I had some great adventures.  

The most important things in life are experiences.  We didn’t have to have a lot of money for us neighborhood kids to ride with my dad on a fishing or camping adventure.

What memories do you associate with or without cars?  Consider sending them in so others can enjoy the good times with you.  Send an email to journeyintostory@google.com. 

 

Not The Mama!

 

My mother loved the TV show, "Dinosaurs."  It was a show about an everyday dinosaur family made of up costumed characters.  The brother and sister were teenagers.  The baby would usually sit in a high chair.  When addressing his father, he would say, "Not the Mama!"  Mama would be the foundation for the home, and dad was a dufuss.  Do you notice in comedy shows that the father is often portrayed as an appendage to the family, appearing not to know much?  

Men have been taking the wrap for a long time.  First, there was the Women's Lib movement.  Women felt they had to be as good or better as a men.  They were taught that women didn't need a man. Right.

I have the unfortunate situation that my granddaughter and me have birthdays just a few days apart.  My son, her father, told me a few years back, "You know Pop, who is getting the attention in August?  Yep, your granddaughter."  It came as no surprise to me, because I'm not the Mama or Grandma!  By the way, my wife and I own a house.  When my son tells anyone that he is coming over, he says he is going to "Mom's house."  Hello!

I actually don't mind the birthday thing.  If I have to share birthday limelight, I don't mind the other celebrant is my beautiful granddaughter. There has been mostly boys in my family, so we secretly hoped our first grandchild would be a granddaughter.  We got what we hoped for and now she is the "Princess" of the family.  Her younger brother, who was smart to have his birthday in July, is her understudy to royalty.

When in comes to family, we really do need each other!    

SEEK TO UNDERSTAND

Seek To Understand

By Cate Arnold (c) 2016

While I was quietly re-elected to City Council in November, 2016, the angst over the presidential race was loud, angry and full of accusations. The attacks on conservatives versus liberals, Republicans versus Democrats, government employees, and so many “others” continue to rage.

My mother taught me the importance of the words: “Seek first to understand, then to be understood.” She taught me the importance of caring for family and community. She was impeccable – not perfect, but someone who desired health and happiness not only for my siblings and our own families and friends, but for our fellow human beings.

Seek to understand: can we gather accurate information about what’s happening in the moment? For instance, I was talking to a gentleman who said that we can’t fix our roads because politicians are wasting our money. I explained that over the years, we’ve had serious structural changes: a huge decrease in the federal funds available to build new roads, massive expenses for maintenance of the roads we’ve already built, and static fuel tax rates while construction costs rise every year, including some years of double-digit inflation for inputs like asphalt and land costs. Replacing politicians doesn’t change these conditions.

We must have the patience and wisdom to understand the lands that we live in. Only accurate physical accounting gives us what we need to find solutions. Only by understanding our structures can we devise solutions and find better ways towards a better world for those coming behind us.

I hope to start a new movement, the Impeccable Moms’ Movement. What would an Impeccable Mom do? Get to know the people and lands we live in, understand and work with others in spite of our faults, spend our hours caring for our communities rather than attacking others, expect accurate and honest information about what we face; and face our problems head on together with integrity, respect, kindness, and hope.

Cate Arnold is one of those people you want to talk to.  She has her own story and is willing to share it, but she loves hearing other people’s stories.  She is bright, educated, and down-to-earth. To see what she thinks is most important for Beaverton, OR, look at 3 Essentials on www.cate4beaverton.com. To contact her, send your phone number to cate4beaverton@gmail.com

 

  

HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU!

 

My wife and I recently went through the same medical procedure; cataract surgery.  Because I'm a gentleman, I let her go first (she claims I had another reason for doing so).  The surgery wasn't so bad.  The tricky part was remembering to put in the eyedrops 4, 3, 2, times a day that differed for each eye.

They took the patch off the next day.  It is amazing how bright the lights and colors are now.  When I compared them to the untreated eye, they were yellowish in one eye and brilliant in the other.  I looked in the mirror and realized, "I don't have renal failure after all!"

Many things in life can color our vision of the world around us.  We may see others through the lens of opinions or prejudices.  The problem is that we think we are seeing things clearly because the lens has been tainted for so long.  Don't let anyone tell you they see clearly on every issue.  While you are at it, don't claim the same pronouncement.

