The Phone Call

I hadn't talked to Aaron since his wedding which was about a year and a half ago. When the phone rang last night, I was on the treadmill, running, sweating profusely and trying to lie to myself saying it was all worth it. The insistent harshness of a phone is a burden to my sanity; it tears into my ear drums - interrupts all train of thought. In short, the phone generally puts me in a bad mood. One ring. Two rings. I ignored it (I just assumed Christine would get it as I was in the midst of something). After finishing my 'workout' (I always wondered why it was called that) I traipsed up the stairs, legs shaking, holding on to the railing for dear life and asked Christine who was on the phone.

"I don't know. I didn't answer it." She responded.
"Why didn't you answer it?"
"I was in the middle of something." I looked and saw that she was in her favorite reclining chair wrapped up in a blanket reading a book. She was caught up in the wonderful world of imagination, like good ol' Mr. Rogers used to say, and the insistence of the phone would not persuade her from her reverie. Annoyed - I noticed how I had placed more importance on my pastime than hers (I'm a selfish little beast sometimes), I went to check my phone and a blast from the past came up.

Aaron.

When I first met him Aaron was a long-haired, surfer dude, guitar playing, Minnesotan who had spent quite a bit of time in California. Almost all of his sentences were added with an emphatic word: "Man." For example: "You should have seen the great waves I saw in California, Man." or "I love these beans, Man." And my favorite "Yeah, totally, Man." I didn't actually know what that meant but it was usually stated after something positive happened in his life like playing an exciting guitar riff or eating at McDonalds.

Aaron and I hit it off instantly. He was the kind of 'rock star' that I had always wanted to be. As we were preparing to travel the country playing Christian rock and roll music, it was nice to have someone on our band that had actually played rock and roll music before. Oh wait, our drummer did, too, but the ladies and I were ignorantly unaware of what it meant to play rock music. My idea of rock in the early 90's was to throw some guitar into an MC Hammer song. Too Legit, Too Legit to quit - squealing guitar and then a few dance moves. I digress.

I joined the band as the bass guitar player having played all of three months for my jazz choir in college - now that's true rocking out. After a week of training, the three men on our team staying up late every night getting to know each other, we traveled to a place in South Dakota for even more team bonding and training. Our team, Watermark (truly a rock and roll name if you've ever heard it - but I suppose it's better than Captive Free - I hope I don't get accosted for saying that. I suppose it's like having a rock band called Savage Garden: that's a real scary name.) we all rode in the same 8 passenger van laughing and talking for the 12 hour drive to the remote western parts of South Dakota, Lee Valley ranch to be exact.

As we entered the ranch, the sun greeted us. It was almost like taking our own personal vehicle into the Garden of Eden. All the teams (12 teams about 80 people) exited the vans and glanced around in dropped-jawed wonder. The smell of pine trees was overwhelming; it was quiet except for the groaning, grunting stretching that was emanating from disembarking passengers. The director of the camp told us that we would each be staying in our own personal tents on wooden flats with mattresses. He happened to say that not all mattresses are equal and forgetting one of the greatest of Jesus' sayings "The first shall be last and the last first" Aaron looked at me and said, "The first shall be the first to get the best mattress, Man." And off he sped across the valley toward the little white abodes in the trees.

We secured for ourselves two of the best and, it so happened,we were right next to each other. After staking our claim we went back to the van to retrieve or things and placed them in the tents - setting up tent, if you will, placing our bags and necessities in proper positiosn. We were going to be there for a week.

As it so happens, there were so many things to do at Lee Valley that at times I forgot to do things that had been natural for the first 22 years of my life. I forgot to brush my hair, I forgot to change clothes (I had a perpetual pair of overalls that eventually stood up by themselves) and I decided that bathing was optional. I justified it by telling myself I was preserving the environment by not using so much water.

Throughout these days of, what now seems, bliss, Aaron and I decided to play some practical jokes on each other. First there were venial sins that could be forgiven with great ease - pine cones in the sleeping bag, dirt in the orange juice - easy stuff. But then, trying to outdo each other, Aaron ramped up the 'sin' and went directly to mortal. I didn't know this until that moment, but if you put raisins in someone else's toothpaste, the raisins absorb the toothpaste and get stuck in the tube thus denying the owner a chance to cleanse ones chompers. Well, Aaron snuck into my tent one afternoon after procuring a few raisins from lunch. When I went to brush my teeth at night found that I would be borrowing toothpaste from someone else. As I went to borrow from Christine (we hadn't been romantically involved yet, but there was still a stirring somewhere in the pit of my stomach), I could hear Aaron giggling away with his braying, donkey like laugh.

