Today was a really nice day. Compared to most days recently, the outdoor human experience sunned itself favorably. A mere 55+ degrees fell happily upon most of us who delighted in a walking a few steps around town.
During my walk time this afternoon, a mid-day thought dawned on me. I haven’t written any kind considerations lately.
Lately? Heck, it’s been well over 5 months.
I miss this. Pointing out the obvious busy darts landing on my life’s dart board calendar doesn’t make for a good excuse here. I’ve been busier in the past and managed to land a few textual missiles. Idleness? Nope. Laziness is a noun I do not understand.
So, somewhere lurking around being too busy and never sitting still, I neglected doing something enjoyable – writing entries in a small blog.
It’s not like there hasn’t been anything to write. Time is early in the Lenten season for local Christian churches. To go completely 180-degrees, binging the Jack Reacher t.v. series, both seasons 1 & 2, was explosively exceptional. Personal triumph and another close friendship lost to cancer- interwoven among daily ups and downs – all of us could attach words to. There’s always words.
Making, i.e. finding, time to share these marvelous expressions more frequently than once a year should be a priority.
The sun today bleached out a small confession today. I had a moment to think. Sometimes we need to admit to ourselves we have neglected something enjoyable. Whatever the reason(s), that one hobby/activity dart headed for the diversion bullseye on our secondary “entertainment” dartboard never got picked up … let alone thrown. This happens a little at a time – and then months pass by. Ugh.
I’m calling this a nice day. Busy darts be damned. The sun shone while I walked. Maybe it’s Lent, the fear of a very large wandering ex-military behemoth, or a simple self-confession that got me back to this space?
My guess would be the latter. Mainly because Jack Reacher would be way out of place in downtown Hollidaysburg and I’ve got plenty of Lent to go yet behind the organ.
It was steak tips and fries – for the second time in three days. Yes, they are delicious. The salad bar and Pepsi Zero adding to their sizzle, these platter meat and starch necessities have been a Wednesday and occasional Saturday staple. Friends meeting for casual conversation … and the same, predictable waitress we ask for each time. Expected.
Looking down as usual. Meat and a potato variety. Salad bar. Never more than a horizontal stare across the very familiar round table. I, the youngest of six sitting around, was engaged in conversations stretching from the Pittsburgh Pirates to “how it was” prior to my open-eyed arrival in the early 60’s. Easy to understand as one of my friends is a nonagenarian farmer – contrasted with this piano-playing hotdog salesman.
As they say, an eclectic group of people folk. The other four … along for the dinner ride almost every week at this steak house. Crab cakes for one, meatloaf for two and three, a burger on the plate for number four, call up shrimp or chicken fingers for five, and for me? … some part of a cow is always up for grabs.
Routine. A Wednesday staple – sometimes Saturday. A routine where -and when – we find ourselves never looking up. So habitual, in fact, that before even starting the 12 minutes drive I hear an exhausted, ” … again?” gracing my right ear in the car. Frankly, I can’t argue the point. Responding with a half-hearted, sighing, “yeah …” we pull away anticipating the same rights, lefts, signal lights, and – yes – parking spaces at Hoss’s Steak House at the other end of town.
It’s not a “rut”. That’s a negative version of routine. You can’t get ANY pleasure out of a rut. This is why Scooby’s favorite saying is what it is. We have no expectation of pulling a mask off our favorite waitress to divulge a sinister plot. Yes, my steak was not the best two weeks ago, however, I don’t feel she concocted a plan to “rut-roh” my evening. Shaggy and fatty as it was, I still go back. Mistakes were made.
It was routine. Look ahead routine. So many times. Week after week.
One more time this past Saturday – routine … and then I walked out.
Framed between two light poles was magnificent deep orange and brilliant yellow. Purples, blues, and blacks hugged the sky as well. My sight line was … up. Not down. Not horizontal. Up. What I saw was in front of me. Not behind or beside.