There is only one person who walked this earth who didn't need his lens cleaned...Jesus Christ.  If he saw something and made a claim about it, it was clear and true.  He hung around some sketchy figures.  He didn't see them as sketchy, but people with needs.  He saw what they could become. I wish I had those kinds of lenses!

I read about a man who wanted to see others as Jesus did, so he took a grease pencil and put a cross on each lens of his glasses.  He then stated, "I now see the world through the cross of Jesus." 

We will always have some discoloration as we look at others and the world, but if we allow Christ to help us see more clearly, it can make a difference.  That's the kind of “different" we all can use.

Here's looking at you!

 

                                                    

CIRCLE OF FRIENDS

 

I had a tight circle of neighborhood friends when I was growing up.  I was part of a trio of three best friends.  We played ball, fished, camped, and made up adventures together.  Both were at our wedding (more about them later).

I learned to appreciate my circle of siblings later in life.  There is quite an age difference between us.  Only three remain out of six kids: Karol, Jim, and yours truly.  Jim and I had our little brother, big brother stuff. Once at dinner, he said he had an upset tummy, was dismissed, then ran out to play ball. I knew he was faking, so I  ran after him and yelled, "You Faker," while hitting him over the head. We survived and we are good adult friends.  Karol has stood by me during difficult times. What can I say?  I love my Sis.

Friends come wrapped in different surprise packages.  Doug and I got together over our differences regarding climate change. I could call him an "Alarmist," and he could call me a "Denier."  Neither is accurate.  That subject is long past.  We now share many things, including prayers for each other. 

I'm at the age where I keep losing people.  Our bodies wear out, much like clothing.  I have my favorite shirts and wear them over and over.  Each time they are washed, fibers of the fabric come off and end up in the lint trap.   I clean the screen and toss the lint away, and regrettably, I have to pitch my favored shirts when they wear out.  Slowly, and sometimes quickly, our bodies break down until there isn't anything left. 

Soon, my wife and I celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary (Applause!).  While waiting for our meal at a restaurant, we decided to imagine we were at a huge round table with family and friends who had made an impact on our lives. (Disclaimer: this is not an exhaustive list, but I want you to stay with me).  My earliest friends were Dale and Mike, the other two of the tight trio. neighbors on our dead-end street.  These are the friends you take everywhere you go, though miles separate.  Grandma Frye was a special friend.  She wasn’t my grandma, but a neighbor who lived across the alley from us.  She lived in a garage apartment next to her son’s home.  When I visited, she had a treat and would tell me Bible stories and listen to Billy Graham on the radio.  It was a place I could go to be a child.

Where we live now, we have a neighborhood "Mayor" named Bill.  He's the go-to guy to discover the latest gossip, I mean news.  I'm the "Cop."  I keep my eyes on the neighborhood.  My wife is the "Person of Peace" who learns about the concerns of our neighbors and does something about it, with the permission of the Mayor and the Cop (who agree if they want peace in the neighborhood).  In reality, everyone in the hood has a role and a story.  We are a loosely connected circle that becomes a tighter circle when the need arises.  

We belong to other circles outside the neighborhood.  They make a constellation in our lives that makes our universe better and happier. 

(What Circle of Friends do you have?  Please share YOUR story by clicking on the pencil icon below).  

 

     

   

     

THE BARN OF MEMORIES

 

I recently have been introduced to the program "The Repair Shop." It combines two things I enjoy: tinkering and stories.  It is a British program about a place that repairs or restores items of priceless memories.  People bring their family treasures to the barn, and the artisans begin working to restore it to its glory days.  When they drop off their items, the people explain the significance to the team.  In other words, they share the story about the items and the loved ones attached to them.

People get attached to items that remind them of a past loved one.  It helps them feel connected to that person.  It could be anything from an old toy to a rare painting.  

There are various artisans in the barn: mechanical engineers, seamstresses, woodworkers, restorers of furniture, ceramics, and the list goes on.

When people come in, they explain the story and significance of their item.  When they return, their precious item is unveiled to declare its new life.  The artisans are paid by the production company, but the real pay is seeing the reactions on the faces of the item owners.  In a sense, they now share part of their story.

I don't have many items to remind me of my parents, so these stories mean something to me. 

What objects do you have that contain a story for you? We would like to hear about your story items.  Please post in the comment section below (click the pencil).

Points Of Commonality

 In new social environments, we tend to start conversations with something we have in common:  weather.  Eventually, we talk our way through sports, the economy, etc.  If we are smart, we won’t talk politics (did you know politics comes from two words: “poly”, meaning “many,” and “ticks” are blood-sucking creatures!).

