Here’s this week’s installment of Five Minute Friday. You might remember the task is to write for five minutes on a specific prompt word. The initiative was started by Lisa-Jo Baker (http://lisajobaker.com/) who thought about writing and how often our perfectionism gets in the way of our words. And she figured, why not take five minutes and see what comes out: not a perfect post, not a profound post, just five minutes of focused writing.
So, the timer is set for five. The word for the week this week is AFRAID… so here goes. {clock starts now}
On the outside it doesn’t appear I am afraid of too much, but inside I am quaking in fear. I can’t explain it, but so many people rely on you. I’m not afraid of failure … I am afraid of letting people down. My mind knows better. I have a God who is in control and has my best interest in mind. He created me this way. He knows my insecurities. He knows my past. He knows my present. He knows my future. So, the bigger question is, why should I be afraid at all?
I shouldn’t which is why I have a pretty hard exterior shell. Inside I need to know everything will be alright. I need the comfort. I need the joy. And I need to remind myself I have it all in a God who sent His Son to die for me so I can rest easier.
Wow, I don’t feel as afraid anymore.
STOP
THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: Every one of us has seen the hand of God at work in our lives.
At dinner, I usually ask the grandkids what they learned in school {not much, apparently, since it’s usually a short conversation}. Today, I didn’t, but the youngest piped up to her brother and sister, “Well, what did you learn in school today?”
Hmmm. I guess they have been listening.
I tried a little twist tonight, though. I asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up.
The oldest (12, almost 13) said she had always wanted to be a veterinarian and she still does. The youngest (seven, almost eight) batted her eyes and animated “I don’t have a clue!” My grandson (10, almost 11) said matter-of-factly he wanted to be a professional football player. Okay, I offered, but what’s your back-up? A stunt man was his answer!
Ah, the innocence of young life!
But it reminded me of my grammar school days and aspirations. While most kids my age wanted to be doctors or firemen, I wanted to be a — ready — bus driver! As a backup I chose garbage man! I thought {and still do} those were cool jobs.
A little history. When I was about 12, we moved from Paterson to suburban Totowa, which meant I had to take the bus to school. No, not a school bus. Public transportation. I would take the bus from Totowa to downtown Paterson, then walk about a mile to school. After school, I would reverse the route.
I enjoyed my time on the bus, watching people get on or get off and imagine what they were doing on the bus or where they were going. The regular afternoon driver was Mr. Frank DeMaria. He would greet me when I got on the bus and talk to me as he drove, dutifully stopping at the bus stops for more passengers or responding to a buzzer to let someone off. He would ask me about my day. And it wasn’t just me. He would greet all his passengers and engage in conversations with them. And all the time, he handled the bus effortlessly through the narrow streets of Paterson, through sunshine and rain, drizzle and snow. Obviously, Mr. DeMaria made an impression on me.
Tuesdays was also garbage day in Paterson, so naturally I would see the truck every week. They had a driver and a guy hanging off the back, stopping house by house collecting the garbage. After awhile I got used to seeing them and they got used to seeing me. Soon, they would take a “break” when I came by — especially if I missed a week — and we would chat for a minute or two. They would also keep an eye on me as I walked up Straight Street. It was never too hot {although a little stinkier} or too wet {doesn’t every little boy like to play in the rain?} or too cold {that’s why they make gloves}. I thought their job was cool, too.
I remember Sister Mary asking us to write an essay on what we wanted to do when we grew up. Mine, of course, featured a city bus driver and/or garbage man {although I preferred driving}. She was aghast and made my essay the point of her lesson on underachieving.
But it didn’t faze me. In fact, as I got older, I entertained thoughts of being a Greyhound bus driver, an over-the-road truck driver and even a New York City hack {taxi driver}.
Of course, reality doesn’t always mirror young aspirations. To get a little spending money, I took a part time job at the local newspapers … which morphed into a full time job … which morphed into a career. But those early “dreams” never really faded. I did get to drive a bus — a school bus. I never drove over the road, but I did drive my share of trucks. The only taxi driving I did was shuttling kids to and fro activities. And I’ve logged about a million miles behind the wheel — a million miles of freedom and thought and relaxation.
I had my dreams! What about you?
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Stay focused on encouraging thoughts — thoughts of hope and thoughts of faith.
Well, it’s Wednesday and time to add to our collaborative community story. Cathy gave us some ideas as we move forward, although we diverted a little.
We’re following a flashback of our main character, Samantha. The story thus far is on the blog under “Story.”
Here’s where we left off.
I didn’t want it to end…
The night ended, but our relationship didn’t. Instead it continued to grow throughout that summer. Chad and I spent a lot of time together and got to know each other a lot better. And he never wore off.
He saw me at my worst when I had a summer cold … and still said I was “beautiful.” He put up with my moods, gently turning my sour side into a sweeter one with just the right phrase or joke. He encouraged and challenged me every time we went out.