“Perspective” is what jumped out of the clouds immediately into my mind.
Definitely not a routine sighting, right? I don’t understand atmospheric conditions despite earning an “A” in my college intro to meteorology class. (Memory rinse and repeat gets one to earn such a grade … before you reach a conclusion that I can do much more than identify the difference between stratus, cumulous, and cirrus clouds).
Reflect, refract? Prism crystals, or light bending through water vapor? You tell me. Frankly, I don’t care to know. Surely our stately sun was involved as it went to its evening rest around a global tilt. This would be the extent of my knowledge.
I stood for a few seconds as I am sure some in the local area did. Looking up. It was a beautiful sky. Certainly put perspective in my life … for a little time, anyway.
Routine disappeared … as this artistry was certainly out of routine. As if to say, “I got this …”, these colors radiated down a sense of calm – an overarching, blanketing feeling over the community. A reminder – as it were – to look up out of our routines and take a breath.
The “I” to which I refer has no identity. No assignment given here. It is open to all colors, shapes and sizes of beliefs.
As an artist of the music kind, looking up I saw a pallete of dancing colors that could easily be transcribed into little dots on a musical staff. Gustav Holst imagined The Planets in his fantastic work of the same title. Looking up has created musical magic and I can only imagine continues to inspire composers.
All this to say “look up” once in a while. Yeah, it’s an over-used, well-cooked into life’s pie cliché. Take a well-earned breath. Please keep all things in perspective. Your job and issues that can stress your essence have a shelf life. Give them attention, however, no more than they deserve. Continue to live a healthy routine, of course …but stay out of a rut. Every once in a while, there may be stunning colors you NEED to see. Reminder: life’s moments are worth having around even if your steak isn’t the best sometimes.
This remarkable image is courtesy of Kimberly Calderwood … and Lancaster County in Southern Pennsylvania near the Susquehanna River. The former is a dear friend who captured this gorgeous picture. The latter a beautiful part of our state I don’t travel through ever … shame on me.
Shame on me for not taking the time to get out of western PA more often to experience life on a different plane. I’m not going to head down my local expressway during a sunset and witness the escape of a hot air balloon off dusty horse-laden lands. Most likely, a local McDonald’s and pharmacy would confine my vision and I’d be assaulted by unjustified horn-beeping from nearby lanes. There’d be no peace in the wind.
A different world down east from here -Pennsylvania Dutch Country – where tranquil Amish don’t beep and blather their way around those encountering daily life one moment at a time.
Kim hugged peace in the wind through her lense. This very calm breeze lifted that balloon into stillness, stayed the mighty beasts of the field, and held a majestic sun over all its domain. As all wanted to move forward within the orange hue, a setting glow set aspirations aside and paused life … for a moment. Reflected back memories it did. Directed time to the immediate. Any future, as of this moment, did not exist.
This was the now. Kim took me there.
When I saw her picture, a quote often attributed to Shakespeare came to mind: “There are three people in yourself: Who people think you are, who you think you are, and who you really are.”
I have a past, present, and future. None of those time frames mattered at that moment. Also, what others may (or, may not) think of me melted away. I saw my 6-foot frame, initially, standing in that tiny balloon without a brooding bother in my brain. Transfixed by the warmth surrounding my soul, I became enraptured by the peace in the wind I could feel simply by holding a phone held in my hand.
Remarkable how art – yes, this picture is art in raw, beautiful form – moves us into places we don’t expect. Places we NEED to arrive when we are unaware this must be our destination.
See, this Peace in the Wind dropped into my life during a tornado of stress. Did it end the path of torn up relational earth life handed me over the previous days? No. Normal stuff happens. You and I know this. High levels of anxiety happen. Life is, well, life. Can’t avoid situational stress as life ticks forward.
It did remove, distract, and relocate me.
… so nice to unexpectedly arrive at a field in Southern Pennsylvania.
