It Was An Honored Privilege

I arrived at the airport in Minneapolis, MN on Friday afternoon to participate in a celebration of life service on Saturday for a man I did not know. In addition, I had not yet met Judith, his wife, or his two adult children in person.

That’s not to say Judith and I are strangers. She the sister of the guy who recorded the sermons at church to post on YouTube during the pandemic. We did that for well over a year.

All of that seems like a lifetime ago. We videoed the sermons on Saturdays. We also had church on Sundays, but many people limited their contact with others in keeping with stay-in-place requirements associated with the pandemic.

In remembering back, the process seemed surreal. Speaking to an empty church was not an easy process for me. It added a whole new concept to the adage of taking to yourself. I adjusted to the routine but welcomed the day that doing so was no longer needed.

The abbreviated posted worship service included special music, a children’s sermon, and the morning message. A link to the YouTube posting was distributed to our congregation and others who had expressed an interest.

One of the people who periodically watched the services was the sister of the man from church who videoed the services. At some point, she reached out to me through Facebook messenger. That, too, seems like a very long time ago. Through the process, we became good friends.

Her husband was very ill, and the prognosis was not good. At some point many months ago, she asked if I would officiate at his memorial service when the time came. I was honored to be asked.

Arriving on Friday, I had an opportunity to visit with family members and posthumously learn about Steve’s life. I was invited to a dinner on Friday evening that included residents from the retirement community where they lived. It proved to be an enjoyable time.

I was in town for less than 24 hours before the memorial service took place. Before the service, everyone I talked with confirmed that Steve was a good guy. He was a kind man. He would willingly take the time to help anyone needing his assistance. The description I heard of him reminded me of something St. Teresa said:

“Spread love everywhere you go; first of all in your own house. Give love to your children, to your wife or husband, to a next-door neighbor…Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness; kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile, kindness in your warm greeting.” Perhaps even without knowing, her’s was the formula Steve used to negotiate the demands of living. His life was characterized by kindness.”

Yesterday’s service was purposefully set for July 30th, the 56ths wedding anniversary of the couple.

I was honored to be in attendance. In addition, I’m now leaving Minnesota with the belief that I made new friends.

All My Best!
Don

HIDE AND SEEK

I’m getting a little old for playing hide and seek, but I discovered yesterday that both of the keys to my truck were missing. How could that be possible? Normally, I leave my truck parked in a small parking lot near the swimming pool in neighborhood where we live.

It is really wierd, but for some reason the neighborhood association where we live doesn’t want people parking on the street in front of their homes overnight. Consequently, there is some rule closely akin to no parking on the street between 2:30 a.m. – 4:00 a.m. I don’t know for certain. I’m not generally awake during that time-frame.

Yesterday, after driving the truck to pick up lunch, I parked in front of the house and even rolled the window down. It was already really hot outside. Mid-afternoon the General and I needed to meet our builder, so I suggested we drive the truck.

The Geneal liked that idea. When I opened the drawer where I leave my keys, I immediately noticed that two keys were missing. Both belonged to my truck. Since we didn’t have time to spare, we opted to drive the General’s car.

Just to make it clear, for the record, the General actually told me that I needed to find my keys. Who would have thought? I’d probably have eventually figured that out on my own, but whose to say? I don’t have to do a lot of thinking on my own. I have an automated voice near me that serves as a frequent reminder.

I’m not complaining. Sometimes I appreciate the General’s sage advice. However, yesterday I had figured out the key-issue on my own. I guess that falls into the “Ripley’s Believe It Or Not category.”

As a rule of thumb, if my key is not where I routinely store it, I check the pants pocket of the jeans or shorts I last wore. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I find the key when that is my automatic default.

Yesterday, after we returned from the meeting with the builder, the automated voice told me I needed to find my keys. Strange isn’t it, I had not forgotten.

So what did I do with my key when I parked the truck in front of the house? In the resources of my memory, I remember thinking “this isn’t right” when I opened a cabinet drawer in the counter of our home. Consequently, in playing hide and seek, I walked to the other end of the counter where I normally keep my keys. I opened the drawer and discovered the key.

