Can't Marry a Hillbilly

“I just could not stick around any longer and risk one of my daughters marrying a hillbilly”.  This one sentence is inscribed into my brain and will be there for the rest of my life.  It was one of those vacation conversations – seemingly one must travel to a vacation getaway to actually sit down and visit with one’s hometown neighbors these days!

Our friend was telling us about a most significant career move they had made a number of years ago.  They took on a voluntary service term coordinating housing reconstruction among poor people of the Appalachians in Kentucky.  Enthused and a very enjoyable story, his face literally glowed as he told of that Mennonite Central Committee assignment.  It was full of description and empathy for miners whose lives were literally controlled by ‘big coal’.  I was especially intrigued having recently read John Grisham’s, Gray Mountain (Doubleday, 2014).  Among stories of black lung and deplorable housing and family conditions I noticed also some kind of a reservation - I can sense these things sometimes. After a bit I asked him about it.  He answered forthrightly.  Yes, the work had been very satisfying for him and his family, but eventually he determined they must ‘get out of there’. “Why?” I asked. “The risk was too great that one of our daughters might fall in love and marry a hillbilly”.  Yes, he said it exactly like that!  And although his wife was sitting at same table and had prepared the delicious meal, I am not certain whether or not she had participated in that decision!

I was touched by this friend’s resolve to provide the right atmosphere for the nurture and care of his family.  At the same time his protectiveness gave me pause. I would be interested to have a conversation with his daughters to hear how they experienced this ‘care’.  Did they experience this as overt control?  Or did they appreciate the care and concern of their loving dad?  And also, what influence did their mother have in these family impacting decisions?  One of my brothers and his wife are also fully involved in high risk ministry in a poor neighborhood in Colorado Springs, CO. For them it is a lifetime commitment, and before their decision to become thusly immersed they together gave this attention.  They decided they would not have children.  In my mind that was a good decision, especially given their penchant for radical advocacy and 'bannering' peace messages against the military in that militaristic city.

Almost this could become a philosophical treatise because it now begs the next question.  What is the role of a Christian in today’s society, or as Francis Schaeffer once wrote, How Should we then Live? (Revell, 1976). Of what priority is the safety and well being of our children?  Is it appropriate to put them at risk for the sake of the Gospel of Jesus Christ?  Is it a real risk or merely parental fearfulness?  I once participated in a seminary Study Group on almost this very topic,"Celibacy and the Priesthood." Catholics and Protestants have much to learn from each other on that.  Perhaps I shall write a little more about that some time. Stay tuned!

 

How should my wife and I have lived?  After twenty-some years in pastoral ministry and then twenty years trucking after my burnout, we still think about that as we are now well into retirement.  Although our children, all four of them adults by now, employed and relatively stable, we wonder about next chapter of our life and impact it will have on them.   Our eldest with his family in Ontario, youngest in Winnipeg, and two daughters here in Calgary, we think about short term ministry assignments, about our education (yup), and even a possible return to the work force (Our pension profile not as well padded as many of our friends).  We cannot ignore that our next years will seriously impact two of our daughters who have not yet gained their complete independence from us.  By moving out of town are we abdicating our responsibility as parents, or are we finally providing opportunity for them to fend for themselves?  We also do not believe it a good idea to move around following your kids.  The answer may seem obvious to the casual advice-giver or gossiper, but it is not obvious to us.   

We wonder have we adequately provided those learning opportunities that might have avoided the co dependence we are in now?  I may be slightly critical of my friend’s careful control of his children’s environment, but also envious of his helpfulness in guiding the formative years of his children (and as revealed in further conversation, now also providing employment and career opportunities).  His talk intrigues me, even along with some reservation.  We are two Christian families.  Indeed we live our lives quite differently.  

