Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Story - Brandi Carlile
Jen introduced me to this gal and we cannot get enough of her music. Jen still gets goosebumps everytime she listens to this song. One of the first albums we've bought in a while. Definetely worth the cash.
"All of these lines that cross my face
tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
and how I got to where I am."
-Phil Hanseroth
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The Economics of Interaction
Several years ago while delivering Christmas presents I learned a hard lesson in what I like to call “the economics of interaction.” The lesson learned was that it is possible to give to others even with the best of intentions and yet in the process end up taking more than you give.
We were delivering presents on behalf of a prison inmate to his children through Chuck Colson’s Angel Tree program. My wife and I along with several teenagers in our youth group pulled up to a rundown house in a shady section of KC with an armload of presents for three children who lived with their grandmother. Their mother was in jail and the father, who knows…
I have never quite learned how to exist comfortably as a rich guy, (relatively speaking, both globally and historically I am filthy rich regardless of how high up the American ladder I am) on the one hand I can’t get Jesus words out of my head and on the other hand I am too distracted by the pleasures of wealth to give a hoot. So I sit in this uncomfortably passive state satiated for the moment by cake and American Idol. So on this night I was very excited to be finally doing something. I was going to make a difference! Perhaps in doing good I could somehow assuage the guilt I felt for my wealth.
We met the kids and delivered their presents to the grandmother, a saintly woman who had lost most of her foot to diabetes and if I remember right, whose vision wasn’t far behind. We chit chatted for a few minutes and then I asked if we could pray for her, she agreed, I prayed a blessing over her and the kids and we left. As we drove home I kept replaying the night in my head, something was bothering me but I couldn’t put my finger on it, and then it hit me – the wrong person prayed. Rather than praying for her, I should have fallen on my knees and begged her to pray for me. Here was a woman missing half a foot, in ill health, raising three children – this woman knew more about love and life than what I didn’t know about life and love. I realized then and there that by coming in to this woman’s house as someone with something “to give” that I had actually exalted myself over her and that by “giving” without recognizing that she was actually the one with something to give, that I had actually “taken” some small part of her dignity. Now then whether or not she actually felt I had taken her dignity, I'll never know, but I certainly felt as though I had, and resolved to never to let it happen again. Actually, in an effort to ensure that it doesn't, I have just sworn off helping anyone, ever.
Well not really, but the realization that night has heavily influenced my thinking since, I have never forgotten that lady. I don’t want that night to prevent me from reaching out, but when I do reach out; I want to do it with humility. I want to receive and in the process give dignity. I have come in part to the following conclusions. Conclusions that become more and more relevant every day:
a)Results matter more than intentions
b)The ends do not justify the means
c)It is possible to give and yet take in the process
d)Jesus’ instructions to us regarding those in need are as much for our benefit as they are for the benefit of those in need. Recognizing this is crucial to understand as we go into giving situations. When we give we should also receive in a way that gives dignity to the recipient by acknowledging that they too as a child of God have something to give us.
e)Doing the right thing sometimes makes you feel terrible and so I’ve got to ask myself, “am I doing this because it is the right thing to do or because it makes me feel good about myself?”
For example, consider the following verse from the New Testament “if a man will not work, he shall not eat.” This rule if followed absolutely serves to protect society from leeches but it wasn’t until recently that I realized that this rule is just as much about the protection of the man who does not work as it is for the society in which he lives. It is a brilliant recognition of human nature. Everybody has some area in their life in which they will repeatedly slack if not challenged. For some people this area happens to be work. Without loving people to challenge us (spouse, parent, friend) in these areas we will slide into our personal lowest common denominator and live in perpetual underachievement. So when presented with an underachieving loved one or a lazy man the choice becomes, do I do what makes me feel good or do I do what in the short term will make us both feel miserable but in the long run create a great good?
f)Just as there are things that look good that actually produce negative results, there are things that appear harsh that actually produce good results.
Althought they sound alike, this is more of a political revelation while the previous point was more of a personal one. The hard way is the right way. I think about this nearly daily as I watch those who would be king do their best to make us forget it.
These are not groundbreaking revelations I know, but bear with me, I am a slow learner, and their freshness to me means they are still exciting. I am still trying to figure it all out, and would appreciate your thoughts on the topic.
“When social service is performed out of a sense of guilt, the inevitable result is chaos.”
- The Reverend Jimmy Carter
We were delivering presents on behalf of a prison inmate to his children through Chuck Colson’s Angel Tree program. My wife and I along with several teenagers in our youth group pulled up to a rundown house in a shady section of KC with an armload of presents for three children who lived with their grandmother. Their mother was in jail and the father, who knows…
I have never quite learned how to exist comfortably as a rich guy, (relatively speaking, both globally and historically I am filthy rich regardless of how high up the American ladder I am) on the one hand I can’t get Jesus words out of my head and on the other hand I am too distracted by the pleasures of wealth to give a hoot. So I sit in this uncomfortably passive state satiated for the moment by cake and American Idol. So on this night I was very excited to be finally doing something. I was going to make a difference! Perhaps in doing good I could somehow assuage the guilt I felt for my wealth.
We met the kids and delivered their presents to the grandmother, a saintly woman who had lost most of her foot to diabetes and if I remember right, whose vision wasn’t far behind. We chit chatted for a few minutes and then I asked if we could pray for her, she agreed, I prayed a blessing over her and the kids and we left. As we drove home I kept replaying the night in my head, something was bothering me but I couldn’t put my finger on it, and then it hit me – the wrong person prayed. Rather than praying for her, I should have fallen on my knees and begged her to pray for me. Here was a woman missing half a foot, in ill health, raising three children – this woman knew more about love and life than what I didn’t know about life and love. I realized then and there that by coming in to this woman’s house as someone with something “to give” that I had actually exalted myself over her and that by “giving” without recognizing that she was actually the one with something to give, that I had actually “taken” some small part of her dignity. Now then whether or not she actually felt I had taken her dignity, I'll never know, but I certainly felt as though I had, and resolved to never to let it happen again. Actually, in an effort to ensure that it doesn't, I have just sworn off helping anyone, ever.
