Holiday Plans

Posted on November 28, 2013 by Doc Arnett

I didn’t plan to get up at dairy farm time on Thanksgiving Day, but sometimes my mind seems to have a mind of its own. Today, it seems to think that it should be thinking instead of sleeping. So, after already spending an hour putting another coat of sealer on the last set of kitchen cabinet doors and drawer fronts and then sorting through some more of the stuff I’ve had stored in boxes for twenty-to-forty years, I’m here at my computer… and it’s only 5:30.

Lord willing, in a couple more hours, Randa’s daughter, Christy, will be here with her two teenage sons. I’ll cook waffles and sausage and we’ll have our breakfast together. Then, according to the plan, Hunter and Gage will help me bottle up my latest batch of apple cider. That done, they’ll head back home well before noon and Randa and I will head toward Kentucky. While we’re gone, a neighbor will feed the horse and the cat, hopefully without getting the rations reversed.

If all goes according to intent, I’ll do some work on upgrading my daughter’s closet on Friday. Then, we’ll have a big holiday roundup at her house on Saturday with another four of my kids, their significant others and a dozen of our grandkids. Hopefully, I’ll be able to persuade a few of those kids to help me make a big bowl of fruit salad. I’m expecting a lot of good food, a fair amount of noise and activity and hopefully, the biggest tag football game we’ve played this century. Nothing elaborate and all of it very special, for a variety of reasons.

Three of my sons are on active military duty and two of them have been deployed multiple times in the Middle East over the past several years. A few of the kids have lived in Alaska at different times over the past decade and a couple worked at an orphanage in Jamaica for a while. Most holidays, we’ve been separated by thousands of miles. Even without the particular challenges of blended families, it would have been challenging for us to all get together. It seems like quite a stretch, but I’m hopeful that some day, all of our children and grandchildren will be able to get together in one place at one time. Whether that ever happens or not, I intend to take deep pleasure and delight in every opportunity to get together with any of them. I’ll also take satisfaction in remembering celebrations of days gone by: my uncles coming to the farm in Todd County to go rabbit and quail hunting, Mom’s cornbread dressing, homemade rolls and fruit salad.

I’m not sure what traditions might be in your plans for Thanksgiving, but I hope you get to spend at least part of the day enjoying your favorite ones. I hope, too, that those you love will feel loved and appreciated. You might be able to do something about that…

H. Arnett
11/28/13

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The Power of Surrender

Posted on November 27, 2013 by Doc Arnett

On a cold and clear November morning, we gathered in the sanctuary for worship. There was enough bite in the single digit wind chill to make one wonder if the calendar skipped a month and moved right on into winter. Inside, though, it was warm and pleasant.

After our bearded biker guy led us in the singing of “Spirit Song” by John Wimber, the pastor did not go up to the pulpit as expected. Instead, he spoke from in front of the communion table. “This may be more of a confession than a sermon,” he said, and proceeded to share with the group his frustration, anger and depression over the past several months about a disappointing situation in his life.

He spoke on briefly, “Some of you may be facing disappointment in your relationships, your marriages, your children, your jobs, with other expectations.” He then pointed up to Wimber’s song lyrics projected on the wall at the front of the sanctuary:

Lift your hands in sweet surrender to His name

O give Him all your tears and sadness

Give Him all your years of pain

And you’ll enter into life in Jesus’ name.

“It might be,” the pastor added, “that I’m the only one here dealing with something like this. It might be that this is nothing more than a church needing to see the example of its pastor humbling himself before them.” Again, he paused, then added, “Whether it’s just me or all of us, I know that none of us can have the life that Jesus wants us to live until we are willing to surrender all of our disappointments, all of our tears and sadness, all of our years of pain.”

As the guy in the booth at the back dimmed the lights, he turned then, walked over and knelt in prayer. While the worship leader and piano player resumed softly singing “Jesus, O Jesus, come and fill your lambs…” a dozen others joined the pastor at the altar.

There is incredible power in humility and all spiritual filling begins with surrender.

H. Arnett
11/27/13

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Options

Posted on November 26, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Each choice brings consequence, each decision has costs. Staying where we are means giving up something else, making a move means losing something. It is the capacity to focus on gains that lets us loose the reins of our lives and take the chance of making something better. We do not live in Iron Curtain Russia; no one stipulates that we must be a tailor in Reynoldsburg or a carpenter in Mountain View. We have choices: careers, homes, where we live, how we earn a living, with whom we cohabitate. We all have choices.

Among the most miserable choices we make is the one to stay where we are, keep doing what we’re doing, and gripe incessantly about it.