Our respective children do not know each other.  My impression is they may have little in common.  If they were to compare notes, who might claim to have received the better deal?   I think our kids would say they did.  Verna and I believe in our children and that they will make decisions that are right for them.  We have not attempted to guide life partner decisions (One is married, one in a committed relationship, and two single).  We have had many discussions about education and what's priority here and there, along with our encouragement to them to make decisions that seem right, along with our trust that God will guide them if they ask, AND our love is unconditional.  Sounds nice and loving, yes.  But quite task oriented also, especially from this workaholic!

 

It is not fair to evaluate these Christian friends or us according to these incomplete criteria.  Nonetheless this recent conversation gives pause. I have many good friends who probably think more like me than my good businessman volunteer friend.  

As many of you know, I have resolved to write stridently and occasionally controversially if need be in these retirement years.  Nothing strident here this time, just kind of thoughtful on said subject.  I must, however, posit an additional query or perhaps seed of an idea perhaps more academic than practical (my dad called me a nehsheah - kind of nosey kid!).  Family Systems is a theory of counseling which was considered in some of my practicum pastoral training.  As the world repopulates at this time, even our individualistic North American culture is meeting systems so much different.  Even doctors, lawyers, business managers, politicians - immigrants both educated or uneducated, may well be within arranged marriages.  Their children are growing up among the hormones and fads of our children.  So my closing query:  How different is our concern about who our children marry than those parents from other cultures who just go ahead and make that selection for them?

Verbiage

I am tired of words. Like my trucker friend Nikolai once said after an episode of our boss trying to explain his paycheque to him, “Vords vords, dey explain nothing.  Da more he talk da more I don't know”.  Well I tend to agree with him, and this came to mind shortly after my mother died and my wife and I were privileged to be on a cruise (previously planned).  After several days 'at sea' at end of one grueling social day I came up with this, as typed out on my trusty laptop.  

"Today I have heard endless words duplicated, triplicated and then repeated complete with rabbit trails off in obtuse directions chosen by whoever has mouth open!  I have heard deciphering of schedules, evaluating of staff attitudes, comparisons of this cruise with previous cruises, gossip about fellow church members, health and death of family members, grandchildren's problems in school, possibility of us being relatives as per recent DNA swab, etc, etc, etc.  New friends we meet are treated to portions of stories and/or conversations just completed, and of course I am obliged to listen to those reworkings of the recent history.  Words, words, words."

I do not know why I get so weary of verbiage.  My wife tells me, at least when we are in argumentative mode, that I easily contribute more than my share to this surplus.  Furthermore, a new friend of mine (He does not know me very well!) recently dubbed me as an extrovert - without even consulting with me on said touchy diagnostic!  And, and also I realize our Bible gives a very positive angle on words, eg “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). The very presence of the written Word requires words, first in oral tradition, then early text written in Hebrew, then Aramaic, Greek, and...?  (Enter here a few paragraphs by some scholars I can think of). Words are important in communication, but dammit, words that are a mere expression of restlessness are a vexation to the flesh!

As indicated above, this incident of verbal overload happened shortly after my mom had died.  It also reminds me of the viewing at the funeral home the evening before mom's funeral.  A number of my siblings came to visitation.  Several of them chose not to come - something that still irritates me.  I find their callousness very hard to understand or even tolerate, but I digress.  Standing by the casket, I squirmed with discomfort as several of my siblings indulged their hearty personas to the extent of noisy greetings, hearty hugs, handshakes and even hearty laughs with all who appeared.  Me, I just cried and wanted to cry more, and when that urge went away, I just wanted quiet.   So, choosing a front pew I did just that - sit and think.  Lo and behold, as tho a validation from Above, I gained the comforting presence of my youngest son.  With a little smile he sat down beside me.  I gave his knee a gentle squeeze.  So very nice, he knew my unspoken thoughts.  How can anybody keep yapping when your mother is laying before you in the casket?  I found that noisy verbiage almost as offensive as those of my siblings who did not show up.

