Better by Degrees

Posted on April 1, 2014 by Doc Arnett

The mud pit is a keystone signature of the Warrior Dash. It’s the last obstacle on the course, ending near the finish line. It consists of a long, wide trough dug into the ground and filled with water to about fifteen inches deep. Barbed wire is strung across the pit about a foot or so above the surface of the water so you can’t go through it without getting right down in the mud. By the time several hundred people have crawled through that and then stood up and walked the last several yards to the finish banner, water draining from their bodies and clothing, even the finish line itself has turned to mud.

At the Rocky Hills Ranch in Smithville, Texas, Sam, Ben, Sara and I were all covered from chin to sole. Sam, perhaps a bit more than the rest of us since he decided to flip over and do a backstroke part of the way through the pit. While we stood at a tall table, drinking and talking in the warmest part of the afternoon, the mud began drying. It didn’t dry quickly but it did dry.

As it dried, it shrank, pulling the skin of my forearms into wrinkles. I began to look like an ancient mummy. Well, at least my arms did as thin ridges continued forming, running across my wrists and on up onto my biceps. Uhm, okay, make that the parts of my upper arms where I used to have biceps. Although it didn’t make wrinkles, the mud also was drying on my shorts and shirt.

After more than an hour, any time I would rub my shirt or shorts, bits of dried mud would flake off and fall to the ground. I felt like Pigpen in a Peanuts segment. You could see the dried bits of mud lying on top of the dust all around my feet, like an old tree shedding tiny leaves. Just for the masochistic pleasure, we also began rubbing the dried mud off our arms. It didn’t take long to have enough of that fun so we decided to join a bunch of other people in the little pond on the way to the parking area.

The water was every bit as warm as I expected it to be, having had early season experience in farm ponds before. But, I really wanted to get the mud off, even though the water looked nearly as muddy as I did. It didn’t seem possible that anything that murky could bring about any improvement but it did. After a few minutes of standing and soaking, I began rubbing. Pretty soon, all of the caked mud was gone. In fact, when we came up out of that muddy water, we looked clean.

Even though the pond had certainly improved our condition and appearance, we knew our clothes and shoes were still saturated with mud, silt and sand. We walked the half-mile to the vehicles and took another step toward cleaning off. That hot water Sam and I had poured into his Thermos cooler several hours earlier sure felt good! Even with that, though, we knew we wouldn’t truly be clean until we’d scrubbed off with soap and shampoo in a shower.

In this world of mud and sin, less isn’t good enough; clean really is the goal.

H. Arnett
4/1/14

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A Fine Moment

Posted on March 31, 2014 by Doc Arnett

It is nearly noon on the fourth Saturday in March, mid-seventies and humid. Miles of grass, low-growing trees and clusters of cactus pass by as Sam drives us toward Smithville, between Austin and Houston. Ben and Sara are driving from Houston and arrive at Rocky Hills Ranch a few minutes before we get there.

Sam and I walk the half-mile from the parking lot to meet up with the other two at the Warrior Dash registration area. It is my seventh run in just less than two years, their first. Well, as long as we don’t count all the similar things Captain Samuel Arnett did during his basic training, it’s their first.

After registering, we have someone take a cell phone picture of the four of us, race bibs pinned in place, standing in front of the welcoming banner. Then, we all walk back to the low end of the parking lot, avoiding dry and not-so-dry clumps of cow manure along the way. We visit, finish final preparations and last bites of fresh fruit and I drain my blue Gatorade. By the time we walk back up to the race area and take advantage of the last chance port-a-potties, the PA announcer is calling us to line up for the two o’clock start.

Most of my other runs have been on relatively flat ground. Here, the flat ends after a quarter-mile. I manage a decent pace for an old man and the others are considerate enough to hold back for me. Heading up this first low grade of gravelly run, I tweak my left ankle as it slips off a rock. Nothing big or bad, keep running. The next hill is steeper with more gravel.

Not having trained the last two weeks before the race, using the excuse of sinus and ear infection, which drained my energy and stamina, I end up walking up most of the hills and running down them. In the first two miles of the three-point-seven mile course, there are only one or two obstacles. Most of them are located within the last mile of the run and especially during the last half mile. I prefer them more spaced out to break up the running a bit.

