Heart Control Measures

Posted on January 17, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Hunger is not the cause of gluttony.

Poverty is not the cause of theft.

Pain is not the cause of addiction.

Wealth is not the cause of greed.

Deprivation is not the cause of indulgence.

The source of every sin is inside us.

Treating symptoms does not cure diseases.

Everything devoted to anything
except the root cause of a thing,
is a waste of time,
an illusion of action.

Until hatred is replaced with love,
vengeance with mercy,
wrath with forgiveness,
indifference with compassion,
and wickedness with righteousness:

there will be wars
and rumors of wars.

H. Arnett
1/17/13

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Food for the Faithful

Posted on January 15, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Only the faintest light shows
in the pale pink streak
above the trees
along the low line of the creek
to the east.

The horses seem but shadows at first
as I near the pen,
then I see the white strip
of the mare’s face
and her stockinged feet.

Ice crystals glint on galvanized pipe
in the glow of the halogen light of the garage.

I dump feed into mounted buckets
for both horses,
then open the door into the barn.
In the subtle light,
I see the faint form of bales,
brome and timothy stacked for winter,
a store of harvest held for these hard months.

I lift a bale and turn toward the door,
knowing the paradox of the promise
that provision in this world is guaranteed
to those whose preoccupation
is not with such things.

H. Arnett
1/15/13

Posted in Christian Devotions, Christian Living, Farming, Metaphysical Reflection, Nature, Poetry, Spiritual Contemplation, Uncategorized, Work | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Food for the Faithful

A Good Winter’s Night

Posted on January 14, 2013 by Doc Arnett

We spent Sunday evening at Randa’s brother’s house, having been enticed by Cheryl’s offer of ham and bean soup. I was expecting the typical Midwestern dish consisting of a lot of white beans and a little bit of ham, which is well worth the trip. Instead, she’d made Cheryl’s version: a dozen varieties of beans in thick stock with so many chunks of ham you couldn’t dip out a ladleful without getting meat in it. Knowing what a great cook Cheryl is, I should not have been surprised. Sometimes, I just expect too little, which makes for better surprises than expecting too much, like hoping Houston would beat New England.

We watched the Patriots topple the Texans while we ate soup and two versions of cornbread. I chose to load up on Cheryl’s Cornbread and go easy on the experimental sample of Larry the Cable Guy’s Spicy Cornbread. It was a good choice; my tongue is still tingling.

After the game was over, we left, starting our goodbyes in the kitchen and finishing them at the front door. The January night was a quick and stark contrast to the warmth of Kevin and Cheryl’s home. The sting of the air left little doubt that we’d get down to single digits overnight. The least sliver of a white winter moon hung low in the sky as we came up the ramp onto 36-West and crossed the Missouri River into Kansas. In the next nine miles, we met fewer than a dozen vehicles. By the time we got home, the moon’s thin slice had yellowed.

Turning into the driveway, we saw the sparkle of ice crystals on the grass, a thousand glints as the headlights swept across the field. This was something beyond frost, a harder cold collecting the moisture and turning it into this quick, brief spectacle added to the ending of this good day’s blessings.

H. Arnett
1/14/13

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Truth and Consequences

Posted on January 11, 2013 by Doc Arnett

It had been three weeks since the Infamous Juice Spill that injected a generous quantity of low-pulp orange juice into my computer keyboard, over my desk, on top of the floor-based CPU and the office telephone that was sitting on top of the CPU. A couple of other things in the vicinity took slight collateral damage as well, including my small space heater.

My immediate response was to rapidly procure a wad of anti-absorbent paper towels from the closest bathroom, which fortunately is the men’s room.

You’re probably familiar with the ubiquitous brown rolls that supply rest stops, truck stops and other commercial areas of convenience in public places across this great nation. They are made, apparently, of recycled industrial wastes that virtually repel water and a variety of other liquids. They certainly are not close kin to the Bounty Quicker Picker-Uppers but must be considerably cheaper.

Fortunately, even with such inferior armament, I was able to quickly smear most of the orange juice off of my desk top. Less fortunately, that action increased the quantity on the telephone and CPU, as well as spattering a bit more on the space heater. A bit more time and another cluster of paper towels removed most of the visible infestation from most of the visible surfaces. It was, overall, a very memorable way of ending the work year and beginning my winter break.

With a variety of fine diversions over the holiday season, I managed to put the shame and indignity behind me. It wasn’t until I returned to work this week that I remembered. Specifically, that recollection was stimulated by my first attempt to use my phone.

No surgical procedure was necessary to remove the handset from my ear. The same cannot be said for what it took to get the keypad functioning properly again. I am happy to report that all of the keys now return to their starting position upon release and that the phone hasn’t been this clean since three days after its purchase. I am certainly more acquainted with the internal construction of the modern digital touchpad phone than I ever expected.

Sometimes by carelessness, sometimes by callousness and sometimes by sheer stupidity, our choices sometimes lead us into opportunities very different from what we envisioned. With our effort and honesty and by his overwhelming grace, God is able to take even our worst mistakes and bring good out of them.

H. Arnett
1/11/13

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An Ancient Wisdom

Posted on January 10, 2013 by Doc Arnett

When it comes to proving the wisdom of certain rules, I generally prefer to merely accept said wisdom without the need or desire of pragmatic demonstration. Take, for example, “yield to oncoming traffic when making a left-hand turn.” Apart from the sense of common courtesy, there is also the self-preserving courtesy of common sense. Exposing one’s flank, so to speak, to several thousand pounds of mobile steel inertia, would quite likely result in significant damage to property and expose one to rather impressive amounts of pain. Therefore, the wisdom of the rule.