I vowed revenge.

The next night before sleep, Jill, another one of our teammates, and I dug up some earth worms and placed them under Aaron's pillow. As Aaron went to bed that night, we silently waited outside his tent and then the sound, "Aaaaah!!!" a rustling and then the giggling started. I can't actually tell you what he mumbled under his breath, but it was funny to hear him deal with his own conflicting emotions. Jill and I covered our mouths and headed back to our own respective tents thinking that I had finally gotten the best of him.

All was forgiven in the morning and a few days past. Every once in a while I would catch Aaron staring at me, expectantly as if waiting for something. Finally, when he could contain himself no longer, he approached me sniffing the air. "Don't you ever take a shower, Man?"

As the rules of my life had changed, and laving had become optional, I said, "I'll get to it soon."
"You stink, Man."
"Fine, I'll go and shower." Off to the barn I went (strangely enough, the showering area was in an old shed). After washing off the dirt and grime from the week I went back to my tent and I happened to notice Aaron sitting in his tent peeking out the zippered door like a prairie dog examining the outer world from his burrow.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
"Nothing, Man." He was smiling like a fox in front of a chicken house.
I entered my tent and proceeded to change. Then, I took my deodorant from my toiletries bag and took off the cap. There, to my horror, was one of the worms that we had put under Aaron's pillow. The worm had absorbed the chemicals from the deodorant and turned a beautiful aquamarine color. The smell was revolting.

"AARON!!!!" I shouted. All that I heard from the short distance was the hyenic laughter and zipper being opened quickly. I showed him the corpse.
Through his laughter I said, "You've committed murder. That's one of the commandments, Mister. You've just purchased a one way ticket to hell." Aaron held up his hands. "Nuh uh. YOU committed murder. If you would shower more than once this week, the worm would have been saved." I smiled at him. He smiled back.

There truly is nothing like a good friend.

We gave the worm a proper Christian burial with music and prayers.

So I got a call from Aaron. It had taken him a long time to settle down and get married; and when it finally did, he married a wonderful woman, Beth, from Wisconsin.

I called him back and even the way he answered brought back a flood of emotions of every memory from almost fifteen years ago. The same cadence to his voice, the same inflections - the same laughter. His voice was almost like being wrapped up in that old blanket that you've kept in a drawer for a while. Good friends are people who, when you talk to them after an extended period of time, never forget where the conversation stopped. I realized that I'd missed him without realizing I'd been away from him. In some ways, all good friends and family take up residence inside your heart and arrange themselves in their own personal tents. They set up shop, placing favorite memories within easy reach. My memories of Aaron keep getting better after all these years. I would guess that all of you have specific people that keep getting more beautiful with age. And that is one of the rare beauties and mysteries of life: the imprints of other people on your own soul.

Aaron called to say that he and Beth are expecting a child. I am so happy for the world to get a replicate of a good friend of mine.

Sometimes life really is good.

A Fairy Tale

Josephine and Greta were sitting in the bath the other night having a merry old time a-splishing and a-splashing. After fifteen minutes or so, a blood-curdling scream emanated from the bathroom. Christine ran to the bathroom, opened the door, noticed the sopping wet floor and shouted, "What's wrong?" Her fear had her imagining the worst.

Josephine's face was bloody and Christine hurried over to her. No crying, but she and Greta were frantically searching the through the water. Josephine looked up at Christine and said, "I lost a tooth." As she smiled, the gaping hole in her lower bite gave evidence to the fact that incisor was indeed lurking somewhere in the water.

As is our tradition, each of the girls has a small, tooth-shaped felt container that holds the tooth that has been freed. The night of ortho-dopsy, the girls will place their tooth in the toothholder and then place it under their pillow in hopes that the Tooth Fairy will come during the middle of the night to place a little present where the tooth was.