Well not really, but the realization that night has heavily influenced my thinking since, I have never forgotten that lady. I don’t want that night to prevent me from reaching out, but when I do reach out; I want to do it with humility. I want to receive and in the process give dignity. I have come in part to the following conclusions. Conclusions that become more and more relevant every day:
a)Results matter more than intentions
b)The ends do not justify the means
c)It is possible to give and yet take in the process
d)Jesus’ instructions to us regarding those in need are as much for our benefit as they are for the benefit of those in need. Recognizing this is crucial to understand as we go into giving situations. When we give we should also receive in a way that gives dignity to the recipient by acknowledging that they too as a child of God have something to give us.
e)Doing the right thing sometimes makes you feel terrible and so I’ve got to ask myself, “am I doing this because it is the right thing to do or because it makes me feel good about myself?”
For example, consider the following verse from the New Testament “if a man will not work, he shall not eat.” This rule if followed absolutely serves to protect society from leeches but it wasn’t until recently that I realized that this rule is just as much about the protection of the man who does not work as it is for the society in which he lives. It is a brilliant recognition of human nature. Everybody has some area in their life in which they will repeatedly slack if not challenged. For some people this area happens to be work. Without loving people to challenge us (spouse, parent, friend) in these areas we will slide into our personal lowest common denominator and live in perpetual underachievement. So when presented with an underachieving loved one or a lazy man the choice becomes, do I do what makes me feel good or do I do what in the short term will make us both feel miserable but in the long run create a great good?
f)Just as there are things that look good that actually produce negative results, there are things that appear harsh that actually produce good results.
Althought they sound alike, this is more of a political revelation while the previous point was more of a personal one. The hard way is the right way. I think about this nearly daily as I watch those who would be king do their best to make us forget it.
These are not groundbreaking revelations I know, but bear with me, I am a slow learner, and their freshness to me means they are still exciting. I am still trying to figure it all out, and would appreciate your thoughts on the topic.
“When social service is performed out of a sense of guilt, the inevitable result is chaos.”
- The Reverend Jimmy Carter
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Violent Beauty
There is a spot on State Highway 101 northwest of Fort Worth where the road runs like a spine between two quarries. I love driving along that road between the deep pits, a place where late at night you can almost smell the sweat of a thousand men. The history of the place is palpable, it's almost as if Dallas and Fort Worth were pulled whole out of the ground and plopped down 30 miles to the south and east.
A rock quarry is a violent place, the rock is blown to pieces which are then crushed in a large rotating drum, run along a belt according to size, dumped in a pile and then scooped up and dropped in a dump truck for delivery to a construction site somewhere. All of this activity creates a lot of noise, dust, and movement; non-stop movement. Dump trucks the size of houses run in perpetual motion, the belts never stop spitting out rock, and the front end loaders dance and spin (smash into the pile, reverse half circle, forward, dump, reverse, half circle forward, grab your partner do-si-do) to the chorus and hum of hungry lines of trucks and trains waiting to be filled.
But a rock quarry is also an incredibly beautiful place full of color and impressive geometry. The clean lines of the white limestone walls, the veins running at angles through the rock, the shapes of the piles, the deep blues and greens of the water in flooded pits. Then there are the deer, cattle, wild boar, goats, vultures, snakes, herons and various other crittters that make their home in hidden and long forgotten corners of the property. And all of this as sun and shadow paint their constantly evolving work across the towering rock faces. Finally, there is something timelessly beautiful about rock and when I grab a handful of it and run my thumb over the smooth surfaces I am reminded of the line from St. Patrick's Breastplate:
"I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock."
Here are some pictures that will give you a glimpse into this wonderful and violent world that we get to watch unfold through the eyepiece of our lasers. Notice the deep veins running through the rock in photo #3. Photo #4 taken by Bobby Forehand.
A rock quarry is a violent place, the rock is blown to pieces which are then crushed in a large rotating drum, run along a belt according to size, dumped in a pile and then scooped up and dropped in a dump truck for delivery to a construction site somewhere. All of this activity creates a lot of noise, dust, and movement; non-stop movement. Dump trucks the size of houses run in perpetual motion, the belts never stop spitting out rock, and the front end loaders dance and spin (smash into the pile, reverse half circle, forward, dump, reverse, half circle forward, grab your partner do-si-do) to the chorus and hum of hungry lines of trucks and trains waiting to be filled.
But a rock quarry is also an incredibly beautiful place full of color and impressive geometry. The clean lines of the white limestone walls, the veins running at angles through the rock, the shapes of the piles, the deep blues and greens of the water in flooded pits. Then there are the deer, cattle, wild boar, goats, vultures, snakes, herons and various other crittters that make their home in hidden and long forgotten corners of the property. And all of this as sun and shadow paint their constantly evolving work across the towering rock faces. Finally, there is something timelessly beautiful about rock and when I grab a handful of it and run my thumb over the smooth surfaces I am reminded of the line from St. Patrick's Breastplate:
"I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock."
Here are some pictures that will give you a glimpse into this wonderful and violent world that we get to watch unfold through the eyepiece of our lasers. Notice the deep veins running through the rock in photo #3. Photo #4 taken by Bobby Forehand.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Glenn Beck on Huckabee
This guy cracks me up. He reminds me of my brother Josh. Here are his thoughts last night on Huckabee. (Background: He had surgery last week and is still recovering which is why he keeps refering to pain medication)
I really don't want to become a political blog so don't worry this won't last much longer.
The Iowa Caucuses
The street in front of our house was jammed with cars and people tonight as I headed out towards my caucus site. There were two caucus sites between my house and the school where I ended up casting my vote and my excitement grew as I passed group after group of people walking with the cartoonish urgency that can only come on a cold night. I was so excited to live in a country where I was free to participate in an election process without fear of violence or doctored results.
The Republicans in my district gathered in a local middle school cafeteria. I sat down at a table after arriving roughly 20 minutes early and studied the crowd of nearly 90 people. There were only two people under the age of 30, which I took as a good sign, I mean honestly, when I was 18 I liked Bill Clinton solely because his theme song was Fleetwood Macs' Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow. There were a few people in their forties, quite a few of us in our thirties and fifties, while the majority of the crowd was over sixty. Male female broke down to roughly 60 % male, 40 % female. Most of the crowd looked like they were very hard working, moving with the purposeful economy of motion common to those who need to save their energy for a long day coming. There were more than a few Carharts in the crowd, the instantly recognizable winter wear of the working man.
