Two Balloons

On her way to pick-up our granddaughter, Landrye, from KidsQuest Day Camp today, Nancy stopped and bought two balloons — a black one and a white one.

With Landrye right beside her, she made her way to the foot of the majestic and moving sculpture, Jacob’s Dream.  Towering high above, Jacob’s ladder to heaven is filled with angels — the largest known depiction of this Old Testament story in the world.  As a spot for special moments, this little bit of West Texas real estate is prime.

A guessing game ensued between grandmother and granddaughter, “What is special and black and white?”

The answers tumbled out rapidly,  “A zebra.  A panda.  A white tiger.”

“Think of one at our house.  Black and white and really special.”

“Snoopy!”

Nancy smiled as she thought of our little dog.  Mottled with black and white fur, she won hearts with her incredibly attractive face and soulful eyes.  Over fourteen years old and a sweetheart, Snoopy was technically a farm dog.  For a number of years, she had been Nancy’s dad’s companion.  Criss-crossing the half-section of farmland, she had proudly chased barn cats and occasional wild turkeys.  Primarily she was known for her tail-wagging.  Standing maybe 8 inches tall to the top of her head, she was a bundle of energy.

When we lost Nancy’s dad, Snoopy moved to her adopted home in the city.  She was a wonderful companion to our old beagle for several years until Tipi moved on to a place in our memories.  Snoopy became the center of our attention and she lavished love on us.

Early this morning, Snoopy spent her last moments with us and on this earth.  Worsening seizures and other complications of a dog whose life would be measured at almost 100 human years brought her to that point of no return.  She left us with her same spirit of sweetness.

The news of her passing was not shared with everyone.

Nancy now turned to Landrye.  “The black balloon stands for our sadness.  The white balloon reminds us of the gladness we feel when we think of God’s care for all creatures great and small.  Now, when we think of Snoopy, we see her released from the pain that her many years brought her.  In our hearts, she’s a puppy again.”

As the balloons left their hands and floated skyward, granddaughter and grandmother felt their sadness and their gladness weave together into a memory.  Landrye understood.  A friend had been lost.

We often measure the passing of someone or some thing loved by releasing only one balloon.  The dark one.  The one of questions.  The one that drains our energy.

Today, Nancy reminded Landrye and me — and now you — of that all-important, all-healing second balloon.

When life presents sadness, God provides gladness.  And that gladness never overshadows the sadness.  Instead it twists together with the threads of difficulties and misfortune to form a fabric that stretches heavenward — our bridge to a loving and caring God.

A Moment of Christmas

We were expecting things to be different this year. Changes in the family have made us wary of almost every occasion.

So it was with no small amount of dread that I awaited the traditional opening of gifts. Certainly, I thought, things just won’t be the same. For one thing, it was coming a day late. And then there was the element of missing people. A few would not be with us. And then there was the fact that the economic downturn would be an obstacle for all that gathered.

But the magic moment of Christmas emerged. The gifts, some modest and some more extravagant, were a side note to the beautiful thoughts and love poured into their selection. After this long-awaited festival of sharing, I chided myself on my earlier anxiety. After all, wasn’t the greatest present in the world delivered in a small family gathering in a stable during tough economic times and horrific political and social stress?

So, while I was still thinking that perhaps Christmas would be unrecognizable this year, I received the greatest present of them all. The moment of Christmas began to sink in.

“Emmanuel” does mean “God with us.” And He is.

Faith

This has been a difficult year in many ways. I didn’t write a Christmas letter to slip in with the cards that Nancy faithfully selects, writes personal notes in, and stays up all hours to hand address. Come to think about it, I didn’t write a Christmas letter last year either. Twelve months ago, it was a mixture of fatigue, laziness, and a lack of time that drained the creative juices and stopped the project.

This year was just too difficult. In one of the Christmas cards to a dear, but distant friend, I wrote that this had been a year of blessings with a heavy dose of tragedy and a sprinkling of comedy. After further thought, I realized that was a pretty good summary statement. And it’s a statement that works not only for us, but for so many others around us.

For whatever reason, I have been fixated on how different things are becoming for us. And, in so doing, I think I’ve lost the broader view of what life is. Life is something different every day. Death is day after day with no change.

I have to admit I’m weary of some of the different that’s coming our way. Yet, I remind myself of what I learned from my good friend, Preacher Eddie. He was telling the story of Jesus calming the storm with that powerful order — “Peace, be still!”

As Preacher Eddie preached on, he asked us to consider the point of that story. I have to admit that I centered on the power of God, the Creator, and the awesome might of His mere words. And, as Eddie reminded, that is part of the story.

What I missed was what happened next. Jesus turned to his disciples and basically said, “So, what were you worried about? Did you forget that I’m right here in the boat with you?”

