Wings in flight,
imminent darkness
if the sandman
does not fail.
Troubles left on ground
will return upon landing
but are temporarily
in cloud limbo
(no, not that cloud).
Turbulence temporarily tosses me
around the bathroom
while the sign flashes
“Return to cabin.”
(I’m trying, I’m trying!)
Constant turbulence
makes the kidneys
and the nerves jumpy,
but the landing is uneventful.
Love thy neighbor as thyself
is not only one
of the Ten Commandments,
it is actually a good idea
-generally-
I am glad God thought of it,
Because I am afraid
we would not have
-on our own-
Thanks be to God.
Spending the day
in a son’s apartment
waiting for repairmen.
Bringing questions
with no answers;
does it really matter?
Probably not – ultimately,
but somehow it doesn’t feel right.
Good night.
When I was growing up, my grandmother on my mother’s side – Grandma Kelley – lived in the other side of a duplex from my aunt, uncle, and cousins in Adele, Iowa. The large screen porch led to separate entrances for each side. But when you went up the stairs in one side, you could walk all the way down the hall and then down the stairs to the other side of the duplex. I don’t remember if there was a bedroom on the first floor of either side, but if there was, there was only one and it belonged to my grandmother, and my aunt and uncle, respectively.
My brother and I slept upstairs. On one occasion, I was sleeping by myself. I don’t know why. We usually slept together at relatives’ houses. I think I was ill, but I wouldn’t swear to it. I was sleeping on one of the old, raised beds, the kind you had to climb into – particularly if you were under the age of twelve.
There were vents in the floor upstairs – or the ceiling downstairs, whichever way you look at it. I assume it was a way to keep the house warm in the winter – letting heat rise to the rooms upstairs. You could see down into the lower floor through the vents. You could also hear everything that was said over a whisper. Which could be embarrassing, but it also kept me from making several unwanted entrances into family rooms.
I remember having a hard time going to sleep with the voices coming up through the floor vent. It was hard trying to go to sleep and still trying to hear what the voices were saying. They sounded as if those talking were in the bottom of a shallow cavern. A head cold or flu would have increased the effect (I don’t remember having anything worse than that away from home).
I have no idea exactly what I was dreaming about. But I do remember the voices guiding the dream on some level. At some point I imagined stepping off of the bed and dropping through the floor. I kept falling, with clouds below me and no earth in sight. I remember actually having a falling sensation.
While I was falling I was frightened, but it never occurred to me that I would hit anything – much less hit it hard enough to die. I was sure that God would save me. As young as I was, I had faith in a loving and just God. I didn’t have all the baggage I have now. Baggage that makes me question something when I should just take it on faith.
I finally woke up, of course. But what one would consider the innocent dream of a naive child was actually an implicit assumption based on unquestioning faith. We all have had a similar type of experience when we were younger. A time when (real or in a dream) we mentally and physically had no control and had to depend on God.
I’ve had numerous experiences since that night – both in life and in dreams – in which I felt out of control. Unfortunately, I wasn’t always as successful as that night in trusting God to help. And I know I am not alone. We need to get some of that naivete back. True, we cannot undo experience and knowledge. But we can return to a childlike wonderment of God. Trusting him to protect us, even in our dreams. He does keep amazing us if we’re paying attention.
What was one of your most memorable faith experiences or “God moments?”
Peace be with you.
When I take trips – or even when I am just driving around – I like to take pictures of churches. All kinds and types of churches, but small churches in particular. Churches that have been around for many years. Some are worn and broken down, but show signs of tender loving care and have the appearance of an active church – albeit with a tiny congregation. Other churches have not held services for several years, but still show signs of upkeep by faithful congregants or their descendants. The church buildings resemble souls on the side of the road.
Churches with a past – not the negative sort of past that the phrase ordinarily implies – but a glorious past of vibrant congregations, spiritual worship services, and dinners on the grounds. The church buildings, along with the surrounding property, echo the vocal strains of gospel music, prayers, and praise. I often wonder if the Holy Spirit doesn’t return occasionally to the former churches to bless them one more time for their meritorious service to the glory of the Lord. Roadside reminders of years of faith and praise. 