The way I processed the find is “one down and one to go”. I immediately went out to roll up the window and drove the truck back to the small parking lot where I park. Much to my suprise, every parking space (except the two handicap spaces) were taken. I’ve never seen that parking lot full.

So far the record, I’m a rule-breaker. This morning my truck is still parked on the curb in front of our home.. Frankly, I doubt that anyone noticed the it was on the street between 2:30 – 4:00 a.m.

My first priority this morning is to find the other missing truck key. Wish me well! I remember losing one of the keys to my Miata several years ago. I found myself looking in the same places over and over. The key didn’t appear to be in the house. On the other hand, the Miata was in the garage. I am the only person that drives the Miata. Consequently, the key had to be in the house.

Finally, with a sense of uneasiness, I started drawing clock faces and putting numbers on the clock. I remember that when my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s one, of the tests she could not successfully complete was to draw a clock faces.

Yes, for the record, I drew a clock face or two this morning. I have one missing key to my truck, but I am not yet missing my mind.

All My Best!
Don

Move Forward Carefully

The title of our pastor’s sermon last Sunday continues to offer food for thought. At face value, the risk factor sounded impossible. The message was entitled: “Don’t trip over something behind you.”

When it comes to tripping over something, I’ve learned the hard way. Distracted walking is as dangerous as distracted driving. Lesson learned: Do Not Read Text Messages While You Are Walking.

Actually, the last time I fell I was transferring a receipt from my money clip to my wallet for safe keeping, but the principle is the same. You have to stay focused on where you are walking.

I like to think of myself as someone in continuous forward motion. Truth be told, I have one speed: Off/On. If I’m walking, I’m walking fast. The last time I took a tumble, I tripped over a curb.

In order to save my face from the concrete, I used my two hands. Two months later, I’m beginning to think my hands will never be the same. Time has not restored their full functioning and they still hurt. A lot of other folks would have figured that out in less than two months. Okay, so I’m not the sharpest Crayola in the box.

The question is obvious. If you are moving forward, how do you ever trip over something behind you? It sounds like an impossibility. On the other hand, how many of us are obsessed with thoughts of “if only?” If only I had done this rather than that, my life would have worked out better. It happens all the time.

Years ago, I read the story of a young man who sought counseling from his pastor. He had determined his marriage was a mistake. I guess you could say he fell in the category of miserably married.

The pastor asked the man how he had come to marry his wife. His story might cause one to think the young man was grasping at straws, so to speak. The man and his wife had not dated very long before he invited her to his apartment to watch television. At some point, while they were watching a program, she walked over to the television and jiggled the aluminum foil that stretched from one end of the rabbit ears to the other.

Actually, she did that a couple of times. Maybe the young man ascertained that she was a “take charge” kind of person. The thought that subsequently ran through his head became a silent prayer. “Lord, if you want me to ask this woman to marry me, let her do that one more time.”

Months later, as a newly married man, he was living with regrets and thought maybe he had misinterpreted the message he ascertained as an answer to prayer.

That leads me to one of the points I want to make. One way to trip over something behind us falls into the category of regret. It gets back to the “if only” scenario: “If only I had done this rather than that.”

If you ever want to have peace of mind, don’t allow yourself to be shackled with an ongoing sense of regret. I guess if you discover life has given you lemons of your own making, opt to make lemonade and stop obsessing over regret.

The other point I want to make is this: “For many of us the statute of limitations related to our childhood has expired.” I don’t know anyone who had perfect parents and I don’t know any parents who had perfect children. We are all broken. The gift of forgiveness related to things behind us is crucial if we are to move forward without tripping over something behind us.

Give it some thought: “Don’t trip over something behind you.”

All My Best!
Don

Awkward Moments

Our pastor’s message yesterday triggered a host of memories from long ago. He briefly shared some life experiences concerning his family.

When his children were young, he was pastor of a church in west Texas. He and his wife were hosting the deacons and their families at a gathering in their home.