I must admit, by summer’s end, I was quite smitten with him. And it appeared to be mutual. After all, for most of the summer, where he was, I was. We went to the shore, and movies, and long drives, and parking on Garrett Mountain. We learned a lot about each other, but still knew our boundaries. Sure, there was plenty of holding hands and hugging and kissing and even a little fondling, but we both knew when to slow down. I think that’s what I loved about him — yes, I said loved. He listened patiently to my words and my heart. He gave me his prime time, not the leftovers. He praised me. He surprised me. He courted me. He treated me like a queen in front of other people.
I learned Chad was very focused on his career, both engineering and the Air Force. He would talk about how he could blend both after graduation. And he took his studies seriously. So I wasn’t sure where our relationship would go when school started.
It changed, but not all that much. Even though we went to school near each other in The Bronx, we lived in different states, so phone calls were expensive. Yet, he found a way to keep in “touch.” He would call to say, “I love you!” or “I was thinking about you!” or “I miss you!” He planned either a Friday or Saturday night date, usually in the City. He scheduled study dates either at the library or his place — and forced me to study! We went to ball games, museums and plays in the City, just long walks in Riverside Park or VanCortlandt Park.
My Mom invited him and his family to Thanksgiving Dinner and they accepted. It went well, except she managed to embarrass me over and over with her questions and her revelations about my childhood (“she was a cute baby; do you want to see some pictures?” … “she was shy and awkward” … “she was book smart but didn’t have much common sense”). Thankfully, Chad rescued me to meet up with Bernie and Jimmy.
In the middle of traffic he pulled the car over, took my hand and said, “You know, I love you. Every day I love you more. But I have to know if you feel the same way.”
“Yes! Yes! Without a doubt!” I screamed, grabbing his head in my hand and planting a long, deep kiss.
From that moment on, it was official. We were a couple. It seems Bernie and Jimmy were also a couple, although we were too engrossed in ourselves to even notice.
Not much changed as went through the rest of the school year. I knew we still had to get through his stint with the Air Force and I still had two more years of school, so we never talked about marriage. In fact, we never talked about getting engaged, either. But he would indulge my fantasies when we walked past a jewelry store or bridal shop, always with a big grin on his face.
I did stay at his apartment a couple times during the winter when the weather got bad and I slept in his bed … alone. He wouldn’t have it any other way. By February I started keeping some clothes at his place so I could get ready “properly” if we went into the City. During spring break, I went with Chad and his family to Florida. I was so proud to be his escort to a Military Ball just before his graduation and had tears of joy in my eyes as he walked up to receive his degree.
We only had a few weeks between graduation and his assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. Two weekends before he had to leave, I decided to cook him dinner, Chicken Chasseur, baked chicken breast in a tarragon mushroom sauce, with Glazed Carrots, Pommes Anna and French bread. I picked up a bottle of a nice Bordeaux. I made a Pumpkin and Pecan Cheesecake. Mom and Dad were out of town for the weekend visiting relatives in Delaware.
Chad was right on time, as usual. The table was set, but I was still in my sauce-stained apron with hints of flour dusting my hair. I lit the candles, told Chad to get comfortable, went in and freshened up, came back and served dinner. It was magical. The chicken was moist and tasty (I had never prepared an ENTIRE meal by myself) and the French bread was the perfect accompaniment for the sauce.
After dessert, we went to the couch to talk and cuddle. I don’t know if it was the intoxication of the wine or the realization this all was ending, but I wanted to go further than just kissing. As I started unbuttoning his shirt, he asked, “Are you sure about this?” to which I responded, “definitely” as I led his hand to the buttons on my blouse. This was new territory for both of us … skin on skin.
As I got up to take off my jeans, I reached out to him and led him to my bedroom. “Are you sure about this?” he asked again. “Definitely,” I responded. And there in my bed, we made love, both exploding in ecstasy. We both lay in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours. Eventually he rolled over and dozed off. I just kept staring at him, my head resting on my hand.
As the euphoria waned and the afterglow ebbed, though, second thoughts crept into my mind. I felt what we did was right, but my upbringing nagged my thoughts. “What did I do?” “What am I going to do?” “Why did I listen to him when he told me he loved me?” “He’s leaving next week.” “Is he going to leave me now?” “What did I do?”
And there I was, literally and figuratively stuck buck naked between the wall and a man. How did an in-control woman lose so much control…
There you go, readers. What’s next with Chad? Is this the beginning? Or is this the end?
All you have to do is put down your thoughts and get them to me. You can post your ideas as comments on the blog – but remember everyone will see them, so the “surprise” factor might get lost – or you can e-mail me directly at revblt@rochester.rr.com. Each Wednesday I will continue the story on the blog, along with that week’s attribution and periodically update Reveille/Between the Lakes readers. The complete story thus far is available on the blog under “Story.”
