It’s Sunday today, but the sermon for me was preached earlier this week.

As I was leaving a restaurant in Minnesota the other day, a very tall person with long straggly hair, baseball cap turned sideways and what I thought was a scowl on his face, brushed by me very hurriedly. I thought, man, where’s the fire? Immediately I passed a multiple of judgments on this guy. . What a rude, self important and unkempt person he is. Like a light switch being flipped, my spirit went dark and I was momentarily unreachable.

I came to find out, that as quickly as I had flipped that switch, I would meet with deep regret only seconds later. This because that young man, on whom I had made my pronouncements, had rushed by me not for impatience or impertinence…but because he was hurrying to hold the door for me. “Hope you have a great day, sir.” I was immediately filled with private embarrassment and guilt because of my reaction to this young angel. I thanked him and smiled a big smile, but my heart was heavy. When I got outside, I saw him sit down on a bench with his father. He proceeded to put his arm around his dad, smiling a big smile.. it was a beautiful scene. But as for me….I felt cheap. I don’t need to say more, because there are some things you can never retrieve.

It doesn’t take much to get me on my high horse. And how I love to shove people into categories. It’s so much easier or me so I can criticize without thinking. Of course I don’t let anyone see my unseemly constructs …that would be perception suicide. As much as I can, I let people see only my supposed, good nature, which is of course, a myth. A myth perpetuated because of a percolating ego known only to God and myself. All of these character impediments are quite hush hush…because I do have a reputation to uphold.

But all of this will be outed eventually. “For nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light.” (Luke 8: 17)

My prayer for today:

Lord, instruct me in Your ways of unconditional kindness, and show me what Your graciousness really means. Root out my judgmental arrogance and smug notions. Teach me your statutes in real time and real life scenarios as you did that day.

Wean my malevolent predilection, and lead me along the streams of love and benevolence. Most importantly, forgive me for continually excusing my sinful nature. May my reactions radiate a tender faith more and more each day. These things I pray. Amen

She was a Carlton College graduate and he was Chief Justice of the North Dakota Supreme Court. Alvin C. Strutz and his wife, Vee, were members of the Calvary E. U. B. Church (Evangelical United Brethren) in Bismarck, North Dakota where my family attended when I was a young boy. I knew the pew in which they sat every Sunday. I loved Mrs. Strutz because she was always extremely gentle and kind to me, even knowing I was the unholy terror of the church. They were friends to my parents and my memories of them rest fondly.

Their son, Bill Strutz taught Pam’s and my Sunday School class when I was the Director of Youth at what had become First United Methodist Church (This when the Methodists merged with the EUB denomination). My father and his brother built this new church. Bill was a well-known attorney defending doctors in malpractice cases. Both he and his lovely wife Marilyn are avid readers and a two story library is the centerpiece of their home. Marilyn is a mentor and caring friend to many, and when our Sarah was born, the first home she came to after her own, was Bill and Marilyn’s. When I was attending high school, she was a substitute teacher for me from time to time.

The next generation was Bill and Marilyn‘s daughter, Heidi, with brothers Nat Paul and Colin. Heidi was one of my kids in the youth group at our church. She married a fine man, Brad Mitchell, who is a pastor. They have a ministry called Build Your Marriage.

Finally, Heidi and Brad’s daughter, Rachael, came to Nashville to find work in the music business. That was when our lives intersected. She found a good job and married her husband, Cole Hession soon after attending a course in music industry studies. I played piano and my cello at their wedding. We proudly are considered their Nashville grandparents.

It is a lifetime of rich family kinship we share. Every time we are in North Dakota, we stay with Bill and Marilyn. From invigorating evening conversations of faith and life to morning prayer and scripture on their back porch…or what I call “Mornings with Marilyn”…our time together is beyond description. I have no deeper ties than with this family, reaching back generations.