So, even though I can’t bring myself to writing a Christmas letter this year, I want you to know that the whole story of Christmas is this:

Jesus is in the boat. Whatever the change that comes, whatever the tragedy, God is next to us. Spreading blessings, sprinkling comedy.

Isn’t life great? When the waves grow a little threatening and wind howls around us, Nancy and I just turn to each other and say, “Remember, Jesus is in the boat.”

Merry Christmas. . .

Happy No Matter What

“So, what if the impending tests from the Large Hadron Collider prove my theories to be wrong?” asked theoretical physicist Garrett Lisi. “Then I will simply lean on the non-professional pieces of my life. The only way to be happy is to live a balanced life.”

Lisi’s statement is pretty monumental. Although I used quotes above, I didn’t capture his exact words. But I think I covered his thoughts. They came at the end of a 15 minute presentation of his theories of the existence of comprehensive “E8″ structure. With beautiful graphics and well-chosen words, he guided the scientifically-inadequate of us through a wonderful explanation of what he believes will appear when that big apparatus under the Swiss and France border accelerates minuscule particles into a head-on collision. The ten-story “camera” will record what happens. And in a fraction of a section, years of thought and mathematical calculations will be verified or trashed. Or, more likely, remain unproven and trigger years more of ponderance and supposition.

Yet Garrett Lisi says that his reaction even to the worst of results will be simply to go back to the two other things in his life that occupy his time — his girlfriend and surfing. And it’s not that he plans to abandon physics. It’s just that he sees the value of placing bits of his sanity in various baskets.

In recent months, I have experienced setbacks of sorts. Nothing cataclysmic, but certainly events that have shaken me. No one of these was enough to send me to my knees. But collectively, their burden took a toll. And suddenly I was looking in the mirror at someone who was clueless about what to do next. For a person like me, one who prides himself in being in control, it was a frightening sight.

So, for several days, I peered from a single basket and was tired and hopeless. “What else can go wrong?” I railed against the rafters. Anxiety increased. And just about the time I was ready to give in to full-time mourning, I looked around and saw some other baskets scattered around me.

It was when I began to peek in them, that I realized how blessed I was. As the covers came off, I saw the friendly faces of friends and family. In some, the neighborly waves of complete strangers gave me great pleasure.

I then saw that God is in control of my baskets. From time to time, some are upset and become empty. I’m left with the difficult task of picking up pieces and returning them to the basket. And sometimes, when a particular basket not only topples over but rolls away from me in a cosmic wind, I realize that’s not my basket to fill.

In fact, as I take a closer look at all of “my” baskets, I learn that I have filled none of them on my own. They’re not even “my” baskets!

Do you remember the story of Jesus feeding more than 5,000 people with a little boy’s borrowed lunch? Everyone was fed to satisfaction from five loaves and two fishes. That’s amazing. But the true miracle was that there were twelve baskets of leftovers collected that day.

I think it’s possible that all of my baskets are filled with God’s leftovers — and, yet, everything there is infinitely more wonderful than anything I could create or collect or borrow.

And so, I’m beginning to see that I can always be happy — no matter what. For, if one of my baskets is kicked over, God has filled others.

Irony Upon Irony

We discussed a little two-fold irony this morning. You would benefit from knowing the two bases of this wonderment.

First, when my son, Justin, and his wife, Alex, visit us, I always insist that they park their car in our driveway. Things seem to be quiet these days, but several years ago, there were problems all around town with vandals randomly driving a neighborhood and shooting out car windows. Happily, police believe that they’ve apprehended this band of hoodlums. Still, I think it’s a good idea for all cars to be parked away from the street.

Second, I recently bought a vehicle with a back-up camera. When I slide the transmission into reverse, I get the beep-beep-beep of a large truck and a video image jumps to life on my dashboard. While the owner’s manual urges you to check your backward progress via conventional techniques like rear view mirrors and just by turning around, the cameras are seen as a great deterrent to potential accidents when objects or even people have crept into your path.

You know where this is going, don’t you?

This morning, heading out to the bank, I left Nancy, Justin, and Alex inside finishing breakfast. I put my car in gear and ever so slowly began to ease out of the garage. I noticed Justin’s car and even noted that he had done a good job of pulling it far forward and away from the garage. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, I continued to back out. Somewhere in that journey, I noticed my lawn and the lawn of my neighbor and thought, “I really need to mow my lawn.”

It was about that time that my car suddenly quit moving and I could see my son’s car rocking wildly behind me. I got out. Luckily there was no additional damage to either car.

Oh, I did say “additional.” Seems this is the second time I’ve done this. I know that lessons are supposed to be learned from things like this. I suppose I was going for extra credit.

At some point in your life, you just have to give up and let irony rain down on you. For it seems that most irony is a product of our own inattention to what happens around us.

