Day 4 - Faith is ...

Day 4

Four participants walked briskly into the circle on Day 4. All four stopped with their second step into the clearing. The cheerleader had been busy. The trees surrounding the clearing were filled with streamers, helium balloons, and sparkled construction paper shapes.

Before the group quite understood what they were seeing, a loud speaker began blaring out some generic rock-driven music. After the drum prelude, just when the bass and lead guitars joined, the cheerleader came bouncing from the shadows, making a fierce tumbling run straight through the middle of the circle, landing on her feet at the very edge, landing solid, with a smile which almost engulf the rest of the circle.

It took almost three minutes for the four to shake loose of this grand entrance and begin moving to their chairs. They shuffled their feet through the three feet of balloons which filled the forest floor. Each one mounted there chair, turned toward the still smiling cheerleader and waited.

The smile on the cheerleader slowly morphed to a full grin, then to a straight line, then to a forceful scowl.

Faith is wonderful.

She reached around the tree she was standing next to and flipped a small, unseen switch. A whirring sound began timidly, and started gaining strength. A small breeze began to stir the balloons and streamers, and began blowing harder. The noise and the breeze stayed linked in their increase until both consumed all around them. A small, unheard click cut both immediately. The four seated participants straightened back in their chairs and looked for the cheerleader.

She was sitting in her chair. All the decorations she had spent so much time on were gone, blown away. All that was left was the clearing, the woods, the chairs, and the participants.

Look around you. The trappings of man have been erased and still look how wonderful this clearing is.

The cheerleader continued with her explanation for the rest of the day. There were times she was calm, sitting in her chair, legs crossed. There were times where she was so excited, it looked as if she might explode. Each argument was skillfully transitioned into the next one, each change in energy level carefully pre-selected.

At the end of the day, she wrapped up her day’s arguments by saying:

Faith is wonderful.

Just look at the parents
holding a new born baby. Just look at the baptism of a wayward teen.
Just look at the joy of the mature faithful. And just look at how a person
of faith approaches their last days on Earth. Look and you will see
that ...

Faith is wonderful.

Silence seeped into the circle as the echoes of her last words drained away. As the last syllable faded, the young girl hopped up and approached the cheerleader. Each in the circle waited to see her reaction. The young girl looked up into the cheerleaders eyes, smiled and kissed her on the cheek, and skipped away.

The rest rose and walked out of the circle.

The cheerleader fought the urge to touch her kissed cheek, then gave in and softly brushed it. It felt warm and soft. She smiled, rose, and left.

Day 3 - Faith is ...

Day 3

As the dawn began to warm the circle, the participants found the professor was already there. He had arrived early and had set up his props.

Where the professor’s chair had been the night before was a rather large white board. In the white board’s tray were an abundance of white board markers of every color you could imagine. Next to the white board was a portable screen, where the professor had lined up a projector that was hooked to his laptop. The screen showed a black background, except for the white letters centered which said Faith is complicated.

For the next 12 hours, the professor audio-video presentation, combining slides, charts, video clips, time/work progression charts along with hours of straight lecture, some accentuated with at least twelve different colors of white-board markers. The four in the audience maintained neutral faces, but seem to stay right with each point the professor drove home.

As the shadows began to engulf the circle, the professor erased the white board, turned off the projector and computer, and faced the four directly.

Faith is complicated.

You are saved by faith, and faith alone. But faith without works is dead.

My faith is different than your faith. Does that mean one of us is wrong?

There is no true right, no true wrong – only a multitude of levels with varying strengths and varying weaknesses.

The obvious fact that supports the complication of faith is tremendous number of
printed words which have been written explaining, exploring, expanding faith.

Faith is complicated.

The professor looked at the imaginary wall where he had expected an imaginary clock to tell him how much time was left in class. He caught himself in this old habit, and quickly sat down.

Twenty minutes passed as each of the four in the audience pondered what they had just heard. The professor just sat with a stone face, but inside he was very happy with his presentation.

Once again, it was the young girl who rose first. She approached the professor, and pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket. She wiped the imaginary sweat from the professor’s brow, re-pocketed the handkerchief, and left the circle. The others followed after a few minutes, the professor last. As he left the circle, he touched his forehead.

Faith is .... - Day 2

Day 2

The hard-faced man once again rose first when they gathered back at the circle the next morning. His bass boomed, completely filling the clearing. He had switched out of the casual clothes he had on yesterday into very rough, very dirty overalls. He feet were shod in muddy work boots.

He raised his glove clad hands to the sky and began his dissertation:

Faith is hard.