I hope we can have some fun with this.
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: I encourage you to be a healer and a restorer of dreams.
I’m not a preacher, but when I was an elder at Tyre Reformed Church, I was pressed into pulpit service. I came across this the other day and thought I would share it. It’s longer than usual {after all, it is a homily}. Here goes …
I don’t know how I get myself into these things. I just casually say something and the next thing you know I’m behind the pulpit. As I’ve said before, I’m not a preacher, but as I prepared for today, I was reminded of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. And, I, brethren when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God. For I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and Him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. And my speech and my preaching was not without enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power; that your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God … (I Corinthians 2:1-5)
It’s that power which I will try to bring today.
In one of Chevy Chase’s films, Funny Farm, he gives up his reporting job to write the great American novel … a dream many writers have. So he secures an advance, sells his house and moves to the country with his wife to live out his dream. Like many dreams, and in only Chevy Chase fashion, the experience turns into a nightmare.
As a journalist, it’s not uncommon to sit and stare at a blank piece of paper. Well, actually, today, it’s not uncommon to sit and stare at a blank screen. As you try to prioritize your facts and intersperse your quotes and develop a storyline, the task is sometimes overwhelming. Add to that the pressures of a deadline and it’s not hard to see why there are so many ex-journalists in the world.
Over the years, I’ve had more than my share of times when I just couldn’t get started. Before the days of computers, I had my share of overfilled waste baskets containing crumpled up leads and rewrites. To this day, the most used key on the keyboard is the delete key.
In those times, I often sit back, fold my arms, close my eyes and enjoy the quietness of my soul. I let the God given thoughts emerge from the cacophony of ideas rolling around in my brain. I unleash the power of the Spirit.
Not everything I write is good. In fact, most of what I write isn’t good. But it comes not from heart but from the soul. You see, long ago and far away I committed my life to Christ. And my only desire was to have His light shine … Through the years, often that light was shaded or shunted or downright hidden. But the commitment was to Christ and He will not be denied.
That’s the convention I used in preparing this text. Over the past couple of weeks, I have had literally hundreds of ideas on what to say and how to phrase it. But when it came down to making those words permanent, I was staring at a blank screen. Thus, with eyes closed and arms folded, these words emanate from my soul … and I believe they are Spirit-driven.
I share this because I am going to take a different tact in discussing the power of prayer.
Most of us can rattle off reasons why we pray. In fact, let’s make this an interactive discussion. You guys help me out. Why do we pray?
Worship/Praise
Healing
To Lift Other Believers Up
For Our Families, Friends, Neighbors, Country, World
Now comes the harder question. Listen to this with me and see if you see anything familiar as I ask, How do we pray?
How do we pray?
I don’t know about you, but I heard the word “me” an awful lot. What’s worse, I saw “me” an awful lot in that song.
The song struck me a couple weeks ago serendipitously. As I was heading to the printers, I grabbed a couple of tapes to listen to and this ditty was among them. I didn’t choose it consciously … but I listened to it over and over and over.
Please, please, please listen. There are a couple of points I am about to make that may sound wrong. But they are not. They are not heretical but come straight from our only source {as I held up a bible).
With that caveat, here goes.
We like to think of the power of prayer in terms of success stories. There is the old tale of the missionary and his helpers who were forced to camp out in the open on a hill. They carried money and were afraid of an attack. After prayer, they went to sleep. Months later, a brigand chief was brought to the mission hospital. He remembered the missionary and asked him where his guards were, especially those who were with him that night he was on a hill in the open, ready to be plundered. “We intended to rob you,” the chief said, “but we were afraid of the 27 soldiers.” When the story was told in the homeland, a member of the congregation remembered it vividly. “We had a prayer meeting that night,” he reported, “and there were just 27 of us present.”
That’s the success story. Others recall miraculous events and even cures. The one I like to latch onto is Mary’s simple request of Jesus, as reported in the Gospel of John. On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage with His disciples. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to Him, “They have no wine. “And Jesus said to her, “O woman, what have you to do with Me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever He tells you.” Now six stones were standing there, for the Jewish rite of purification, each holding 20 or 30 gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them to the brim. “Now draw some out, and take it to the steward of the feast.” So they took it. When the steward of the feast tasted the water now become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward of the feast called the bridegroom and said to him, “Every man serves the good wine first; and when men have drunk freely, then the poor wine; but you have kept the good wine until now.” This, the first of His signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested His glory; and His disciples believed in Him (John 2:1-11).
The story always intrigued me for a number of reasons. First it was a reminder anyone can come to Christ in prayer — like Mary did — and Christ can answer. But there’s a deeper part. Mary didn’t know what to expect. She made a request … a petition … and turned it over to her Son.