Around the two-mile point, I roll my ankle over pretty hard. This time it does hurt but I don’t tell anyone; we keep going. Run downhill, walk uphill. Jog the flats, as much as I can. I know my sons and Sara could easily complete this thing in ten minutes less time but we have agreed to stay together.

We help each other up the slick barriers of the mud pits: one to offer a step up at the bottom and another to help pull from the top. We charge together up the steep wooden inclines, grab the ropes and work our way up and over. We work our way across the vertical cargo net and climb together up over the slatted A-frames. At the largest obstacle, we start off together across the slats. Moving across the wet, muddy planks above the pit, I sense that the others have moved ahead. I work my way up the next incline, grab the overhead grip and slide down the tube into the muddy pool at the bottom.

I stand up to catch my breath and look around for the others. Turning back, I see them all together at the top of the tubes, waving at me. I watch, laughing as they come shooting out of the tubes. Sam is stretched out completely horizontal and disappears into the muck.

At this point, there is only a quarter-mile left. We jog toward the finish and jump over the burning line of the fire strips. “Hey,” Sam says, “Let’s go back and jump together.” My ankle is hurting, my legs are hurting and I feel worn out. “Are you serious?” I ask and know immediately, yes, he’s serious. So we go back thirty yards past the fire jump and line up. Just before we get to the fire, another runner comes past us on the left. We abort the jump and go back for another try.

Then, it’s through the shallow muddy pond and I claw my way up the sloggy, slippery bank. After this, it’s the final dash to the mud pit covered with low barbed wire. As we crawl our way toward the finish, Sam flips over and starts doing a backstroke. Covered with mud from neck to toe, we pose for the finish line picture and then head to the drink tent.

For over an hour then, we stand at a table, sharing memories of the race and our drinks and listening to the music. Hundreds of other people walk around us, many of them as muddy as we are. It seems that everyone is laughing. Some fad dance song comes on that most of them seem to know and Sam teaches me the steps. It’s a very easy dance and so I catch on pretty quickly. We dance and laugh together, covered with drying mud, bound together by the experience, by years of love, by bonds that still strengthen through the years.

This is not heaven but it is one of earth’s better moments.

H. Arnett
3/31/14

Texas Mud Run

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Scholarship, Leadership, Service & Character

Posted on March 28, 2014 by Doc Arnett

[This is the speech I made during the National Honor Society induction at Riverside High School in Wathena, Kansas, on March 27, 2014.]

From the NHS website: The National Honor Society (NHS) is the nation’s premier organization established to recognize outstanding high school students. More than just an honor roll, NHS serves to honor those students who have demonstrated excellence in the areas of scholarship, leadership, service, and character. These characteristics have been associated with membership in the organization since its beginning in 1921… Chapter membership not only recognizes students for their accomplishments, but challenges them to develop further through active involvement in school activities and community service.

A history of second best… my father was salutatorian of his high school class, my oldest sister was salutatorian of her high school class, my other sister was salutatorian of her high school class, I was salutatorian of my high school class. My three brothers went to high school, too…

Excellence does not require competition. Competition is about winning, comparison to others, “beating” someone else. There are some goals that absolutely require competition: district/regional/state championships; being valedictorian. Excellence does not require competition against others; it requires you to conquer yourself and dedicate yourself to an ideal. I can be an excellent student, writer, preacher, racer without ever winning anything. But I cannot be excellent at anything while being lazy, indifferent or apathetic. Excellence requires dedication, purpose, focus and perseverance.

Excellence, for most of us, does require work and effort. There are several things that I am good at… or used to be good at. Even though I was only five-nine my senior year, I was the leading rebounder on our basketball team. I was an excellent rebounder because of my natural aggression on the ball court, jumping ability and timing. I was not an excellent basketball player because I never dedicated myself to the hard work of perfecting free throws, jump shots, passing and defense. I was pretty good at dribbling because of my natural ability. I could have been an excellent basketball player but I was not willing to invest the work necessary to become outstanding. I could claim the excuse that no one encouraged me to do that as a kid or as a teenager but I was the person who decided not to devote myself to the game. I did devote myself to public speaking and writing and those are the things that I eventually became pretty good at.