The Tooth Fairy is debatably an American character. Interestingly, the idea of hiding baby teeth after they have fallen out is customary world wide - and from much earlier traditions. I'm adding a few that really piqued my interest.

In Europe, mothers and fathers would bury the baby teeth outdoors in hopes that in its place adult teeth would grow. But, they also buried the teeth to keep it out of the hands of witches. If a witch were to get their hands on a baby tooth (or fingernail clipping or hair, for that fact), they would place a curse on the previous owner of the body part. Nice. Nothing like scaring kids witless when they lose a tooth. It's bad enough trying to convince kids that they are not dying when they recognize their first bowel movement.

In other parts of Europe, specifically France and Italy, the Tooth Fairy is not a 'fairy' (think Tinkerbell) in the traditional sense but a mouse. As the story goes in French "La Bonne Petite Souris" (the Good Little Mouse) a wonderful queen decides to punish an evil king by placing a mouse under his pillow where thereby the 'good little mouse' will torture the evil king and knock out all his teeth. In lowland Scotland, it's not a mouse, but a white, furry rat that hides under children's pillows to wait for them to go to sleep. Then, after the youth is fully asleep, the rat will produce a coin or treat from somewhere to replace the lost tooth. This is where our American tradition comes from, although I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of telling my kids there is a rat underneath their pillow.

Lastly, in parts of certain Asian countries: India, Korea and Vietnam, the child who has lost his or her tooth will take the tooth and place it somewhere in (or on) the house. According to tradition, if the tooth is lost from the lower jaw, the tooth is tossed onto the roof of the house. If, from the upper jaw, the tooth is placed in a crack in the floor. As it is hidden, the youth will shout into the air "bring me a mouse's tooth instead." Strange. But for good reason. Everyone knows, of course, that rodents' teeth do not stop growing. If you have mice teeth in your mouth, they will never get worn down, right?

You know what, I'm pretty comfortable with establishing a nice little 'fairy' tale about a man who comes in the middle of the night to take the old tooth and put a nice present under their pillow. Whether the man is wearing a tutu or a muumuu, whatever it takes, is a perfectly acceptable way to help kids deal with the pain of loss. But the visual is good for me in a different way.

If you are anything like me, I, many times put my thoughts beneath my pillow at night. All the worries and the cares that have stacked up, have worried me through the day, are placed beneath my head. In my prayers, I often will ask God to come take away the old, the distressing, the cares that seem too heavy and replace them with gifts like peace, joy, patience, kindness, - you can look up that list. Of course, God is not the tooth fairy, and not a fairy tale for that fact, but the results for me are similar. When I wake up, usually I will feel refreshed, not just be sleep, but the ability of God to take something of my immaturity and turn it into maturity. I love the fact that I still say the prayer with the girls, "Now I lay me down to sleep..." At night, I place everything into God's hands including the deepest recess of my soul. Even if that moment comes and life as I know it leaves, well, what a gift waits for me under the pillow.

Enjoy life - tomorrow has enough worries of its own.

My Gift

C. S. Lewis writes eloquently about his thoughts on Christmas:

"Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else... The second (it has complex historical connections with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a 'view' on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding their own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own friends. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyone's business.
I mean of course, the commercial racket... I condemn it on the following grounds:

1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to 'keep' it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long before December 25 everyone is worn out - physically worn out be weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no mood for merrymaking; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.
2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed resentment, when, at the last moment, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops we go.
3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, 'novelties' because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before."

C. S. sounds like a bit of Dickens' Scrooge, but in many aspects, he has nailed the very head of my feelings about the Christmas traditions of presents. But, when I was young boy, my attitude was much different. Giving a gift, no matter how small or insignificant, to someone else was a source of great joy from me. And receiving a gift - that was true pleasure. Gifts, not necessarily at Christmas, and not necessarily gift-wrapped, are a symbol of love. Christmas gift giving may have turned into a symbol of corporate greed and fiscal insanity, but the gift giving without hope for recompense makes the world go round.