Sit with me a few minutes. Enjoy this moment. Stand with those majestic horses .. talk to them. Take a walk, gently, along a dusty rut where generations of Amish workers have lovingly blazed a trail for you. Glance upward at a motionless balloon to consider where you’d go with an evening off – totally free from any obligations.
Best of all, close your eyes and be thankful for the warm, peaceful breeze you can feel only in your imagination… this time, but not the last time.
Kim’s remarkable image gives us permission to always be aware – always be on the lookout for wonderful snapshots like this. Moments to stop. Stop worrying. Stop being anxious about the troubles of the day. Stop looking ahead at what may – or may not – be guaranteed.
I am still in that balloon. For now, it’s a great view. Like I said, sit with me a while.
I’m sitting behind a hot grill. The sun’s heat – on this 90-degree day – makes the still air surrounding me feel like I’m slow-cooking. Perhaps an invisible large crock envelops this hot dawg cart outside WalMart as busy shoppers scoot by toward their sun-baked automobiles.
The sign by me, “Row 12”, guides my thoughts. No customers guide my sales today. It’s been, well, slow.
I begin to realize almost 12 months have gone by since my last post here on Doug Hugs. Geesh. Priorities switch lanes.
I don’t write here for fame and/or fortune … obviously. I have neither in my life and am quite content working every day at endeavors inviting both joy and income on my life’s doorstep.
This will most likely never stop.
The joy comes from serving. Music, especially. Music is to be shared – from the performer to the listener. Yes, there will always be emotional connections between the composer and performer; however, a performer is simply the bridge between. This is my “happy space”.
I am at peace on that bridge.
Sharing a connection at my cart is also a nice, enjoyable off ramp from occasional pesky potholes along this life. Good food and a smile can help folks get through a tough day, week, or situation.
Row 12 happens to represent my happy place – the 12 black and white keys spanning an octave on the piano from C to B .. all in a row.
… and a pleasant reminder to all of us we need to use our gifts to be a bridge for others.
Smile when you can. Serve when called upon. Look for teachable moments and don’t ever put off writing down your thoughts.
Especially if this means being reminded of such while sitting on a metal chair, behind a grill, in the middle of a scorcher, picking melted skin off your forehead.
Over the course of a normal life, what happened last night was insignificant. At the moment, however, the difference between bowls of Italian wedding soup and chili was noteworthy. I ordered chili and then immediately regretted my decision once a bowl of wedding soup sat deliciously next to me … to be supped up by another. My immediate comment, while staring down into a tapestry of kidney beans, ground beef, and tomatoes? “Why this and not that?”
The previous 48 hours were unhealthfully challenging. A long twelve hours ER stay after a personal health challenge made decision making foggy. This restaurant visit was a first after being poked and picked over like a fresh berry bush. Sleep had been spotty, of course, with food and fluid intake starting and stopping as if in a nutritional traffic jam. Nothing normal.
My side still hurts from something … not sure what. The mysteries of our dark, inner spaces remain. This was of secondary concern, as it sat marginally away from what was primarily messing with my malfunctioning vascular-goober system. I don’t understand any of this. Melodic tunes make more sense to me than medical tubes. I know more how music beats, less about the electrical impulses of a heart.
In the time it would have taken to play a few Bach Inventions, I was erased out of awareness the other morning. Preferably, the former would have been my choice. Life had other plans.
Why this … and not that?
I had a choice between chili and wedding soup; however, there was no choice between consciousness and blanklessness at 7:15 a.m. on a beautiful Thursday morning in early November.
In addition, there was no option when a doctor you’ve trusted for years says, “Off to the ER you go. I am your doctor first … and friend second. You look horrible, your blood pressure is way too low, and I don’t have the facilities here to treat what may be wrong with you, …” (When I finally got in to see him five hours after getting off the floor…)”… let’s call and ambulance for you.”