Most people spent the extra time trying to talk their seatmates into or out of various candidates. I was seated with two other gentlemen who knew they would be voting in the minority. All three of us shared a negative view of the eventual winner, Mike Huckabee.
After we all recited the pledge of allegiance, the emcee asked for a representative of each candidate to speak for roughly 3-4 minutes on why we should vote for his or her candidate. A friend of Fred Thompson’s spoke on his behalf, a woman from the crowd (small business owner) spoke brilliantly on behalf of Ron Paul, a young man spoke for Mike Huckabee, and three people from the crowd spoke on John McCain’s behalf. One of the people speaking for John McCain was an elderly woman whose husband had also been a prisoner of war. After each speech the crowd applauded, no one spoke on behalf of Romney, Guliani, or Duncan Hunter. Then paper ballots were passed out and we voted. The ballots were collected and a supporter from each candidate was called up to supervise the vote tally. As a man read aloud from each ballot, the emcee put a mark next to the name of the candidate receiving the vote on a large white tablet. The word Huckabee, repeated in a monotonous drone, bounced off my forehead 34 times like some audio version of Chinese water torture, by the end I had to resist the urge to stand up and scream, “You idiots! You lemmings!” Coming in second was Fred Thompson with 18 votes, tied for third with 12 each were Ron Paul and Mitt Romney, John McCain had 11 votes and Guliani although ahead of Hunter walked away with only one vote.
My choice came down to voting against Huckabee by voting for Romney, voting against the Government by voting for Ron Paul, or voting for conservative principals by voting for Fred Thompson. I wrestled with this for days, but eventually decided that for once in my life I would like to vote for something instead of the usual vote against the worse of the two candidates. So I voted for Thompson, a guy who doesn’t really act like he wants to be President, but who is for a limited government. And as long as I’m keeping things on the optimistic side, I would like to say I’m positive that Mike Huckabee would be a horrible candidate for President.
The Republicans in my district gathered in a local middle school cafeteria. I sat down at a table after arriving roughly 20 minutes early and studied the crowd of nearly 90 people. There were only two people under the age of 30, which I took as a good sign, I mean honestly, when I was 18 I liked Bill Clinton solely because his theme song was Fleetwood Macs' Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow. There were a few people in their forties, quite a few of us in our thirties and fifties, while the majority of the crowd was over sixty. Male female broke down to roughly 60 % male, 40 % female. Most of the crowd looked like they were very hard working, moving with the purposeful economy of motion common to those who need to save their energy for a long day coming. There were more than a few Carharts in the crowd, the instantly recognizable winter wear of the working man.
Most people spent the extra time trying to talk their seatmates into or out of various candidates. I was seated with two other gentlemen who knew they would be voting in the minority. All three of us shared a negative view of the eventual winner, Mike Huckabee.
After we all recited the pledge of allegiance, the emcee asked for a representative of each candidate to speak for roughly 3-4 minutes on why we should vote for his or her candidate. A friend of Fred Thompson’s spoke on his behalf, a woman from the crowd (small business owner) spoke brilliantly on behalf of Ron Paul, a young man spoke for Mike Huckabee, and three people from the crowd spoke on John McCain’s behalf. One of the people speaking for John McCain was an elderly woman whose husband had also been a prisoner of war. After each speech the crowd applauded, no one spoke on behalf of Romney, Guliani, or Duncan Hunter. Then paper ballots were passed out and we voted. The ballots were collected and a supporter from each candidate was called up to supervise the vote tally. As a man read aloud from each ballot, the emcee put a mark next to the name of the candidate receiving the vote on a large white tablet. The word Huckabee, repeated in a monotonous drone, bounced off my forehead 34 times like some audio version of Chinese water torture, by the end I had to resist the urge to stand up and scream, “You idiots! You lemmings!” Coming in second was Fred Thompson with 18 votes, tied for third with 12 each were Ron Paul and Mitt Romney, John McCain had 11 votes and Guliani although ahead of Hunter walked away with only one vote.
My choice came down to voting against Huckabee by voting for Romney, voting against the Government by voting for Ron Paul, or voting for conservative principals by voting for Fred Thompson. I wrestled with this for days, but eventually decided that for once in my life I would like to vote for something instead of the usual vote against the worse of the two candidates. So I voted for Thompson, a guy who doesn’t really act like he wants to be President, but who is for a limited government. And as long as I’m keeping things on the optimistic side, I would like to say I’m positive that Mike Huckabee would be a horrible candidate for President.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
What Will Become of the Hobo?
(I have always wanted to hop a ride on a freight train but have never had the courage to attempt it. I made passing reference to this desire about a year ago in a post and my Uncle Randy left a comment asking if I had ever heard the story of his freight hopping experience. Well, this was too good an invitation to pass up so I asked him if he would write it out and send it to me. Last month I received a package in the mail that contained this story and a cassette tape by Emmylou Harris, Linda Ronstadt and Dolly Parton singing an old Jimmie Rogers song called Hobo's Lamentation, the perfect musical accompaniment to this story. Everybody has a crazy uncle, I was blessed with two, and I admire both of them a great deal. Uncle Randy, the older of the two, is a man of great tenacity and courage. Here is his story.)
Riding the Rails
A true tale by Randy Bender
In the spring of 1966, I was a freshman at Abilene Christian College, in Abilene, Texas. I know not whence the notion sprang – but, there it was; “wouldn’t it be a great adventure to hop a freight train and ride the rails to home in Tulsa?” The idea took root and began to germinate. In the fertile mind of an eighteen year old, a spectacular brainstorm does not languish.
I promoted the idea, and two friends decided to join me. It would be a weekend trip. We would cut Friday morning classes, but would have to be back by Monday. The first task was to assure that we would have a ride back on Sunday. That need was satisfied by an acquaintance who would be returning from Bartlesville, OK.
