We Meet The River Styx

Sounds of rushing water thunder in the near distance. It’s the cacophony of the river Styx reverberateing from one side of the canyon to another.

The thunder lacks clarity, familiarity, comprehension . After all, we’ve played in canyon streams for decades. There is a comfort, a healing which comes as barefooted we cross the soft rounded stones which lead to waterfalls and natural dams.. the sound gives us comfort.

Why is our acoustical antennae disoriented. Some force from the mystic beyond is unexplainable.

Words to describe the Styx as it rushes past? Groping, we search our internal thesaurus. Lost, we’re lost.

Why are we nervous, hesitant? The closer we tread to the river bank the paranormal feels close by in the reeds and on the embankment. Brushing against us, creeping Charlies cause an instant rash, a burning.

We want to know more, hear more, understand more; then why are our internals giving us messages of uncertainty and fear?

We’ve trekked for decades . Familiar values, beliefs, comforting friends, life has moved on a predictable course. Slowly the walking path to the Styx becomes less predictable. We double check our memory bank… we are losing touch with past events.. our body aches, tires, talks to us in the dark of the night. Comforting guideposts which lead us safely to the waterfalls of the Styx are less and less present.

A hiker coming away from the river asks “ Sir, can I help you?” There it is again..Others addressing me in the context of my aging face, limping gait, the shadow of a dimmed youth. The ravages of time cannot be disguised. We are indeed old.

The trail to the Styx has no place to turnaround.. no way to return to our youth. Stopping at the river’s edge comes a recognition that there is no turning back. The Styx is the carrier of the inevitability of life’s end.

We are alone. The sounds we can’t identify – we have never heard them before. We have never seen or heard the end of life’s inevitability before. God stands in mid stream. Arms outstretched. We look into the stream. Paranormal beings tell us not to step off the river bank.. Dante waits.

Clashing, thunderous sounds emerge from the river. Just beyond is a vista of peace. How do we get from point A to point B? We are alone. Our friends and family have passed on. It is just us.

Alone.

Hurry because the clouds are gathering: night is near: how long do we have?

AN IMAGINARY TALE

Imagining what could be:

So different than what will be

A dilemma of will power

vs passively accepting the inevitable.

Imagination is rooted in truth telling dreams

Therein possibilities start in paranormal DNA where

life begins, thrives, expands , ends.

Each decision, life challenging event,  heroic victories

is embedded in our grey matter

Incalculatable  algorithmic equations  spin, turn,  evolve

to create fantasy plots of which Broadway playwrights

are nigh envious.

Imaginative scenarios reside outside our control.

The purpose to which we employ these sometimes

unexplainable tales become our legacy.

PLANTING THE SEEDS OF OUR FUTURE

Fire bombings, assaults in the streets,

Neighbors killing neighbors

Graffiti scarred walls act as barricades

Years pass, the “Troubles in Northern Ireland”.

So far away , across the pond.

We watched on the tele: sat in

the Irish bars in Chicago, Boston, Milwaukee

Horrified at the religious wars in the land of

Our ancestors.

It can never happen here.  Never happen here.

We’ve tacitly accepted the ongoing  black/white race wars.

Cities burn, race baiting is a common practice.

Separate but equal translates into plain separate

The dialogue , sensitivity community conversations

deteriorate to marches and riots.

A religious war? Protestant /Catholic/Jewish/Muslim

Listen carefully, watch body language

Attend “interfaith discussion groups”

Listen closely, very  closely.

Add the racial component.

The differences are visceral.

Demagoguery  run amok.

Genteel folks preface comments : “ With all due respect”,

Which is code for : You don’t know what you are talking about”.

Faces flushed. Fists hidden in pants’ pockets.

Inquire ; I dare you ..inquire

Have you studied a thesis of another faith? The Baltimore

Catechism, the Heidelberg Catechism, The Koran, The Torah,

Silence…

Any document other than our own is fallacious. By definition.