In the ambulance, a paramedic gave me no choices. Sticker shock, diabetic checks, blood draws, wires, straps, beeps and blips. Oh, and rather pleasant conversation during the 15 minute bumpy ride to a local hospital.
We don’t have choices sometimes – especially when our health is involved. Last Thursday was a downright surprise. No warning, no “head’s up” …
I have some idea the cause … maybe. It might be easier to reverse engineer Mahler’s 3rd symphony, however. At least those notes are – if you’ll allow me some leeway here – black and white, stagnant, immovable, and predictable. Our bodies are living, breathing, aging, interlocking cellular game pieces constantly changing the rules as they move around the board.
According to medical notes, doctors I met in the ER made their best guess and discharged me after 12 hours. They made a choice. I had to agree. Hoping all my “numbers” met their approval, a tired, weary, hungry self of mine headed home…
And so, after a full day’s respite, I was faced with this: a bowl of chili … and not that: a better looking bowl of Italian wedding soup – realizing we make choices and end up with a result that is second best; Or, don’t have a choice what happens to us and do the best we can.
Best summed up as: I wanted life to be this, but got that instead, or why this and not that?
There are worse situations than what I went through … I’ve witnessed them in person. These wake-ups tweak a different part of my brain – that part where two bowls of soup take on a different meaning. I am reminded our choices in life are important. Acceptance of what happens to our health is also paramount to a healthy outlook.
Ok, maybe not soup, but some this and that’s circling about do make a difference. Choose wisely when you can, stay hydrated, and eat healthy foods.
That’s the best I’ve got for you on this day. At least until I get that bowl of Italian wedding soup.
Smiles coming to life. On faces of children, on a big yellow balloon, wide open happy expressions appear across a field of green. Pointing to the wonder of it all, one little soul decided it was – truly was – a moment in time to celebrate. “Look! LOOK … share this lucky, merry moment with me, please!”, so gleefully proclaimed.
I dare say this exclamation of joy was returned by not only a large, yellow, inflatable hot-air human carrier in the distance, but also a little lady a few feet behind. Delight all around.
Laughter lifts spirits just as warm air rises. Possibly, into the blue sky went a dozen balloons moments after this picture was taken. Perhaps these inflatable pockets of joy were settling down after lofty rides on pIeasant breezes? In either case, I am sure giddiness followed.
This is what it means to be young. Directing attention to all that is wonderful … not knowing why it is so, just that it is. Astonishing colors, amazing shapes, and fabulous sizings add an imaginary reality to clean, perfect slates of innocence. Three children. United by sensational, youthful direction … led by the outstretched arm of one. Youth captured.
Pointing us to their youth.
… Pointing us to reminders of our youthful exuberance layered between adult experiences – colors, shapes, and sizings we’ve since covered up with grown-up frustrations and responsibilities. Our adult warm air pushes down on our souls. It takes Hurculean effort to catch up, let alone keep up, with the Jones’ across the street. The “mature” balloons we occupy are grounded, but not indefinitely.
We know the culprits: bills, work, relationships, car and house repairs, health issues, etc … all the crop-ups, granted, single-number age breathers don’t need to face.
None of these are excuses to point away from wonder, however.
Let’s constantly look for ways to notice the balloons in our lives. We can expand our joy as wonderful warm air swells into pleasant experiences we witness – giving rise, in return, to our every dayfullness.
This is how life should be.
Smiles coming to life shouldn’t happen only to little ones. We, as adults, need to crack open the hard shells with pointed enthusiasm- just as they do – and remind ourselves life is a one-time-around experience.
Now, go find a field and point to the wonder. Find what your joy looks like and breathe it in. Stand in your field where the vibration – that is your soul – surrounds the you that is you. Listen to music. Look, and absorb, the art of the masters. Read the words inside covers of your favorite author’s books. Walk between trees where the shade lays ahead a calm path. These are youthful, wonderful inhales.
Happy expressions, joyful lessons … simple reminders from one outstretched arm, three children, and one big smiley balloon and friends.