You must work hard to have faith. I need but
point to the thousands of monasteries and retreats around this world. If
faith was easy, why would it take so much work?

In order to have
faith, you must work hard. You must study. Not study like you do to
pass a test, but to study as if your soul relied on it – for it
does.

You just pray. You must fast. You must
work. All these you must with a consistency, a fervor, a passion that
shuts all out. Your knees must be bruised. Your stomach must
be taunt. Your hands must be calloused.

The hard-faced man continued his dissertation through the rest of day. He never let up his strong approach. He walked the circle, pounding his fist while making point after point of how hard Faith is. He stopped in front of each individual to make specific points – each individual except the small, girl. He hesitated, and passed her by.

As the last rays of the sun filtered the bark and leaves, he ended by saying:

Faith is hard.

Look in the Bible. Jesus Christ, the Son of
God, cried tears of blood and died a most horrible death. Believer after
believer were tortured and murdered. Most preachers now have
PhDs.

Faith is hard.

With these last words, he returned to his seat and sat down with a thud. He clearly had given all he could give.


The parties remained seated for some time, mulling over what the hard-faced man had said. Finally, it was the little girl who rose and calmly walked over to the hard-faced man. She said nothing, just patted him on the knee and left the circle. The rest soon followed, last in the line, the hard-faced man, whose hard-face contained a slight, quizzical look.

Faith is .... - Day 1

Deep in the forest, four individuals met. Each one was considered very intelligent in their own circles. Each one brought with them their own unique perspectives, backgrounds, and prejudices. And each one had a different answer to the eternal question of What is Faith?

They had agreed to meet in this neutral spot. Each would be allowed an opening statement of one sentence. Then each would be allowed one full day to present their case.


Each found their way to the pre-selected forest clearing. Each sat down in one of the four rough, wooden chairs that had been placed in a circle. None of the four cared about who set the chairs there, or even where they were. They each readied their minds for what they thought would be the debate of the century.

Finally, they looked around and noticed there was a fifth chair, a much smaller chair. As if on the queue by some invisible stage director, a small girl walked into their circle, calmly sat in the last chair, and nodded – as if to say it was now time to start.

A hard-faced man rose first. He stood just under six foot and was dressed in a casual sweat shirt and jeans – but the casual type of clothes that bespoke of money. Any raggedness in his clothing was there when he purchased it. One would expect him to pull out an ironed, silk handkerchief if a piece of pollen landed on his dark sweater.

In a low, rumbling voice, the hard-faced man cleared his thought, paused for a few moments and then issued his one sentence opening statement: Faith is hard, and then he sat down.

To his left sat the proto-typical college professor, complete with bow tie and spectacles. He sat lightly on the chair, his back still and a full three inches away from the back rest. He rose stiffly, and quickly uttered, Faith is complicated. He sat down as stiffly as he rose and kept staring at the center of the circle.

To the professor’s left sat the debutante, cheer-leader, aristocrat. Her clothes had been carefully selected to down play her background, yet they screamed of pampered life. She bounced up, smiled broadly, and in almost a football cheer voice said, Faith is wonderful.

On the cheerleader’s left sat a disheveled old man who looked more at home in an alley looking for food than in a circle discussing the meaning of faith. He didn’t rise, didn’t even twitch, but instead just verbally threw out, Faith is ridiculous.

After a few minutes of silence, the four started to rise, already mentally preparing for the next four days. The young girl rose from her chair and in a calm but very powerful voice said, Faith is simple. This startled the four. Did she really think she was a part of this? The four strode off, trying to ignore this child’s impertinence. Each shook their head at today’s kids. But in the back of each adult’s mind a small seed of doubt began to sprout.

Flashlights - Day 5

Man, am I glad its Saturday. I would have hated to have to go to work today.

“Hey Johnny. You still asleep. Wake up, man, its almost noon.”

Johnny stirred, and then peeked out from under the blanket. He had pulled it completely over his head sometime during the night. I didn’t know if it was to block out the rising sun or the flashlights. I didn’t really care. I had the answer he needed.

“Did you see them Joe?” Johnny asked softly, hopefully.

“See what, Johnny?”

I knew exactly what he was talking about. I knew that I should tell him the truth – that we could then bond closer as brothers and work this all out together. I could see in Johnny’s eyes how desperately he wanted – he needed me to have seen the flashlights. But …

“The lights Joe. The flashlights. Did you see the flashlights?”

I started to blurt out some smart-aleck comment but decided to be straight.

“No Johnny, I didn’t see any flashlights.” Straight with my lie, that is.

Johnny’s face dropped almost completely off his head. He continued laying on the couch, but didn’t move a muscle. The blanket was still up around his neck.