The story tells of the power of petitional and intercessory prayer. But it is still not the power I’m after.
Unfortunately, we don’t see the burning bush or hear the voice of God. If we’re lucky, we can see the power of the Almighty in everyday life. But often, what we see are prayers that appear to be unanswered.
When preparing this text, I went to Nave’s on prayer. Surprisingly, there are a number of Scripture references to answers withheld, answers delayed and answers much different than requested. Even Jesus Himself had a prayer withheld. My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt (Matthew 26:27-28); Abba, Father, all things are possible to Thee; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what Thou wilt (Mark 14:35); Father, if Thou art willing, remove this cup from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Thine be done (Luke 22:42); Now is My soul troubled. And what shall I say, “Father, save Me from this hour?” No, for this purpose I have come to this hour. (John 12:27). The psalmist David penned, My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me? Far from my deliverance are the words of my groaning (Psalm 22:1).
We’ve all had similar experiences. We’ve gotten on our knees in sorrow or agony and asked for deliverance. We’ve prayed for the sick and dying. We’ve prayed for health, wealth and guidance. We’ve prayed … We’ve prayed … We’ve prayed … and often things have gone from bad to worse. The sick die. The roof collapses. Our world is tossed and overturned. Just like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, we pray and get punched in the nose.
It doesn’t make sense. Why would this loving God turn His back on us just when we need Him most?
Did you catch that last sentence?
Let me repeat it. Why would this loving God turn His back on us just when we need Him most?
The two words I call your attention to are “us” and “we”. And that’s what we tend to do … use those words — and others like “I” and “me” in our prayer life. We expect God to drop everything and solve our problems. We expect Him to alter His plan to suit us. Like Frankenstein, the creation somehow “thinks” it is more important than the creator.
Using the censored version, I submit to you, “Stuff happens.” There is an order in life … a God-created order. There are consequences in life … human-ordered consequences. If we don’t take care of ourselves, we are going to get sick. There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven … (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
So again I come to the basic question, why pray at all? What good is it if “stuff happens”? If God has a predetermined plan? If our natural tendencies lead to natural consequences? Why pray at all?
First and foremost, I think, is because we are told to. Repeatedly in Scripture we are told to pray … Seek the Lord and His strength … Seek ye the Lord while He may be found, call ye upon Him while He is near … Pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly … Ask and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you … Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit … Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus …
God can change things and events. God does change things and events. He does it not because of us; but rather in spite of us. We have to learn — as Jacob did, as Moses did, as Job did, as Paul did — to let God be God. He cannot be judged by human standards. What is needed is a God greater than any of us can imagine. We need that today when evolution is suggested as a substitute for the Almighty, when men are frightened out of their dignity by interstellar space, when the world’s evil piles so high nothing human or divine seems a match for it — not another god, nor even a greater God.
So difficult and dangerous is it, where God’s “answers” are concerned, to make any attempt at identification. The pattern of life is far too complex and ambiguous for any man to go about lugging with him a faith which never grows up, has to be bundled tightly in God’s “answers” to his questions and God’s “answers” to his prayers, cannot be set down to stand on its feet in the hurly-burly of a world where success may be a curse and failure a benediction. God does answer. He answers in His own strange way and He answers in love. Life — not an argument — provides God with His most effective means of self-revelation.
So what’s the power of prayer?
It’s a connection, a conduit if you will, from this realm — a mere speck in the timeline of eternity — to the next. Prayer, I’m convinced, is not for God’s benefit. It’s for ours. It is our way of seeking something we don’t understand. And therein lies its power.
It isn’t our words. God knew them before we even though them. It isn’t our actions. God knows them before we do. Yet, we continue to pray.
I don’t think we should ever be presumptuous enough to tell God what to do. We do it, though. If we truly, truly want to tap into the power of prayer, we have to take the lead from Jesus Himself. I touched on it before. My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt … Abba, Father, all things are possible to Thee; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what Thou wilt … Father, if Thou art willing, remove this cup from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Thine be done …
Thy will be done. That should be the catchphrase in our prayers. That’s the power in the words. That’s the faith that stands — stands in the peace of remembered good; in the confidence that back of all life’s riddles there is meaning; that over all its evil there is God.
If what we see in life is monstrous, hate not love, ugliness not beauty, gloom not gladness, the chances are we are staring at a mirror of our own image. It is not just life around us, it is the life within us that needs a cleansing, healing touch. Just like Scrooge, Christmas didn’t change, he did. That’s the power of prayer.
And its a lack of prayer which stifles this power. If you are a stranger to prayer, you are a stranger to power. It provides an estrangement from God that throws us off center, drives us inward upon ourselves and our own abilities or lack of abilities, narrows our horizons and cuts off the view. A fear is no sooner feared than it becomes fact.