Expected Turns

As I’ve contemplated the closing moments of this year, I’ve tried to imagine what this past 12 months would have been like without friends and family. All in all, it wasn’t such a bad year. Yet how miserable it would have been without people who care around me.

Today I heard a couple of unrelated stories about people who have had to face adversity and who felt they had no one to turn to. What a terrifying existence!

I hope that you will be someone who others can and will turn to. And that you will discover those to whom you can turn. No matter who you are, you truly need hope around every turn.

Take some expected turns in this new year.

Taking Care of Business

Twice this last weekend, I selected a seat in Cullen Auditorium that would give me the greatest vantage point for watching our church children’s musical. For most of the last twenty years, talented, dedicated adults have focused a good portion of their autumn lives on selecting, rehearsing and producing these extravaganzas with our little ones. I applaud them — not with the tongue-in-cheek attitude of “they should be blessed because they’ve had to deal with all those kids.” No, I applaud them because of the incredible ministry they have.

The purpose of the annual event is to allow our children to tell the story of Jesus. And they do that with passion and ability that far surpasses their few years. But another reason for the musical is for these wonderful adults to tell the story of Jesus to these kids through the everyday business of a Christmas program.

During the first matinee, I videotaped the close-up performance of my granddaughter. Sure, there was a larger story — and an official DVD being shot with a wider lens — but my focus was Landrye. I was thrilled to watch her give serious attention to the cues from the directors and to carefully do her part. She really took care of business.

But what brought me to tears, both at the performance and as I sat editing the video that night, was watching her sing, “Tell Me the Story of Jesus.” I don’t know what she may face in her life — what challenges, what opportunities, what sadness, what opportunities. But I know that her song — her request — to hear about Jesus is and will be the most important business she can ever be about.

When she sang, it was if she were singing to me. I just hope that I can take care of business. I pray that, to my dying breath, I can tell her the story of Jesus.

Net Gain of Three

Last Thanksgiving was a banner year. For a number of years, we have hosted some family for the traditional feast. But last year was a big one. Schedules were rearranged that allowed both my wife’s sister’s family and most of her brother’s family to join us. At the end of the day, seventeen folks had been fed, joined in great conversation, and watched a little football. We even got everyone up to the (then) new Jacob’s Dream sculpture on campus.

One of the surprises last year was in the dog category. We have a little mix breed — 12 years old at the time. Our son brought his lab-beagle mix. Our other son brought the miniature poodle. My brother-in-law brought a dachshund and his sister matched with another of the same breed. And our niece added a pit-bull puppy.

Now, you need to understand that Nancy and I aren’t big “dog-in-the-house” people. Our little Snoopy makes it in daily for a few hours of napping in her bed. And occasionally she stays in the utility room on cold nights. And Ben, the miniature poodle, is another exception. He often comes with our granddaughter for play days. He doesn’t fair well outside. Fundamentally, he doesn’t understand the concept of being a dog. So Nancy and I have adjusted.

But last Thanksgiving was a new experience. Lots of people and, whenever the back door opened, lots of dogs were all over the house. Snoopy, the grand dame of the group, stayed in the utility room — away from the pitter-patter of big and little feet.

All in all, we did pretty well until “the incident.” As dogs will do, one of our canine guests left a gift in the dining room. Upon its discovery and the sudden spurt of cleaning action that followed by Nancy and my brother-in-law, dog owners quickly emptied the house and stood in the back yard, talking in low tones and wondering how much trouble they were in.

Well, we got past “the incident” with no lasting carpet stain and no animal sacrifice.

Later in the weekend, I told Nancy she should just explain that next year, the invitation to Thanksgiving didn’t extend to animals. Yet, Nancy didn’t want anything to be a barrier to family attendance on a special day. She said nothing.

Yesterday morning, as guests began to arrive, my hopes fell. The pit bull didn’t come this year, but we added another dachshund and a lab. And to be truthful, there really weren’t any options. All of these good people were traveling over an extended schedule. And, let’s face it, dogs need to be cared for.

On the people side, we lost one non-family guest, but we added my niece, her husband, and her baby boy.

One dog up from last year. Two people. A net gain of three.

What a wonderful day! Our 10% chance of snow “sometime on Friday after Thanksgiving” began to fall about noon on Thanksgiving. By 4 p.m. and the goodbyes to most of the family, several inches of the white stuff clung to branches and grass and the street was slushy.

Dogs were more closely monitored — no incident. Baby was doted over and loved. Family bonded as they told stories and laughed. And I had several precious minutes with my 6 year old Landrye in my arms.

And, after all were gone and additional clean-up accomplished, Nancy and I sat down with our Austin kids, Justin and Alex, ate leftovers, talked and watched videos.

All in all, the day can be judged in a net gain of three. However, the true value for me can’t be measured.