Yesterday, I missed a turn and the town. How this happened is really nobody’s business – except to say everyone I asked to help confirmed my suspicions: The landmark I was looking for existed in my brain – just not anywhere Google maps was sending me.
Why have I decided to share this seemingly mundane waste of gas? Because Google maps sent me to a legit address smack dab in the middle of a two-lane, busy highway. Yes. The famous, “You have arrived …” voice plopped my Mitsubishi exactly on two solid yellow lines one-half mile up from a local water reservoir … and not a house, tent, outhouse, or cabin in sight.
My choice words forced a u-turn. Perhaps it was a sour attitude that elicited a less-than cooperative attitude from the locals. They didn’t know where the Lowry Estate was, either.
I’ve been a native of these parts my whole life. Apparently this estate has the oldest stone home in the county. Being unaware of this fact threw coal into the already simmering furnace of frustration.
I was attempting to scope out this location a day ahead. Yesterday was a busy day and I had little time, today, to find my way here.
Yes, I am here now. Twenty-four hours ago, it was doubtful I would ever know. Shipping myself and luggage to Mars may have proven easier to do.
So close yesterday, apparently. Wrong turn, wrong town. Google … Wrong. So … What was the problem? Time clicked away and so did the little patience I had left.
Hey, why not check the brochure for the event? One. More. Time.
Yeah. Duh. It really IS nobody’s business, however, please pay attention to the little things in life. This will save you a lot of u-turns, cursing at the air in your car, blaming Google, and uncontrollably twitching one eye at strangers as they do their best to help.
Yep. I typed in the wrong town all along. There are two identical addresses for neighboring towns. Now, why in hell one would be in the middle of a busy highway? That’s for another time.
The correct one helped me arrive yesterday just in time to know the where’s and what’s for today.
Upon arrival today, I stopped to pay attention to the first little thing I saw. It was this pond. Still, it was. Quiet … as only a few of the Civil War re-enactors have arisen for the day. Canadian geese are meandering around and shades sneak around the grove of trees in the meadow where I am soon to set up.
It’s a fantastically calm day. Yesterday is but a blip in the day-in-the-life of “not playing attention” to the little things. Had I done so, right?
Lesson learned, but doomed to be repeated I am sure.
For today, though, I will enjoy this sublime pond five paces behind where I sit, the view of a glorious stone mansion, and visitors coming in to experience a few Civil skirmishes during an almost perfect weather day in July.
Good news for all … Those attending were able to get the town correctly the first time. I say, they knew the value of little details this weekend.
I’m here now. It was the long way around, but destination achieved!
How crazy to think it’s been a while since sitting here at my desk, typing in words, instead of running around making life happen. Hours buzz by. If it wasn’t for a message coming over the Meta-network on my phone, an event would be less meat and cheese tomorrow. I, quite simply, forgot – and it never was entered into my digital calendar. Why? Who knows? This is how May and the first part of June has been.
Except for an occasional meal or entertainment carve out, the huge kraken of lore has come alive to unsettle the calm seas I found myself on at the beginning of 2022. I’ve been losing planks multiples at a time and a once firm grip as the helmsman of my life could be in peril.
Not to be an alarmist, I’ve been here and seen raging seas. Outside challenges have tugged at my personal goals. The needs of others have trumped mine before and surprising tidal waves rocked more than one vessel upon which I’ve found myself. Survival finds a way.
Most of us, I believe, have experienced rough waters. These past weeks aren’t anything new to me, or you. We make our way to calmer shores, right?
I’m not there at present. If the psycho-sextant I currently hold in my clenched hands is accurate, the angle between the horizon and my guiding star shows a position I didn’t intend to be at the moment. Now, either the star is really messed up in its celestial dark matter blanket, the horizon isn’t level, …, or, I truly am taking on too much water.
Damn the kraken of the seas known as “What the hell am I doing?”