We know what we believe is the only true way.

It’s an obvious truth.

How far distant are we from “The Troubles”?

Internecine warfare begins when one faction  walls themselves

off  from another. Suspicion begets ignorance begets violence.

The increasing level of mistrust: the lessening of honest dialogue;

The troubles may not happen for generations… but the seeds are planted.

Are we all God’s people?

FEARED LIKE FEW OTHERS

Feared like few others
A conversation stopper – like few others
The 500 pound elephant in the room – like few others
People cry when they hear your name – like few others
Some collapse, other uncontrollably shake- like few others
The first letter of your name – everyone knows who you are

You bring silence to a family
All chatter stops
entire groups are immobilized
Doctors talk around it- they want us to feel comfortable.
What is the prognosis?
Will I live?
Will I die?

A family secret – until a prayer group know who you are, where you are
Fear strikes an entire neighborhood
face book, phone lines, twitter, the word spreads that you have
smeared blood on our front door.

Yes, you are Cancer – the modern day silent plague.
You visited our house- and were found to be unwelcome.

Who said God is dead?

The Silent Leaf

 

 

 Two trees are planted in our simple yard.  They are positioned prominently as remembrances to our deceased mothers.  Knowing we are on the downside of our lives, it is hoped that these trees will display the beauty  of God for generations to come. Yes, it was our way of sharing memorials of beloved mothers.We see this as a  simple and meaningful gesture.  Plant the trees, nurture them in the early years, and nature takes over.

 For any species to survive in the Great Plains is a miracle.  For two trees to battle and endure the harsh climes is amazing. Twenty four months ago, we stared out the kitchen window admiring the latest  6” of overnight snow fall.  As always, the sturdy backyard tree survived the snow, ice, and 40 mph winds blowing south from the Canadian provinces. Mid winter and the soybean fields are now acres of dormant brown splotches. Falling burnt orange needles from the stand of  blue spruce  trees creates a protective bed for rabbits, squirrels, to hide during the arrival of inevitable  blizzards.

As usual, Mother nature awakens us from the dreaminess of  superficial  observations.  A furled, fatigued singular leaf catches our attention.  It remains attached to a narrow limb  on Grandma Gress’ otherwise barren maple tree.  Strong! The leaf hangs on with a determination reminiscent of Grandma.What is the message? Each wintry morning, steaming Colombian coffee in hand, we  gather at the window to see if our friend remains.  Yes, December, January, February it is still attached.

 What is the message? Is there a message?

We struggle to interpret what are  Grandma Gress and God saying? Is she  reminding us about her lifetime of strength, perseverance, indomitable religious faith.? She played such a major role in establishing our life values. Regrettably, on a gray  March morning we jointly notice that the leaf has disappeared. Our friend has slipped away silently into the darkness of a frigid winter night.  Sadness envelopes our hearts.  Will the leaf return?

 This winter has seen 19 days of unrelenting snow in the first 23 days of December.  Temperatures are 6 or more degrees below normal.  Snow storms seem endless.  Beautiful white mounds become a curse when we daily grit our teeth and feel the brunt of early morning arctic cold. We apprehensively part the lace curtains and check to see if the driveway and deck are again covered with more of the white fluffy stuff.  The surrounding forests and fields are again void of leaves and green color.

 God takes us by the hands and leads us to the kitchen window to enjoy the beauty of His snow covered landscape. There it is again, a singular leaf clinging onto  the same tree.  An identical twin of the furled brown leaf from 2 years ago, it beckons for our attention.  Again!Like its predecessor, this fragile gift of nature survives the impossible forces of harsh winter storms. The leaf faces us each time we look out the window.  Is it smiling at us? Is this real or a product of our imaginations? A blessing?  Fervent prayers for healing and perseverance have been heard and answered by God again and again as we have endured medical and other challenges in the 24 months since first being greeted by our leafy visitor. The leaf seems to reach out and encourages us to continue to  pray, to have faith. 