A bit of selective venting can be therapeutic, even liberating. The pressure is relieved and we go on to focus, once again, on what is good, what is rewarding, what is worthwhile. The keys are “bit” and “selective.” Indiscriminate, interminable complaining marks us rather quickly as… well, complainers. Even the seemingly sympathetic listener soon grows weary of our carping and griping, even the ones who join right in with us. Surely, even we grow tired of our own company.

Eventually, some good friend, some courageous relative, some particularly devoted companion, or just some colleague who frankly doesn’t give a flip about our reaction, confronts us with our own addiction to negativity. Or, they may simply surrender us to the void of our own darkness. Perhaps, in some cases, by some means and in some way, we hear the convicting voice of our Creator and must acknowledge the depth and degree of our pessimistic self-affliction. We concur with the little swamp possum, Pogo: “We have met the enemy and he is us.”

No matter how talented the dung beetle, no matter how adept at shaping and rolling her little cargo along the path, she cannot escape this fact: she is a dung beetle and her life revolves around her personal little wad of crap. While she doesn’t appear to have a lot of choice in the matter, I don’t have that excuse.

It’s way past time for me to make a change, even if it’s about nothing other than my attitude.

H. Arnett
11/26/13

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Mosaics

Posted on November 25, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Last Friday morning, I met with three of my colleagues over at Holton, just under an hour’s drive from Highland. They’d driven over from Wamego, about the same amount of time from the opposite direction. All of us drove a bit more cautiously than usual, owing to the bit of freezing rain that came the evening before. The roads were generally clear, owing more to the salt trucks than to the drab skies above us.

Every now and then, though, the sun would shine through a break in the clouds and then what a fine spectacle would show. The tips of branches, sheathed in ice, glowed like spikes of magnesium. At just the right angle, with the sun just behind me, the reflections were so bright, the branches seemed tipped with intense lights. When I looked low but toward the sun, I saw a frozen sea of grass, colors caught perfectly in the coating glass. Hints of orange, splotches of beige, slight tints of copper and bronze, patches of taupe, all fused together in a mass of prairie tones and textures.

Then, the clouds would slip together and the cold day’s drab would lower around us again.

After spending an hour discussing how to proceed with our institutional improvement project, my associates and I drove over to Boomer’s restaurant for lunch. While we waited, while we ate and for a while later, we talked. We talked about jobs and family, trips and travels, hobbies and habits. There were but one or two hints of darkness, a few friendly digs and a lot of laughter. Within an hour, we’d seen and shared more of each other than we would have known in a month of meetings.

Though we certainly learn about each other in the formal functionings of our work, it is in these other moments that friendships are formed. The truly wise will create such opportunities for themselves and others. They may not inherit the workplace but they will gain other benefits. They will be blessed and they will be blessing to those around them.

H. Arnett
11/25/13

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This Is How I Dew

Posted on November 22, 2013 by Doc Arnett

About halfway between Blair, Kansas and Kirksey, Kentucky, there’s a rest stop on I-64 in Illinois. If my observation and memory skills even slightly surpassed those of the average comatose flaxseed, I could tell you the precise location. Instead, I will have to say that it is the first rest stop east of St. Louis on Interstate Sixty-Four. It is the same rest stop at which I locked my keys in the car a couple of years ago. I did not lock my keys in the car on my most recent trip. I wasn’t driving the car.

Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t lock my keys in the truck, either. What I did was insert a twenty-dollar bill into a vending machine. I did this because I was thirsty for something other than Illinois public water.

The propaganda message posted on the vending machine assured me that I would be given correct change after making my selection. The message was partially correct; I was given change.

It seemed to me that $1.50 was a sufficient charge for a twelve-ounce bottle of pop. Estimating the actual cost of production, transportation and dispensing, I calculated that the dollar-fifty would provide at least a dollar of profit to be shared between the vendor and the Illinois Department of Transportation. In this case, the profit margin skyrocketed.

Soon after the robot elevator retrieving mechanism deposited my Mountain Dew into the dispensing chamber, three bills protruded from the folding money shaft and a bunch of coins dropped into the change box. At first, I thought they were all quarters but it turned out there were three one-dollar coins and two quarters. Now, had the three bills previously mentioned all been fives, the change total would have neatly matched my expectations.

The first two bore the quite familiar image of our sixteenth president. The third one, though, retreated a century or so, back to the earliest days of our nation and its very first premier official. No disrespect, George, but you were definitely a disappointment on this particular trivial occasion. Between the retail charge and the shortchanging, I’d just paid five dollars and fifty cents for a small bottle of pop. Normally, one has to attend a major sporting event in order to negotiate that sort of bargain in personal refreshment.

Reflecting back over my life and a few of the other bargains I’d made, this was definitely not the worst. At least this one left me with no scars and no further payments.