The other day, a very close friend of mine received a package in the mail. The address from the sender was from her 'boss.' My friend (who we will name "Kristin") happens to sell kitchen cookware and accessories for the company of this 'boss.' Anyway, inside the package was a letter and a 'gift.' The letter congratulated Kristin for selling $15,000 worth of products and for her reward or 'gift' Kristin received a small, silver colored, one-half inch plastic cooking whisk that could either be affixed to Kristin's coat or worn as a necklace. (Why anyone would put a chain through a plastic cooking utensil and wear it around her neck is beyond me, but I'm also clueless why someone would push a perfectly good earring through their tongue)

I looked at Kristin and said, "Are you joking? For selling $15,000 of product they give you something that came out of an arcade gallery. You know, those little machines that have the claw - it makes a growling noise as you move it around and then drops on top of a yellow, plastic ball once every ten times. That is your reward for serving and selling?"

Kristin held up the little plastic whisk with a smile on her face. "Silly boy. This isn't about the gift; this is a symbol of me being proud of my accomplishment. My boss didn't need to send me anything."

"So do you have to send her anything in return - a piece of Tupperware or maybe spoon she can wear for a hat?" Nothing like sarcasm in the winter.

Kristin simply rolled her eyes.

"Won't you feel guilt if you don't send her something in return? Isn't that the point of thank you letters? To even out the balance - gift for thanks?"

"I might do that," Kristin responded. "For all gifts, thanks ensure good relationship."

"Next time tell her you want the gift that fits in your wallet. Maybe a %5 increase in your commission."

Kristin put the whisk down. "You don't get it. The gift is enough. And, by the way, this better not end up in one of your blogs."

I took the half-inch sized whisk from her hand and tried to scramble my eggs for breakfast.

I think many times God gives us gifts and we tend to treat them more like C.S. Lewis' understanding of the unfortunate side effects of capitalistic Christmas, than Kristin's thankful response for enjoying the job she's been given. Sometimes when God gives us gifts we feel like we must exhaust ourselves finding the perfect way to pay him back. If only I could do enough good things for other people, then God would be thanked enough. Or (this is my thought process usually) if I do enough for God, then the gifts are going to keep coming. Like the "Gift of Jafar" or whatever that book was a few years ago that spoke of asking God for whatever you want and if you're faithful enough, He'll give it to you. "Prayer of Jabez" - that's it. Give to God and he'll multiply it so you will be rich, have a great big house and be the envy of your sub-division.

Or, when God gives us some gifts, its almost an invitation that God wants us to help in a way that is outside our comfort zone. A friend of mine just learned how to play the guitar. She was really enjoying it (this is not Kristin, by the way - I have more than one friend, remember George?) but once she got the hang of it, someone asked her if she would play for church. Then, my friend politely stopped playing the guitar because she couldn't envision actually playing for someone else (which in my opinion is perfectly fine) but perhaps God can use her even in the midst of her fears of failure.

Lastly, sometimes a gift of God is what we deem gaudy or useless. I have often heard people say that they have no talent - that God hasn't blessed them with anything. But often, when people say that they are talent-less, they are simply comparing themselves to others who have talents that are promoted as more desirable. All gifts from God are useful and can be utilized in a way that only God can show us how. But, it's a matter of discerning in what way God can use our usefulness.

Our Savior's is in the process of trying to understand the gifts that God is giving each one of us. "Finding Your Place" is what it is being called. In the body of Christ, our gifts are used to promote the greater good. Not everyone can be teachers or preachers, musicians or leaders, sacristans or ushers - but all gifts need to be utilized to help the Body of Christ to be a moving, living entity. A wise man once said, "If it doesn't move, the odds are, it's probably dead." His name was Captain Obvious.

So, here is my encouragement this week: take a few moments this week - be silent and listen for the expression of the gifts of God in your life and hear how He wants you to use them. Read, pray and if you want to, let me know what gift God is pressing into your hands. Find your place to serve.

Have a great week.

reid

Again! Again!

C. S. Lewis writes, "Many religious people lament that the first fervors of their conversion have died away. They think - sometimes rightly, but not, I believe, always - that their sins account for this. They may even try by pitiful efforts of will to revive what now see to have been the golden days. But were those - the operative word is those - ever intended to last?

It would be rash to say that there is any prayer which God never grants. But the strongest candidate is the prayer we might express in the single word 'encore.' And how, exactly, should the infinite repeat Himself? All space and time are too little for Him to utter Himself in them even ONCE.