Excellence is not required in every single aspect of your life… but you need to choose pretty carefully what things at which being mediocre is good enough. I am not excellent at finishing drywall but if I take my time, pay attention and spend enough money on sandpaper, I can do pretty good work. I enjoy bass fishing but I’m not ready to pay $500 to enter a tournament. I have a lot of fun using the front loader on my little Kubota tractor but I’m not the guy you want to hire for excavation work. The point is this: there are many worthwhile things you can enjoy without being excellent at them. Having to be excellent at everything is obsession and is a recognized mental illness. Having to be best at everything is another one…

You don’t have to be excellent at everything but you must be excellent at some things or else you will waste your abilities, your talents, your potential and your life. Be excellent at cooking or sewing or softball or hunting turkeys. Be an excellent friend, an excellent helper, an excellent family member, an excellent citizen. Be excellent at something that matters, something that makes a difference, something that contributes. Be excellent at welcoming new people, be excellent at standing up for the weak, powerless or unpopular, be excellent at telling the truth, be excellent at accepting responsibility for your own choices and actions, be excellent at forgiving people, be excellent at doing the right thing.

Know and remember that the values of the National Honor Society matter. They matter now and they matter all the way through life.

Scholarship: choosing knowledge over ignorance; dedication to knowing and understanding a particular thing. I study mud runs, I study the obstacles, I study the terrain, I study the situation. I know that a running start up an incline wall gets you over it faster than working your way up along the rope. I know that a lateral traverse on a cargo net goes faster if you cross one foot over the other instead of using a step and slide technique. I know that a “gator crawl” gets you through an 18 inch mud pit faster than crawling or swimming. I know that running downhill cuts off more time than running uphill. I know that at least 80% of your climb energy/effort should come from your legs, not your arms. I know that keeping your palms turned toward you and your arms bent on an overhand traverse reduces the stress on your shoulders. There’s nothing at which scholarship cannot help you become better.

Leadership: the willingness to accept responsibility, to set an example, to be first in getting something done. Leadership doesn’t mean that I have to be the first team member into the mud pit; it does mean I don’t leave until the last member is out. Leadership includes a willingness to accept criticism and grow from it instead of retaliate for it. Leadership involves appreciating and encouraging others. Leadership involves sharing knowledge and experience and knowing that sometimes others know more than you do. It’s about bringing people together and helping them see how good they are and can be, not about showing them how good you are.

Service: the willingness to dedicate your time and effort to something that benefits other people at least as much as it benefits you. Most of the obstacles that I tackle in mud runs are things I can do by myself. I can climb over the barriers, under the barbed wire, through the trenches. I take a bit of pride in being able to do some of those things better or faster than a lot of people who are one-third of my age. (And some older than me who can do them faster and better than me!) But I also recognize that there are some challenges I can’t do alone. In the race in Smithville, Texas, this weekend, we encountered mud pits with high mounds built up between them. They were so high and the footing was so slick that you couldn’t get enough traction to jump or enough grip to pull. We had to let someone else step up on our knees and push them up while someone at the top reached down and gave them an anchor to pull up against. Some people would accept the help and then run on, barely taking time to mutter “thanks.” That is selfish ingratitude. Most of us would take a turn at the bottom and then another turn at the top, helping other racers that we didn’t know. It was a way of paying back the community and that is what service is: helping other people who may or may not be able to help you in return.

Character: doing the right thing even when no one would know if you did or not. Character is living parallel to what you believe and not giving up when the going gets tough. Someone said, “Character is what you do when you think no one is looking.” In the race this weekend, most of the trail was on gravel. Sometimes, it was a gravel road, sometimes it was rocky terrain and sometimes it was like running through a gravel quarry. Some of the rocks were the size of acorns and some of them were the size of baseballs. Not only was the terrain uneven and rough, it was covered with objects designed to resist traction and stability. I tweaked my ankle about three-fourths of a mile into the three-point-seven mile race. It didn’t really hurt, just a quick roll and keep going. Then, soon after the two-mile point, I rolled it over pretty hard. Not hard enough to cripple me but hard enough to hurt. I was with my sons and quasi-daughter-in-law and I had just passed a bunch of people at a narrow part of the trail running downhill through the woods. I wasn’t about to limp over to the side and quit in front of them. It hurt but I kept running. It hurt every step for the next two miles but I still kept going. That’s character. (With maybe a little bit of pride thrown in…)

