Today, I am thankful for Missouri’s requirement of safety inspections for motor vehicles. Like the rest of you, I have had my share of “why do I need to mess with this?” moments in the past. I have wondered if I would be ripped off by a mechanic who could hold me hostage by decreeing my car unsafe for licensing. I even admit that I enjoyed the years of living in Kansas, where we didn’t have to mess with it.
All of that changed last night. Winston had accepted a ride to and from college with one of his friends, rather than drive himself in his own car. It is a six-hour trip, and it made sense to have company. I asked the obligatory parental question, “Is she a safe driver?” I didn’t think to ask, “How are the tires on her car?”
The first flat tire occurred south of Joplin. A passing car stopped to help, and they were on their way before too long. When the second tire shredded similarly thirty miles down the road, they were stuck on the shoulder of a highway exit ramp. Not having a second spare tire, of course, they had to wait for a tow truck. Their flashing lights were on, and they had even placed an orange cone behind the car. In spite of these precautions, a speeding car sideswiped them. The mirror and front bumper were torn off the car, and the side of the car was smushed. The driver never even hit the brakes as he/she sped off.
It could have been so much worse. They were both wearing their seatbelts, and neither one of them was hurt. They were towed to a Walmart that, amazingly, was open and changing tires on the Sunday night of Thanksgiving weekend. The car, while damaged, was driveable. They were able to limp the last 3 hours back to college.
It could have been so much worse. The tire guy said that it was not that they had driven over anything that damaged the tires. The tires shredded because they were literally worn out. If it had been raining, those bald tires could have taken them off the road. When the tires finally gave up the ghost and fell apart, they could have spun out at highway speeds. The car that hit them could have hit them at a different, more dangerous angle. It could have been so much worse.
I’m trying not to dwell on the what-could-haves or the why-didn’t-theys. (Not easy for me so soon after the accident.) Instead, I am choosing to see the Missouri safety inspection requirement in a whole new light. Those tires didn’t go bald overnight, and they were on a car licensed in a state that has no vehicle inspections. While we can’t prevent every bad thing from happening, there are some things that can be averted. So, the next time I am grumbling about having to drag my car somewhere to get it inspected before licensing, I will remember last night. And I will try to tell the mechanic “thank you” for being part of keeping my family safe.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Tinkling Christmas Tree
No, I didn’t mean “twinkling” Christmas tree. I meant what I wrote.
Living in a home with a multiply-allergic husband, we have an annual debate about the Christmas tree. He maintains that real Christmas trees bring out his allergies. I counter that artificial trees harbor dust and other allergens, and that it isn’t Christmas without the smell of a fresh tree in the house. Over the years, we have worked out a compromise: we get a real Christmas tree. As you can tell, marriages don’t last 26 years without that type of mutual respect for each others’ needs.
We try to do everything we can to minimize the potential allergens in a real tree. This year, for instance, I bathed the trunk in bleach water, to kill any molds lurking on the trunk. He hosed off the entire tree, to wash off any pollens. The most important thing we try to do, however, is get the freshest tree possible. We found a tree lot in Blue Springs that had Fraser fir trees with lovely soft needles. After picking out the most beautiful tree on the lot, we brought it home. And the tinkling has begun.
The lovely, soft, seemingly fresh needles tinkle to the ground whenever we touch the tree. We pulled out sentimental ornaments one by one as we decorated the tree. Each popsicle-stick children’s ornament or glittery glass ball was met by happy memories- and a cascade of falling needles- as it was placed on the tree. By the time we had gotten the tree decorated, the floor was covered in a carpet of green needles. Adding water to the stand results in a needle-green hairdo. I told the kids to enjoy the green tree before they returned to school, since the tree will certainly be bare brown branches by the time that they come home in mid-December.
Oh well. The most important part of the tree is the ornaments, anyway. We have ornaments that mark different stages of our married life, and our children at different ages. Some ornaments were gifts from dear friends and family, others were acquired on trips, and others are there simply because we thought they were pretty. I will enjoy looking at the ornaments, even as they sit on the stubbly remnants of a Charlie Brown tree. Christmas traditions aren't about perfection, they are about memories and laughter and love, even in the midst of imperfection.
Silver bells may be the sound of Christmas for some people. In our household this year, Christmas will sound like the tinkle of falling needles. Fa-la-la-la-la.