God sees us as His creation, able not to resist His might, but His love. Quarrels cannot be stopped until men are ready to stop them. People cannot be made good until they want to be made good. The wickedness of evil lives cannot be kept from spilling over and hurting the innocent, or airplanes from dropping bombs on children or shells from bursting and killing somebody we love. God’s glory is not so much shown in a devouring fire on the top of the mount, but, as Luke records, in the compassion that made its way down a steep hill towards a city and wept.
When God is invited He enters into a man’s solitude as a companion and a bearer of the burden. But we have to ask Him in. That’s the power of prayer … the conscious recognition there is something, Someone higher than us is in control.
In my Catholic upbringing, prayers played a key role in my life. Although the repetitiveness of prayer often loses its impact, it is the consistency of prayer that leads to an infusion of prayer into everyday life. You’ve seen the sign of the cross. Again, much of the symbolism is lost through rote practice, but it was designed in those days before the written Word, before mass education, to bring people to the realization of the Trinity … In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. In its own way, it’s a simple, elemental prayer.
That infusion into everyday life is the power of prayer. It keeps faith alive. True happiness consists in having someone to love, something to do and something to hope for.
But perhaps the biggest power of prayer — real prayer directed at acknowledging the giver — is the unexpected rewards. Mary told Jesus about the plight of the wedding party and Jesus responded by changing water into fine wine. Martha and Mary asked Jesus to come heal their brother Lazarus; Jesus delayed, Lazarus died but when Jesus came, He raised Lazarus from the dead. Paul asked for a thorn in the flesh be removed; the answer was a promise of grace to endure it.
Francis of Assisi figured it out. “Lord, make me a channel of Thy peace. That where there is hatred, I may bring love; that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness; that where there is discord, I may bring harmony; that where there is error, I may bring truth; that where there is doubt, I may bring faith; that where there is despair, I may bring hope; that where there are shadows, I may bring light; that where there is sadness, I may bring joy. Lord grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted; to understand than to be understood; to love than to be loved. For it is by giving that one receives, it is by self-forgetting that one finds, it is by forgiving that one is forgiven and it is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.”
Friends, don’t tell God what to do. Forget the “gimmes.”
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: It’s great to go to church and celebrate God’s goodness, But your work continues when you step outside.
I was talking with a friend the other day and she said, from my blogs, I must have had the perfect marriage.
Whoa!
A perfect marriage? No, definitely not perfect, although given our naivete and youth, our divergent backgrounds and baggage, I would say it was about as close as you could come. And it took lots of patience, practice, compromise and downright hard work to work our way from youthful idealism to realism and from lust to love.
No, no, no. Neither Karen nor I were saints, although I know she’s wearing her crown right now and is probably shining mine up.
We were as opposite as you could get. She was outgoing; I was shy. Her family struggled (single mom, two girls); mine was stable. She was virtually unchurched; I went to Mass every week. She had a clear vision for her life while I was more aloof {although once I started on my career path that changed}.
But we made a commitment that hot August day in 1968 … to each other. And we worked very hard to live up those words we spoke before God, family and friends. Sometimes, it wasn’t easy. No, most of the time it wasn’t easy.
The easy part was forgetting why we got together in the first place. When you’re courting {do people even say that anymore?} or are first married you live to please your mate. But as the routine of marriage settles in, it’s all too easy to settle in with it. You start taking each other for granted or stop listening or — worst of all — stop kindling the excitement that drew you together.
Before we got married, Karen and I could talk for hours, either in person or on the phone. It didn’t matter what we talked about. It didn’t matter who did most of the talking {hint, it usually wasn’t me}. But it was through these conversations I could cipher what was bothering her, what made her happy, what made her sad. And I reacted appropriately.
As we “matured” in our married life, long conversations often were replaced by sound bites. Nagging and sulking {for both of us} replaced that intimacy of conversation. Work, child rearing and homemaking limited “alone time talk” even more.
Karen could be, well, opinionated and stubborn. She could remember hurts for … ever. When she got mad, she got mad and everyone knew it. She wore her emotions on her sleeve. She tended to see the glass as half empty.
I, on the other hand, am also, well, opinionated and stubborn. But, I tend to get angry at hurts, internally explode when I’m alone and move on. I hold my emotions in. I tend to see the glass as half full.
So the journey of two personalities on the same road led to some heated “discussions.” But after the verbal sparring, she often would let the hurt last for days on end, while I couldn’t tell you what we fought about the next morning. That, in itself, would drive the poor woman crazy.
We didn’t “fight” often and we never went to bed without a kiss and an “I love you.” But there were times she would also add, “But I don’t like you right now.”
We fought about the usual things. But the common denominator was always a lack of communication and/or taking each other for granted {I say as I raise my hand admitting it was mostly me}.