I am rarely traveling on Sunday in order to attend our church. I take pictures and write articles for the newspaper, website, and archives. But one of these weekends when I’m on the road, I’d like to stay over and revisit the churches I’ve seen. Mainly to see if they still have services. I would like to get pictures of the small congregations that have served throughout the years and still faithfully attend.
I’m afraid, however, I would find that they would be closed for good. My next question would be if someone was still tending to the building. Or if it had been left to nature and future real estate developers. Which is why I take pictures of those churches. In some small way, I want to preserve the memory of the congregations and churches that helped develop the society in which we currently live.
But I will not only post pictures of churches with a past and possibly no future. I will also post – in order to celebrate – pictures of ministries that represent the church in the world. Or simply unique churches.
Peace be with you.
[Note: Follow the links for part one and part two.]
“Everyone be quiet and stay calm and no one will get hurt,” the gunman commanded. “The shot was an accident. No sudden noises.”
Antonio knew that if the police were not outside by now, they would be soon. He also knew the gunman was becoming more nervous by the minute and he did not want to get caught in the middle, which was now an increasingly likely situation.
“The police are going to be here soon, if they aren’t here now. I’d like to help you if I can,” Antonio said in the most calming voice he could muster with his nerves on overdrive.
“Why would you do that?
“Because I’m a preacher and it’s my job to help people with their problems.”
“So how can you help?”
“I have a cell phone with the number of the sheriff and he will listen to me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I helped his family out. Like I said, it’s what I do.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“I’m a preacher, for God’s sake! I don’t have an ulterior motive.”
“A what?”
“A reason for lying to you. Just let me call him. If you don’t like what I say you can shoot me. And I wouldn’t give you a reason to do that. But I need to know why you’re doing this. Are you here to rob them?”
“I’m not here to rob the place. I’m not sure how things got this far. Make the call.”
Antonio could sense desperation in the man’s voice. He hadn’t always been a preacher and he knew the difference between an evil man and a desperate one. He pulled out his phone and called Sheriff Martinez.
“Hello, Antonio. I’m a little occupied at the moment.”
“No more than I, Oscar. I’m in the restaurant with the gunman’s arm around my chest.” He felt the gunman relax his hold a bit.
“Was anyone hurt by the shot?”
“No, someone dropped something in the kitchen which surprised him and he reacted. The bullet went into the counter after going through a chair.”
“What does he want?”
“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain. If you’ll let us get to the chapel, we’ll try to resolve the situation without involving the people in here. We’ll be coming out the main door.”
“You got a line on this nimrod?”
“So far anyway. But remember, he’s one of God’s people.”
“But not one of the chosen, Antonio. Call me when you’re in the chapel.”
“First chance I get.” Antonio hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket.
“What’s the chapel?” the gunman said in his ear, tightening the grip on his chest.
“The semitrailer in the parking lot. I’m surprised you missed it.”
“I wasn’t looking for a chapel.” He pushed Antonio toward the door between the two rooms.
“Point taken,” Antonio said as he reached out with his hand and unlocked the door.
The gunman put the pistol in his pocket and stayed behind Antonio. Antonio nodded slightly to Fred as they passed the cash register. The two men walked out the front door of the truck stop and headed for the trailer. Police cars were parked in front of the restaurant. A group of officers gathered behind the cars watching the two walk toward the chapel. .
As the two men walked up the steps of the trailer, Antonio glanced toward the restaurant. A couple of deputies were coming out of the door looking toward the chapel. The gunman, followed Antonio into the chapel and locked the door behind him. Antonio walked over to his desk, swiveled the chair around, and sat down facing the gunman.
“So now that we’re here alone, what do I call you?” Antonio asked him.
The gunman held the gun on Antonio and looked confused. He was trying to get straight in his head the significant turn his original, albeit on-the-fly, plan had taken.
“I’m Jason,” he said finally.
“Well, Jason, I’m Antonio. Brother Antonio. Sheriff Martinez is expecting me to call him shortly and have the answers to some questions. Why don’t you tell me your story and let’s figure out how to wrap this thing up, whatever it is. What brought you to the truck stop with a gun?”
“A flat tire, an escapee from jail, a woman, two barbeque sandwiches, and a few bad choices.”