I walked slowly into the kitchen, yelling back “Breakfast?”

I was just pouring the milk on my cereal when I heard the door close – Johnny was gone.

Why hadn’t I told Johnny about the flashlights I had seen? Well, do you remember when I told you about how I handle things I don’t understand?

“So I did what I usually do when I’m faced
with something I don’t understand. I just sat down and waited.
Usually this ends in one of two ways, either what I don’t understand just goes
away, or I get tired of sitting and walk away.”

I did that with the flashlights last night. I just sat down and waited. Funny thing was they didn’t go away, and I never got tired. I just stared and stared at them as they swam around in my head. And I like it.

If I had told Johnny I had seen them, then he would have wanted to talk about them, share our experiences. I didn’t want to share my experience at all. I wanted to keep my experience all to my self.

----
Much, Much Later

If I was a deeper thinker, I might see a real irony in this whole story. I might see that my brother was finally driven crazy after searching for complete nothingness. And I was driven crazy by watching complete fullness -- well as full as 124 flashlights can fill be.

It was nice they put us in the same hospital. Johnny’s over there, asleep, been asleep since right after his visit at my place.
And here I sit, staring out the window, strapped to the wheelchair, waiting for nighttime when my flashlights come back. All 124 of them.

Pictures from Traverse Bay

The stories should start back up tomorrow. Here are some pictures from up here in Traverse Bay. A bit rainy and cold, but its great to be here.

Our loss, Heaven's gain

U.S. Alexander
LOVINGTON — U.S.
Alexander, 81, of Lovington, N.M., loving husband, father and grandfather was called home by his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, on Saturday, Sept. 16, 2006. U.S. was born June 22, 1925, in Munday, Texas, to Ernest E. and Bennie Myrle Alexander. He lived in many communities in West Texas and graduated high school in Morton, Texas, in 1943.

U.S. Alexander proudly served the United States Navy during World War II and in the occupation forces in Japan. Following his honorable discharge in 1946, U.S. began farming in McDonald, N.M., in 1948. He and his brother started and operated one of the first dairies in the state. U.S. married Wanda Jane Moore on June 28, 1957, in the First Methodist Church of Lovington, N.M. He was a very loyal and active member of the church for 58 years. He is survived by his wife, Wanda; four children, Mark of Lovington, Paul and wife Tricia of Fort Worth, Texas, Keith and wife Michele of Austin, Texas, and Lisa Bransom and husband Charlie of Aledo, Texas; and eight grandchildren, Travis, Dustin, Todd, Ryan, Kristin, Alex, Caitlin and Lauren. A sister, Joyce Wilkerson of Fort Worth, Texas, and a brother, Esten of Lovington, also survive him.
U.S. was preceded in death by his parents; his brothers, C.E. and Ben; and sisters, Francile Hawthorne and Ernestine Barnard.

Flashlights - Day 4

Day 4

I’ve been laying in this bed for three hours now. I guess its been three hours. To tell you the truth, I have no clue how long I’ve been laying here.

I’ve just been laying here, watching these flashlights keep popping up. They have to be in my mind, because when I close my eyes, they are still there – they don’t even flicker.

After my initial shock of the first few, I just sat back and became the audience. 124. Yes, I counted them, and they finally stopped at 124.
I’m pretty good at numbers. 144 would have made more sense. It’s a much prettier number. But 124? Let’s see, that 2 times 2 times 31. That doesn’t mean anything to me right now.

I really don’t have much of an imagination. I think Johnny grabbed all that for our family. And that probably saved me from going crazy. The flashlight beams came from all sorts of directions, even from underneath me. I guess since this was all in my mind, gravity didn’t apply.

For a few minutes, I convinced myself I was asleep, dreaming. My knees told me I wasn’t, and I believed them.

I tried grabbing a few of the flashlights as they got close, but they were too fast, darting away as I reached out with my mental hand.

So I did what I usually do when I’m faced with something I don’t understand. I just sat down and waited. Usually this ends in one of two ways, either what I don’t understand just goes away, or I get tired of sitting and walk away.

I wonder how this will end?

Flashlights - Day 3

Day 3

Work was just another day. My mind did wander over to Johnny from time to time, but mainly I just put it aside. On the way home I had some time to think, but decided not to. I figured if Joe was gone when I got home, then the thinking would have been wasted.

“Hello, Johnny.”

“Hello Joe. You didn’t think I’d be here, did you?”