Actually, I know. I knew it weeks ago. The different colors on my digital calendar – where “most” of the commitments I’ve made appeared – created a rainbow off in the distance. It appeared as I started a journey. A trek into weeks of scheduling personal, medical, social, musical, and business slaps into my calendar.
As the bow lifted high into the white crests of every 20-foot wave these past few days, that rainbow of over-commitments washed over my memory. This-and-thats for todays and tomorrows. Necessaries and optionals.
This evening, after I realized tomorrow’s event was almost missed … I stopped. It was time. To. Just. Stop.
This is what eventually kills the kraken. Every. Time.
After catching up with a few friends on messenger and texts, I stopped, sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. Nothing was going to interfere with the calm seas I imagined at the moment. It was time to rebuild the ship and get a good grip at the helm. One more thing to do, however – check the status of a Facebook post from a few hours earlier. This proved to be magical.
On my feed was a picture with two words, “Catchin’ Fireflies”. If there was an image I needed to see, it was this:
Courtesy of K. C.
Two joyous lives through a jar held by two smiles. A dear friend and precious daughter who, by all accounts, were brightening up their evening … together. No over-commitments, no busy-ness, no calendar rainbow. Just. Life. Now.
A relation-ship as intended.
I sat for a few more minutes than planned – looking into the calm waters reflecting back images of all the kind, considerate, loving, sincere, genuine, and spectacular close friends who survive the journey with me. The smiles and laughter, especially.
It isn’t all fun, to be sure. You know this. I know it, too. With that said, how difficult would the voyage be without shipmates who care … who are willing to take a plank, or two, on our behalf?
At the beginning of the day, I didn’t know tomorrow was coming as it appears to be. I’ll be unexpectedly busy. This coming week will be challenging on the home front as well.
I’m so glad I stopped today. The kraken is dormant for now.
Rest easy, kraken. I am sure we will battle again. For now, I turn the wheel over to a few small lightening bugs.
In their light, I find the smiles and laughter of my friends who, together with me, guide all our ships forward one day at a time on, hopefully, calm seas.
With only a little imagination, you could see why this little mini lop was named so. She was off to my right as I entered the elementary school where an early morning sun provided a nice shadow. The school’s macadam play area displayed a shadow pointing directly to the grassy area where Peanut and two of her friends playfully enjoyed caged joviality. Two black and white nibbling companions … and her.
I am always attracted to the “odd one out”. No surprise Peanut caught my attention. Yes, her friends were adorable. Sure, the fuzziness of balled up contrasting cuteness on display a few feet away was charming. They were slightly more jumpety than Peanut. Shall I say, “out of their shell” full selves a bit more? With that, the odd-one-out attracted my morning attention.
This differently hued hare, with a calmer character, and I spent a few minutes together. It was nice.
I expected nothing out of the normal that morning. Odd, however, because my weekly life to that point was anything but. A reliable Honda finally gave up the auto ghost two days prior which exhausted my patience for a few hours. A tow truck, mechanic, and the ultimate bad news … all led me to a car dealership to pick out the best option for, ultimately, sucking money out of my bank account once again.
Peanuts to most, I guess, but not to me – one who hasn’t had a car payment for some time.
By the time Peanut appeared before my phone, a new car had not yet been purchased – although to be in the works later that day. Holy week, with all its keyboard responsibilities was piled up on my mind on top of all other daily to-do’s. A first-event of the hot dawg mobile season had to be prepared by Saturday which flipped over almost too quickly for my own good.
Just too much it seemed.
… Until Peanut cracked my shell of stress and frustration.
Ah, to be a mini lop with the power to jump the low battery of a worn, rundown man this Easter season. What power you yield just by being what you are.
If there is a message this Easter, it is this: be your fuzzy little self. Be approachable – even in the shadows of life.
Someone may need five minutes with you. Ya never know.