H. Arnett
11/22/13

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Climate Change & Challenge

Posted on November 20, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Several years ago, I would have marveled at the sound of thunder in mid-November. After Sunday’s outbreak of over eighty tornadoes across the mid-West, “marvel” seems a questionable description. A year ago in March, the temperature here in northeastern Kansas topped ninety degrees. Tomorrow’s predicted high is 51 with freezing rain likely in the evening. Last week’s hellacious typhoon brought unprecedented damage to the Philippine Islands.

Across its ranges, terrains and changes, this planet exudes evidence of imbalance and imperfection. Its shakings, quakings, rumblings and rattlings show us that we are not in a world at peace with itself, even in its own nature. How much less do we see evidence that our species is any more successful in its strivings?

I do not wish to even list them; suffice it to say that no one with eyes open can deny the turmoil, violence, evil and wrath.

To promise peace in the midst of this must surely be madness itself. How clear can it be that the courses of this world do not lead to harmony and tranquility?

Even though a Jewish carpenter spoke words of life and peace nearly two thousand years ago, the world still studies the ways of war. The world still strives for success of the self above the welfare of the multitude. The world still resolves to return evil for evil, violence for violence, pain for pain. And harvests the full reaping of its choices.

We learn so slowly, and yet we must learn, the conquering power of turning the other cheek, the incredible strength of meekness, the forge-quenching miracle of forgiveness. Though we despise obedience and idolize rebellion, surely we must have some creeping sense of awareness that what we have so often traveled is not the road to peace. Within or without.

That path begins with submission and ends with victory, even over our most mortal enemy: Self.

H. Arnett
11/20/13

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Hang In, Hold On, and Let ‘er Rip, Tater Chip

Posted on November 14, 2013 by Doc Arnett

This little cold snap came sailing in like a old train on iron tracks, slamming into the last warm edges of a pleasant autumn. One day, we were strolling about in shirtsleeves and smiles, soaking up the warmth like fat cows on a southern slope. The next, we were talking about single digit wind chills and wondering whether or not we’d have to chop through the ice on the water trough. It wasn’t fun bracing that first frozen morning; I’ve never been too convincing in my own imitation of a homesick Esquimeau.

The upside is that two days later we’re looking for a high in the mid-fifties and are told we’ll brush the low edge of seventy on Saturday. The cold spells don’t seem so bad when they make the thin slice between longer sides of pleasant temperatures. It’s not the cold spells that really get us; it’s the winters.

For some short season of disappointment, some brief testing, we usually figure we can just grit our teeth for a spell, clench the core muscles and hang on for a bit. It’s not like riding a bull, quite, but we figure if we make it through the next eight seconds or so, things will turn better. For those long months of gray light and bone-aching nights, it takes something else. It takes endurance, it takes hope, it takes a determined faith.

Might be we’d rather do as Guy Clark sings and just blow south when the wind blows cold. Some folks do that, but sometimes there’s no escaping the winds of life. And that endurance and hope and faith that we need for those long testing winters, well, that’s an interesting thing.

Faith is a choice, hope is an attitude and endurance, well, endurance comes from going through those cold spells and those other winters. It comes from reminding ourselves that we’ve seen such things before and we’ve made it through every one of them. Might have a nick or two here and there and might even show a little sign of frostbite on some of the fringes, but, by God’s good grace and a pioneer’s selective stubbornness, well, we’re still here.

So, next time one of those cold spells blasts into your life, remember that even winter doesn’t last forever. One of these days, if we keep on holding on to hope and faith, we’re going to cross our last frozen river. And, my, what wonderful stories we’ll have to share!

H. Arnett
11/14/13

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Being Together Hundreds of Miles Apart

Posted on November 11, 2013 by Doc Arnett

The original plan, hatched several months ago, was that we were going to give Randa a birthday to remember this year.

Back in May, I took advantage of my nepotistic appointment as an Honorary Kentucky Colonel to buy five tickets for Churchill Down’s Millionaire’s Row event for this past Saturday. Since I have a few kids still living in Kentucky, I figured at least three of them could join Randa and me for a fitting celebration for a woman who loves horses as much as she does. The kids were up for it, I was up for it and Randa was up for it. Problem was, the price of airline tickets was up for it, too.

I’d figured with such a long lead-time in my planning, we’d be able to score some roundtrip tickets for no more than a buck-fifty or so. Not so. Cheapest seats I could find on anything other than those that come with pre-paid funeral plans was going to be over three hundred dollars each. And then, there would be car rental, hotel bills and meals. I know that I’m a flint-hearted stingy tightwad of an old geezer but the idea of a thousand dollar weekend just wasn’t quite what I’d budgeted.