We just didn’t realize what was happening. We just knew something was amiss and each of us, in our own way, longed to go back to the days of wine and roses and get away from dirty diapers and a sink full of dishes. And we made a concerted effort — especially in our later years — to invest in each other. We learned each other’s strength complemented our weaknesses. It was Karen’s realism that tempered my dreams, as much as it was my aloofness that quieted her fears. Or, as Karen would say, we approached life “right brain … left brain.” We never really decided whether the glass was half full or half empty. Instead, we both became grateful we had a glass at all.
And we started doing unexpected things that became trademarks of our marriage. She started a tradition of three kisses every time we either left or returned home. The first kiss was for all our yesterdays, a remembrance, if you will, of our first kiss and the ones that followed. The second kiss was for today and today’s moment. We savored it. The third kiss was a promissory note for all our tomorrows.
I contributed cartoons. Probably for half our married life, I gave her a cartoon every morning — through thick and thin, when happy or angry. Her favorite was Helga and Hagar, those Vikings facing age-old relationships and life problems with humor.
Karen was complex and needed my undivided attention. She was sometime child-like and other times speaking with the wisdom that came with maturity … vulnerable yet strong … compassionate and passionate … anxious yet content … realistically optimistic …unconditionally loving and caring … satisfied yet restless … accomplished … relaxed and stressed … insecure yet secure … self-effacing yet confident.
I was {am} complex and needed her undivided attention. I am sometimes child-like and other times surprise myself with the wisdom that comes with maturity … vulnerable yet strong … compassionate and passionate … anxious yet content … realistically optimistic … relaxed and stressed … satisfied yet restless … accomplished {?} … relaxed and stressed … insecure yet secure … self-effacing yet confident.
We complemented each other. That’s what made it work … and that was the root of problems when it didn’t work. Fortunately, it did work more than it didn’t.
Perfect? No. Forgiven? Definitely!
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: We all need someone to believe in us more than we believe in ourselves, to see our potential, to look beyond where we are now and guide us to what God has planned for us.
Here’s this week’s installment of Five Minute Friday. You might remember the task is to write for five minutes on a specific prompt word. The initiative was started by Lisa-Jo Baker (http://lisajobaker.com/2013/01/five-minute-friday-again/) who thought about writing and how often our perfectionism gets in the way of our words. And she figured, why not take five minutes and see what comes out: not a perfect post, not a profound post, just five minutes of focused writing.
So, the timer is set for five. The word for the week this week is AGAIN… so here goes. {clock starts now}
Woke up the morning and decided to sneak in another five minutes under the covers … again. Rushed through my “God” time … again. Went downstairs to hear the kids fighting … again. Had to step over toys on my way out … again. Got into work and was hit with a dozen problems before I got my coat off … again. Had to figure out how to juggle outlay against income … again. Went home and found my wife grumpy … again. Just crashed in my chair, feeling down on myself … again. Just before climbing into bed I took a minute to pray. “Lord, I had such a rotten day … again.” He interrupted me. “So did I, son … again. I kept trying to get your attention … again. But, you didn’t seek my advice or ask for My help … Again.”
STOP
Wow, how was that for timing?
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: A true healer doesn’t mind inconvenience or taking risks in the course of reaching out to those who truly need a hand up.
Well, it’s Wednesday and time to add to our collaborative community story. Cathy gave us some ideas as we move forward.
We’re following a flashback of our main character, Samantha. The story thus far is on the blog under “Story.”
Here’s where we left off.
… I gave my phone number to Chad… and he kissed me …
I didn’t have to wait long. The next morning around 11 the phone rang. It was Chad. He told me he really enjoyed talking with me last night and asked what I was doing. Actually, I told him, Bernie was there and we were getting ready to go to the mall. As we were chatting, Bernie realized who it was and started teasing me, you know, mouthing “Chad” and going into a pantomime faint, or mouthing “I love you” or hugging herself in a mock embrace. So, there I was trying to hush her and listen to him.
Finally, he said he wouldn’t keep me, but he wanted to know what I was doing tonight. When I said, “Nothing,” he asked if he could see me. “I’ll plan something if that’s okay,” he said. “I’d love to see you again. Pick you up about six? We’ll grab a bite to eat.”
“Well, sure,” I responded, as I started twirling my hair — something I never did before. “Where are we going?”
“I have something in mind,” he said. “See you around six.”
“Well, wait, what should I wear? Casual? Dressy?” I stammered as Bernie continued to mock me.
“You would great in rags,” he said. “Just dress comfortably. Nothing special.”
As I hung up, Bernie grabbed me like a school girl. “Aw, you like him, don’t you?” she said, as she danced around the kitchen to the tune of “Sammy’s got a boyfriend. Sammy’s got a boyfriend.”
“Stop. I do not,” I protested, although I could feel my face flushing the shade of my highlights. “What should I wear? Let’s go. I’ll pick up some new jeans and a top at the mall.”
