A Good Living

Work was always there. My parents had this philosophy that if you were sitting around you needed something to do and on a farm there is always something to do. My Dad is 80 and my Mom turns 77 today, and even at their age they are always busy. They still cut wood for the furnace, build fence, put in a huge garden every year, clear brush and timber and drive to church three times a week. Their pace is a little slower but just as steady. And it is not as easy as it used to be because they have a lost a few parts along the way. My Mom had breast cancer a few years back and my Dad has had two knee replacements, had a kidney removed two years ago, has only one eye, and is seriously thinking about pulling the rest of his teeth since they are annoying him. But they still work everyday. A little less urgently, a few more groans along the way, but still at it. Right now my Father has taken rough cut lumber from a cherry tree that grew on the farm and is making my daughter a hope chest. It will be a wonderful gift for her, as solid as he is.
So work was really the only option when I was growing up. I have been employed at something since I was thirteen, when I first hired myself out to a farmer who offered me ten dollars a day for, in his words, either "work or play." In 1973 that was alot of money for a kid. It soon became clear that there was no play involved. I arrived at work at 7 am and usually got home at 10 pm. The day was spent on a tractor, the evening hauling hay. But, at least I was getting paid and getting to drive all over the place, pretty cool when you are just 13 and barely over 5 feet tall. It was a good summer though, and I had a little jingle in my pocket when it was over, and survived a few close calls (you really can't push a volkswagon bug backward down a steep ozark hill, pop the clutch and get it to do a "wheely," what does happen is not good at all, neither for boy or machine).
I did learn that it was nice to get paid. Even the real nasty jobs were a little more tolerable when you got a paycheck. There seemed to be this simple formula:you work, you get paid. Later on I learned that some people work very little and get paid alot, or some people never have to work at all and have more than enough. I have never been smart enough to figure out how to get there.
Work is a blessing, to enjoy your work is an even greater blessing. I think that is why my folks are always busy. They enjoy picking up walnuts on sunny, crisp fall days, gathering blackberries on a high ridge where you can see for miles, and bringing in a full load of cut and split wood. Dad always carries a hoe in his pick-up, his weapon of mass destruction in his ongoing war against Canadian thistles. To be "plum tuckered out" at the end of the day is a good thing for them. I admire them because at their age they prefer to be dirty rather than dusty.
Proverbs says that all hard work brings a profit. My parents prove the truth of those words, who have made a good "living" by not working to eventually enjoy life, but who have enjoyed their life because of their work. The profit wasn't always the kind you could put in the bank, but it paid great dividends to their souls.
Just a few thoughts about work...with a few more to come.

Leaving LaLa Land

One of my weaknesses is that I have a tendency to go to "LaLa Land". This is a place in my head where reality never enters. I can go there any time I want whenever life is hard or the future is bleak. It is not really a pleasant place, it is just a place of nothingness; a vacuum of sorts where I can continue to get by without facing my fears or really think about the outcome of my actions.

I am not sure exactly when LaLa Land appeared, but I have a suspicion that it was there pretty early in my life. Growing up on a farm meant that I often had long, boring, redundant chores to do and they were more easily endured when I could just go to that blank space in my head and fill it with anything I wanted. My hands might be shoveling manure but my brain was miles away, conjuring up some story or remembering something in the past or daydreaming about tomorrow. In those instances, LaLa land provided a little relief from the very unpleasant reality of the job I was doing. Probably everyone has a place like that somewhere in their head, it is not neccessarily a bad thing, it helps us endure sometimes.

But, I think that in some cases, LaLa Land becomes sovereign and begins to rule the other parts of the brain. And that has been my problem at different points of my life. When I have really needed to have the guts to face the truth about myself, LaLa land invades and pulls me back to the false security of unreality. Somehow, not thinking about how things really are or what the real outcome of my actions could be makes truth diminish and the pleasant, sweet lie takes over that always whispers everything will just somehow "turn out ok."

Well, it doesn't. LaLa Land is a place of slavery and pain. And even though I might have gone there alone, it always ends up dragging others into its misery. Those I love have often had to pay for my little excursions into that black hole.

LaLa Land is really a landfill. It might look like a pleasant little hill covered with green grass rising up out of the prairie, promising a wonderful view and an escape from world below, but it is really just a big pile of, well....Garbage.

