So, I told mom what had happened since she had left—she had died Christmas-eve of 1991.  I filled her in on great-grandkids, one granddaughter named after her, Evie.   I told her about the life we had now after being married almost forty years. 

And what about the wierdos?  My teen-age daughters used to come home and talk about ‘that man’ in the church.  (Every church has one).  “Daddy, that man hugs all the girls with a funny hug.”  My reply: “When he does, rub your lipstick all over his shirt and let his wife straighten him out”.

until—we notice cracks.  Some, if not more of the teachings we heard were incomplete, inadequate if not even misleading.  Our own experience over those years did not support what we’d heard, what we’d been told.

Yesterday we buried one of the sweetest, most gentle men I’ve ever known.  Clyde was near the top of the list of the most encouraging people.  He was a greeter at the sanctuary door of our church for decades—shaking hands and hugging necks.  Even if you’d been gone for a good while, Clyde would remember your name.

I live in overthink. I have my whole life.  It is the disease of introspection.  As I overthink this, when it comes to my aspirations, I come down on the good side.  We do well to have a sense of aspiration, to imagine or to dream of what could be.  It’s been a good path for me—and many others who have created the lives, the culture we all live in the midst of.  

I would not change any of the choices I made.  I just wish these guys had lived a few years more until the drug cocktail was available enabling them to live a full life.  I’ve lived on to tell you just one of their stories here. 

This fellow finally barked out. “Why do all our conversations wind up talking about spiritual stuff!” I paused for a good while but finally said, “well, because I am one who doesn’t believe there is a secular reality vs a sacred reality, it’s ALL sacred”.

It’s the close of the Thanksgiving holiday.  Our daughters and families are back home.  There is an emotional letdown.  We are near the end of the leftovers.  I am sitting here this morning, fireplace going, fake candles lite (the good ones), my coffee cup just right, my mind wandering.  Things are pretty good.

I know commercially the season is a big money maker. I know it is the time where we are cajoled to think about others, to be kinder, more thoughtful and give to charities. I’m not out to change any of that. I just quietly asked, “God, is there another angle you’d like me to see?”

But most wrenching were the Stolpersteins, or stumbling stones. ‘Stumbling’ not so much that you trip over them, but that you must kneel down to read the inscription.

She would cut slits on all the edges and let her mothers tie the knots.  She knew my penchant for the Southwest and native Americans.  When she saw this fabric, she said it was me.  

Fear has always been used to control people. We will fear, guaranteed. We’ll likely get sucked into a deal or two promising everything, yet in the end, nothing. It’s about recognition of the emotion(s) moving me—envy, fear, sadness or jealously—and then not yielding to it. We are living in a fearFULL time.

When the cabin door was shut and the pilot tried to start the left engine, it would not start.  We had to deplane while some local mechanic came to say, “ya bro, it’s broke”.  The nearest United mechanic was in Boise, 5-6 hours away.

Sometimes some of us get a father—or he gets a son—that’s not a good fit. That was the case with my father and I. He and I were ‘ships passing in the night’ or ‘men cut from different cloth’. It was difficult to ever connect or understand one another. I’m not sure there is any blame to place

If your best friend doesn’t come through for you, be honest every time and tell them about your expectations. And, above all else, don’t ever cut yourself any slack because you know ‘idle hands are a devil’s workshop’.  Winning, coming out on top, is everything in life, no matter the cost.  Life is binary, black and white. 

So the huge surprise has been that the most saintly men and women I have ever known were not sinless, perfect people.  But that did not effect how their saintliness shown through. 

Or if you don’t identify with we Weebles, what about Bozo the Bop bag? As a kid, Bozo was as tall as I was—at least I out grew him, height wise. I am thinking that Bozo just might be one of the ways to cope.

I recall a trip to Waco,Texas a few years back when we were coached to stop at an exit that had shops to buy kolanches on both sides of the interstate—the store on the opposite side was supposedly the best so we followed directions. 

Then there was Jesse Frank, the principal at Lipscomb Elementary here in Brentwood where both our girls attended. Jesse sat at the front door of the old school building greeting and hugging all the students as they walked in. Jesse is remembered fondly by all who knew him.

A few months after our second daughter was born I was being courted by The Lambs Club in NYC about a job. The ministry was located just off Times Square. Paul Moore was the head man wanting me to be the administrator.