Covid is another such topic of commonality.  Everyone has been impacted by the pandemic, either physically, financially, or around school and job changes. School kids many years from now will talk about their shared experience of Zoom education and disruption of person-to-person relationships.  I think my grandkids will remain close later on because they were each other's only playmates during the pandemic.

 You have probably heard of six degrees of separation.  (See below.)

The idea is to choose anyone to find a connection to others.  How about Abraham Lincoln? Let’s say you and I have just met and have shaken hands.  The story goes that my great-grandfather shook hands with Mr. Lincoln.  If I start with you (#1), you shake my hand (#2).  I shook my dad’s hand (#3), who in turn shook his father’s hand (#4).  My great-grandfather (#5) met Lincoln (#6) when he was reviewing the troops at Harrison’s Landing, Virginia.  So, I shook the hand that shook, that shook the hand of President Lincoln. Six degrees of separation.

As President Lincoln was reviewing the troops at the Berkley Plantation, Harrison's Landing, VA, in 1862, a history of my great-grandfather's regiment states:

    

"As President Lincoln passed along the front of the lines he was preceded by Gen. McClellan.  He was dressed in the costume familiar to the people by his portraits and his angular, attenuated figure seemed intensified by the high stovepipe hat he wore.  The men had but a glimpse of his features as his horse was moving at a brisk trot, but the glimpse was sufficient to make a lasting impression..."

Based on this statement, it is doubtful that my great-grandfather shook his hand, but the tradition of the handshake continues down the generations.  Maybe he had a chance later?

Below is a copy of a painting that covered the event.

Sometimes our stories launch a similar thought or experience that we have in common with others.  As a student, I represented my college.  I traveled to various locations in my role.  In one place I stayed, I told a joke to a high school student.  He in turn remembered a joke that related to mine, and the cycle began.  We spent numerous hours trying to be funny. Joking was our point of commonality.

We live in a time that separates people, especially politically.  Rather than focus on what we don't agree on, we should look for what we have in common. We may have more in common than we think.  Make it a point to find that commonality in others and discover connection. You may find some interesting people in your “six degrees of separation,” or is it “six degrees of connection?”

Fake Thanksgiving News Uncovered By Native Americans (Updated)

William White

This will be the first Thanksgiving I’ll celebrate knowing that my 10th great-grandfather, William White, was a Mayflower passenger and signed the Mayflower Compact.  He died that first winter, so my 10Th great-grandmother was there for the first celebration.

There is a lot of fake news we learned in school that wasn’t accurate about that so-called “First Thanksgiving.”  Here is what I learned from the Wampanoag, the Indians who helped the Pilgrims.

“…most people do not know about the first Thanksgiving because the Wampanoag and Pilgrims did not sit down for a big turkey dinner and it was not an event that the Wampanoag knew about or were invited to in advance.” (Tim Turner, Cherokee, manager of Plimoth Plantation’s Wampanoag Homesite.)

The Pilgrims sent out four hunters in the morning who brought back an abundance of fowl (could have been turkey, but who knows).  Besides feasting, the men had target practice with their flintlocks.  The natives were alerted and set out to ensure the Pilgrims were not under attack.  That was when the Wampanoag invited or co-hosted themselves to the festivities.  Massasoit, the Chief, sent out a team who brought back five deer to add to the meal.  Fortunately, he did, because the number of Indians was two to three times the size of the settlers.

The food included venison, seafood, waterfowl (not to mention of turkey), maize bread, pumpkin (not pumpkin pie), and other squash.

The natives later did not look at Thanksgiving as a celebration, but as a day of mourning because of their treatment at the hands of the white man.

“At noon on every Thanksgiving Day, hundreds of Native people from around the country gather at Cole's Hill, which overlooks Plymouth Rock, for the National Day of Mourning. It is an annual tradition started in 1970 when Wampanoag Wamsutta (Frank) James was invited by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to give a speech at an event celebrating the 350th anniversary of the Pilgrims’ arrival and then disinvited after the event organizers discovered his speech was one of outrage over the “atrocities” and “broken promises” his people endured.”

Frank James was supposed to address the crowd at the 350th anniversary of the Pilgrims' arrival, but the organizers learned what he would share from the Indian perspective. They canceled him.  The message he was supposed to give contained this statement:

“This action by Massasoit was perhaps our biggest mistake. We, the Wampanoag, welcomed you, the white man, with open arms, little knowing that it was the beginning of the end.”