With a date and a secure return in place, the next task was to obtain train information. I called Santa Fe [Railroad} and told them I needed to ship a refrigerator. I got the approximate time the freight train would come through Abilene and learned that in Ft. Worth we would have to change from the Santa Fe to the Frisco RR.
We packed clothes and toiletries the three of us would need for the weekend into a medium sized suitcase and a tote bag and on Friday morning went to the place where I thought the train would stop. Then we waited; and waited, and…….waited, and ………………….waited.
Questions and doubts began to knock at the door of my mind. Were we in the wrong place? Had I been given the wrong time by Santa Fe? Was the train merely late? Could it be possible that it just would not come through today? Then…, is that the thunderous rumble of a mighty diesel engine I am hearing/feeling. Is it? Is it? Could be. It just might be. …………It is, it is, IT IS!!! Louder and louder; closer and closer. Our great adventure was about to begin in earnest. Then, ……..shouldn’t it be slowing down? If it’s going to stop it has to start slowing down really soon. Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clack, right on by us. Now what do we do?
As the caboose became even smaller, we decided we would have to hitchhike to Tulsa. As we started walking toward the highway, I looked down the tracks toward our missed opportunity. Something was different. The caboose, now seeming to be about the size of a book of matches, was no longer shrinking. The train had stopped. I told Ron and Danny to look and they agreed with my assessment. New hope arose.
We began alternately walking, walking fast, and trotting down the tracks. As we went, we traded off carrying the luggage so that at any given time, one of us had the suitcase, one had the tote bag and one was recuperating. As we got closer, anticipation and excitement were rekindled and began to grow. When we were within 100-200 yards of the caboose, the train began to move forward. Digging deep within and summoning every last remnant of strength and will, we sprang into a sprint. Just by chance, Danny, who was scrawny and the weakest of the trio, was carrying the suitcase. Fortunately, there was a flatcar just ahead of the caboose. Ron and I were able to mount it. We were almost completely spent but turned to encourage Danny. Unfortunately, the gradual increase in the speed of the train combined with the extra weight and total exhaustion did not leave enough in Danny’s tank. We regretted that he had been unable to join us but we were happy to be on our way. Incidentally, the suitcase contained our clean clothes and underwear for church.
The next few hours were awash with a feeling of unbridled freedom that is rare and uncommon. The afternoon was warm enough that we were comfortable in t-shirts. The sky was pleasantly and refreshingly overcast. So that flatcar provided an idyllic perch from which to watch the West Texas countryside flow by us. Our only responsibility was to enjoy the ride and we fulfilled that responsibility in a magnificent manner.
We arrived in Ft. Worth in the late afternoon. When the train stopped in the yard, we hopped off, determined the general location of the Frisco Rail Yard and started off in that direction. As we neared it, we happened upon a greasy spoon diner. We had not eaten since breakfast, so, in we went. To our delight we discovered they had a home-style cooking menu with entrée such as fried chicken, meatloaf, chicken-fried steak, vegetables like peas, mashed potatoes, carrots, bacon seasoned green beans, and cherry pie, devil’s food cake, apple pie a la mode for desserts. The prices were good and the portions were generous. It was an ideal eatery for hard working rail yard employees, or a couple of hungry teenage boys out on an adventure. I don’t remember what I had, but, to this day, I believe it is in contention for the title of, “Best Meal I Ever Had.”
With bellies full, we set off to find a ride for the next leg of our journey. When we entered the Frisco Yard, we saw two or three trains that seemed to be linked up and ready to go. There was no way to determine which one was headed for Oklahoma City. We would have to ask. Seeing a man who looked like he belonged there, we went up to him and I asked. He said it was the nearest one. We walked toward the first boxcar with an open door. The man yelled to us, “Try to find a clean one, if you can. “If” was the operative word. You see, there is really no reason to sweep out a boxcar. Everything that is supposed to be in it is boxed in a crate, which is on skids, so that a forklift can get underneath it. Before long, we made our choice, climbed inside, and settled in to wait.
If you drive on the highways, it’s about 30 miles more from Ft. Worth to Oklahoma City than from Abilene to Ft. Worth. So we figured we would probably get to OKC about midnight, or shortly afterward. We could hardly have been more wrong. It was after 1:00 a.m. when the train pulled off on a side rail and stopped in Ardmore, OK which is about the halfway point. After the sun had set, and as we traveled further north, it grew chillier and chillier, until it became down right cold. So the train sat on the side rail, and we sat inside our car shivering for hours, literally. At some point we had been there long enough to realize that we probably were going to be there for a good while longer, we decided to dismount and search for a place nearby for a good cup of coffee. As I remember, it was an unfruitful quest. But I think we did go into a railway office where one worker was stationed, and that enabled us to warm ourselves. Of course, that just emphasized the cold when we went back out to get in our boxcar. I believe it was after 4:00 a.m. when the train resumed its movement.
I don’t know if it was in Ft. Worth or Ardmore, but somewhere along the way, we learned that the Frisco Line went straight north out of OKC, so we would, again, have to change lines, this time to the Katy RR to get to Tulsa.
It was after 8:00 a.m. by the time we got off the train in Oklahoma City. In only about 32 hours, our ride would be picking us up for the trip back. We knew not when the next train would leave for Tulsa, nor how long it would take to get there when it did. We had a decision to make. We determined the best course of action would be to hitchhike the rest of the way.
The last leg of our journey brought us within four blocks of home. I looked at my watch as we exited the car and made an observation. I told Ron and we decided to act upon it. We adjusted our gait, walking faster, trotting for a bit, slowing to a walk again, and then picking up the pace a little, so that we walked through the front door 24 hours to the minute from the time we had climbed on board the flatcar in Abilene.
Ron and I had a spectacular weekend adventure. On an adventure, you must accept the unpleasantness along with sheer joy. Poor Danny [remember Danny?] had just another average, dull weekend in the dorm. C’est la vie!
A true tale by Randy Bender
In the spring of 1966, I was a freshman at Abilene Christian College, in Abilene, Texas. I know not whence the notion sprang – but, there it was; “wouldn’t it be a great adventure to hop a freight train and ride the rails to home in Tulsa?” The idea took root and began to germinate. In the fertile mind of an eighteen year old, a spectacular brainstorm does not languish.
