Another Chance

It's a Calgary springtime.  I've been looking at snowflakes out my living room window last couple of days.  I remember my trucking years (Funny how this retired preacher has only road dreams during this stay-at-home Covid-19 time!).  The following was written a number of years ago.  I've left the date intact for my readers of the scholarly persuasion!  Something quite applicable here for my life, for anybody's life.  I still get a lump in my throat five years down the pike.  😔

 December 18, 2015

GRATITUDE

He jumps out of his truck

Big strong arms encircle my back.

He presses with gratitude, the hug full of emotion.

With a tear in his weary face, he jumps back into driver’s seat.

“Thank you so very much.  I’m so outa here,”

and his truck beats a hasty exit out the yard.

In slow motion I get the picture.

His truck got frozen into place in the cold overnight temperature,

even as mine had in my corner of this yard.

Only he did more fighting with circumstance, more spinning of wheels

thus digging a hole which held him even when brakes finally released.

Other truckers had refused to pull him – why?

Maybe because he was black; maybe because he was agitated;

maybe because he had no tow hooks, and as I told him

“If I pull you there is a possibility of me damaging your truck."

He was in trouble, and desperate.

I could not resist his plea for a pull, please.

With my truck carefully in place, tow hooks installed, and tow rope carefully attached,

A few smart tugs, and he is free of the holes, truck sitting high and ready.

An air of celebration erupts as bystanders appreciate my risk

and a bumper that did not tear apart!

He was free of his trouble – at least for now.

I sympathize with his lack of experience.

I rejoice with his good fortune to have met a trucker like me!

And then a familiar scripture comes to mind,

So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall. 1 Corinthians 10:12

Lest I become too exhilarated or self-righteous, another picture comes to mind.  Only the day before, way back up the mountain on the other side of the Snoqualmie Pass, on the other side of the snow and the ice, just after I had successfully mounted tire chains, I avoided stopping to help a distraught overweight inexperienced trucker who obviously was unable to get the job done.  He was going nowhere with his half-mounted chains.  I looked the other way.   I had to get going because I had already wasted too much time on mine!

Maybe God gave me an opportunity to make up for something I didn’t do yesterday. Thank you Lord.

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.