THE JOURNEY

WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR ?

Part One

My 70th birthday was yesterday and I was leaving home...5:00 AM, heading south and badly in need of something to keep my mind alert. A hot drink helped, as did listening to an audio book. Four hours later I met a friend, parked my pickup at a cousin’s house and rode with my friend another eight hours to our destination in Sacramento. It was not the relaxing drive I had expected with my friend. From Medford south we were buffeted by high winds, then rain, and finally huge fluffy snowflakes. Close to Mt. Shasta there were highway signs telling us that chains were required. Apparently my friend did not notice, because everything was blanketed in snow and we did not stop. Christmas in April was surreal and scarey. In Sacramento nerves were tense and we both looked forward to relaxing at a book store with a drink and sandwich in hand. Not to be...bookstore closed up 15 minutes after we got there. Starbucks was still open, however.

The motel was inexpensive and our beds quite comfortable. But, always the thoughtful one, my friend treated me to a concert that lasted all night. Apparently he was so relaxed that his air passages kept opening and closing, following directions from a musical score that had never been played at the Arlene Schnizter concert hall in Portland! But what are friends for, if not to drive us nuts, arrive at book stores too late to find just the right book to peruse, and then entertain our sleeping hours with rare musical compositions?

It Ain't Over Until the Obese Gentleman Stings (that would be me)

WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR ?

Part Two

Our time in Sacramento passed all too quickly, and soon my friend was driving us back north to home and waiting arms. When we got to Lake Shasta, the sun was shining and the scenery deliriously beautiful...or should I have said deliciously? Anyway, I was frantically snapping photos of trees, lake, mountain and fluffy clouds, when we suddenly pulled into a rest stop. My friend pointed out a particularly nice view of the lake and invited me to take aim and fire my camera at will. “How thoughtful,” I thought mistakenly.

On wobbly legs I got out and went over to a barrier that had been erected to prevent stupid people from a misstep and sliding down the rocky slope to a fence that had built to keep even more stupid people from falling the rest of the way into the lake. The fence was messing up a perfectly good picture. I looked at the barrier, a railing set atop a series of posts. The railing was wider than a railroad track, and it shouldn’t be that difficult to step up and balance myself on it for that perfect shot. I looked at my friend and raised my eyebrows in question. He raised his eyebrows in answer, and I knew he was thinking that it was up to me, but “don’t be stupid!” I stopped thinking and therefore can’t be held responsible for stupidity.

I forgot that I was 70, that my legs were wobbly from inactivity, that I was encumbered with a camera in hand, and that my friend was ten feet away from being where he could catch me if something went wrong. I went for it with gusto and in slow motion, as I gracefully toppled over the rail and planted my arms and legs firmly on to the rocks and gravel. They gently cushioned my fall, and caressed my skin so unexpectedly that I bled everywhere in the thrill of the moment.

In unison, two voices asked if I was all right. My friend and another tourist blended a note of concern with amusement that is hard to describe. “No, I’m not all right!” I snapped, “but there are no broken bones.” I smiled my warmest smile with the carefree abandon of having done just what I had planned, which was to treat my fans with an impromptu show, worth a thousand pictures!

The rest of the ride home was not boring at all. My friend treated me to a description of how I had entertained him with anxiety, dilemma, entertainment, and fear. He took me on an unscheduled tour of Ashland, and we spoke of how we would liked to have spent our time there if it was summer. In my mind I wasn’t feeling very smart, but my limbs were yelling about how smart they felt. Actually, time went fairly quickly and we arrived at the cousins’ place where my pickup waited. And they had coffee and cherry pie waiting for me.

I waved goodbye to my friend, and then spent the rest of the drive home reflecting on how good he had been to me. He could have saved me from the embarrassing fall, but the effort would have broken the rules of true friendship. So he took the risk, and allowed me to take mine. As I look back, I recognize many ways in which he did his best to make that trip enjoyable and safe for both of us. I wonder how many times he did things differently than if he were alone and had been free to do just what he wanted. But I know that friendship is one of the most important gifts our Creator has given us. How grateful I am for this particular friend!