To begin at the beginning, in case you didn’t know, pretzels don’t pour. To which you might reply with “who would expect them to?” Well, I would. In case you haven’t noticed, the bags that pretzels come in are considerably more fragile than regular chip bags. Regardless of how careful you are, if you are lucky enough to open it without tearing it down the side, the second time you reach in for more pretzels (again carefully) a jagged tear will appear.
The tear is always such that any further handling of any sort will cause the bag to begin the various stages of disintegration. When it happened again the other day, I grabbed a quart size baggie and attempted – for the umpteenth time – to pour pretzels into a baggie. At first, they poured as easy as stick-shaped objects can. Then they began to catch on the curled up edges of the pretzel bag.
I tried to gently jerk the bag to coax the pretzels into falling into the baggie. At which time the bag began to give way further, sending pretzels onto the counter and – to my chagrin – a few onto the floor. The more I tried to be careful, the faster the bag fell apart. I ended up having to pick handfuls of pretzels off of the counter and put them in the baggie. Which worked only a tad better than trying to pour them out of the bag.
I finally got the pretzels into the baggie. Minus, of course, the few that fell onto the floor. But not without some serious consternation on my part. A major cause of the consternation was the fact that I saw it coming. But even though I saw it coming there was little I could do to alter the circumstances.
And that is one of my pet peeves – I firmly believe that you can have more than one. When I see a situation coming in which I’m sure things will go awry, it ticks me off. I sometimes think I’m daring the situation to prove me wrong for a pleasant change of pace. Then, by God, it goes awry just like I thought it would. Which ticks me off even more.
I have other pet peeves as I’m sure you do. People refer to someone’s pet peeve. As if there is only one peeve and that one is the pet or favorite. It sounds as if it is special rather than a pain in the ass.
I’m sure God has quite a few pet peeves. The Old Testament illustrates a few. Breaking a commandment is a safe bet to touch on the real favorites. That is, if you equate “pet” with good or favorite.
But at the same time, God is forgiving. While I can be forgiving, I’m not as forgiving as I should be. If I was, it wouldn’t bother me as much that pretzel bags tend to disintegrate as one is simply getting another small handful of pretzels. It wouldn’t bother me that pretzels don’t pour. And when I can tell someone is going to do something stupid, I would forgive them ahead of time. Unfortunately, I’m not that forgiving. But I’m working on it.
Peace be with you.
In the previous post, I was talking about my sabbatical to Marshall that ended up being unlike what I had previously imagined. I checked in to the hotel late Monday night. When I entered the hotel room after checking in at the front desk, I did what I have always done since taking vacations with my parents and my younger brother. Check out every nook and cranny of the room, beginning with the desk and all drawers.
The dresser drawers never had anything in them and they still don’t. Some hotels used to put extra pillows in the bottom drawers of the dresser, but that was years ago. When the desk drawer had hotel stationary. Now the desk does not even have a drawer.
Some things are the same. The book of information about the hotel and surrounding restaurants, shops, etc. A pen, a notepad, survey card, and the usual bathroom items. And the Gideon Bible in the bedside drawer. But when I opened the drawer this time – and found the Bible – the Mormon Bible was next to it. Which was comforting to me – like I said, I was there to quit a bad habit – simply because there is strength in numbers.
But it was also intriguing, because it was a hotel in Marshall, Texas – a town of 24,000 people. As best I could ascertain, there are two Mormon churches in Marshall. I don’t think two churches could afford to supply Bibles to all of the numerous hotels in Marshall. Which raises the question of which hotels and why? But that is a question for another time.
What matters is that the hotel having both a Bible and a Mormon Bible is a step toward understanding our neighbors and living with our differences. Perhaps there will come a day when you check into a hotel and there will be several Bibles or holy books of other religions. More for people of the different faiths who may stay at the hotel than for the proselytization of those faiths. The different holy books would also be available for anyone wanting to learn about other faith traditions.
Which will be a subject we will return to in this blog. One of the main purposes of Chasing After Wind is to write about those times – simple or complicated – in which life and theology intersect. And since I am a member of a few interfaith organizations, another purpose of the blog is to promote dialogue between all religions and faith-based organizations. Join me as we look for God in everyday life, and learn about other faith traditions.
Peace be with you.