I can almost envision the care that was taken to ensure that everything was in its place. It was one of those venues where the pastor and his family were attempting to put their best foot forward. I can relate. I’ve been there and I’ve done that.

To the pastor’s dismay, he noticed through a window that his oldest son had climbed a tree in the backyard. Turning to the younger son who was inside the house, he said: “Please tell your brother to get out of the tree.”

The younger son, who didn’t move an inch, yells his brother’s name for all to hear and says: “Get out of the damn tree”.

I can only imagine the sense of disbelief that the pastor experienced. Obviously, without fully processing his words, he responded to his younger son: “What did you just say?”

The younger son repeated word for word what he previously had said. It was kind of a double whammy.

I fully understand the kind of uncomfortable experiences that a son can create for his dad. When Craig was three or four, I hosted three colleagues from work for a dinner in our home. My boss who lived elsewhere was in town.

As we were gathering to be seated at the table, Craig announced: “Dad, I like Ann and Carol, but I don’t like her. The “her” he was referring to was my boss.

My immediate response was to ask Craig if he’d like to have a picnic outside? Fortunately he did. The experience was awkward.

That wasn’t the first time Craig put me in an awkward situtation. Around Easter time that same year, I took Craig shopping for Easter clothes. The store we went to was located in a small shopping center near our home. I was surprised to discover they had suits for little guys.

Like I said, it was a long time ago. There was a day when people routinely wore their best clothing to church.

In the presence of the sales person in the store, Craig said to me: “Dad, you know we can’t afford this! We are not going to buy it. We left the store empty handed, but it had nothing to do with affordability.

On another occasion, Craig and I were sitting inside our car at a shopping center with the windows down while we waited on his mother to shop. The car was my all time favorite buy from General Motors. It was a 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass -t wo door hard top with all the bells and whistles.

A man who parked next to us accidently bumped his car door into ours. He apologized, and Craig responded: “Oh, that’s okay. This is just an old trash truck anyway.”

The other memory that came to mind was Art Linkletter’s – Kid’s Say the Darnest Things. My paternal grandmother listened to his radio boardcast. I sometimes listened with her.

The flashback to that time in my life was like a breath of fresh air. It made me feel like a kid again.

All My Best!
Don

I Pressed The Down Button

Pardon the pun, but when I pressed the down button for one of the elevators in the Longworth House Office Building on Friday morning, the last thing I expected to find was a different kind of down. There were four people on the elevator, and the two men had their hands full of down, so to speak.

They invited me to get on the elevator, but I declined. I did acknowledge that I write a daily blog and asked permission to use their pictures.

If you haven’t yet connected the dots, feathers of a duck are referred to as down. The three trophy mounts held by the two guys were absoulutely beautiful. I could see that.

Other folks might have experienced difficulty processing their beauty. Would I want them sitting on my desk? Probably not, but that didn’t discount the fact that they represented art in the most colorful of fashion.

When I was a kid growing up, my mother often referred to me as Donald Duck. Because of that every time I heard the expression “dead duck”, it was somewhat alarming.

The phrase “dead duck” is an Americanism from the 1830s. It was originally politically slang referring to a person who had lost their influence or power. Consequently they were considered useless.

Seeing the three ducks in the elevator and discerning that they had either been on display or where going to be on display, I thought of some long-time friends.

The many works of art in their home are primary mounted trophy deer heads. Several years ago when they listed their home with a realtor to be sold, a potential buyer was traumatized when she entered the home.

She exited stage right screaming: “Get me out of here. This is a house of death.”

Perhaps, to each their own! My son and his kids would have loved the down collection.

All My Best!

Don

Friendship

Theory and practice can be worlds apart. I articulate that there is: “No time like the present,” but I could be head of the Procrastinators of America if such a group exists. I have yet to determine if there is such an organization.

I’m good at identifying people I’d like to share time with but slow on carving out the time to make that happen. They say: “Life gets lost in living.” I could be the poster person for that expression.

For several years, Keith Owens, one of Craig’s Marine Corps buddies, has been reading my daily blog. He often is one of the first people to make a comment or select the “like” button. We occasionally exchange text messages with one another.