There will be times when taking responsibility hurts. There will be times when telling the truth hurts. There will be times when it will be easier to not do the right thing. There will be times when it will be easier to let someone else do it, to copy off someone else, to let someone else write your paper. Yes, you will see a lot of other people lie, cheat, steal and cut corners. Many of them will tell you there’s nothing wrong with it and make fun of you if you disagree. I see cheaters in nearly every race. I don’t have to live with them; I have to live with my choices. If you choose to be a person of character, you will stand out in a crowd of job applicants, promotion candidates, or whatever. Keep your word, do what’s right, even when no one’s looking.

In summary, you don’t have to be the best to be excellent. Sometimes being second best is pretty darn good. (Except for marriage proposals.) Carefully choose what’s worth the effort of being excellent and then get rid of all the excuses, take responsibility and put in the work it takes to achieve excellence. This may not make sense to you now, but be excellent at the kinds of things your grandkids will like to see in your obituary. Take the values of the National Honor Society seriously. Live them. Apply them. Demonstrate them: Study, lead, serve, honor your beliefs.

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Staying in Step

Posted on March 28, 2014 by Doc Arnett

On the evening of my first day visiting with one of my sons and his family in Texas, Sam took me over to Groene (pronounced “Green”). There are several shops and stores in the old downtown area with a variety of goods available. We were primarily interested in two locations, though: the old dance hall and the Grist Mill Restaurant.

According to Sam, Groene Hall was built so that local farmers could have some entertainment while they waited to have their cotton ginned and their grain gristed. Since it was the closer of the two, we visited the dance hall first.

I don’t recall the actual year of construction but I believe the long wooden frame structure was built about a hundred years ago, maybe more. The foundation has sagged noticeably at the entry door. Inside, pictures of numerous country music artists taken inside the hall hang on the walls. I recognized the names of some, others I didn’t. All of them, including George Strait, shared the experience of having performed at Groene Hall.

Past the bar, the wooden floor continued into the dance hall proper. I’m estimating that it’s about eighty feet wide and a hundred-and-twenty-five feet long. There’s a low stage at the end next to the bar and then a few rows of picnic tables spanning the width and running back about half of the distance. A long row of tables along one wall finishes framing in the dance area with another stage at the opposite end.

The benches at all the tables were pretty much filled. People milled about the area, headed for refills or carrying them back to their tables or just standing and visiting with one another. A good four-piece band was playing mostly traditional country music; I knew the words to most of the songs. A small white-haired woman stood at the end of one row of tables, drinking a beer and patting her foot in time to the music. She wasn’t a bit over five feet tall. When the band switched to a new song, she quit patting her foot and started shuffling.

I tapped Sam on the shoulder and pointed to her, “Look at that.” He looked at her for a few seconds then looked back at me and we smiled at each other. She was old and bent and short and stiff but there was no way you could say she wasn’t having a good time, dancing by herself.

We headed over to the restaurant and ate barbecued ribs at a table out on one of the balconies, overlooking the Guadalupe River in the shade of live oak trees. When we finished and headed back over to Groene Hall, that woman was still dancing.

She had limbered up a bit and the dance floor was crowded. The ages of couples varied from pre-adolescence to post-senior citizen but they shared a few things in common: all the males were wearing boots, the women were wearing smiles and they were all moving in the same general direction. Some of them made their steps and swirls a bit more quickly and smoothly than others but they all looked to be having a great time.

The little old lady was doing a two-step up near the band. The song ended and she headed back to her beer. As she walked by, Sam stood up and stepped over to her. “I just want to tell you that seeing you dance here has made my night,” he told her. She smiled brightly and thanked him. “I’m seventy-five years old,” she admitted, “But when that music starts playing I feel twenty.”

I guess that’s it, isn’t it? No matter our age, we just need to find the right tune and keep letting our feet lead us out on the floor. And stay in step with the Spirit.