Of course, Bernie had to let Betty and Lynn know before we left and the four of us met at the mall to do some power shopping. The three of them kept teasing me all afternoon, but helped pick out some jeans and a cute top, new nail polish and lipstick. They all came back to the house to help me get ready. And as the polish dried and the last hair was put in place, they all, in unison, fawned, “Awww.”
At six, almost on the dot, the doorbell rang. Betty ran out of the room, but couldn’t get to the door before Mom. “Good evening Mrs. Casey. I’m Chad,” he said, extending his hand. Mom smiled and said, “You must be here for Sam. Come in.”
“She’s just about ready,” chimed in Betty, giving me the cue to make my grand entrance.
Before Mom could start her inquisition, I walked out. “Wow, you look beautiful,” he said, then turned to Mom and said, “I see where Sam gets her beauty.” I actually saw Mom blush. I don’t think I ever saw that before. “We won’t be too late,” he added as I gently pushed him out the door. “See you later Mom,” I added, leaving poor Betty to field what I knew was going to be a million questions.
Chad continued to be the perfect gentleman. We walked arm in arm to the car and he even opened the door. He drove to my favorite hot dog joint — how did he know I loved Falls View? Oh, yeah, I had mentioned it last night. Wow, he was listening! — and he ordered me two dogs all the way, Frenchies well done and birch beer, looked at me with a wink and said, “Right?” — Wow, he really did listen.
From there we headed to the Sunset Bowl for a night of bowling. Now, I had never bowled in my life, so this was going to be an experience. Chad told me it was easy. You just roll the ball down the alley and knock down the pins. And it felt good when he wrapped his arms around me to show me how to hold the ball.
I think my “high” score was around a 26, but we really had fun laughing and playing and talking.
The night was still young and I wondered what was next as we walked back to the car. The surprises continued. We drove up to Garrett Mountain and parked in an area overlooking the city affectionately known as Lover’s Cove and a place I had been to before a number of times. “This is it,” I thought. “Let the real Chad show up.”
He got out, went to the trunk, pulled out a blanket and carefully placed it on the hood. Then he opened my door, took my hand, led me to the blanket and helped me up. And there we sat. He got out, went to the trunk, pulled out a blanket and carefully placed it on the hood. Then he opened my door, took my hand, led me to the blanket and helped me up. And we sat there under the twinkling stars overlooking the twinkling city lights, holding hands and just talking, oblivious to the steamy windows of the cars around us. I didn’t want it to end…
There you go, readers. What’s next with Chad? Is he Mr. Right or just another cad? What’s his story? What’s next with their relationship, story? Again, girls, we can use your input! Dig back to your memory {or fantasy} of growing up as a 19 year old.
All you have to do is put down your thoughts and get them to me. You can post your ideas as comments on the blog – but remember everyone will see them, so the “surprise” factor might get lost – or you can e-mail me directly at revblt@rochester.rr.com. Each Wednesday I will continue the story on the blog, along with that week’s attribution and periodically update Reveille/Between the Lakes readers.
I hope we can have some fun with this.
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Everyone needs to be valued. Everyone needs to be appreciated.
Well, here’s the Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me story.
I first heard the song on our local radio station in Sussex County, NJ, way back in the mid 70s. I don’t know why the Rainy Day Singers version was on the play list, especially since it was a relatively unknown Canadian group. I introduced it to Karen in the car when I cranked up the volume and told her to just listen.
I’ve had my share of life’s ups and downs But fate’s been kind, the downs have been few I guess you could say that I’ve been lucky Well, I guess you could say that it’s all because of you
As play lists come and play lists go, it was just a matter of weeks before the cycle ended. But I did remember telling Karen how much I liked that song and how I considered it an anthem for our lives.
If you know me, I seldom, if ever, ask for anything at Christmas or for my birthday. So this was a big deal for her. She decided the album would make a good Christmas present. The problem was, no one carried it. She had a terrible time trying to locate a copy and had to go to desperate measures to track it down. She contacted the radio station … who referred her to the publisher … who directed her to the distributor … who finally shipped the LP from Canada. It arrived, she said, the day before Christmas.
If anyone should ever write my life story For whatever reason there might be You’ll be there between each line of pain and glory ‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me Ah, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me
There have been many versions of the song. In fact there was 121 artists who recorded the Jim Weatherly song. Gladys Knight & the Pips and Ray Price brought the song to the top of the charts, while The Persuaders also had a successful run with the song. It crossed genres, from pop to rhythm & blues to country to Christian and instrumental. Others recording the song included 101 Strings, Acker Bilk, Andy Williams, B. J. Thomas, Danny Thomas, Dean Martin, Dionne Warwick, Frankie Laine, Hissong, Ray Boltz, Ray Price, Richard Clayderman, Roger Williams and Steve Lawrence. I’ve heard the Gladys Knight & the Pips, 101 Strings, Acker Bilk and Roger Williams versions — all good and with just as much impact. But I’m partial to the Rainy Day Singers, who blended the melody just right … not too loud and not too sappy.