I was in East Texas a week ago. Marshall, to be precise. I had business in Jefferson, but there are fewer places to stay there. And less to do, to be honest. There’s not all that much to do in Marshall. But there were enough places to go to give me sufficient reason to leave the hotel occasionally, if I chose to do so. Which made working alone in a hotel room more manageable. Leaving is not as important when you simply know you can.
I had three goals in mind. The first – not necessarily in order of importance – was to reconnect with myself and recover from the end of year and first of year psychological roller coaster. From the emotional buildup before Christmas – which for us included plumbing problems beginning the weekend before Christmas and not ending until several days after – to the anti-climactic, questionable, introspection of New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, and the first few days – actually, as it turns out – weeks of the year.
The second goal was to quit a bad habit. I am fortunate to be able to say that – so far – my efforts were successful. The third and last – but certainly not the least, as they say – goal was to reconnect with God through music, meditation, and prayer. Actually, these goals were three parts of the same goal. Whether I reached all three goals has yet to be determined.
Reaching a goal whose finish line is not a mark in the sand, but an indistinct and flexible idea of a time in which everything will be “back to normal” is a rather elusive task. But the trip was for the experience as well as the goals. A chance to not so much take a break from the everyday, but see it from a different view. With internet, social media, smartphones and the like, it is, unfortunately, rarely possible to completely take a break from the “everyday.” If you think about it any harder, it is literally impossible.
I had this concept of the trip as a time of writing furiously and returning home with pages of prose and songs. Which was rather unrealistic. What I did accomplish – at least partially – was to realign my expectations, relax and spend time in prayer, contemplation, and guitar playing. Which is as much as I should have expected, being gone only three days and having an afternoon worth of business to take care of in Jefferson.
I also spent time thinking – in general, but also about this blog. With life not allowing posting opportunities in January, I also needed to revitalize the blog and reconnect with its purpose. Which always seemed obvious to me, but not to some of my readers. The purpose and goals of the blog will unfold as days go on. The About page will be updated along the way. Some things will stay the same.
But in the meantime, if you had four nights and three days to get away, what would you do? If you read any previous posts, what did you like most?
Join me – or rejoin me – on this earthly and spiritual journey.
Peace be with you.
[I have pictures, but apparently WordPress has not wanted me to upload pictures for a couple of days!]
Cyndy and I were watching the Rose Parade this morning, as we do pretty much every New Year’s Day. The tv hosts are tolerable – more so, say, than those of the Macy’s Parade – and there is little more to watch on over 300 channels than marathons of shows we never wanted to see again. Not to mention the movies that we have already seen ad infinitum or do not want to watch anyway. Be that as it may, we usually end up watching the parade, which was themed Oh, The Places You Will Go this year, in honor of Dr. Seuss.
It is fascinating to see the huge creations painstakingly fashioned from plants with such vibrant colors. On the winning float an oversized Cat in the Hat was reading Oh, The Places You Will Go to Sally and her older brother while Thing 1 and Thing 2 looked on. Thing 1’s purple-colored hair was applied with tweezers. My patience has increased over the years, but is nowhere near the level it would take to complete that task.
While I was in the backyard getting some fresh air, my mind wandered and ended up in my childhood. My first books were the Dr. Seuss books. My parents signed up for the book club and each month we would receive a new Dr. Seuss book hot off the press. Since I was two years older than my brother, Dennis, I was always the first one to read them. There were days when I sat on the front porch, waiting for the mailman.
The day the book(s) came, I would rip open the package, remove the books, and head for my favorite bush in front of the left corner of the house. The bush was big enough to hide under and read. My memory is a little fuzzy on the bush – it could have been a weeping willow, which would make more sense. My mother later passed along the books to other parents with small children. I’ve often wondered while watching Antiques Roadshow how much that original set would be worth. As well as the Hot Wheels set that Dennis and I had running throughout the house that Mom also passed along when we no longer used them.
Needless to say – but I’ll say it anyway – this year’s Rose Parade held a little more interest for me than in other years. It also caused me to take a journey into the past and beckoned me to consider the new year and the places I will go. Not just to physical locations, but also in my personal and spiritual journeys.
Happy New Year everyone! May you all be blessed throughout the year and may your joys and successes outnumber the disappointments and shortcomings.
Chasing After Wind 