The most beautiful things are not associated with money; they are memories and moments. If you don’t celebrate those, they can pass you by. (Alek Wek)

The clouds were drifting, with billowy images kinda like massive birds with porpoises swimming around them…. and on each side of the whiteness stood darkened seahorses ready to storm. Well at least that’s what the sky looked like to me as we traveled through the waters of Lake Itasca on the Chester Charles tour boat. Our destination, the headwaters of the Mississippi River. The mouth of this river begins as a trickle and swells in size as the waters of the Missouri, Ohio and later, the Tennessee River among others, pour themselves into her waves.

This little expedition was all part of our potluck reunion birthed in Bismarck, North Dakota in 1974. Initially, we were five couples, all too poor to dine out, so we got together each month to eat, play games and visit in each other’s homes. To this day, we send a round robin letter that continues throughout the year, and get together every three years or so.

This year the location had special meaning. We stayed at a spacious cabin at Lake Kabekona (Ojibwa for “End of the trail”) near LaPorte, Minnesota…vacation home of the Don and Sylvia Schmid family, and it has a tremendous history.

A group of students from Luther Seminary were determined to find a place where they could reunite each summer. After three years of research they found a place, and to make a long story short, purchased land around Kabekona Lake in 1932. It was not until 1947 that they begin building on the land. One of those seminary students was Casper B. Nervig, Sylvia’s father. And to this day, many of those families have remained there along the lakeshore and the dressing of Maples, Norway and White Pines.

From the cabin we could view the beautiful setting of trees around the lake. Outside, the rain poured down, but the wood-burning fireplace was ablaze with the warmth of conversation and heartfelt love for each other. We spent hours laughing, reminiscing, grateful for the friendships and stories of where life had taken us. So like those Luther seminarians, we were reunited with a tie that binds. Treasured, tethered times they were.

I love these lines from Edgar Guest’s poem, “Old Friends”

“The tenderness of folks who know just what your sorrow means,

These are the things on which, somehow, your spirit always leans.

When grief is poundin’ at your breast — the new friends disappear An’ to the old ones tried an’ true, you turn for aid an’ cheer.”

We headed out from our hotel in Ainsworth Hot Springs, British Columbia, to the Kaslo Jazz Festival about twenty minutes away. This wonderful opportunity was at the kind invitation of our cousins, Greta and Glen Cosby from Spokane, Washington.

It is breathtaking country here, and as we drove alongside the majestic Kootenay Lake, her water sparkled against a backdrop of sleeping mountains resting in the winds of First Nation culture. This liquid blanket, like a Norwegian fjord, was lined with banners of teeming evergreens everywhere.

Whoa Nellie….Initially, that’s what Pam and I felt as we arrived at the festival. We were transported from the throes our sedate gated community in Franklin, Tennessee, to a free-spirited culture reminiscent of the 60s, with colorful quirky fashion, unusual accessories, creative hats, swimming in the lake, bare feet and attendees from babies to octogenarians. The grounds were kept extremely clean. People were very friendly, conscious of recycling any containers or trash…and the food trucks were as culturally diverse as the crowd. We intermittently caught the scent of unique smoke product we understand is indigenous to jazz and rock music festivals.

There were two alternating stages with music everywhere from Dan Brubeck, Funk bands, World Music, Bluegrass, Ani DiFranco to Harry Manx. All this, including intermittent aerial silks presentations next to the main stage and some fine dancers in the audience.

When you’re thrust outside of your day to day grasp, it is somewhat unsettling, but that has little to do with age. It is more about experiencing a different perspective, not as distant perception, but at a face to face, visceral level. In that regard, this event was far richer and more meaningful than I imagined. This doesn’t mean I’ll be wearing tie dye anytime soon…but I saw the world looking out a different window. I had many invigorating conversations with very loving people.

All 3 days were peaceful with absolutely no disturbance. This all in the wake of the bloodshed at El Paso and Dayton …and my heart was somewhere in the mix.

It’s like a Mack truck hitting you. Outta nowhere sometimes, I feel down and immobilized. I ask myself , “Where did that come from?” I don’t understand why. (Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m fighting it. It manifests differently for everyone.)