‘I didn’t really know, Johnny. Glad you’re here though.” I knew that was the right thing to say. I knew I was suppose to mean it. Fact is, I just didn’t know if I was glad or not. At least the house looked okay. I was half-expecting all the shades to be drawn and Johnny to be hiding in the basement. That would have been interesting since I don’t have a basement.

The rest of the evening went along with pretty smoothly. Small chit chat filled in some of the silence, supper filled in more of it, and we just let the silence have its own time for certain periods.

Finally, we both settled into the living room, me in my chair, Johnny on the couch.

“Joe, can I talk to you?”

I didn’t state the obvious – that we had been talking, and that he was currently talking, so he didn’t need to ask. I just nodded.

“Do you remember when we were kids and that time I was in the hospital?”

I nodded again. I was starting to have a bad feeling in my knees. I know most people get bad feelings in their guts – I get them in my knees.

“It was a very enlightening time, even if I was entirely in the dark,” continued Johnny. My knees were joined by my head, because I had no clue what he just said.

“Joe, its been 18 years since that time. And I have never really talked to anyone about that time, and what I have learned since. Joe, I need to tell someone all I know. And you are the only one I can tell.”

And then Joe launched into a story that would have stunned the psychologists and philosophers over at the University. He talked about light and darkness. He talked about emptiness and fullness. He talked about right and wrong. And he talked and he talked.

I am not a good listener. But I know how to look like I am a good listener. That’s why I can usually get a date or two from women before they realize that I haven’t heard a thing they have been saying.

And tonight, I really tried to listen. But in reality, after Joe had said “enlightening” and “entirely in the dark” – I just went along for the ride.

Oh there was one section I woke up for, when he wandered over to the sex section of his brain. But even that quickly turned creepy and I zoned back out.

Zoned out, until I could tell he was wrapping up. I could tell he was wrapping up because his voice got louder, his eyes bigger, and his arms waved around.

“Joe, you can’t let too many flashlights get into your head.” And then he laid down on the couch and went right to sleep.

Too many flashlights in your head? What the Hell does that mean?

I didn’t have any idea, but thought Johnny had the right idea of going to sleep and limped over to my bedroom, my knees still warning me of something, but I was too tired to try to understand what it was.

The bed felt fine, the pillow was okay, and I closed my eyes.

No sleep.

I calmed myself down, but still no sleep.

I started to get up to eat a quick bowl of cereal, much better than counting sheep in my book, when the first flashlight arrived.

My knees started screaming their warning, but my head just stared at the flashlight.

It was only a matter of minutes when the second one flashed on.

Crap!

Uncle Bud 1933 - 2006

My Uncle Bud died yesterday, September 6, 2006. He was a great uncle and I will miss him.

The Guiding Lights - Day 2

Day 2

I have one great talent – just one really. I can go to sleep just about anywhere, anytime. But this night was a bit different. I threw an old blanket onto Johnny, grabbed a drink of water, and then hit the ol’ bed. But instead of my eyes closing and sleep grabbing me, I laid there.

“Flashlights?”

Now what was Johnny messing with. After the sleep, (as he calls it), he seemed to be okay. He did the college thing, and seem to have a solid job. He never got married, so he missed getting divorced, but he seemed normal in most areas – until now.

After a long three minutes -- which is very long for me -- I feel asleep.

And now the morning is here and I get to face my brother after ten years – a brother who has a history of psychotic episodes – a brother who showed up muttering about flashlights and then fell asleep on my couch.

“Joe?”

Ah, he’s awake. “In the kitchen, Johnny.”

“Hey Joe. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Johnny. You okay?”

Johnny didn’t answer. He just sat down at the kitchen table and started pouring a bowl of cereal.

“You still like sugar cereal, eh Joe?”

“Its for the kids mainly, Johnny, but yeah, I still like it.” Johnny never ate sugar anything for as long as I can remember. He reached for the Corn Flakes this morning.

More silence.

“Well Johnny, I’ve got to get to work.”

“Okay Joe. See ya’”

“See ya’, Johnny”

I wonder if Johnny will be here when I get back.

Flashlights - Day 1

Day 1

In a dark forest, when you are lost, and the woods are filled with hoots, chirps, growls, and branch-cracking, an isolated beam from a strong flashlight can dramatically improve your mental outlook. But what if 124 beams from 124 strong flashlights popped up, all at the same time, from 124 different directions? Wouldn’t that be just trading one confused/frightened state for another?

Well, that’s how I feel right now. My name is Joe, and just like my name implies, I’m just a regular sort of guy. Late thirties, a bit overweight, every-other weekend Dad, okay job, small house, smaller car. Just a regular Joe.