One rule, cast in iron and reinforced with the determined passion of ancient barbaric armies, relates to liquid substances around desktop computers. “No food or drink in the computer lab” was placarded prominently in every computer location back in the Nineteen Seventies, when computers were still powered by hand cranks and vacuum tubes. It seemed rather intuitive, actually, that spilling liquid onto and into the various components of electronic equipment would not be conducive to their continued effective operation.

And yet it was, on a chilly December day, that I sat at my desk, pouring myself a nice generous serving of orange juice into a large plastic cup. There was no spilling of the drink as I poured from jug to slug. There was no careless sloshing or incompetent manipulation of the dispensing or receiving containers. Not a drop landed other than where it was intended.

Until I reached for the plastic cap lying on the desk just beyond the plastic cup. What happened next was almost immortal, yet painfully mortal.

No human was injured nor was history altered, yet the demonstration was amply dramatic to remind me of the wisdom of a simple rule. It is ironic, I think, that some of humankind’s most dramatic Darwin Moments occur when we fail to use the Good Sense That God Gave Us.

H. Arnett
1/10/13

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Good Gifts

Posted on January 9, 2013 by Doc Arnett

Randa and I have joined four of my kids and their families for a Christmas get-together at the oldest son’s house near Clarkesville, Tennessee. The least bit of snow still lingers in the shade and shadows while a light mist sifts through the afternoon. Inside the old farmhouse, ten young cousins find their own amusements, for the most part, while the adults visit amidst meal preparations. There are occasional interrupting reports of sibling’s violations of house rules, none of which apparently require immediate significant response.

After supper, I move to a softer seat. From the couch, I look across the living room and catch a view of my daughter. She stands between the piano and the dining table, holding her baby daughter. As Susan leans forward slightly, her face turns just a bit and I am caught in a father’s moment.

She just turned twenty-eight a couple of months ago and is even prettier now than when in her teens, which is the usual prime, it seems, for most young women. She spent much of the past year training for and competing in cross-country obstacle challenges, culminating in a Tough Mudders event in October. That over twelve-mile ordeal confirmed her toughness and determination. As I look at her, in unabashed pride and admiration, I smile to myself.

Later, as three of my sons and I play guitars, all of us, including our spouses, sing in the living room while most of the kids play upstairs. Remembering the accolades her brothers used to describe her performance of a particular Lynyrd Skynyrd song, I ask Susan to sing “A Simple Man.”

Dan begins the intro and Ben and Mike join in on their guitars. As Susan begins singing, I sit and listen, enjoying this deep and divine satisfaction. Even God occasionally indulged in the delight he found in his kid.

H. Arnett
1/9/12

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Choices Come Home

Posted on January 7, 2013 by Doc Arnett

In the pre-dawn darkness,
I make my way carefully
from the house toward the horse pen.

The few inches of snow
I chose not to shove or shovel
from the driveway three weeks ago
has turned into a hard-packed ice sheath,
doubly dangerous
in the slight thaw of the past two days
and freshly glazed
with each night’s new freezing.

More often than seen,
a thing chosen for convenience
becomes the means of danger,
a snare for the unaware,
a threat even when taking care
for each sliding step.

H. Arnett
1/7/13

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Silent Son

Posted on December 14, 2012 by Doc Arnett

You knew as soon as she told you
about the cramps,
the spotting,
the pain of brokenness
below her belly,
that something was wrong.

The two of you lay together
in the low light of dawn
sharing the heartache
in quiet voices,
until the three-year-old woke
and came to climb in between you.

She lay there with you,
squirming a bit from time to time
until her older brother woke up, too,
and joined you
and you wondered how to share the news.

Couldn’t just yet.

A little later,
you took him to school
while your wife—
assuring you that she would be okay—
went to the doctor alone
for the tests that would confirm
what you both already knew.

Back home,
you sat on the couch,
face in your hands while the little girl
watched cartoons.
Soon, though,
the secret seeped between your fingers
and she came to you,
“Papa crying?”
and pulled your hands
away from your face,
“Papa. Cry?”

She kissed your tears,
touched your face and your pain,
patted you on the shoulder,
and kissed you again,
“Papa, cry.”

As she turned back toward the TV,
you felt a sudden sense
of all that you have,
of all that you love,
of all that loves you
and knew:

There is no hand too small
to be the touch of God.

H. Arnett
12/11/12

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Winter Invocation

Posted on December 12, 2012 by Doc Arnett

May the beauty of a rising sun
reflected in the thin edges
of a long low cloud just above the ridge
brighten your smile this morning.

May the peaceful quiet of frosted grass
give rest to the passing worries,
a gentle soothing that settles your fears.

May the nearness of a loving voice
refresh the rejoicing of your heart,
remind you of the good that is yours.

May the stillness of the dawn
bring calming and quiet
in the midst of all that stirs around you.

May you have grace for every testing,
appreciation for every blessing,
mercy for every moment

and may the Light
be reflected in all that you do
on this good day.

H. Arnett
12/12/12

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Trial and Error

Posted on December 11, 2012 by Doc Arnett

There are times
when “good enough”
is good enough.
Too much time
put into a thing
reaching for perfection
can become a reproach.

There are times
when “doing your best”
isn’t good enough.
Sometimes
the person doing the job
isn’t the right person
for the job.

There are times
when “we have done all we could do”
will have to do.
In such times
what needs to be done
is more
than what can be done.

There are times
when “you did the best you could”
falls far short
of comfort.

There are times
when “it’s just not worth it”
may be more wisdom
than comfort
but it is still wisdom.

And though it may be rare
and not always easily shared,
there are times
when “I give up”
is both wisdom and comfort.

In the humility of surrender,
we sometimes render
God’s greatest strength.

H. Arnett
12/11/12

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