And so, in a cooperative event spanning over six hundred miles, Susan, her brother, Ben, and Ben’s girlfriend, Sara, celebrated Randa’s birthday at Churchill Downs on Saturday. Randa, her brother and his wife and I drove up to Nebraska City for lunch at Lied Lodge. The weather and the company were fine in both places and the colors were vivid. Good memories were made all around; it was, indeed, a birthday to remember.

When love is strong, hearts are warm and minds are kindred, we don’t have to be together to celebrate.

H. Arnett
11/11/13

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More Truth About Halloween

Posted on November 8, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Just a week ago, I published my little essay coming clean about being a Halloween grinch. (If you haven’t read it and you have access to my blog site, you should stop reading this now and read “The Truth About Halloween” before you go any further with this piece.) One of my church members was deeply touched by my confession. He and his wife had taken their kids trick-or-treating the night before. Some of the homes they visited insisted on giving candy to the parents as well as the children. “I scored a couple of PayDays,” Brett wrote on Facebook, “I’ll give you one of them.”

I was really disappointed when he didn’t show up at church Sunday. Inexplicably, he let weekend training with the Air Force National Guard take priority over bringing me that candy bar. Just as I was about to give his wife, Stacey, an earful about it, she said, “Oh, Doc, Brett gave me something to give to you.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out the biggest PayDay candy bar I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t one of those “fun size” or “we know you’re too cheap to really give out candy on Halloween” sizes; this was one of those ultra king size take this home, get out the carving knife and feed your family sizes. That candy bar was so huge I even gave Randa a couple of pieces of it. Small pieces. Very small pieces. But, hey, I did share. Turned out I would have more opportunity for that.

On Tuesday of this week, as Randa and I pulled into the driveway after work, we stopped by the mailbox. Along with the usual stack of immediate recycling, there was a small flat rate box. It was heavy. I figured Randa had ordered another horse book of some kind. Turns out, this box is addressed to me.

So, after we got inside, I figured I’d take a look and see what it was I’d forgotten I’d ordered from Amazon or eBay or wherever. Randa stopped me, “Freeda wants me to get a picture of you opening that.”

Freeda is my oldest sister with a long history of humor and creativity. “What now?” I wondered. “A book on growing up, dealing with disappointment and how to get over yourself?” As soon as Randa was ready with her camera, I proceeded with the investigation.

I opened the end flap and saw a few tiny rolls of something like SweetTarts and a couple more pieces of something. I would have given more attention and memory but the rest of the contents overwhelmed those small omens. There were five PayDays, three 3 Musketeers, one full-size Butterfinger and one huge mamma jamma Butterfinger. Somehow I managed to control my outburst of laughing long enough to hold up that humongous candy bar so Randa could get a picture. Only my sister could fit five pounds of candy into a one-pound box!!

Turns out, confession is not only good for the soul, it’s also good for the sweet tooth! I can’t wait to see how folks respond to my Christmas essay.

H. Arnett
11/8/13

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A Choice of Sharing

Posted on November 5, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Twenty-nine years ago yesterday, my twins, Susan and Jeremiah, were born at the OSU Hospital in Columbus. If things go according to plan, Susan will have her third baby in December. Jeremiah and Misty’s first is working on her fourth tooth. That will complete the working set in the front, which gives her much greater capability to interact in a variety of interesting ways with her environment.

As I reflect on my life since November 4, 1984, it’s hard to fix a notion of time.

In some ways, it seems that the twins should still be able to climb up on my lap, one on each leg, and sit there while I rock them. It seems like I should still be able to look out the window and see them playing on the swing set. It seems like I must have just turned for a moment and they were grown.

In other ways, it seems that they should be rocking their own grandchildren by now. So much has happened, so much has changed. This is the eighth house in which I have lived since their birth. I’ve worked for seven different employers in four different states. I’ve buried a stepchild, my second father-in-law, my father and numerous friends. We’ve been active participants in at least half-a-dozen different wars. We’ve seen at least three recessions, elected several presidents and a trash basket full of other politicians. The character of the nation has changed, its population altered and an emerging polarization of paralysis. Surely, 1984 was a hundred years ago.

I remember the long, late hours of colic that seemed to last for months when the twins were small. I remember the tree climbing and tee ball games. I remember the agonies of years of frustrations and separation. I remember the slow, healing processes of reconciliation. I remember the joys, the pains, the wounds, the delights, the pride, the hope, all of those things that go into sharing the lives of our children.

I know that affection is not earned and that sharing is a choice. It is a choice that carries both risk and reward. Just ask God.

H. Arnett
11/5/13

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