He and his family live in Maryland. They live on a farm about an hour’s drive from Washington. We have expressed an interest in meeting when I’m in D.C., but I never carve out the time.

Wednesday evening, when I realized I had Friday afternoon open, I reached out to Keith through Facebook messenger to ask if we could meet for lunch yesterday. I said that we’d need to meet at a location I could access by Metro.

Keith was far too kind to tell me they were not close to any Metro stations. Our meeting required a lot more effort on his part than mine.

Keith, and two of his children, James and Cecelia, met me for lunch at Lauriol Plaza yesterday. His older son John graduated from High School this year and was in New Mexico this week at a camp for Eagle Scouts.

There was nothing awkward about the shared time with the Owens family yesterday. It didn’t feel like meeting Keith for the first time. Facebook friends have a way of materializing as real friends. That certainly proved to be the case yesterday.

James and Cecelia didn’t seem uncomfortable having lunch with a stranger. Both are polite and personable. I suspect they are also very smart. Both identify math as their favorite subject in school.

Cecelia volunteered that she invests a lot of time reading because she finishes her classroom assignments in a fraction of the time it takes for the rest of her class. Rather than waste time, she prefers to read.

Keith and my son, Craig, met at the Marine Corps base in Quantico, Virginia. They were there for Amphibious Warfare Training and became instant friends.

Keith was a single officer when they first met, and he chose to spend a lot of time at Craig and Becky’s home. Hunting and NASCAR were two activities both Craig and Keith enjoy. That also put them on a level playing field for friendship.

Keith told me yesterday that he met his wife on a “blind date” for the Marine Corps Ball while he was in Quantico. After Craig and Becky met Karen, Craig perceptively predicted that he would choose her to marry. Keith said they married a short time later.

Toward the end of their military careers, both families were stationed at Camp Lejeune. My granddaughter, and Keith’s son, were in the same grade and classroom at Camp Lejeune. My grandson William is a year older than James. My youngest grandson and Keith’s daughter are the same age.

When Keith retired from the Marine Corps, his wife Karen wanted to go back to work. As it turned out, Karen was able to regain the same job in Washington, D.C. that she left when she married Keith half a lifetime earlier.

Keith in turn became “Daddy-care” for their three children. Since the kids are now much older, he periodically substitute-teaches at the school. He also likes being retired. His children are a top priority.

I learned yesterday that Cecelia is a picky eater. Perhaps she came by it naturally. According to information I learned for Craig and Becky on the phone last night, Keith doesn’t eat anything green.

When the waiter in the restaurant came to the table to take our order yesterday, Cecelia politely said that she didn’t want anything. She didn’t seem bothered by declining.

Keith proactively turned to the waiter and asked if they had french fries? They did. He aslo asked if they had chicken nuggets? They did. Consequently Cecelia didn’t have to go on a hunger strike while sharing lunch with a stranger.

Following lunch, Keith thoughtfully asked if they could drive me back to where I needed to be. He was open to taking me back to the office where I had left my luggage earlier that morning and then driving me to the Metro station. I was very grateful for the ride.

I normally don’t mind walking, but it was hot outside. I was also wearning a suit and tie. In addition, my luggage and backpack weigh a ton.

Long story short, I no longer think of Keith as Craig’s Marine Corps buddy. He is also my friend.

All the Best!

Don

A Quick Trip To D.C.

The past day and a half in D.C. have flown by rapidly. Overall, I’d rate the visit as successful, and I have more visits today. I have the good fortune to interact with several legislative staffers on Capitol Hill who support the legislation the organization I work with is requesting. Currently, children’s homes and residential schools are not part of the continuum of care for children from hard places that Federal dollars can help support..

Interestingly, the vast majority of the agencies I work with don’t want or need Federal funding, but because of the legislative sanction prohibiting funding, our agencies are seen as having no value. We are no longer considered an appropriate resource for children who have been removed from their families by children’s protective services.