Life is hard right now. Reality is painful. I am in the land of tough choices and harsh consequences. But it is the land of truth. It is the land of the living. It is the only place that growth can occur and authentic change take place. I feel like I am in the wilderness putting my survival skills to the test, but it is where I am supposed to be right now. The frustration and anxiety I feel have redemptive qualities, they drive me to my knees and keep my feet from wandering back towards LaLa land. I am ashamed of how much time I have spent there in the past, how much of real life I wasted and how many opportunities I squandered.

But, here and now is here and now, and I intend to live fully in it and be transformed by the One who is ever-present and ever near.

Happy Birthday, Micah

Today is our daughter Micah's birthday. She is 19 and a Freshman in college. We celebrated her birthday last weekend when she came home. So....in the the newly started tradition of revealing stories on the occasion of the birthday, here are just a few "Micah" legends.

The first time I saw her was when she was born. I was there. And since this was our second child I was more prepared this time and was actually semi-conscious. Dr. Lockwood delivered her and promptly said, "Uh-oh, this child has no penis." After a slight pause...."Hey, she's a girl!" Joker, that guy. Anyway, I will never forget seeing this little bit of red, curly soft hair on the top of her head and bright blue eyes gazing up at me for the first time.
That little tuft of hair grew into red ringlets that had the magical ability of catching sun rays and then illuminating those eyes until they looked as blue as the sky after a snow storm has passed. Add a sprinkling of freckles across the nose, put on a old cap and a softball glove on one hand and you have Micah. Even as a little girl she could hit anything she aimed for, including her brothers, and always looked more natural with a ball in her hand than a doll. I don't know, maybe she heard what the Doctor said when she was born and became determined to run as fast, throw as hard, and hit as far as any one else, with or without that extra appendage thing. We were so proud when she received a special award her Senior year at her final Athletic banquet, recognizing her as the only person to have played three sports during her high school years and lettering nine times in them. She is now playing softball in college and getting ready to leave next week to play in Florida over spring break.
A few Micah stories: She put everything in her mouth. Everything! When she was around 2 or so I was working in the garage and she was "helping" me. I noticed that she was in the corner chewing on something, so with great trepidation I asked her to spit out what was in her mouth, and slowly, as only a 2 year old could do, she pushed out a leg....of a spider, then another leg, and so on....Many people have been bitten by spiders, but how many spiders can say they were bitten by a little girl? Spiders have always creeped me out, and I still remember seeing what was left of its smashed body on the tip of her tongue and the feeling of my lunch rising in my throat. But, perhaps in a Marvel Comics kind of way, this explains her excellent ability to catch fly balls.

Another story that will reveal what horrible parents we are: After church, in a hurry, Brandon-five, Micah-three, both strapped in their car seats. We pull up in the drive way, Colleen and I both jump out to get something from the house that we needed before going to a friend's house, leaving the car running. A few minutes later, Brandon is at the door, crying, the car is gone!Micah is nowhere in sight! I go running out of the house, looking up and down the street, and finally see the car across the street, through the neighbor's yard, with the rear end down in a little creek. Still no Micah! My heart is about to explode! I finally get to the car and throw the door open and there she is, standing on the front seat, both hands on the wheel, turning it wildly with the biggest grin on her face. I think it was a premonition. Anyway, Brandon, the squirmy one, had slipped out of his seat first and the rest we will never know for sure.
Finally, one more. Micah is in fourth grade and playing on her first little softball team. There is a circle around the pitchers mound where the pitcher stands while the coach actually tosses the ball to the batter. Micah is the "pitcher." She figures out the game very quickly and learns that she is fast enough to field the ball and tag the runner going to first and then chase down the other little girls who innocently think they are to run to the next base when the ball is hit. There are girls at first and second and the ball is hit. Micah fields the ball and tags the girl running to first, chases the girl running to second tagging her out, then sees the other girl rounding third for home. Micah beats her to home, and while tagging her the little girl falls backward right on her rear end and breaks out into tears! Three outs by one girl in one inning: incredible! One minor collision at home plate: breath-taking! One irate Mother in the bleachers yelling, "Get that mean little girl out of here!" hysterical! One unabashedly proud Father: priceless!

Anyway, there are more for another birthday. Micah, you have grown into a beautiful young woman. You have always been a blessing and a joy in our lives and I am so thankful you still call me daddy. And it doesn't even matter that you know that I know that you know you can get anything you want from me when you do. Ahh, the privilege of being our only daughter. That's what you get for being born without a penis.

Happy Birthday, Micky...I love you. Now, choke up and keep your eye on the ball.