Oh, there have been times when times were hard But always somehow I made it, I made it through ‘Cause for every moment that I’ve spent hurting There was a moment that I spent, ah, just loving you
I always tried to tell Karen she was so special to me, my muse, the wind under my wing. I may not have always gotten it right — or said it enough — but she was the beat in my heart, the affirmation in my soul, the imagination in my mind. Truly, if anyone should ever write my life story, for whatever reason there might be, she’ll be there between each line of pain and glory, because she was and is the best thing that ever happened to me.
If anyone should ever write my life story For whatever reason there might be Oh, you’ll be there between each line of pain and glory ‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me Oh, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me I know, you’re the best thing, oh, that ever happened to me
That was one of the best presents I ever received, made even better and special because of the effort Karen had to go through. And that original, long gone LP lives on in a new media.
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: You have the ability to stir up someone’s dreams by giving them permission to succeed.
It’s funny how independent events in life seem to intersect. Let me give you an example.
I stopped at one of the local downtown shops early last week when a sign that has been in the window for years suddenly resonated with me. “Let us convert your tapes to CDs” it read. It reminded me of a tape I did want to be converted and, of course, had been procrastinating about for years. But this time, I was impelled to stop {even found a parking space right in front} and get the details.
That’s part one of the story. Part two came Friday when the Five Minute Friday word was CHERISH (see the post, “Five Minute Friday – Cherish”). It reminded me of The Association’s 1966 version of Cherish, which coincidentally was one of the tracks on that tape I wanted to convert. So I pulled out the tape from its rack in the garage, popped in the only tape drive around {in my Subaru} to make sure it was still good {garages in upstate New York tend to get a, well, little drafty} and it’s ready to be converted.
That’s the background … here’s the story about the tape and why it is so special. You see, Karen and I made the remix together about 15 years ago. One of her Christmas presents that year was a new stereo which had the then state of the art capability of duplicating not only other tapes but records (vinyl) as well.
The morning after we placed the stereo in just the right spot {that’s another story … we [I] had to move it about a half dozen times in three rooms} we were sitting having our coffee when we decided to put together a “special” collection of romantic and love songs, both instrumental and sung.
Without reservation, I chose You’re the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me by the Rainy Day Singers {I’ll share the significance of that song and that group in another post} as my No. 1 choice. She chose Rodgers & Hammerstein’s You’ll Never Walk Alone from Carousel. And together we spent the better part of the day going through our LPs and tapes to fill out the 90 minute tape. Just a sampling included Portrait of My Love, Till, I Hear a Symphony, Till the End of Time, Twelfth of Never, The Wedding Song, The Way You Look Tonight, The Hawaiian Wedding Song and Circle of Life.
That tape became an integral part of our lives. Often, we would put the tape in as background music for our romantic Saturday night dinners. It went with us on trips whenever we had a vehicle with a tape deck in it. It was a signal by either of us for the other we needed together time.
Every one of the 27 tracks had a special meaning for either or both of us. They were more than just nostalgic songs. They tell a story of our life, each one a chapter.
Even today, as I hear any of those songs, I flash back to the morning we added it to our playlist. And I smile … sometimes with tears in my eyes.
Here’s this week’s installment of Five Minute Friday. You might remember the task is to write for five minutes on a specific prompt word. The initiative was started by Lisa-Jo Baker (http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-Friday/) who thought about writing and how often our perfectionism gets in the way of our words. And she figured, why not take five minutes and see what comes out: not a perfect post, not a profound post, just five minutes of focused writing.
So, the timer is set for five. The word for the week this week is CHERISH … so here goes. {clock starts now}
Cherish is the word I use to describe All the feeling that I have hiding here for you inside You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I had told you You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could hold you You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could Mold you into someone who could Cherish me as much as I cherish you
And I do cherish you And I do cherish you
Cherish is the word
It was 1966. There was a singing group called The Association and they came out with the song Cherish. It immediately became a favorite of mine …
I wasn’t dating my wife to be at the time since she was my best friend’s girlfriend, but I sure was smitten. Those haunting words pierced my heart as I watched her struggle with what I knew was to become a break up. I didn’t just want to love her … I wanted to cherish her and I tried to tell her that many, many times.
As things turned out, we eventually did get together and put in 40 years of marriage, of love, of commitment. I did cherish her and she cherished me.
Even in the four plus years since she died, I still cherish the time we had together … and wish we had more.
STOP
Wow, how was that for timing?
THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: Sometimes you have to put your own dreams on hold temporarily so you can help release a dream in somebody else.
The Light 