H. Arnett
3/28/14

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Ordinary Stuff

Posted on March 26, 2014 by Doc Arnett

I have arrived at Sam and Sara Jane’s home in New Braunfels late in the afternoon. It is about twenty degrees warmer here in Texas than it was in Kansas City when I left the airport. On the flight, I noticed the browns and grays eventually gave way to hints of green in the shapes of fields. As we pulled up in front of the house, I noticed the Bradford Pears were in full bloom.

I play catch in the back yard with Gammon, who just turned seven. Harrison, two years younger, climbs up into the playhouse. Levi, who will be three this year, does whatever seems most likely to interfere with whatever his older brothers are trying to do at the moment. Later, after frozen yogurt treats, I hold Harrison on my hip and push Levi in the swing. In other words, I am mostly being a grandpa and doing grandpa things. The things you’d do a hundred times a year if it wasn’t a thousand miles to the backyard.

In this world of choices and changes seldom neatly arranged, we manage our lives as best we can and try to make things better with each change. Sometimes we see the better right away and sometimes we suspect that better was what we left instead of where we went. Part of the complicated beauty of life is in learning to weave all the choices into the tapestry of who we are, what we do and what we leave for those who continue after we are gone.

They will choose what to do with all of it. A few hugs, a simple story, and a little while playing catch in the back yard might turn into some of the brighter threads. We each choose what to keep and what to let go but it will help if we deliberately try to put some good into the simple of each day.

H. Arnett
3/26/14

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Storytelling in Texas

Posted on March 25, 2014 by Doc Arnett

It has been three years since my last visit with my second oldest son’s family. Sam and Sara Jane were living at Newport News at that time with two kids. Now they’re in New Braunfels, Texas, with three kids. Their youngest, Levi, is two years old. Since Gammon and Harrison are in first grade and pre-school at County Line Elementary, Sara Jane managed to arrange for Papa Doc to do storytelling for their classes.

The morning after I arrived in Texas, we all showed up in Harrison’s room. With Sam helping out by loaning me his guitar and voice, we mixed in a couple of John Prine songs with Uncle Reemus and Tacky the Penguin. Then, we did our shtick again for the first graders in Gammon’s room right after lunch.

With Sam demonstrating the hand motions and providing encouragement and cheerleading, we had them singing “That’s the Way the World Goes Round” right off the bat. Both groups enjoyed the songs and hearing about how Brer Rabbit tricked Brer Fox into swapping places with him at the bottom of the well in the story of the Fitsy-Fotsy-Figaloo Fishes. But what really got them howling was Tacky.

Helen Lester’s story of the misfit Antarctic bird seems to me to be written for live performance. From the malfunctioning marching to the delinquent diving, it is so easily adapted to demonstration that I can no longer imagine just sitting and reading it. When Tacky shakes the water off his tail, the children giggle. When he sings his horrible song, they laugh out loud. And when he launches himself off the iceberg and lands his cannonball dive right at their feet, they shriek with delight.

I don’t know that Jesus ever told stories about penguins and rabbits to the children of Galilee but I do know that he welcomed them and embraced them. There’s not much in life that is more enjoyable than bringing a few bright moments into a child’s day. Having your son help you do it for children you already love… well, that’s just darn near ecstasy.

H. Arnett
3/25/14

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Renewal by Fire

Posted on March 18, 2014 by Doc Arnett

A string of flame in the dead grass
moves slowly past the posts,
nibbling its way across the field,
against the wind.

I have burned a back swath
on the north side of the pasture
to keep the fire on this side
of good relations with the neighbors,
a safe strip to lessen the likelihood
of a jump.

In the standing grass,
bleached and dried by months of winter,
the fire makes a splintering sound
as blades burst from the heat.

In the matted sections,
it creeps along,
sometimes skipping the places
where the last of melting snow
left it wet beneath the covering.

The last bits of color
brush the edges of curling clouds
as I spread fire
along the southern side nearest the house,
trailing embers from the tines of the rake.

The breeze pulses then surges
and the flames dance and flicker
across the stems,
flaring at the thicker places
but by now
the northern half of the field
is already blackened
and there is nothing left
to fuel the fire.