I promoted the idea, and two friends decided to join me. It would be a weekend trip. We would cut Friday morning classes, but would have to be back by Monday. The first task was to assure that we would have a ride back on Sunday. That need was satisfied by an acquaintance who would be returning from Bartlesville, OK.
With a date and a secure return in place, the next task was to obtain train information. I called Santa Fe [Railroad} and told them I needed to ship a refrigerator. I got the approximate time the freight train would come through Abilene and learned that in Ft. Worth we would have to change from the Santa Fe to the Frisco RR.
We packed clothes and toiletries the three of us would need for the weekend into a medium sized suitcase and a tote bag and on Friday morning went to the place where I thought the train would stop. Then we waited; and waited, and…….waited, and ………………….waited.
Questions and doubts began to knock at the door of my mind. Were we in the wrong place? Had I been given the wrong time by Santa Fe? Was the train merely late? Could it be possible that it just would not come through today? Then…, is that the thunderous rumble of a mighty diesel engine I am hearing/feeling. Is it? Is it? Could be. It just might be. …………It is, it is, IT IS!!! Louder and louder; closer and closer. Our great adventure was about to begin in earnest. Then, ……..shouldn’t it be slowing down? If it’s going to stop it has to start slowing down really soon. Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clack, right on by us. Now what do we do?
As the caboose became even smaller, we decided we would have to hitchhike to Tulsa. As we started walking toward the highway, I looked down the tracks toward our missed opportunity. Something was different. The caboose, now seeming to be about the size of a book of matches, was no longer shrinking. The train had stopped. I told Ron and Danny to look and they agreed with my assessment. New hope arose.
We began alternately walking, walking fast, and trotting down the tracks. As we went, we traded off carrying the luggage so that at any given time, one of us had the suitcase, one had the tote bag and one was recuperating. As we got closer, anticipation and excitement were rekindled and began to grow. When we were within 100-200 yards of the caboose, the train began to move forward. Digging deep within and summoning every last remnant of strength and will, we sprang into a sprint. Just by chance, Danny, who was scrawny and the weakest of the trio, was carrying the suitcase. Fortunately, there was a flatcar just ahead of the caboose. Ron and I were able to mount it. We were almost completely spent but turned to encourage Danny. Unfortunately, the gradual increase in the speed of the train combined with the extra weight and total exhaustion did not leave enough in Danny’s tank. We regretted that he had been unable to join us but we were happy to be on our way. Incidentally, the suitcase contained our clean clothes and underwear for church.
The next few hours were awash with a feeling of unbridled freedom that is rare and uncommon. The afternoon was warm enough that we were comfortable in t-shirts. The sky was pleasantly and refreshingly overcast. So that flatcar provided an idyllic perch from which to watch the West Texas countryside flow by us. Our only responsibility was to enjoy the ride and we fulfilled that responsibility in a magnificent manner.
We arrived in Ft. Worth in the late afternoon. When the train stopped in the yard, we hopped off, determined the general location of the Frisco Rail Yard and started off in that direction. As we neared it, we happened upon a greasy spoon diner. We had not eaten since breakfast, so, in we went. To our delight we discovered they had a home-style cooking menu with entrée such as fried chicken, meatloaf, chicken-fried steak, vegetables like peas, mashed potatoes, carrots, bacon seasoned green beans, and cherry pie, devil’s food cake, apple pie a la mode for desserts. The prices were good and the portions were generous. It was an ideal eatery for hard working rail yard employees, or a couple of hungry teenage boys out on an adventure. I don’t remember what I had, but, to this day, I believe it is in contention for the title of, “Best Meal I Ever Had.”
With bellies full, we set off to find a ride for the next leg of our journey. When we entered the Frisco Yard, we saw two or three trains that seemed to be linked up and ready to go. There was no way to determine which one was headed for Oklahoma City. We would have to ask. Seeing a man who looked like he belonged there, we went up to him and I asked. He said it was the nearest one. We walked toward the first boxcar with an open door. The man yelled to us, “Try to find a clean one, if you can. “If” was the operative word. You see, there is really no reason to sweep out a boxcar. Everything that is supposed to be in it is boxed in a crate, which is on skids, so that a forklift can get underneath it. Before long, we made our choice, climbed inside, and settled in to wait.
If you drive on the highways, it’s about 30 miles more from Ft. Worth to Oklahoma City than from Abilene to Ft. Worth. So we figured we would probably get to OKC about midnight, or shortly afterward. We could hardly have been more wrong. It was after 1:00 a.m. when the train pulled off on a side rail and stopped in Ardmore, OK which is about the halfway point. After the sun had set, and as we traveled further north, it grew chillier and chillier, until it became down right cold. So the train sat on the side rail, and we sat inside our car shivering for hours, literally. At some point we had been there long enough to realize that we probably were going to be there for a good while longer, we decided to dismount and search for a place nearby for a good cup of coffee. As I remember, it was an unfruitful quest. But I think we did go into a railway office where one worker was stationed, and that enabled us to warm ourselves. Of course, that just emphasized the cold when we went back out to get in our boxcar. I believe it was after 4:00 a.m. when the train resumed its movement.
I don’t know if it was in Ft. Worth or Ardmore, but somewhere along the way, we learned that the Frisco Line went straight north out of OKC, so we would, again, have to change lines, this time to the Katy RR to get to Tulsa.
It was after 8:00 a.m. by the time we got off the train in Oklahoma City. In only about 32 hours, our ride would be picking us up for the trip back. We knew not when the next train would leave for Tulsa, nor how long it would take to get there when it did. We had a decision to make. We determined the best course of action would be to hitchhike the rest of the way.
The last leg of our journey brought us within four blocks of home. I looked at my watch as we exited the car and made an observation. I told Ron and we decided to act upon it. We adjusted our gait, walking faster, trotting for a bit, slowing to a walk again, and then picking up the pace a little, so that we walked through the front door 24 hours to the minute from the time we had climbed on board the flatcar in Abilene.