Consequently, all across the nation, children are sleeping in workers’ offices or hotels because there are not enough resources for children who are at risk of harm if left in life-threatening situations. Perhaps they are the lucky ones?

Tragically, in far too many cases, children are left in harm’s way, and their lives tragically end. No one appears to be noticing the number of deaths could be avoided.

In terms of my commute to Capitol Hill this trip, the Airbnb where I am staying is only two Metro stations away. I have never had it so easy. As it turned out, yesterday I only walked five miles. The commute time is minimal.

I guess I’m a creature of habit. I never time visits appropriately. Yesterday, I arrived too early for scheduled meetings and then tried to pretend to myself that it wasn’t hot outside. Of course, reality won out as I was sweltering in the heat wishing that a coat and tie weren’t considered mandatory.

No one can gain entrance to a Federal Office building unless they are escorted by a legislative staffer. Before January 6, 2021, the entrance could be obtained without an escort.

During this visit, I noticed that visitors gaining entrance no longer have to provide their identification. From January 6, 2021, until recently no one entered a Federal Office building without providing their identification. Can you begin to imagine the expense involved in that process? Okay, so I’m chasing rabbits. I won’t go there.

As I said, I am a creature of habit. My flight home this evening takes me first to New Orleans and then to Austin. Why I ever opt for something other than a direct flight is beyond me. Hopefully, I will eventually figure it out.

All My Best!
Don

I’m In The Air Again

This is the third consecutive day that I find myself at the Austin Bergstrom International Airport. Perhaps, “everything in moderation” might have been better approach. Today I am headed to Washington, DC for the remainder of the week. You may concur with the General and think a mental health assessment is warranted.

Yet, in an effort to dissaude your opinion, I want to substantiate that I do have the ability to learn from past experiences. Monday found me spending an extended amount of time at the Will Rogers Airport in Oklahoma City.

Because I feared that I could not make a 3:15 departure from the Oklahoma Airport yesterday because of being in a board meeting, I made a reservation for the 3:45 departure when I purchased my ticket.

At the 12th hour (figuratively speaking), I opted to change my ticket for the earlier flight. Drum Roll! The later flight routed me to Austin through Denver. I am not one to pass up a trip to Denver, but I at least want to get beyond the Airport.

The ability to change my ticket for the earlier flight reduced my arrival time in Austin by 4 hours! I arrived in Austin at 4:30 instead of 8:30. How’s that for proactively making a good decision.

In addition, while I was waiting for boarding at the airport in “the City” as folks in the great state of Oklahoma refer to it, I decided to check for lodging in Washington.

Occasionally, I wait to arrive at my destination before I get online to find a place to stay, but my emotional comfort level is better when I know before I get on a plane.

I located a AirBNB on Capitol Hill that looked very updated and comfortable at a cost you can’t find a four-star hotel in DC. Like the price of gasoline, hotel costs have risen significantly in Washington over the past couple of months. I figure enough is enough, I will look for a better option.

My flight is soon to board, so I will simply wish you a good day.

All My Best!
Don

I am both frugal and dumber than dirt

Sometimes the General’s take on how I should manage my life eventually makes sense. I had planned to drive to Oklahoma City this morning for a board meeting tomorrow. The downside was the ride back to Texas after the meeting. If my calculations were correct, I would have found myself in 5:00 or 6:00 p.m. traffic in Dallas tomorrow. Been there/done six weeks ago. Why would I do that again?

From my perspective, I would do that again because I’m frugal. I attempt to save the agency where I work a dollar every chance I can.

The General works on the premise that time is money. Where she came up with that far-fetched notion, I’ll never know. That reality has not been my experience.

If you are an attorney that charges $600 an hour, perhaps the premise that time is money is true. When you work part-time for a non-profit corporation, not so much! Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I like the privilege of working.

So, you’re probably thinking that I’m now sitting in the lobby of the Will Roger’s Airport in Oklahoma City because the General said I was not going to make that drive again. That is really a good guess, but it is not completely correct.