Living in a home with a multiply-allergic husband, we have an annual debate about the Christmas tree. He maintains that real Christmas trees bring out his allergies. I counter that artificial trees harbor dust and other allergens, and that it isn’t Christmas without the smell of a fresh tree in the house. Over the years, we have worked out a compromise: we get a real Christmas tree. As you can tell, marriages don’t last 26 years without that type of mutual respect for each others’ needs.
We try to do everything we can to minimize the potential allergens in a real tree. This year, for instance, I bathed the trunk in bleach water, to kill any molds lurking on the trunk. He hosed off the entire tree, to wash off any pollens. The most important thing we try to do, however, is get the freshest tree possible. We found a tree lot in Blue Springs that had Fraser fir trees with lovely soft needles. After picking out the most beautiful tree on the lot, we brought it home. And the tinkling has begun.
The lovely, soft, seemingly fresh needles tinkle to the ground whenever we touch the tree. We pulled out sentimental ornaments one by one as we decorated the tree. Each popsicle-stick children’s ornament or glittery glass ball was met by happy memories- and a cascade of falling needles- as it was placed on the tree. By the time we had gotten the tree decorated, the floor was covered in a carpet of green needles. Adding water to the stand results in a needle-green hairdo. I told the kids to enjoy the green tree before they returned to school, since the tree will certainly be bare brown branches by the time that they come home in mid-December.
Oh well. The most important part of the tree is the ornaments, anyway. We have ornaments that mark different stages of our married life, and our children at different ages. Some ornaments were gifts from dear friends and family, others were acquired on trips, and others are there simply because we thought they were pretty. I will enjoy looking at the ornaments, even as they sit on the stubbly remnants of a Charlie Brown tree. Christmas traditions aren't about perfection, they are about memories and laughter and love, even in the midst of imperfection.
Silver bells may be the sound of Christmas for some people. In our household this year, Christmas will sound like the tinkle of falling needles. Fa-la-la-la-la.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
TSA
With all of the controversy surrounding the new body scan and invasive pat-downs at our airports, there is a contingent of people who have not been heard from. I have great compassion for the individuals who work for the TSA. These people are charged with ensuring our safety in the skies. To carry out that task, they are now required to look at revealing images and/or invade the personal space of countless airline passengers.
Think about the joylessness of that task. No one bounds out of bed in the morning, thinking “Hooray! Today at work, I might get to see a blurry x-ray of a 48-year old preacher!” No one goes to work hoping that, in the words of the current viral video, they will get to “touch the junk” of some crabby, sweaty passenger who has been lugging baggage around the airport.
If you have ever given birth in a hospital, you might be as blasé as I am about the new security procedures. After all, I remember a constant stream of people in and out of my hospital room, checking how far along I was. (I have a hazy recollection of the person pushing a broom checking me, but Andy assures me that memory was drug-induced.) The birth itself was attended by a cast of thousands. After all that, posing fully clothed for an airport x-ray just isn’t that intimidating.
True, I do not want to be exposed to unnecessary radiation. Nor do I, however, want my airplane to fall unnecessarily out of the sky. In fact, the not-falling-out-of-the-sky alternative is my preference 100% of the time. Having a bored security guard invade my personal space is a small price to pay for the gift of arriving alive.
It saddens me to live in such a time as this, where we have to protect ourselves from each other so aggressively. However, the TSA personnel are not the enemy. They are simply people trying to do a job, a job which has gotten significantly more challenging and unpleasant. During this busy Thanksgiving travel season, I am thankful that they are willing to be there for us.
Think about the joylessness of that task. No one bounds out of bed in the morning, thinking “Hooray! Today at work, I might get to see a blurry x-ray of a 48-year old preacher!” No one goes to work hoping that, in the words of the current viral video, they will get to “touch the junk” of some crabby, sweaty passenger who has been lugging baggage around the airport.
If you have ever given birth in a hospital, you might be as blasé as I am about the new security procedures. After all, I remember a constant stream of people in and out of my hospital room, checking how far along I was. (I have a hazy recollection of the person pushing a broom checking me, but Andy assures me that memory was drug-induced.) The birth itself was attended by a cast of thousands. After all that, posing fully clothed for an airport x-ray just isn’t that intimidating.
True, I do not want to be exposed to unnecessary radiation. Nor do I, however, want my airplane to fall unnecessarily out of the sky. In fact, the not-falling-out-of-the-sky alternative is my preference 100% of the time. Having a bored security guard invade my personal space is a small price to pay for the gift of arriving alive.