Tuesday nights during lent, I have been going to a book study. One of my reasons for being there, among my busy life-goings-on, is to accompany dad. Driving a few miles over one small hill, my dad and I arrive minutes later after leaving the house.
The study is based on the book, “We Make the Road by Walking”, by Brian McLaren. Now, we drive. Brian would prefer we walk, I guess. His book is a weekly dig-into new ways forward based on Christian ideology. Change us, change the world – in a broad sense. Granted, a Christian life to change the world is far different than a two minute jaunt over a small bump in a tiny town. Our hill is tiny. The hill to change the world? Immense.
Chapter 29 is the third week. We’ve been to two thus far. In 48 hours, dad and I will head back for a group discussion and insight into this chapter.
There will be twenty+ opinions about what the author intended. In all, four to eight spoken, and close to twelve remaining silent souls will sit in traditional church metal chairs. Three arcs of varied thinking sit-systems is what has drawn me into this array of lenten devotional insight. I am interested in conclusions drawn – with individual pencils – on the idea-canvas that is this book:
Chapter 29 is titled, ” Your Secret Life”. When I first turned over to page 136, Groucho Marx and a silly duck dropped into my brain … You bet your LIFE it did! My second thought was, “This could get a bit spicy … ” Then again, remembering THAT secret life most likely isn’t to what the author is referring, so I didn’t need to revisit those particular evenings in my past.
“We all wish the world would change.” Agreed … and so begins Chapter 29. I stopped there twice. Both times I read this 4-page reflection, those seven words, linked with personal challenges, the tail-end of a pandemic, and a Russian-Ukrainian disaster, created an emotional, locked chain on reason and logic. The world makes no sense. None.
How does Brian address this concern? Using biblical principles, withdrawing inward to become the change we want to see in the world.
I would argue the tenants of self-reflection and inward examination aren’t solely handed over to the biblically minded among us. Orienting toward a higher power, aligning hopes with a higher energy, vocalizing needs and concerns to the universe, and asking for guidance away from that which can harm is standard practice for many belief systems apart from Christianity. The maypole around which all these religions dance – and one I wholeheartily agree brings about the most colorful of change in the world – is silence and secrecy.
This is where Brian and I begin to walk the road together. As he writes, “… if we make our lives a show staged for others to avoid their criticism or gain their praise, we won’t experience the reward of true aliveness. It’s only in secret … that we begin the journey to aliveness.”
He advocates giving, meditating, and fasting in secret to pull away from the pressures of the world … thus becoming that “change” we want to see.
In my talk-abouts with the few surrounding my hot tea moments, I rarely discuss larger conflicts beyond my control. It’s difficult to balance a restaurant table with untold numbers of sugar packets – let alone try to figure out how I can change the mess at the eastern border of Ukraine right now. Should I continue to mask, or decide to argue about Hunter Biden’s laptop?
All of this, I am understanding, is best handled quietly. Brian, kinda, has the right idea; however, the transformation may not change the world as much as it changes the individual.
In the end, isn’t this what these book studies in church buildings are all about, anyway? Perhaps most attend wondering, “Why am I here? What is there to gain? What’s in it for me to learn?”
My take-away, first of all, is a paid-for supper as compensation for taking dad in the first place 😉😁 …. Second, apart from the Christianity angle, I do find value in the humanity of the lessons. My extended family members who sit in those three arcs have opinions I value and humor I appreciate. In turn, my contribution is to remain “partially” silent and enjoy the time together.
The recognized lenten season should change those who are open to it. Whether this alters the will of a higher power is up for debate. The world is a tough place. I do believe if we take time, in silence, to think over things in private and give our time and resources under the radar, the “larger than life” problems – both known and unknown – will work out, … or not.
At the end, Brian says, “… a seed will take root”. Ok. I’ll take a more pragmatic approach. You’ll feel better through giving. This may not directly change the direction of a bad thing in the world, but that small act of secret, outward generosity will simply be a nice, warm, vibe.
DougHugs 