It all started at 4am in an otherwise empty convenience store with my cheerier-than-usual “good morning.” It ended 30 minutes later, late to work but with a new best friend.
Miyisha was working graveyard on just two hours sleep as a fill-in for a sick coworker, but our last magical half hour together where I went for coffee unexpectedly amounted to a bond like lost siblings reunited.
I don’t usually click with people less than half my age but we ended up sharing life details of our years without edits, sang together to a song on the radio and showed the surveillance cameras just how badly we could dance.
We vowed to meet again without too much passing of time and hugged a happy Tuesday to one another before I drove across town to start my workday while hers was ending.
Though I’d come for coffee, the power of a good disposition and a genuine interest in the life of a stranger is what filled my cup. It reminded me of how church should feel, with unlimited free refills.
humility.
For no immediately apparent reason except having some free time on my hands, I did a weird thing. Very few of you are surprised.
I took inventory stuff I’ve allowed into my mind over these many years. Far from complete, it included thoughts, ideas, considerations of evil and good, the unspeakably secret, the imaginations and images, and the themes, worries, hopes, dreams and beliefs I’ve allowed to consume so much nogginmatter, complete with smiles, sweat, tears and all.
I do this kinda thing every so often. I find it’s the quickest and most efficient method of pride and ego control at times when I may be inclined to think a little more of myself than I should. A real humility builder.
The list is long. Really long. And while it contains many recollections of things good, noble and clean…the dirt, filth and sewage was a clear overpopulation.
As a man thinks, so his heart shall be. Proverbs 23:7
Your thoughts shape who you are.
Fortunately, most of my sewage is from years past and are long since forgiven. Changing the way you think about the world and your experience in it can mold a new perspective for your own future and for influencing those around you.
Resting easy.
This weekend I’ll be coming home with a little less baggage than I brought.
Visiting your kids might just be less about a vacation away from work than worry.
As a parent, we want to ensure for ourselves in person that they’re doing okay in the most important things. Like seeing that their marriages are solid and loving. Their kids are happy, well adjusted, and kind by nature. That the family business is thriving and providing for their needs. And that they’re engaged in doing good things for the world we live in.
Coming home with resolve in these matters is a unique kind of rest only parents can know and enjoy. The kind of lovely assurance that brings peace to our existence.
So my load home will be a little lighter and my heart will be a little merrier, and isn’t that what vacations are all about?
C-25.
C-25.
Not A. Not B. Not even a better C.
On the last day of vacation I chose to take a call right during the middle of a boarding pass competition like it was a sixth caller radio contest for Taylor Swift tickets.
The three minute delay placed me at the last boarding position on today’s flight home.
Was it worth it?
It was to the 81 year old widower 2,500 miles away looking for help to keep his power on so his oxygen machine would continue working.
Some choices we make.
Some choices are made just for us.
Goliath dreams
If they are allowed, needed, or even still relevant at all when I arrive in heaven, I need to ask God a question about dreams and why some are so disturbing, because even after a dozen years clean from meth, I’m still haunted by people and situations from my past that don’t end well. Waking up, I’m not tempted to use, but the experience leaves me with feelings I can’t explain like a Goliath of a tornado leveling what might otherwise have been a beautiful day.
Chutes ‘n Ladders
Most days I live my life on an upswing of hope and vision, yet only 40 years ago I never would have envisioned the changes I’ve seen and experienced to date in American culture.
While I may only have about 20 more remaining lucid years on board, life seems a lot more like chutes ‘n ladders these days.
I can spend what’s left watching this slippery slope continue its slide downhill from the bleachers or contribute what’s left of me from the sidelines for the building of a better, more formidable staircase.
Denny’s
You know what happens when you buy breakfast for a homeless guy?
He eats.
More than that, he doesn’t feel overlooked or avoided by everyone for yet another day of his invisible life.
He smiles.
His faith in strangers is renewed just a little, maybe even enough to bring him out of hiding into getting help for his mental health or addiction.
He cleans up.
Washes his hands and face for maybe the first time in a week while the food’s cooking and feels better for doing so.
He’s surprised
when you extend your hand for a shake after the meal, for no one has voluntarily reached out to touch him in a very long time.
He’s still homeless.
No plan, no pathway, no purpose, just one early morning experience of fellowship where many seeds were planted that may make the continuing of his dismal existence a little less attractive and his options for help a little moreso.
Then he walks away.
absent fathers
My addictions had me spend 10 years of my adult life essentially out of my kids’ reach.
Thanks to their forgiveness, grace and mercy I’ve been back in spades since.
What I will never understand though, is how any father can make a conscious, sober choice to be distant and estranged from the very lives they helped to create. My lame ‘excuse’ was addiction yet I know otherwise sane fathers who keep walls up and I will always wonder what fills that God-given void so full that they remain blinded to such wonderful experiences they never will have and times they can never recover.
I hate Father’s Day for all those years I missed, and I love Father’s Day for those who still choose to celebrate me despite my absences.
it’s the little things that count.
The time spent with my grandkids is directly proportionate to the number of naps required to go spend more time with them.
It’s the little things that matter, literally. And they are exhaustingly wonderful.
accosted!
A tapping at my front door at 3am, from my peephole was one I’d not seen nor heard from in a year. I flipped the lock, the door swung inward, and I was immediately accosted, held in the cold grip of this stranger seeking entry. I didn’t fight but acquiesced to what will undoubtedly be a long chilling captivity, and one for which I’ve been patiently waiting.