 

I certainly understand their feelings, but I have learned that it’s best to not look back at all of the injustice done to us.  Letting go of the injustice in my life has freed me to enjoy life better.  Take, for example, my friend Donna.  She is Japanese American and was born in a relocation camp that the government were so kind to set up after telling them they had to leave their homes and businesses within six days.  These were American citizens who were unjustly treated.  Many of the Nisai Japanese were bitter over their plight.  Donna’s parents  tried to put a positive spin on things and make the best of the situation.  After their release, the family had to start over again.  They worked hard and were steller American citizens.  Donna and all of her siblings went to college, earned degrees, and had a career. 

As I was watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, I saw a float made by the Wapanoag Indian tribe whose ancestors had to put up with the mistreatment of the white man at Plymoth.  The chiefs were smiling and waving at the crowd.  Apparently not all Wapenoag descendants view the Plymouth setters in the same way.  Some forgave and moved on.  This is not to say we should ignore injustice, but as time passes, we do ourselves a favor by forgiving and living a productive life.

Regardless of what historical view we have of Thanksgiving, the idea is for us to be grateful for what we have.  I know I am.

Spring: Rebirth, Rejuvenation, and Renewal

 

We live in the Willamette Valley in Oregon (Wil-lam-it; Or-e-gun). We know when Spring has arrived, our daffodils start coming up. Spring seems to offer new starts. Winter is gone, and some beautiful days are ahead. It’s my wife’s favorite season (and so is Christmas!). Personally, I like Fall. I love the cool breeze and the beautiful leaves on the trees. For me, Spring is a close second.

St. Valentine’s Day may be in February, but the old saying goes:

“In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” – Alfred, Lloyd Tennyson¹

Love, is indeed, in the air.

I imagine you have read the Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. ² It chronicles the story of a stuffed rabbit's desire to become real through the love of his owner:

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

There are some evil things going on in the world right now, but it’s good to know that love can conquer any of that.

There are various stories about Easter. Pictures come to mind like eggs (from bunnies?), candy, Easter baskets, etc. When I was a boy growing up in Indiana, my Mom would dress us up in our “Sunday finest.” We would pose for photos in front of our house flower bed. Little suits, ties, and Fedora hats. We looked so well behaved, but much of the time we would be underfoot so Mom would yell, “You kids go out and play in the street!” I know that sounds odd, but we lived on a dead-end street with little traffic. It was a safe place to kick bounce balls and throw footballs. We also had plenty of yard space. No one had fences then and one yard continued into another.

Spring. Though winters could be harsh, and we would receive lake effect snow off of Lake Michigan, the hope of Spring brought brighter days ahead.

Spring is a wonderful time in that God reminds us that life may seem gone, but only dormant. On that Resurrection Sunday we call Easter, the dormancy of death could not keep Jesus buried in a tomb. He broke out of there so he could always play with us in the street. And with that, demonstrated no evil can defeat His good, giving us hope that would never end. He is real, and his love is eternal, it never gets “loved-off.”

1https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45362/locksley-hall

2https://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/williams/rabbit/rabbit.html

THE FEAR AND JOY OF HIGH SCHOOL REUNIONS

I’ve never been to a high school reunion. Life got too busy and I usually lived far away from my Indiana hometown. I have plans to attend this summer. I won’t tell you how many years have passed but here is a hint...it has been half a century!

I went to the attic to find my class yearbook. It was buried so far back that I had to stop at a rest area on my search. I’m not sure why I need it. I remember my classmates when they were in their teens, and their class photos reflect that. NEWS FLASH!!! They don’t look like that anymore, and neither do I. It will be like joining with a group of strangers, who can’t recognize each other, yet have stories about you. It may seem like a Twilight Zone episode.

I had very few friends at school. My social circle was the youth group at church. They will always seem like family to me. Thanks to social media we can stay in touch but I noticed that none of us have felt brave enough to hit the video camera so we can see each other. Perhaps it will remind us of how “seasoned” we are. I was at a party once where you received a small piece of paper. We were asked to “Write down something about yourself that no one here would know about.” The papers were thrown into a container and each one chose someone else’s paper. We then had to figure out who the author of the answer was. The slip I got said, “I was once under 30.”