And the joke, or tragedy, of it all is that these golden moments in the past, which are so tormenting if we erect them into a norm, are entirely nourishing, wholesome, and enchanting if we are content to accept them for what they are, for memories."

Lewis' words almost always convict me - they find me in my little hiding space, content with where I am, and push me out into the open. His gift for choosing the most appropriate at the most opportune time astounds me and I am left with a feeling that I need to do some serious thinking about my life. Do you ever feel like that? After reading, or hearing a piece of music, perusing a painting - do you ever feel like your perception of life has been tweaked, even just a bit?

For example, how many times have I said to God, "I realize that you were very close to the people of the Old Testament. Visually, you were in their sights; vocally, you were in their ears. Why can't you do that for me? Why don't you show yourself, sound off - especially with regards to all the evil that occurs in the world. Just SHOW YOURSELF and take out all the unknowns for the world!"

Jeremiah says it best (chapter 12) You will be in the right, O Lord, when I lay charges against you; but let me put my case to you. Why does the way of the guilty prosper? Why do all who are treacherous thrive? You plant them, and they take root; they grow and bring forth fruit; you are near in their mouths yet far from their hearts. But you, O Lord, know me; you see me and test me - my heart is with you.

So often, I speak to God is I should always be first and foremost on his list of people to listen to. Like Jeremiah, I am quick to point out anyone else that I feel is affronting God. It is as if I see myself as God's most trusted advisor, whispering in His ear what He should be doing next. If you've ever seen the Lord of the Rings, I am like Wormtongue speaking into the king's ear. Ugh.

So, all my yammering is about me. I want to see God. I want God to show Himself so that I can be convinced. I want God to speak to me - very vocally - so I am sure what He wants me to do this year. I want God to come in the form of (almost Wondertwinnish) any sort of conquering hero to break down corruption (which seems to be prevalent in the state of Illinois), murder (which is showing itself all over the world) and sin in general - which I want to be the definer of the term.

Therein is my sin and I haven't read my Bible anywhere near as closely as I should have. Even though God continued time and again to reveal Himself in many different ways, did the Israelites (or any others, for that fact) continue to take God seriously? Do our their senses, and our senses, realistically lead us to a greater faith in God? Maybe for a little while, but then it all starts to fade and we question once again, "Are you really there God? Did I just imagine your presence?"

Similar to the writing of C. S., when we first encounter the almighty in an almost physical way, whether seeing or hearing, we reach the mountaintop experience - a physical feeling, a manifestation of God who is very near us. But then the feeling fades, and we are left with a yearning for that gloried time, or place, and go back to it time and time again and ask again, "Encore, God. Encore. Do it again."

Christine and I went to some friends' home a few days ago. They have a daughter who isn't two yet and a son who is four. Evie, who previously looked at me as if I were a giant ogre, discovered that I was an excellent jungle gym. I would toss her in the air, over my shoulder, bounce her on my knee - whatever it took to make her happy - I love hearing the sounds of kids squealing with delight (reasonable decibel levels are always appreciated).

Evie, after having enjoyed my jungle gym-nosity, began to shout, while holding her arms in the air, "Again! Again! More magic tricks!"

It is the time of year, at the very beginning, where we have once again looked at the past year and assembled our little blocks of guilt. We resolve to dissemble the castle of guilt built so fastidiously the year before, and build up a new fortress of faith. Many people promise themselves that they will draw closer to God in 2009. Many yearn for a connection to the Almighty so that they can see the will of God in a very personal moment. Usually, though, those (myself included) people want God to come in a way that is easiest, or most palatable, which is usually conjuring up images of the way God came to them in the past. It is a resolution for God to act in the same way that brought us to the mountaintop and showed us the vastness of the good that is in God. But this year, is it possible that God will show up in completely unexpected ways? What would happen if we all let the memories be those 'nourishing, wholesome and enchanting' memories and let God break all boundaries? What if Jesus Christ, freshly re-energized in our hearts after Christmas, was given freedom to speak to us in word, sound or picture - perhaps especially in the voice of a loved one? Would this new year bring us closer to the faith that we all long for that is not connected by puppet strings to our past experiences?

Again! Again! I shout to God - but simply to love me again in a way that might be different - a new experience in these short trips around the sun. Again! Again! What are you going to show us this year, God?