Ron and I had a spectacular weekend adventure. On an adventure, you must accept the unpleasantness along with sheer joy. Poor Danny [remember Danny?] had just another average, dull weekend in the dorm. C’est la vie!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Joe Biden at Cooney's Tavern
Being as that I'm new to Iowa and all, I figured it would be a lot of fun to get out there and go see a couple of candidates strutting their stuff. So when my friend Eddie mentioned that Joe Biden was going to be speaking at an Irish bar near our house I jumped at the chance on both counts. I went in with a pretty negative impression of Biden based solely on the (D) that comes in front of his name and a general perception that he was just another blowhard in a nice suit. But I walked away with a lot of respect for the guy, he probably is just another blowhard in a suit but he does have the courage to speak his mind and that's saying a lot these days.
You had me at hello...
It was in the low twenties with a decent wind blowing when we ducked into a packed Cooney's about three minutes before the fire code was officially broken. Seriously, three minutes later and we wouldn't have even made it into the door. It was packed and electric, shortly after we arrived, an older and very happy gentleman near the door led the crowd in a fun version of "Happy Days are Here Again", a song I had never heard before but that was pretty easy to pick up. After about a half hour wait Biden showed up and walked past us, shaking hands and saying hello to people on his way up to the "platform" which was as I later saw, a couple of cases of beer pushed together. The crowd quieted down as he spoke, the bartenders quit serving and leaned back against the bar to listen to his speech, given under the green Christmas lights. In his opening remarks he mentioned having gone to the University of Delaware which got a couple of lighthearted boos from some of the Iowa fans in the audience. He replied to our great delight, "Unlike other candidates I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe in - we kicked Iowa's a**!" That was such a great moment, so non pandering that you had to respect his candor.
I enjoyed his speech primarily because he really didn't make any promises at all. He wasn't offering bliss, prosperity, and to tuck us into bed every night like most of his Democrat rivals. He basically said, (paraphrasing) "we've got a hard road ahead of us but nobody said life was going to be easy, the American people love a good challenge and I believe they are up to the challenge so let's pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and get after it." That's not exactly what he said but I feel like that was the gist of it. Or maybe that was just what he said when run through my conservative filter. Anyways, I was surprised to hear what I was hearing.
During a brief question and answer time after his speech, someone asked if he would support partial birth abortions. I took from the tone of the question that they were really hoping he would say yes. Well, again to my surprise he gave a pretty lengthy and specific answer saying he was completely opposed to partial birth abortion. I thought that for a Democrat running for the party's nomination that was pretty gutsy. Maybe I'm just easy, but I've always said that I am so sick of the dishonesty in politics and that I just wanted someone to speak the truth about their views and I couldn't shake the feeling that Joe was speaking from his heart what he believed.
Since then I've learned that he was one of the few Democrats who recently supported refunding the troops, a potentially politically damaging vote about which he said, "there are some things worth losing the election over." In the divisive climate in which we live we need to champion the honest no matter what side of the aisle they come from. Our allegience should be to Honesty and Character before Party.
I'm raising a glass now to the two Joes, Biden and Liebs, two islands of honesty in a sea full of empty promises. Thanks for having the character to speak your minds.
And for my part, I'll be honest by saying "Ron Paul in '08!"
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The World Unseen
"Then Moses said, "Now show me your glory."And the Lord said," I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But," he said, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live."
Then the Lord said, "There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen."
-Exodus
Friday, November 02, 2007
A Soldier's Thoughts
(My buddy Scott should arrive home from Iraq any day and so in honor of his return I wanted to post something he wrote back in the spring for our old church in Converse, TX. For more details on Scott and his homecoming, check out his wife Gina's blog here. Thanks to all of you who prayed for his safety while he was gone. Enjoy.)
"Men of Grace, it is an honor to write to you from Mahmudiyah, Iraq. I am serving with the 10th Mountain Division in the suburbs south of Baghdad. Darren asked me to write to you about what God has shown me this year.
If I wrote about everything God has shown me this year, this might be a long message. Instead, I'll write about what God has shown me this week, which might still be a bit lengthy. Perhaps referring to what God has "shown" me is a use of the wrong tense. "Showing" might be a more accurate choice of words. But actually, I feel like I am resisting the thing He is showing me right now.
Before I elaborate, I should provide a bit of background for the thoughts I want to share. This week, I was reading in Matthew where Jesus says that we should love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. In any other time of my life, that would've seemed like a good idea, and an idea not altogether difficult to carry out into action.
But that was before I had any actual enemies. That was before I lived in a place where people would gladly kill me. That was before I soaked my uniform in another man's blood or attended the memorial of a fellow soldier who will never make it home.
That these are our enemies, I have no doubt. But the people I have the hardest time loving are those who spend their time and energy plotting to kill not me, but each other.
On Easter, some who I consider my enemies, detonated a large bomb outside of the local hospital. Though there were no American injuries,15 Iraqis were killed, including some of their doctors as well as patients. Many more people were injured. Of these, 17 came to our aid station seeking care for significant injuries. One of those patients was a 9-year-old girl with a huge hole in her leg as well as an arterial bleed. She was screaming in a combination of pain and absolute terror. I don't think I know words to describe just how terrible her scream was. We could do nothing to comfort her because we could not speak her language. We could neither answer the questions of her parents, nor provide any explanation as we whisked her off in a helicopter for further care. All we could do was work to get her stabilized while listening to her scream.
I will never forget her scream.
Another of our patients that day might lose his leg. His son was killed in the blast, though he did not know it yet.
Still another patient from another day was severely injured in a blast that killed her husband and 3 year old son.
There were others, but you get the idea. I don't relate these events to impress you with my war stories, but rather to help you understand these enemies of mine.
Surely, Jesus didn't mean that I should actually love people like them.
When I think about those we politely call "insurgents," my reaction is akin to that of Conan the Barbarian who found fulfillment in one thing: "to crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women."
But Jesus says to love them. I don't know how.
It seems that it would be a big victory for me if I could just stop hating these people who bombed a hospital and who, twice this week, bombed an outdoor marketplace. I have prayed about this often over the course of the last seven days.