What I figured out is that the General was right. Who would have thought? I actually compared the cost between flying and driving (using the IRS reimbursement for driving) and found the expenses were virtually identical even throwing in the cost of a one day car rental in Oklahoma City.

I may be dumber than dirt, but even I will opt not to drive a 14-hour round trip if I don’t have to. On the other hand, I can also substantiate that I am dumber than dirt and the fact that I’m sitting in the Will Rogers Airport proves it.

Yesterday morning when I hurriedly made my airline reservation and purchased the ticket, two flights left Austin within an hour of each other and there was over a five hour difference in my arrival time in Oklahoma City. One was a direct flight, and the other went first to Denver.

The flight leaving Austin earlier arrived in Oklahoma City at 11:10 a.m. The second flight arrived at 5:30 p.m. I opted for the latter.

How’s this for logic? If I arrived in Oklahoma City at 11:10 a.m. and my meeting went until 2:00 p.m. the following day, I would be charged a two-day rental for the rental car.

The logic makes sense to me. The General will tell you that time is money and that I’m not all that smart.

Of course, she’s right. I remembered last night that I failed to check in for the flight yesterday morning. Consequently, I was at the end of the C boarding group.

Worse yet, I discovered this morning when I checked in that I actually inadvertently purchased a ticket on the earlier flight. I’m not sure how that happened, but I’m going to hang around the airport until 2:00 and then hopefully, get the rental car.

All My Best!’

Don

The Power Of A New Beginning

I don’t remember the man’s name, but I remember his story. It was shared several years ago at a meeting I attended of child care adminstrators from across the Southwest. We had gathered to discuss the importance of trauma informed care.

All of us were aware that one of the challenges of working with children from hard places is finding the ability to form meaningful relationships. Children who have been traumatized by life have a difficult time forming the ability to trust again. Seriously, without forming relationships, it is impossible to help children heal and move beyond the damage incurred in their lives.

It is a tough topic because to do it well requires something other than business as usual. We are more accustomed at managing behavior rather than building relationships with children.

I share this because it occurred to me at the time, based on the man’s story that we make the same kind of mistakes in church. Rather than focusing on relationships; particularly the importance of an on-going relationship with God, we place more emphasis on behavior than we place on a sense of being connected with God.

The man who spoke was someone I didn’t know. He had been invited by someone on the program planning committee to provide a devotional thought at the beginning of our meeting. What he shared came as a complete surprise to me.

I was moved by his words. He mostly talked about himself and his experience with church. Twenty years earlier, at the age of thirty-five, he found himself at a place he never thought possible. After twelve years of ministry in full-time church-work, he found his life shattered through divorce.

D I V O R C E is more than a hit record recorded by Tammy Wynette. DIVORCE represents an incredible disappointment to anyone involved in the process. Of course, the pastor’s divorce was also the catalyst for his unemployment. Strange is it, even though most churches are aware that their pastor isn’t perfect, they at least want him to be married. To add insult to injury, his ex-wife moved his children 300 miles away.

From his experience, the man suggested there is very little difference between a Tsunami and a divorce. His dreams and hopes for the future were totally shattered. He really believed his life was over.

It was months before he even considered stepping foot back into a church. After all, from his perspective, his life was a continuous pattern of disappointment, shame and remorse.

When he started back to church, he purposefully was the last person through the door before the service began and the first person out when the service was over. He always sat on the back pew and immediately left when the service was over.

He challenged our group to understand that our primary job is helping children see how their exits can become entrances. We have to help children from hard places see life differently than the way they are used to seeing it.

Helping them through relationships see that exits can become an entrance. He said this: “One day when I thought my life was over, a person walked into my life that was able to see little things of value in the pile of trash. I can’t change my past. I can’t change my DNA. What is redemption anyway? It is simply buying something back from what would have been trash. Isn’t that what we try to do.

Too many people have sold themselves short. Forgiveness and grace sometimes means that not only is it okay to let myself off the hook, but to understand that God has already done that.

The man suggested that church people need to do a better job of building relationships and forming connections with folks who see themselves outside the fold. That is the only means for demonstrating grace rather than condemnation.

All My Best!

Don