It’s Hard To Be Loved!

Sunday afternoon, Faye knocked my socks off, by giving me a surprise 70th birthday party.
Do you remember the feeling of being pleased as punch, and embarrassed as the red-faced monkey all at the same time?  It’s like, “Yeah, bring it on!” and “Where is a hole I can crawl in to hide?”  There were the usual congratulations and comments like, “You don’t look a day over 69 and a half,” etc.  There was laughter, memories shared, and a meal with cake and punch.  Warm comraderie was all around, and a feeling of gratitude for such good friends and family.  Then came the moment of blowing out candles and reading cards and written comments.

All of a sudden things changed.  Somewhere in the midst of reading (out loud) the sentiments expressed...sort of like being at one’s own funeral, where everyone seems to have forgotten anything negative about the deceased, and just remember what a great guy he was. Well, that is what it felt like was happening to me.  Except that in the midst of everything, I began to believe what they had written.  And I felt this overwhelming bombardment of genuine love that my natural self wanted to reject as just being a figment of my egocentric imagination.  But the “Presence” was too powerful to ignore.  And at that moment in time I accepted their gift and almost lost the ability to “carry on.”

Like many of you, I have been the recipient of well-intentioned friends who fear that, when I give evidence of lacking self-esteem, I need emotional support, bolstering up, reassurance that I am a worthy person, etc.  And there are times when we all need affirmation.  But, what became clear to me yesterday, was that I did not deserve the kind of love that was being offered then, or countless other times.  And neither do you!  It is love undeserved, unearned, unmerited, unanything.  It is just comes from a heart that doesn’t have the capacity to hoard all the love it contains, and so just lets it spill over on to whomever gets in the way.

People sometimes use words like “grace,” “mercy,” “compassion,” or “unmerited favor” to describe this love.  And then there are those who like to bandy about a word that they don’t understand themselves...”agape” love.  “Oh, I get it,” you may say.  “You’re talking about God’s love.”  Well, yes and no.  For one thing, many of us are comfortable thinking that we don’t deserve God’s love, but God loves us unconditionally and so it must be all right.  Of course, even that can be a challenge to accept sometimes.

But yes, I am saying that we don’t even deserve one another’s love.  We have all misused, abused, and misunderstood the love shown to us by others...even those closest to us.  And, as an old song goes, “You always hurt the one you love, the one you shouldn’t hurt at all...”  It is part of our impaired humanity.  The fact that we are loved by anyone, or that we love anyone is a miracle, whether we realize it or not.  True love does not spring spontaneously from within us.  It is given to us, to receive and be healed, and to pass on for the healing of others.  If we earned it, or deserved it, where is the gift?  And what reason for gratitude?

The problem is our ego and pride.  We may not all admit it, but I believe that we all think we deserve to be loved.  Look at how much good we have done, and how careful we are to not hurt people nor bruise their feelings.  We were born to be loved!  And there’s some truth to that, but it doesn’t take long for a sweet innocent baby to reach the “terrible twos,” or is it the “terrible threes?”  It takes a very patient adult or sibling to not get upset with that adorable child!  Yet, love still exists.  Can you explain it?

Yesterday, my defenses were breached and I believed that I was truly loved by everyone there. I hope they know that what ever facade I may show, through years of habit, it is only a facade.  The weird part of this scenario is that I have realized for some time now that I love them.  What kind of insidious pride is it to love people, but find it hard to accept that they love me?  You know...none of us are worthy of this thing called love.  It is a gift from our Creator and Redeemer, whether it is experienced directly, or through another human being.  It is humbling, but we need to be humbled once-in-awhile!

Another old song says, “Humble me so I can do your will...”  The most effective way to humble someone is not through humiliation but love.  That is why it is so hard to be loved.  It hurts.  But deep down inside, it is the one thing that we crave most.