Did Jesus really mean that we should love these men who are, seemingly, the embodiment of pure evil? I want to think not.
But then I am reminded of my savior on a cross asking "Father forgive them." I also know that I "don't have a high priest who can't be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but one who has been in all points tempted like we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15)
Jesus knew what it was to have enemies and He was, no doubt, tempted to hate them. But He was without sin.
Ultimately, I know that my nature will not allow me to love these people apart from Christ. In my heart, I know that they don't deserve my love or Christ's. However, I know that God loves me, and I definitely don't deserve it either.
I haven't learned how to love these insurgents who are trying to kill me, my comrades, and their own countrymen. Truthfully, I am not sure that I will ever learn to do this.
Deep down, I don't know that I even want to.
But there is one thing this experience has done for me: I have a much deeper respect, admiration, and appreciation for what Christ did for us on the cross. He loved me, and millions more like me who go against His commandments every day. We are not worthy of His love, much less his sacrifice.
So I am trying to learn to love Christ, and praying that He will enable me to love someday like He does.
I will close this message like I close much of my correspondence from Iraq. As a Soldier, it is not my job to critique our policies in Iraq. I wish that decisions could be made by Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen instead of Democrats, Republicans, and opinion polls
However, this I do know: our Soldiers are doing some incredible things in this country across the world from you. There are many amazing people here who put themselves in danger every single day to try to bring freedom to this land and its people. In return, we ask only for your prayers. Prayers for our safety, prayers for our morale, prayers for those who do not yet know Jesus, and prayers for people like me to learn to love those who seem so unlovable… unlovable just like you and me."
-sdc
"Men of Grace, it is an honor to write to you from Mahmudiyah, Iraq. I am serving with the 10th Mountain Division in the suburbs south of Baghdad. Darren asked me to write to you about what God has shown me this year.
If I wrote about everything God has shown me this year, this might be a long message. Instead, I'll write about what God has shown me this week, which might still be a bit lengthy. Perhaps referring to what God has "shown" me is a use of the wrong tense. "Showing" might be a more accurate choice of words. But actually, I feel like I am resisting the thing He is showing me right now.
Before I elaborate, I should provide a bit of background for the thoughts I want to share. This week, I was reading in Matthew where Jesus says that we should love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. In any other time of my life, that would've seemed like a good idea, and an idea not altogether difficult to carry out into action.
But that was before I had any actual enemies. That was before I lived in a place where people would gladly kill me. That was before I soaked my uniform in another man's blood or attended the memorial of a fellow soldier who will never make it home.
That these are our enemies, I have no doubt. But the people I have the hardest time loving are those who spend their time and energy plotting to kill not me, but each other.
On Easter, some who I consider my enemies, detonated a large bomb outside of the local hospital. Though there were no American injuries,15 Iraqis were killed, including some of their doctors as well as patients. Many more people were injured. Of these, 17 came to our aid station seeking care for significant injuries. One of those patients was a 9-year-old girl with a huge hole in her leg as well as an arterial bleed. She was screaming in a combination of pain and absolute terror. I don't think I know words to describe just how terrible her scream was. We could do nothing to comfort her because we could not speak her language. We could neither answer the questions of her parents, nor provide any explanation as we whisked her off in a helicopter for further care. All we could do was work to get her stabilized while listening to her scream.
I will never forget her scream.
Another of our patients that day might lose his leg. His son was killed in the blast, though he did not know it yet.
Still another patient from another day was severely injured in a blast that killed her husband and 3 year old son.
There were others, but you get the idea. I don't relate these events to impress you with my war stories, but rather to help you understand these enemies of mine.
Surely, Jesus didn't mean that I should actually love people like them.
When I think about those we politely call "insurgents," my reaction is akin to that of Conan the Barbarian who found fulfillment in one thing: "to crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women."
But Jesus says to love them. I don't know how.
It seems that it would be a big victory for me if I could just stop hating these people who bombed a hospital and who, twice this week, bombed an outdoor marketplace. I have prayed about this often over the course of the last seven days.
Did Jesus really mean that we should love these men who are, seemingly, the embodiment of pure evil? I want to think not.
But then I am reminded of my savior on a cross asking "Father forgive them." I also know that I "don't have a high priest who can't be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but one who has been in all points tempted like we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15)
Jesus knew what it was to have enemies and He was, no doubt, tempted to hate them. But He was without sin.
Ultimately, I know that my nature will not allow me to love these people apart from Christ. In my heart, I know that they don't deserve my love or Christ's. However, I know that God loves me, and I definitely don't deserve it either.
I haven't learned how to love these insurgents who are trying to kill me, my comrades, and their own countrymen. Truthfully, I am not sure that I will ever learn to do this.
Deep down, I don't know that I even want to.
But there is one thing this experience has done for me: I have a much deeper respect, admiration, and appreciation for what Christ did for us on the cross. He loved me, and millions more like me who go against His commandments every day. We are not worthy of His love, much less his sacrifice.
So I am trying to learn to love Christ, and praying that He will enable me to love someday like He does.
I will close this message like I close much of my correspondence from Iraq. As a Soldier, it is not my job to critique our policies in Iraq. I wish that decisions could be made by Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen instead of Democrats, Republicans, and opinion polls
However, this I do know: our Soldiers are doing some incredible things in this country across the world from you. There are many amazing people here who put themselves in danger every single day to try to bring freedom to this land and its people. In return, we ask only for your prayers. Prayers for our safety, prayers for our morale, prayers for those who do not yet know Jesus, and prayers for people like me to learn to love those who seem so unlovable… unlovable just like you and me."