A freak of nature? Accidental, just a coincidence?  We believe those with little faith may have a difficult time explaining away this remarkable happenstance. It is time for us to pray, to listen, to meditate.  We have been blessed.  May we welcome the spirit that rides with the leaf back into our lives and tell us what is wanted.  Now is the time for us to  sacrifice.  We remain convinced that this is more than a coincidence!

Solitude – A single leaf by Christopher Flees.  Used with permission.

 

 

 

 

THANK YOU LORD FOR OUR CHILDREN

 

Parenting is the alpha and omega: the beginning and the end,

the giver and receiver of life’s most precious gifts.

Our adult children are our children for as long as we live.

We are granted time  on this earth to  share the joy of  their  becoming their own persons.

 

Our children have  patiently waited for us to accept whom they have become:

to see the world through their  eyes,  accept their lifestyles.  For many

decades they have endured the sometime insurmountable challenges

we have put in their paths  to tolerate who we are, what we

believe, how we worship, where we decide to live.

Now it is their time.

 

The clock on the wall inexorably moves forward.

 

Roles are reversed.  Our children are now  the givers of life.

They lovingly grant us permission to share their  life as the curtain begins to close on

ours.  Enthusiastically, they share who they are and where life is taking

them.  Tenderly, and without words, a message of love is transmitted between parent

and child.  W e are asked  to believe in them, applaud

their successes, and to accept who they are. To join in prayer. They reach out, hug us, say

“ I love you” .  Looking into their eyes, we see the wonderful gift that God has created.

Who knows when the next time is our last good bye?

 

Yes, it is our time to listen.

May we thank the Lord for having the privilege to be parents. May HE carry our

children in His arms until the end of time.

 

LEADERSHIP IN ACTION

Yesterday was the day of exit for the church’s musical director.
A composer, master of many instruments,
Most of all a motivator of choirs and congregations.
Speeches of thanks by the priest, choir members, and the director:
Three standing ovations as the time to say adieu came closer:
The 1st ovation had an aura of victory . Like celebrating a winning touchdown.
The 2nd was more appreciative – hands clapping and body language of thanks.
The 3rd was unabashed sadness: Tears of farewell: bodies shaking with sad emotion.
Husbands, wives, children, holding each other as the moment of separation arrived.
Five hundred people overcome with loss – heads bowed: eye contact avoided:
big guys turned into jello.
What is the chemistry? The magic? The charisma that this stranger of 5 years ago
brought to this audience? Changed a moribund gathering into a group of bawling
children. There is no military command structure: or organization dictums which demand obligation to sing and participate
An aura created over time by the dynamism of his personality.

Knowledgeable, without a doubt Passionate about his faith

Energetic , obviously

Engaging , yes

Developer of mutual trust

Carrying the audience in his hands over and over again

Mesmerizing .
A prime example of “leadership” – taking people to places where they did not want to go: and didn’t think they had the talent or ability to take risks associated with musical cliffs.
Jeff believes in himself, his faith, AND the people to whom he is ministering. Most of whom he never met.. but all who feel they know him – and follow him: timidly then eventually without question.

In summary – a construct of mutual trust.
We know and treasure this rare combination when we have the privilege to experience this amazing
chemistry of superb leadership.

A case study in Leadership 101

HE TOUCHES US AND WE WALK ON

Grey/ white heads:  colored hair: bald  guys:

 The view from the rear of the auditorium

Reminiscent of an AARP convention.

Aging couples: widows and widowers.

 

In their midst she sat alone, quiet, at peace.

Her husband died suddenly a year ago.

Molden, bend at the shoulders she blended in

Unnoticed, unassuming, expressionless.

 

It is said that Christ comes to us when we are least expecting

Be alert, for He may come at any time.

 

This quiet woman had requested the song

“My Cup Runneth Over” be played at her husband’s funeral.

The troubadour, with his wife seated beside him, did the honors again.