Accepting Yours, Wondermutt

The Next Day - Sunday Morning Wonderings

Dreams will always be a mystery to me.  Sometimes I am able to fly, and in the dream I'm conscious of that ability and make that choice...sometimes to escape danger, sometimes for the pure joy. Then there are dreams that are more reflective of who I am.....completely nuts!  For instance, last night I dreamed I was both a patient and a doctor (an OB/GYN doctor)!  As a patient I was about ready to go home when a 98 year-old woman came into the Emergency Room, ready to deliver a baby.  We were short-staffed and so I was asked to do the delivery.  Panic time!  I couldn't remember anything I had learned in medical school, or in practice.  So, the rest of the dream involved finding a way to save face and leave hospital.

Come to think of it, a number of dreams have involved my threatened self-esteem.  More than once (in dreamland) I have stood at the pulpit dressed in less than adequate attire, or completely unprepared to deliver a sermon.  Thankfully, not all dreams involve fear or some other unpleasant emotion.  There are those that are just wild and like parts of 15 jigsaw puzzles thrown together.

Perhaps dreams are just reflections of how we do life.  Often there is an underlying fear that sits on our shoulder most of the day, but we have learned to ignore it on the conscious level.  However, the fear is always there looking for an opening to express itself.  As for the mix-up of different puzzle pieces...perhaps that is sitting on the other shoulder, waiting for us to express our creativity.  We can take pieces of our life experiences and observations, learning and questioning to make something unique and beautiful.

I play the piano for my own amusement, and to Faye's bemusement. Often, as I play without music, I will start on one song and end up having played parts of three or four melodies.  It drives her nuts.  She will be humming along, or singing the words of a hymn with me, when suddenly she discovers she is not singing to the melody I am playing.

The piano playing I can correct by just being more conscious of what or how I want the music to flow.  And being creative is a wonderful gift we all have from our Creator.  We might not always be aware of what it is, however.  As for the fear that sits on our shoulder...the only way that I have found for that to disappear beyond the unconscious level is to hand it over to our Creator and trust in God's capable and unfailing love.  It really does work.  When I have asked for His presence in my night time rest, I have never had a bad or stressful dream.  Works during the day as well...though I do need to be more intentionally conscious of God's presence while awake.

Sweet dreams to you all from a nutty Wondermutt

Thursday Morning Musings

Mondays and Tuesdays I volunteer at the hospital where I worked before retirement.  This week a friend stopped by to ask me for help in locating a hymn which had been playing and replaying in his head all night, and now this morning as well.  He sang a little bit of the song, and sometime after he left I found the hymn in the book he was looking for.  The thing is that two days later, the hymn is still chasing around in my head.  And it brightens every corner it rounds, lightens every place it rests, and lingers long after it resumes it quest for expression.

Thank you, John, for asking my help.  Because you not only gave me a sense of value, but you left a memory and a light source that has healing in it.  You are a valued friend.

None of us realize how effectively warmth and lightness can reflect from our expression and words, or be just as easily absorbed and swallowed up as we are in ourselves.  One of the books that I have been reading lately is by Robert Fulghum.  He always seems to leave me thoughtfully light-hearted, and aware of the great potential for good that is in everyone of us.

Break time...............

One of my favorite birds is the seagull.  Raucously social, yet every bird is looking out for him/herself.  I didn't say that everything is admirable about seagulls, but there is a beauty in their flight, in their solitary posture as they view the world beneath them.  Who could help wishing they had the same absolute confidence, that everything is going to be all right, as the gull who rides up the crest of a wave that appears about to engulf it and then disappears in the depths of the following trough?  Have you ever watched a seagull marching along the shoreline, picking up just about every object that isn't sand to examine it for what only God knows?

Seagulls are into life and everything about life.  Nothing escapes their attention.  They either eat an object, pick it up and discard it, or fight over it until something else is spotted.  But, I don't see them going to war.  And what to me sounds like mournful cries, or cursing, could be beyond belief in its creativity, beauty, harmony, and meaning to those have the gift of understanding.  For me, a seagull expresses the wild freedom of life that harmonizes with the environment that gives it life.