-sdc
Friday, October 26, 2007
Talkin Bout Country
Here's a video from country legend Waylon Jennings. This is from back when it was about the music and not the market. Just a good ol' sweaty jam.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
El Paso & a Poem
Brothers
Rolling down 54
between
the setting sun and rising moon
so fat and full tonight
they hang there like scales
and I can't help but feel that we are
the ones being weighed
On the Road Again
and
I've Always Been Crazy
blaring from the radio
as we blast down that desert highway
the music coarsing through our veins
like blood
cause their ain't no song
like the one you're livin'
All day long we fought
the desert wind
and dust
but never
let them get the
best of us
so
we're off to celebrate
at Andale's tonight
Gathered round the table
we eat and drink our fill
cause tommorow
we'll die
again
between the rising sun
and setting moon
only to be
resurrected
by the beauty of mountains
and the strength of brothers
Ray's doing his best Cosell
and Brett is cracking jokes
as Shawn takes it all in
up on the hill
overlooking
dirty Juarez
Nobody's smiling
but its not cause
we aren't happy
the night wind
is blowing now
and it picks up our souls
Spinning, spinning
it carries them
high up into
the mountains
We can't get there
any other way.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Excellence
Two quotes on excellence, the first I relate to (the debilitating part), the second, healthier quote, I aspire to:
"But being [excellent] is also about having an insecurity that is almost-but not quite-debilitating. The best people have trouble living in their own skin, because nothing is ever great enough." - David Lubars in The Wall Street Journal
"This is how I see excellence, it embraces generosity, humbleness, and sincerity of effort. At it's heart it is about never being satisfied. It has nothing to do with perfection. I'm not a perfectionist. I'm an excellence-ist." - Chef Charlie Trotter in Hemispheres
"But being [excellent] is also about having an insecurity that is almost-but not quite-debilitating. The best people have trouble living in their own skin, because nothing is ever great enough." - David Lubars in The Wall Street Journal
"This is how I see excellence, it embraces generosity, humbleness, and sincerity of effort. At it's heart it is about never being satisfied. It has nothing to do with perfection. I'm not a perfectionist. I'm an excellence-ist." - Chef Charlie Trotter in Hemispheres
Friday, October 12, 2007
Feels Like Years...
PlacidHere she is. I cannot tell you how much peace this little girl brings to me. Amidst moving (twice), starting a new job (sort of), and Margaret's birth, the last four months have been crazy. But this sweet little package of grace and love has flooded our souls with a sustaining peace and surprisngly, rest. We had initially been planning on calling her Charlotte, but as I told friends, she looked much too regal for that when we first saw her and so out of the blue she ended up as Margaret. I have received quite a bit of gentle ribbing about this, but scoffers take note: in our house, we play an endless procession of music cds and Margaret has no reaction to any of them except for the visible reaction she shows to classical music. Unlike Willie Nelson, it never fails to put her in a great mood. Told Ya!
Ramblin
We are now located in Des Moines, Iowa - one third of the way between Canada and Mexico on Interstate 35 and almost halfway between New York and San Francisco on Interstate 80. I am enjoying being at the crossroads of two great American highways, but still wish I was further south at the crossroads of I-35 and I-10. Although it is a slightly different string of pearls than I-10, I just love heading West on I-80 knowing that Cheyenne, Salt Lake, Reno and San Fran are all just sitting out there in the setting sun waiting for me.
Unbecoming
In the course of my work, I run across quite a few men in their 50's and 60's. I look up to and enjoy being around older men and so I am always excited by these brushes with wisdom. Probably more so because of the initial burst of anticipatory excitement, I am always extremely let down when they turn out to be more like a 30 year old than a 60 year old. I've got to say that one of the saddest sights in this world is a dirty old man or a bitter old woman. Old age should be a glorious time. So many battles behind you, so many rivers crossed, valleys endured and peaks enjoyed. It is a time to pass on lessons learned to those in need of your wisdom, a time to slow down a little and enjoy the world with your knowing yet grateful eyes. I am so thankful that I have grandparents who are people I can look up to.
From the Mighty Mo' to the Mighty Miss
I've been to Omaha four times now in the last few months and I've got to say that it is such a great town. The Missouri River runs along the eastern edge of town and the wide and sandy Platte River runs just to the south of it. It is a town with a great railroading heritage that is celebrated by the two locomotive engines permanently parked on the river bluff just above the highway as you come in from the east on I-80. You can feel the history in the air, the stories of both hard working men of the field and of free living hoboes riding by on boxcars heading from one great city to another. Like Des Moines, it is immediately and completely surrounded by fields full of grain, corn and beans as soon as you get out of town. Sitting on the edge of Omaha gazing west gives me a similar feeling to the one I used to get as a teenager when I would stand knee deep in Atlantic staring out into the darkness at the great emptiness between me and Europe. As you sit there can feel the vast and wonderful nothingness between you and the mountains of the West, and out of the dark, a siren song wails, tugging, tugging at you till you can barely stand it and almost give in.
Also had the chance to visit Dubuque, Iowa on the Mississippi River, a town where you feel like at any minute the ghost of Johnny Cash is going to float by, feet dangling off of one of the many barges moving either north or south as he soaks up the sun. Really, the Mississippi is stunning from St. Paul all the way down to at least Davenport ( that's as far as I have been up to now). The river runs through a deep valley surrounded on either side by towering river bluffs topped with tall and leafy trees.
The corn was 6 to 7 feet tall and green as grass when we got here and it now a bleached tan just waiting to be harvested. I am so jealous of the farmers running down miles of corn in their green John Deere combines from well before sun up to well after sun down. That has got to bring such a great feeling of accomplishment as well as a connection to both the past, and the rhythms of life and earth.
Fellow Sojourners
Before we left Texas, Jen and I were able to catch Patty Griffin live in concert in Austin. While waiting for the show to begin, we started talking to the couple next to us. I love Patty Griffin, but I've got to say the highlight of the evening was getting to meet this couple. They were so much fun to talk to. He is a scientist/conservationist type guy who was in Kileen, TX studying birds and has since moved to Florida to work on another project. I would like to point you in the direction of his blog which is filled with tons of great wildlife pictures like this one. You can get a better look at the photos by clicking on them which will enlarge them. Check out the amazing colors in the coral snake.
Iraq
My buddy Scott has one month left in Iraq, after being there for 15 months. Would you please pray for his safety during this last month?
God Bless Texas.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
A Great Line
"It was a lovely night, one of those nights, dear reader, which can only happen when you are young. The sky was so bright and starry that when you looked at it the first question that came into your mind was whether it was really possible that all sorts of bad-tempered and unstable people could live under such a glorious sky."
-Opening line to White Nights,
a short story by Dostoevsky
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