When I have these patches, there’s absolutely no reason to be feeling this way. My life is very manageable.. great, really. I have a family that loves me, I’m extremely motivated to create, I have enough to eat and a lovely place to lay my head. But sometimes I just lose my emotional balance somehow.

There are mental conditions that go far deeper than what I’m describing, just to make that clarification. Even the simplest of days are very difficult for these precious friends who suffer. What I’m talking about is occasionally getting “down in the dumps.”

When this happens to me, I have remedies to keep going,…like praying, going for a walk, writing something, listening to a comedian or my favorite….watching a video of one or all of my four granddaughters. When I watch them, my condition dissipates. They are God’s reminder of His great love for me…and a wonderful uplifting elixir. With that…I’m more than good to go.

Pam and I were having lunch at Bonefish Grill after church yesterday, and right after being seated we were met by our wait person. Her name was Erica and she had a million dollar smile, her blond hair pulled back, with light- bronzed complexion and a husky sweet voice. She took our drink order and came back with a sample of their lemonade that had a touch of ginger and mint in it. Pam thought it was too tart, but I loved it.

When she came back for our food order, Pam told her what she wanted and then she asked me next. I told her I would like the California omelette with a side of bacon. She said there was crumbled bacon in the omelette. She said this because she thought I didn’t realize there was bacon in the omelette and thought I might want to order something else for my side item. However, I didn’t hear her say there was crumbled bacon IN THE OMELETTE…I just heard the BACON WAS CRUMBLED. I learned later that Erica had clearly explained there were STRIPS OF BACON. I musta taken a quick trip to Botswana during the conversation. I do that from time to time.

So now I’m thinking, they’re going to bring me crumbled bacon on the side. That seemed bizarre and suddenly my thought process started taking on water….I just couldn’t latch on to what she was saying. As I’ve said many times before, there is no processing side to my ADHD. I just couldn’t connect. Now Erica is getting the giggles and Pam is shaking her head thinking she’s brought an untrained monkey to lunch, staring intensely at me like, “What is wrong with you.”

Befuddled, I’m looking at both of them smiling at me as they try to right my overturned brain. So, to lighten things up, I jokingly quipped, “ They generally only let me out for a day.“ Erica laughed out loud and without hesitation said, “ I think you should probably hurry back.“ At that point we all burst out laughing. She was as precious as she could be and we had a wonderful lunch. I’m thanking God for Erica.

“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” (Marcel Proust )

It’s transformational…. that moment you’re handed a baby. Your voice is softer and your protective nature takes over. Intensity is muted and most often you’re either smiling or wearing an empathetic expression on your face to soothe them. A loving spirit comes over you. Nothing else can change you so quickly as one so helpless, nestled in your arms.

A thought came swimming up to me and gave me pause. It was bizarre in a way, because it could never really happen…..but I thought….I wish it were so because things would be nicer, more friendly….not perfect of course…but softer, not so crazy, not so frenzied, not so hurtful and loud. Here’s the thought. The world would be a better place…..with a baby in your arms.

We live in a world of contention. It is emotionally, spiritually, intellectually and physically, a violent place. The disenfranchised, the elderly and children can be dismissed with a blink of an eye. There are the haves and have nots…and only one of the two are reasonably content. We’ve become virulent in our “being right” whether conservative, progressive, libertarian or whatever. We give no quarter. Ears are stopped, eyes are blind and hearts grow cold. We injure ourselves and others when we lash out to make our point.

I realize my tongue can be murderous at times. It is unseemly and without excuse. Over the years, I’ve used (though with quiet discretion) my weapons that wound… a quiver of words like…jerk, idiot, stupid, insane, etc. There are some that use a laundry list of expletives…. but mine aren’t any better than those. It’s my ego spouting off, not my intellect. Often, Instead of making a helpful point, we wield blades of faulty syllogism, and venomous rhetoric meant to demonize and make fun of those with whom there is disagreement. But really, that’s more about twisting the knife then anything else. We don’t think about this as malevolence really…but if we do…. we’re readily willing to administer ourselves immediate absolution.