It saddens me to live in such a time as this, where we have to protect ourselves from each other so aggressively. However, the TSA personnel are not the enemy. They are simply people trying to do a job, a job which has gotten significantly more challenging and unpleasant. During this busy Thanksgiving travel season, I am thankful that they are willing to be there for us.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Family
My mother’s birthday is Tuesday, and all of her siblings are coming to celebrate. In many families, it is not unusual for families to gather regularly. Our family has never been one for big reunions. Relatives coming this week to Kansas City from California, North Carolina, and Florida are a Big Deal for us.
I got to spend some time last night with my sister and a California Cousin. Since they live so far away and we see them so rarely, they’ve always been “The California Cousins” to me. Although we’ve been together only a handful of times, I was amazed at how quickly and easily conversation flowed last night. We were laughing at family jokes and talking about the stuff of our lives as if we had seen each other days instead of years ago. What is it about simply being “family” that creates those connections?
The three of us do share similar looks and build. Those Radford genes run deep. We share more than looks, however. We speak the same language. We can talk about Who-Who, Aunt Taddy, Honey and Money with easy familiarity. (Southerners have always been creative at family names.) We know who is married to whom and which children belong to which branch of the family. Our mothers wore the same wedding dress, and all three of us wore it too. There are so many things that bind us together.
While we were talking, it came time to nibble on some cheese and crackers. I demurred. My mouth is healing from some recent gum surgery, and soft foods are still easiest for me. That was when I discovered that my cousin has had the same surgery to fix the same congenital condition as me. As I said, those Radford genes run deep.
What is it that creates “family?” Shared language, wedding dresses, and gum problems are certainly facets of being family. Having those things in common somehow opens the door for deeper relationship that is not affected by distance or frequency of visit.
What is it that creates a church family? Perhaps it is in our genes, since we claim the same spiritual heritage. By sharing in rituals and language, we do forge bonds. We connect as we sing carols by candlelight or go on mission trips together. We become family as we pray for one another, mourn the loss of loved ones, and celebrate resurrection hope together. There may be times when those connections fade, but something still holds us together. I cannot fully define what it is that holds us together, but I know some names of what it looks like: faith, hope, and love.
And happy birthday, Mom! It is great to be part of your family.
I got to spend some time last night with my sister and a California Cousin. Since they live so far away and we see them so rarely, they’ve always been “The California Cousins” to me. Although we’ve been together only a handful of times, I was amazed at how quickly and easily conversation flowed last night. We were laughing at family jokes and talking about the stuff of our lives as if we had seen each other days instead of years ago. What is it about simply being “family” that creates those connections?
The three of us do share similar looks and build. Those Radford genes run deep. We share more than looks, however. We speak the same language. We can talk about Who-Who, Aunt Taddy, Honey and Money with easy familiarity. (Southerners have always been creative at family names.) We know who is married to whom and which children belong to which branch of the family. Our mothers wore the same wedding dress, and all three of us wore it too. There are so many things that bind us together.
While we were talking, it came time to nibble on some cheese and crackers. I demurred. My mouth is healing from some recent gum surgery, and soft foods are still easiest for me. That was when I discovered that my cousin has had the same surgery to fix the same congenital condition as me. As I said, those Radford genes run deep.
What is it that creates “family?” Shared language, wedding dresses, and gum problems are certainly facets of being family. Having those things in common somehow opens the door for deeper relationship that is not affected by distance or frequency of visit.
What is it that creates a church family? Perhaps it is in our genes, since we claim the same spiritual heritage. By sharing in rituals and language, we do forge bonds. We connect as we sing carols by candlelight or go on mission trips together. We become family as we pray for one another, mourn the loss of loved ones, and celebrate resurrection hope together. There may be times when those connections fade, but something still holds us together. I cannot fully define what it is that holds us together, but I know some names of what it looks like: faith, hope, and love.
And happy birthday, Mom! It is great to be part of your family.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Rest in Peace, Charlie O'Donnell
Charlie O’Donnell died. That name may mean nothing more to you than it did to me when I first read it. But then his obituary described who he was. He was the voice of “Wheel of Fortune.” He was the man who announced that a lucky contestant had won “ONE HUNDRED THOUUUUUUUSAND DOLLARS!!!” For 28 years, his voice was tied inextricably to the show, even as recently as Friday night. He was also the voice for the Emmys, the Oscars, “The Dating Game,” “The Newlywed Game,” “Joker’s Wild,” and countless other shows.
Can you hear his voice in your head yet?
