A Dozen Years

Twelve years ago I was an entry-level receptionist, glad to not be a bank teller any more.  I smiled greetings at faces and cheerily answered the phone.  In our "starter" home, Corey and I had just marked our first anniversary.  Although we hadn't figured it yet, our oldest child was due to make an appearance in eight long months.  Life was sunny, easy and filled-to-bursting with promise.

Midway through an bright September morning, planes began to rip through buildings some 600 miles away, and we felt the rattles in our little Midwestern office.  I spent my lunch hour standing in our living room [I can't recall if we actually owned furniture at that point; surely we did, because our house seemed always filled with people] staring at the television. "This is the beginning of an end," I thought as that horrific video footage was endlessly repeated. "Life will never be the same."

That evening, I didn't want to leave the house, but my husband had band practice [he would like me to point out that it was a rock band, not a marching band] planned in a town 45 minutes distant and I wasn't going to stay home alone. I recall driving past gas stations with lines of cars waiting to pay $4 per gallon for fuel.  The day before it had cost around $1.60 per gallon.  What did they know that I didn't? Should we fill up now? Would there be stations open later? 

We were scared. 

We believed everything and nothing. 

We were young. 

We were all so very young.

It has been twelve years; an even dozen chunks of a dozen months of a thousand changes.

Our clumsy cell phones have given way to smart devices - tiny computers faster than the one I used as a bubbly receptionist.  Mine sports a calendar filled with soccer schedules and field trip reminders instead of jam sessions and concert dates.  Our house is still always filled with people, but now we have couches and chairs. We need at least a minivan when no one wants to stay at home alone.

Gasoline is still nearly $4 a gallon, and no one seems appalled by that. I think maybe we should be appalled that we're still using fossil fuels. Shouldn't we have found something else to exploit from the earth another form of energy by now?

No one thinks anything of opening your purse for strangers to rummage through when you're trying to enter a stadium. 

No one expects to say goodbye at the boarding gate.

No one sends their loved ones away with a guarantee that they'll be home in one piece at the end of the day.

No one really knows how to bring about an end to the strife that shreds humanity.

I feel old.

This world feels old.

This world feels groaning old.

Really, life is the same as it always has been.

We humans have long excelled at injustice and hatred. A violent way of life is not a new way of life; we have always wrestled among ourselves in this world.  Scour the pages of history and tell me of one civilization that endured in lasting peace. There is no holy nation upon this earth.

But.

Even in the face of injustice, there are some who do what is right.  For every violent news story I read, I can find gentle soul living in everyday kindness. There are still hearts filled with love, even in the face of hatred. I believe that in the darkest places on earth one can yet find hopeful glimmers of goodness.  Maybe the hatred is bigger than it was twelve years ago, maybe it screams louder.  Or, maybe we pay it more attention than we did before.

The world after September 11, 2001 is broken; but the world was broken long before that bright cloudless morning in Manhattan.
Now, as before, there is hope, but it is not found in the regimes of the nations. This hope soars beyond boarders, and unites our hearts in a stronger bond than mere patriotism. 

For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city. [Hebrews 11:14b-16, ESV]

It is true that in the last dozen years I have become less patriotic, less trusting of the world's leaders.  I simply do not think that {collectively} people are good enough to solve the problems that {collectively} they create. But I have great aspirations for individuals.  One person at a time; that is how change is most effectively wrought.

I cannot transform the world, I can only be one seeking justice, loving mercy and walking in humility, shining as best I can on this dark and broken planet. Hoping. Trusting in Something better.

A Man Worth Knowing

Yesterday we said a final goodbye to my Grand Poppy,  Harry A. Stout.  I just cried a little more typing those words, and I am tired of crying. But some people are worth crying over. Some people deserve a fuss being made over them.  Grand Poppy certainly deserved it, but he may not have liked it.

In my memory, Harry A. Stout was a good man, an honest man, a humble man. He did not talk much about his childhood with me, and yet he was a wonderfully child-like grandfather, always willing to go for a walk or play a game of cards.  He could nearly always be talked into a bowl of ice cream.  He didn't seem to care what name we gave him, and he answered to all of them: Grandpa Harry, Bobby, Grand Daddy and Poppy.  Maybe names weren't such a big deal to him, as I often heard him say "There's my girl!" when someone new walked in the room. I usually had to look to see if he was talking about my dearest Grandmother, Piki, or one of his daughters,
 or one of us granddaughters or one of his dogs.  He loved all of his girls, and he made each of us feel like his favorite, his special girl.  I wish my daughters could have known him better.



But why do we wait until someone is gone to say nice things about them? I said "I love you" each time I saw him, but never told Grand Poppy how much I appreciated his humility, or his generosity, or his ability to pretend that our hands were glued together. I hope that someone expressed to him in words what I left unsaid.

Today I will begin saying the nice things that others need to hear.  I will tell people that they are wonderful, that they can do great things. I will pretend with my children, and I will tell them family stories until they can recite them back to me, until they are sick of hearing them, until they know the good people that have come before them.  Today I will speak my love and admiration.

And I will have a dish of ice cream topped with a few salty tears.

Discoveries

"Look! Look!"
She ran into the kitchen, silken hair in disarray, nose running faster than her little feet, eyes bright with enthusiasm.  She had news to tell her older sister.  She settled for telling Mommy.
"There's Pink in the Sky!  C'mere!"
I couldn't resist following.
"There. Pink. And Purple. And Yellow. And White."

[There was no white, but it is one of her three favorite colors, so she had to find it.]

I don't remember when I discovered the glory of a setting sun, but I hope I never forget when she did.

I tried hard to photograph this moment, fiddling with my aperture and ISO settings as best as I could. [Can anyone tell I've been reading my manual?] 
I need some help, camera-wise.  A new {unbroken} lens would be a good first step.
But really.
This fuzzy shot is a good enough reminder, it will jog my memory when I'm a dear old wrinkled lady and my little discoverer is a mommy herself. 
It would be nice to take perfect pictures, but for now I'll settle with focusing my heart (if not always my camera) on the subject matter. 
I am on the lookout, maybe I'll find my own "Pink in the Sky."  Something tells me it is all about looking in the right direction.

Wow. I sound like someone in one of those 30-Second Self-Help spots on the radio.  A little cheesy and trite.  Oh well.  We all get to have a sappy day here and there.  I hope I run across this post sometime when I'm about to yell at those little discoveries.