We give in to our darker nature and excuse it all in the name of the greater good…. A greater good that varies from person to person. We say it’s just common decency we want, when we can’t even be decent to each other.

I need a baby in my arms.

I always enjoy e a good start to my day by having coffee with Pam. This morning, as we talked, I asked her how she slept. She said, “I was dreaming so much last night“. I asked her if she was dreaming about me. Without missing a beat, she said, “I wasn’t dreaming about you for sure.” Okay then.

“No one ever cared for me like Jesus”.

“Poppie, I’m tired”…and with those words, Maya jumped in my lap and snuggled up to me. I felt her warm breath on my neck as we gently rocked back and forth for a few minutes.

My limited skills as a writer from time to time find me using “go to” phrases like “There’s no feeling like that” when I’m overwhelmed with some wonderful occurrence. But this one is different, what am I feeling here with Maya?

Every grandfather or grandmother is going to brag about their grandkids. The kids could be ugly as a mud fence and have an IQ about as high, but to them, they are the most precious treasure in the world .

This girl has a chameleon-like agility to shift her attitude from total love and affection for us to uncontrollable crying, and dictatorial powers that would give Napoleon Bonaparte pause.

We’ve only been in Minneapolis less than a day and here’s a few of the responses from this little chipmunk. Upon arriving back from Norway, she met us at the airport and said, “Welcome home Grandma and Poppie. I missed you.”

This morning as she made her first appearance with braided hair and a cute little dress, Pam said to her, “that’s a lovely dress you’re wearing, Maya.” Immediately she quipped, “ Yes, Gramma, you’re quite right!“ And as I was rummaging around for cereal, I found an interesting one called “Bunny Cereal.” I proceeded to down a bowl of it when without warning, in marched Maya, hands on hips and informed me….

“You cannot eat my cereal, Poppie.. That’s for me, and me only!“….Okay then.

Maya invited me up to her bedroom and asked, “Would you like to play with me in my room?“ I told her I would love to, and quickly followed her up to her digs….but before I could say anything she turned to me and said, “You are not to wear sandals in my room.” (Moses had a similar moment in Exodus 3:5) So anywhoo, she cleared that up for me right away. Little Maya was so proud as she showed me her “Counting” book, her “Where Is Michael Jackson?” book (she found him every time) and her bedtime Maya book, that, as I read to her, she laid on her bed to listen. But the best response from her so far is this.

Yesterday, as we were getting out of the car after a visit to a nearby amusement park, she was being quietly reprimanded by her father, there was a pause…and then she blurted out….”Must you argue with me every day, daddy?”

So what was this feeling that I had as I held her in my arms? What was the meaning? What I came upon, was this. I was holding what once was. What once was me. What once were my children and my grandchildren. I was holding a remembrance, a hope, a legacy. That brought out deep emotion in me….burning wet eyes that expressed the sweet joy and the struggle of it all. My little chipmunk is beautiful….truly beautiful. Life is beautiful….truly truly beautiful.

Riding on the bus through Norway has been a rich thinking time, and a wonderful chance to re-evaluate my life and make some corrections. I can’t attend to them all, but I can change bit by bit with God’s help.

I am a very positive and upbeat person most all of the time. Yet….Sometimes…but not often…I occasionally spend a little time looking inward. It could be lonesomeness, social estrangement, a feeling of being dismissed because of my age, a sense of losing what used to be or quite frankly…itsy-bitsy moments of self indulgent pity.

I thought I might write a little poem to myself to rethink this and look from a different perspective.

ON STONEY WALK

To you who are forgotten ones

O leave yourself just now

And wing your lonesome thoughts to those

In mirrored pain somehow

Be music on their stoney walk

Sing hopeful melodies

Then would your heart and theirs take hold

Of joy and what can be

And as you vest unselfishly

with words as soothing mist

You will find a showering

of God’s own graciousness.

Jesus said…” You are the Salt of the Earth. The Light of the World.”