In many ways, he was a lot like God. We tend to think of God as the voice of thundering pronouncement. “Pay attention. I’m about to tell you what you are supposed to do with your life.” “Marry this person.” “Take this job.” Even “turn right at the next light.” (Oh, wait a minute, that last one is now handled by GPS.) We understand and long for the deep-voiced God whose voice is heard easily over the cheering audience. And, indeed, at times, that is exactly what happens.
However, the Biblical witness also mentions God in the silence, the God of the still, small voice. God’s voice is sometimes found in the midnight carols of angels. Sometimes, we can only hear the voice of God in the calm after the storm. The voice of God might be deep and thundering, but it also might be found in the timbre of the voice of a friend. And, at times, it might simply be carried on a sigh. If we’re only listening for the big and booming voice, we might miss out on the voice that is speaking to us.
Rest in peace, Charlie O’Donnell. Thank you for the years of tidings of joy that you brought to many people.
Can you hear his voice in your head yet?
In many ways, he was a lot like God. We tend to think of God as the voice of thundering pronouncement. “Pay attention. I’m about to tell you what you are supposed to do with your life.” “Marry this person.” “Take this job.” Even “turn right at the next light.” (Oh, wait a minute, that last one is now handled by GPS.) We understand and long for the deep-voiced God whose voice is heard easily over the cheering audience. And, indeed, at times, that is exactly what happens.
However, the Biblical witness also mentions God in the silence, the God of the still, small voice. God’s voice is sometimes found in the midnight carols of angels. Sometimes, we can only hear the voice of God in the calm after the storm. The voice of God might be deep and thundering, but it also might be found in the timbre of the voice of a friend. And, at times, it might simply be carried on a sigh. If we’re only listening for the big and booming voice, we might miss out on the voice that is speaking to us.
Rest in peace, Charlie O’Donnell. Thank you for the years of tidings of joy that you brought to many people.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Politics and Pastoring
It is an interesting season in which to be a pastor. As the level of political hyperbole reaches a fever pitch, I find myself fairly silenced. There are times when I see a political posting on Facebook that makes me smile or chuckle, and I’m tempted to push “like.” I have a church member running as part of a political party, and a member of a former church running as part of another political party. I like them both as people, but pushing “like” for either can be seen as a partisan statement. There are times when I have had to bite my tongue. (Some of you know that is not always an easy task for me.)
It is not that I do not have strongly-held political convictions. I do. I will be exercising my right to vote tomorrow morning, and I will be watching the election returns with definite hopes for the outcomes.
However . . .
My role right now is not to push my political convictions onto others. My role is to talk about faith and life and hope and God in such a way that it might speak to the souls of people. Not every person that I have the privilege of speaking such high truths to will share my same political worldview. I would hate for someone to be unable to hear the Gospel from me because of something as transient as politics. You can be Republican, Democrat, Tea Party, Libertarian, or even part of “The Rent is Too Damn High” Party (which really does exist), and you will still be welcome in worship with us.
Other colleagues of mine (including my bishop) have spoken eloquently about the unhealthy climate that passes for political discourse in these days. I would echo their words and encourage us to treat each other with love and respect, even when we are talking about our political differences. Beyond that, however, there is not much more that I have to say publicly. Except for this:
Be thankful for the gift of a democratic vote. Use it well, vote your convictions boldly. And, when all of the shouting is over, let’s get back to the important business of sharing God’s love with the person next to you. Even if they voted differently than you did.
It is not that I do not have strongly-held political convictions. I do. I will be exercising my right to vote tomorrow morning, and I will be watching the election returns with definite hopes for the outcomes.
However . . .
My role right now is not to push my political convictions onto others. My role is to talk about faith and life and hope and God in such a way that it might speak to the souls of people. Not every person that I have the privilege of speaking such high truths to will share my same political worldview. I would hate for someone to be unable to hear the Gospel from me because of something as transient as politics. You can be Republican, Democrat, Tea Party, Libertarian, or even part of “The Rent is Too Damn High” Party (which really does exist), and you will still be welcome in worship with us.
Other colleagues of mine (including my bishop) have spoken eloquently about the unhealthy climate that passes for political discourse in these days. I would echo their words and encourage us to treat each other with love and respect, even when we are talking about our political differences. Beyond that, however, there is not much more that I have to say publicly. Except for this:
Be thankful for the gift of a democratic vote. Use it well, vote your convictions boldly. And, when all of the shouting is over, let’s get back to the important business of sharing God’s love with the person next to you. Even if they voted differently than you did.
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