 

Grey hairs, sat and listened, attentively, respectfully.

A “sound of silence” air filled the gathered audience.

Emotionless, eyes front just like we learned in the military.

The song proceeded with a lively yet pensive air until..

“We grow old together and the earth grows cold”

Bam!

There is Christ again talking to all of us as we walk

Closer to the sunset.. each day .. together.

Couples don’t look at each other… 

Too painful? Too embarrassed to admit our mortality

In public?

 Or too proud to admit that the emotions of the

song, reflective of a life time together is indeed accurate?

 

The click of the locking of the front door:  lights turn off:

Quilts are pulled over legs which have traveled miles together:

 Sniffling tears as couples snuggle together.

 The earth is getting cold..  the last chapter is being written.

 

An unassuming lady dressed in summer white has delivered

Another gift from Christ.. a song which only an angel can compose and sing.

Words linger.. He touches us.. and we walk on.. 

 

 

WORLD CLASS SILENCE

The humanness of animals or is it the

animalism in humans?

Humans have a soul – a deference for right and wrong.

Animals are instinctive, sly, honed for survival.

Evolution has sharpened the differences – or magnified

the similarities?

Silence – does it exist in our two environments?

Groups of “social trekkers” who crash through woodlots on their Sunday

afternoon walks frequently  talk loudly, laugh incessantly, and are

generally noisy intruders. There is an OBVIOUS lack of  appreciation of

being present in the secluded home of feathered and furry out of doors

residents. Noisy, always noisy, these aliens to nature’s realm are devoid of an

appreciation of the benefits to man and beast associated with  silence.

Oh yes, there is cacophony in the  animal world: rutting season, migrational

passages, the horrific life and death battles taking place daily between

hunter and stalked.   These outcries blend into the larger fabric of life on the

plains. 

Just the right note is sounded, the opera of life is exactly on key.

The absence of dissonance is remarkable.

Which returns us  to silence.

Listen intently in the oak stand on a   mountain side venue in which every

 sound, each noise is part of an Integrated symphony… composed, conducted,

 and played by the instruments of nature, may indeed

be an orchestra of silence.  The music of nature is at such a perfect pitch, so

soothing, that  our capacity to hear/interpret/comprehend  is stretched to the

 limit.

 The creator’s way of protecting and celebrating the deity’s own.

A view from a differing side of the oracle’s temple ­ which differs from the

common understanding –nature’s symphony is a complement to our senses. It

 soothes as does the vaporization of sound we call silence.

Silence – with a twist, a variation on the theme: given to us as a gift by the

Great I Am.

WORDS OF SILENCE EXIST FOREVER

 

 

Two sets of adult footprints follow the shore line.

Headed west , stride by stride.

A symphony as of one.

Their parade heads into the infinite horizon

They are known to us only by their signature prints.

We hear them not: nor see them except in our imagination.

Their silence – is it a means of avoiding the revelations of the spoken word?

 Does silence shield us from sharing our profound, risky ideas from the world?

Or is silence a cave like repository of our deepest thoughts and knowledge?

The even tide raises to a level overwhelming the prints of our stranger friends.

Covering each with a cascade of water… then the hand of undercurrent sweeps

the prints away and into the receding ocean.

Or does it?

While walking the trekkers made an impact on the beach, on those

watching them, on the squawking  gulls scarfing for dinner.

Their silence? Only to those who were not there to observe.

What happens to the sounds they made? Where do they go?

 Do they last forever in a yet undiscovered pantheon of the universe?

 Is there a planet comprised of captured sounds where  language is melt

into silence for all, and simultaneously no one to hear.

And so it is with our silent thoughts, dreams, ideas.

They may remain deep inside of our imagination.

But never disappearing.. are always present.

These unspoken concepts find a way onto the beach:

In written script: as a nugget of conversation with an

unsuspecting friend.

What we think and imagine remains silent for only a little while.