So this is perhaps a bit too personal for a blog.   However, I share it here in hope that whoever reads it may understand and respect.  Blog posts in my mind represent a dignified way of expressing thoughts or insights.  Yes? No?   At any rate I am more comfortable posting this here than submitting to Facebook likes or dislikes!  As written elsewhere, my venture back into the trucking world after years of public profile is also a factor.  Privacy eventually became important for this public person - hence my two million miles as a single operator rather than a team driver.  And of course in this particular example there is grief.  I loved my mom so dearly that I did not like her spirit to be sported with.  

  

It is important to be hospitable of spirit. People cruise for many reasons (some because they  have too much money!), and everybody has a unique way of processing and communicating personal needs and agenda.  And the very fact that I was an anonymous passenger on that cruise ship also helped to subside the grief a bit. We are indeed social beings.  We do need one another.  No Man is an Island, said Thomas Merton in the book of that title in 1955.  And of course so says my Bible,  Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. Hebrews 13:2, and also Be kind to one another, tenderhearted forgiving ... as God in Christ has forgiven you.  Ephesians 4:32.

So, patience in the noise, yes.  And hospitality of spirit, yes.  But even so, back to my friend Nikolai,  "Vords, vords."  If you got nothing to say, it's best to just be quiet.  

British Bulldog

August 14, 2018

I had not thought this could happen inside my circle of friends and acquaintances.  In my recently retired trucking world it might have, but not here in my community!  I believe I am observing racism – out and out racism, not just a bit of prejudice.  And this not in the deep southern U.S. nor in a school playground somewhere, but right before my eyes among senior citizens in our city of Calgary!  It happens regularly three days a week in the locker room of one of our local swimming pools. 

Last fall I began deep water acquasize classes together with a friend of mine.  Our reason was camaraderie, he recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s and I in need of some routine morning discipline after retirement from my latest occupation.  The acquasize is excellent.  We do it together and we know we both benefit from the discipline three mornings a week. We need each other.

First day in the locker room I also met a little guy, with a scar from his yin yang down there all the way up to his throat, compliments of open-heart surgery some years back.  Kind of friendly, he engages in early small talk – weather, snow on the roof, water temp irregularities, etc.  The acquasize circle kind of waxes and wanes depending on holiday and snowbird wants and wishes.  After all, I am among respectable mostly well-heeled citizens.  Conversation is usually subdued, primary topic with several of us being to double check on commitment to stop at Tim Hortons on the way home. That’s where our freshly exercised fellowship really takes off!

Well, there is one other guy, big belly, clippy English accent, always late, and always haughty.  He will not look at me, and he will not talk to me!  I hear him make brief comments to the little guy and a few others, and then in the pool a group of ladies and a couple of men, also English accents – jokes, smiles, etc.  No attention to the instructor when they get going.  I know now that he is not deaf mute; he just has a well defined circle – or is it a harem?  

I have no need or desire to join that circle.  However, being a relational person I believe in the casual courtesies of hello, good bye, etc.  Double check with my friend Peter; he confirms no conversation also not yet with Mr. Proud.  Then another guy, a Scandinavian, shares he has yet to receive a hello from same.

One day a classroom of elementary students come in, most of them dark skinned, and a cheery articulate dark-skinned teacher supervising locker room instructions to the little boys as teachers are wont to.  Scowl from Mr. English!  A few days later another group of kids. This time a smile!  Kids all around, he almost looks cheery. The reason for persona turnabout?  These kids are white, and this time the teacher is a young Englishman.  A bit of further research confirms my growing suspicion. They are from one of Calgary’s elite private schools!

Then it strikes me; all my conversations to date have been with the Khams and the Jens and the Chows and John and Peter  – probably Dutch or German or Chinese or Mennonite or ...?   Mr Haughty speaks not to any of these - only to those he deems worthy.  Mr Little Guy qualifies kind of, probably because they recognize same accent from same town in the UK, so the occasional grunt is warranted.