I have a question for you...Where has all the time gone? When I was young it seemed like life would never end and yet I find myself in the winter years of life. I’ve had so much water go over the dam that it dried up!

When I was young, I didn’t believe older adults who would say, “I wouldn’t trade being a young man for anything.” Are you kidding? I would have said, “It would be nice to be in my 20s and 30s again.” Let’s think about that. A youthful body would be a good thing, but without the life experience and knowledge I have now, I would probably get into real trouble! The last I looked, the only way to get life experience is to experience it. And if we are worth our salt, wisdom would be added to that life experience and knowledge. So now that we have talked this through, would I still want to be young again...here’s the answer...drum roll, please…Nope!

Maybe going to my high school reunion will be fun, as long as we all don’t expect youthful faces and figures (BTW...my six-pack is now a keg!).

FOR LOVE OF COFFEE

Pexels.com

 Ever since the costume party threw over that tea in Boston Harbor in 1773, Americans have been involved in a ritual called "coffee break" or "That first cup in the morning."  

In a study conducted by Urban Coffee Bean, they discovered...

The Most Interesting Coffee Statistics

• 64% of American adults currently consume coffee every day.

• More than 150 million Americans drink about 400 million cups of coffee per day or more than 140 billion cups per year.

• 79% of Americans prepare coffee at home.

• Americans drink about 146 billion cups of coffee per year.

• 35% of coffee consumers usually drink black coffee.

•An average American drinks 3.1 cups of coffee per day. Read the complete article to find out more interesting facts: 

(https://urbanbeancoffee.com/coffee/usa-coffee-statistics/)

We all seem to have rituals around coffee.  For example, when I'm the first one up, I find my way to the single cup coffee machine and turn it on.  Then, I go back to my room to put on my sweats.  If I see a faint light at the bottom of my wife's door, I'll head back and make her a cup of coffee and take it to her (we don't sleep in the same room.  It's the Battle of the Snorers where no one wins...or sleeps).  Then I get my cup and lose myself in my comfy lounger.  That first sip is like magic.  I thank God they threw the tea in Boston Harbor.

I never understood people who say, "I love the smell of coffee, but I don't like the taste." That would be like saying, "I like the smell of home-baked cookies, but I can't stand the taste." Right.

I know you probably love coffee, but don't let that overshadow the more important loves of your life.  Your love life says something about you.  What do you want it to say?

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

BOYS 'N BIKES

One of the great joys of growing up in Indiana was riding bikes. I know boys ride bikes elsewhere, but this is My story :) Riding bikes was second only to playing baseball. Baseball was sacred…we were all Cubs fans!

Back to bikes. We would attach a playing card at the back wheel so it would hit the spokes. I can see you are not impressed but we thought it sounded like a motorcycle. We jumped ramps in the street like Evil Knievel (if you don’t know who he was, ask someone older). We had races. The great challenge was seeing who could ride the most circles in Fergeson’s driveway. I think I held the title at 300 times. The Guinness Book of Records wouldn’t come so we told our friends and family. I think that record stands because everyone else moved on. Who wants to waste their time going around in a circle? Where is the dedication?

I read a story recently about two boys in Indiana who rode bikes together. They were going by a cemetery where a fallen soldier was being laid to rest. The boys approached as they begin playing Taps. Without communicating with each other, they laid their bikes down at the same time and stood at attention. At the conclusion of the music, they hopped back on their bikes and rode on. Little did they know a neighbor saw what was happening and took their picture.

 In an age where some picket at funerals of fallen soldiers or police, these boys paid their respects. I would say what they did was more important than riding a bike in circles.

The original story can be seen at Good News Network

The Transformative Power of Connectedness

As our life progresses, we come into contact with others and their stories.  As we build relationships, we walk into their stories and they walk in ours.  Even if there is a break in the relationship or we go our separate ways, part of each other's lives remain.  We become connected. That's why relationships are so important, and all relationships are connected to a story.  Some stories bring joy and others pain, but we can grow through either. 

I realize not everyone is into poetry.  That's okay, I'm not into math!  A little bit can go a long way.  Below is a little bit of poetry by the 10th Poet Laureate of the United States:  

 Stanley Kunitz put it in ‘The Layers’, ‘I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was.’

If you have read any of my posts, my book, or other writings, then you have walked into my life.  I would like to walk into your life.  Would you share your story with us?  You can send it to journeyintostory@gmail.com.  We would love to hear from you!