Smoke drifts into the darkening sky
as I walk the edges
to be sure the night will be safe
for myself and others
and leave the field
strangely ready for green and growing.

H. Arnett
3/18/14

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Things Done Well

Posted on March 7, 2014 by Doc Arnett

Considering the forecast for tonight and Randa’s late afternoon appointments in Saint Joe, I decided–while on the way home from work yesterday–to surprise her with a suggestion that we eat out on Thursday night instead of Friday night. But then, when I got home, there she was standing at the stove fixing supper.

Some relations teeter on such dilemmas as this: finish cooking or go out to eat?

We waited until the cornbread finished cooking in the oven and then headed over to El Maguey’s in Saint Joseph. Somehow, Randa managed to mask any trace of frustration and indeed seemed genuinely enthusiastic about eating out at our favorite restaurant.

The manager, Eduardo, gave us a friendly greeting at the door and Ishmael gave us a friendly greeting at the table. The busboy had chips and salsa there before we finished sliding into our booth seats. As a formality, Ishmael asked us if we wanted our usual drink order and we reminded him that we’d like some pico gallo, too. Soon after those arrived, we also had our grilled chicken quesadillas.

After our prayer, we ate slowly, talked at length and at one point quietly amused ourselves discussing in very low voices whether or not the middle-aged men who sat down at the table across from us were twins or not. If a DNA test revealed they were not even brothers, I would have to recommend the lab be shut down; they just had too many distinctly similar features.

We also talked about the similar features among our many visits to El Maguey. We’ve been regular customers there for over ten years. The food is consistently excellent and there have been only two or three times over those years when the service has not been on par with the food. We like the people, we like the food and we like the atmosphere. We are welcomed when we arrive and treated well while we are there and none of it seems pretentious.

Might be a lesson in that for churches, companies and other families.

H. Arnett
3/7/14

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More Stubborn Than Winter

Posted on March 6, 2014 by Doc Arnett

The slight chance of flurries yesterday left over a quarter-inch of fresh snow at our place, a frosting on top of the glazed gravel that seemed a bit treacherous walking from the garage to the house. It is not nearly as cold this morning as it was three days ago but it is still considerably lower than shirtsleeve weather. The snow shows mostly on the places that are paved or barren. Winter’s stems and dried blades of grass and scattered leaves mark the other places.

If things go as predicted today, by evening the only white will be the remnants of drifts from the storm nearly a month ago. A day of sun and fifty degrees has a way with the thin layers. Even though I do not look forward to the mess and muck of transition, I am certainly ready to welcome spring, even though the weekend’s weather sounds more like more of winter.

So many are weary of this long, bitter winter that I hesitate to mention the beauty of drifts and the frozen motion of the wind in the feathery ripples that formed on the surface, the mystery of rings around the bases of trees and the curling lips forming off the edges of the roof. Those who ache from the bruising cold find little beauty in the snow and utility bills that take too much of a month’s pay have a way of shaping perceptions of nature.

But I think it good to take caution in letting circumstance take too strong a hold on our view of things. Bitterness in the heart only prolongs the ache of winter and resentment makes the fading even slower.

As I look out the window just now, the deep red circle of the sun suddenly shows through the frozen fog, glowing through the branches above frost-crusted earth. I will choose to believe in good for this day and trust Him who has made it to make it so.

H. Arnett
3/6/14

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Parental Guidance Recommended

Posted on March 5, 2014 by Doc Arnett

I have wondered
whether other parents
feel the same pangs of regret
that I sometimes feel,

retracing and reliving
some of the more notable
mistakes I made,

some the simple sort we make
when emotions collide
and the tide of the day
washes up over us
and we say something
or do something
that we wouldn’t have
except the critical mass of disobedience
exceeded the momentary capacity
for patience and wisdom

and wrath rose up out of us
like some possessing demon.

But the ones that ache me the deepest
are ones I made calmly,
coldly and indifferently
choosing some pretentious virtue
over what was good and gentle,
peaceful.

And yet, even in the ache,
I make my way toward forgiveness,
seeing in my children’s children
proof that ultimately
love will prevail
and each generation
will share its tales and its tortures.

And I give thanks
that my children and I
have lived long enough
to like each other again.

H. Arnett
3/5/14

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