When I was a kid, I had a brother who was obsessed by darkness. Man, that kid was weird. Yeah, I know, he’s my brother, but I can still say he was weird. He spent all day in the basement -- sleeping I guess. Until one day, BA’AM!, he wouldn’t wake. Mom and Dad got all upset. I guess I was upset too, but not as much as they were.

Well Johnny, my brother, goes to all these doctors. Okay, he didn’t exactly go, since he was asleep, he was taken to all these doctors and they finally put him in the hospital over in the city. He stays awake for like six months, and then BA’AM!, he wakes up.

Years later, Johnny got really hammered one night and told me about the darkness, well, not about the darkness exactly, but more about the waking up. He said it was like being deep in a forest, at night, and seeing a single flashlight way off in the distance. He moved to the dimness, and it came closer to him – closer until he popped out of where ever he was and he was okay.

I was never into that metaphysical stuff like Johnny. I like stuff I can touch and see. Johnny likes to think. Guess that’s why we were never close.

In fact, I hadn’t seen Johnny for, oh, probably over 10 years. Until last night – LATE last night. He comes knocking on my door. Did I say knocking? He was pounding – pounding really loud for 2 AM – pounding with all of his 130 pounds.

“Johnny?” I said. “For God’s sake Johnny. Its two in the morning.”

Okay, I did add a few highlighting-type words that aren’t the kinds of words you can actual share in a story like this. But Hell, it was two in the morning.

“Joe? Can I come in Joe?”

What was I going to say after ten years? So I let him in. And then it really got weird.

“Too many flashlights, Joe. Too many Gosh Darn flashlights.”

That’s how Johnny talked. In fact, “Gosh Darn” was pretty spicy for him.

“I don’t see any flashlights Johnny,” I said, pretending I was looking outside. I wasn’t going to go out at 2 AM looking for some kooks with flashlights.

“Too many, Joe,” and then he goes over to my couch, lays down and goes right to sleep.

“You better not sleep six months this time, Johnny.”

Johnny’s only answer was a snore.

Five Things - Thing 5 - The War

5. Why does the North not remember the War for Southern Independence?

One cannot travel in the South without seeing constant reminders of the great struggle for liberation of the 1860s. Statues of the brave defenders stand in every town square. Cemeteries are reverently maintained. Battlefields are honored. Stories of courage and fortitude are continually told and retold.

In the north? Adds for sanitary napkins and mouthwash.

Why?

It boils down to one key word: shame.

Over these last 140 years, many in the north have come to realize what a dastardly deed their forefathers were a part of. Invasion of a new country that was just struggling to get on its feet? Pathetic. Waging warfare on the civilians? Miserable. Subjugation and plundering for decades following? Pitiful.

Why would the north want to remember such a dark day in their history?

And yet, there are a few subtle reminders held over to try to prevent such horrible acts from happening again. Every time a northern places a $5 bet, they are reminded that when they surrender their freedom to a demagogue, only evil can result. And when a northern throws out a $50 bill to cover the bar bill, well, poetic justice at its loudest. Why was the US tank once called the “Sherman Tank?” Because it only fought against women and children!

So let the North try to forget. We know here in the South, we never will.

Five Things - Thing 4 - Junk

4. At what age does junk become antiques?

One man’s weeds is another man’s flowers.

You might think that this age old adage could be applied to this question. If it did, the words would be: One man’s junk is another man’s antiques. BUT, it doesn’t actually apply.

You see, the dividing line between junk and antiques is how they are marketed.

If the object is left on the side of the road with a sign that says “FREE” or “TRASH”, then its junk.

If the same object is placed on the driveway with a $100 price tag -- antique.

Here are a few more rules to help you discern the difference between junk and antique:

• If its sold by the pound, junk.
• If its broken and you can still get more than $5 for it, antique.
• If the original package has not been opened, antique.
• If its ugly and you buy it anyway, antique.
• If its ugly and your significant other buys it anyway, junk.
• If it’s a tool or has any type of motor on it, its neither junk or antique but a usable, needed object.
• If it can be hooked to a tractor or truck and pulled, antique.
• If it goes in the basement, junk.
• If it goes in the living room, antique.
• If you have to re-stain it, antique.
• If you have to repaint it, and you don’t care what color the paint is, junk.
• If it came from a family member who passed away, antique.
• If it came from someone your dating, antique until you break up, then junk.
• If it says “Made in China” and its not something you eat out of or drink out of, junk.

As a general rule, if the person you buy the object snickers when you turn your back, junk.

Be careful when applying these rules, but they can be useful. Remember, the basic rule is to turn junk into an antique, kick the price you are asking up.