Our daughter has a best friend, also English, and they attended the High School next door to this swimming pool.  From the stories I heard, Laura pushed against the edges of her parents’ and her grandmother's comfort zone and became best buds with this interesting good looking Metis girl who had been adopted by Mennonite parents.  By now, twenty-five years later, their friendship has weathered the social mores, the class wars, the wedding of one of them (maid of honour the other one), education, careers and the birth of Laura’s two children. Those two kids love their mom and their dad (also adopted in an interesting family situation) and Auntie Adrianne.  As the minister who officiated at their wedding, I delight to observe the possibilities when friendships blossom even through stereotypical fences.  Friendships can do amazing things.  This is how I grew up; this is the way my children have grown up.  We relate with people no matter who or where from.  Galatians 3:28 says it clearly,  There is no longer Jew or Greek, no longer slave or free, ... male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus (NRSV). This was practiced, even if not much preached in our home.  And I suppose this explains my indignation at this prude.

Very likely this man is stuck in the colonial mindset.  Maybe his bride is dead by now, or possibly PTSD or some war time trauma?  Maybe he thinks we are all Nazis.  Or maybe he just never learned that this country of Canada has room for more than our Commonwealth of Nations.  His day is coming.  He will soon die and the one who takes his place in this neighbourhood will likely not be from that English village, and may well be from Jordan, or Syria, or Russia, or maybe Baltimore, MD.  British exclusivity is over!

Accident

Many years ago, for a considerable portion of time, I was a long haul trucker.  Now in my retirement I am trying to give some attention to reading, re-reading, editing and organizing a whole bunch of incidents, thoughts, and stories I wrote during those wide open highway years.  I happened upon this one, amazingly similar in theme to the last blog I posted but a week ago (The Need to Die, April 23, 2020).  Written seventeen years ago, and a totally different occasion, it seems to me my thinker still processes things in a similar way. Similar theme, yes?

July 1, 2003

                                                   ACCIDENT

  

There are occasions that absolutely demand I pull laptop off the top shelf and use it to full convenience - like right now.  Trucking mostly means go go, keep that load-a-moving, no time for creative writing!  Now I have time!  Here I sit in a humongous highway back-up - apparently an accident up ahead.

What to do when you can't go!  I suppose I could pull the Bible out, but that would mean I’d need to give it some attention. Okay I'll just confess the commoners reason for lack of Bible reading. So often when I have a few minutes to read or write the beginning impetus is a magazine or newspaper which grabs your attention, or an idea percolating in your head which just must be written down right now; i.e. the momentary stimulus must be grabbed or at least recorded.  Seemingly that’s more important than starting with a blank mind which might be available for whatever the Bible might offer.  At any rate oft-times there is a reason why it simply is more important or opportune to do something else!  To whit this occasion.  Sorry Bible; I’ll read you tonight.

Now to the accident, the reason for my sitting here.  The CB rumor mill says 4 or 5 hours wait, a five car pile-up and apparently two dead.  This is grim information.  Fascinating though, the conversations start and then on and on about who or what type of idiot weekend driver probably caused it, how long it’s going to take, and whether or not there is parking space at a truck stop which just happens to be in proximity, just beyond the accident scene.  The thoughts about lives ended and likely personal trauma are not talked about (although each person in this line-up probably has some private thoughts about this).  We are a people of deflection.  Many times we talk about that which is superfluous.  Why is this the case, when in actual fact many of us would probably be relieved to enter into conversation about LIFE even with a stranger?

As the weekend travelers spill out of vehicles to stretch, chat, smoke or eat it must be noted that suddenly we are all people - big, little, fat, fit, pretty or ugly.  Suddenly we are all together standing at the roadside, rather than competing vehicles hurtling down the highway – very likely the cause of the accident which has brought about this occasion.

Without bringing this to any profound (or otherwise!) conclusion, I simply end this by noting; maybe we should think more respectfully at all times of the inhabitants of the thousands of vehicles we meet.  Then maybe, just maybe we would have fewer accidents.  I think it’s time to go read my Bible!