Look Over There

Posted on February 25, 2010 by Doc Arnett

“Look over there,” Craig said, nodding toward the east as we swung into the curve of the ramp up to the bridge. Up above the ridge of the city, caught against the fog of the morning, the unseen sun was forming a thick, tight rainbow. Around the darker bowl of gray, multi-colored legs curved toward the gray toward earth.

Most often, when you see a rainbow, you find yourself more or less between the sun and the prismed arc. Not so with this one. With the morning fog acting as both prism and backdrop, this brief spectacle of refracted light was directly between us and the sun. I turned and looked again as we crossed the bridge and descended into Kansas. That stunning view held for less than a minute and then disappeared.

There are those events, so fragile, so brief: a certain smile, an image of a child, a momentary tilting of light and shadow and then they pass except when caught and cast into memory. We wake to see another line, more gray hair, another fold of skin, another indicator of our temporary mortality.

But in that coming land of brighter sun, when all our days meld into one, when we will know as we are known and see as clearly as we are seen, when all of good is gathered into one place and kept by the grace that we do not yet understand, in that place there will be no passing of glory. When we are made no longer subject to the nuances of this world and its ways and when all that causes death and decay has been done away, in that Day, we will know fully the joy that we have only tasted, that which stays.

H. Arnett
2/25/10

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Special Assignment

Posted on February 24, 2010 by Doc Arnett

For today, think of one person for whom you rarely, perhaps never, pray. It could be someone you barely know or someone you know well. Don’t choose some great world leader or some famous celebrity. Choose someone not likely to have a couple million people intimately interested in every obscure detail of his or her life. Choose a factory worker, a custodian, a teacher, a letter carrier. Choose someone you don’t even like. Yes, that would be perfect.

Spend the day in prayer for that individual. Pray that God would bless. Pray that God would ease the pain that is in the heart. Pray that God would grant forgiveness. Pray that God would bring encouragement. Pray that God would heal relationships. Pray that God would grant favor in the eyes of others. Pray that God would open the heart and give wisdom, peace and understanding. Pray that God would guide into greater fulfillment. Pray that God would grant courage to do what is good and right and honorable. Pray that God would use that individual to bring blessing within the family, the workplace, the community. Pray that God would draw that person closer to him. Pray that others would reach out to that person and bring cheer and hope. Pray for that person as if that person were someone that you loved.

It will feel awkward at first. You may feel a bit hypocritical, praying for someone you don’t really like and frankly don’t care that much for, anyway. Pray through that. Keep praying. By the end of the day, I know that at least one of you will have been blessed.

Do this each day for thirty days. By that time, you’ll be able to pray effectively for the people who don’t care that much for you, either. And, if I join you in this, which I will, we will both have been obedient to the Savior who taught us to pray for those who really, really, really, don’t like us. And in this manner of praying, we will have become more like him and less like them.

H. Arnett
2/24/10

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Potholes and Guardrails

Posted on February 23, 2010 by Doc Arnett

Well, friends and neighbors, it’s official: we’ve been getting lots of snow in these here parts. I’d been suspicious for some time now, what with all the shoveling and all but now I is no longer merely a hick with a hunch; I’s now an informed citizen. It’s in the newspaper.

Not counting the two or three snows that we had in November, since winter can’t officially begin until December, we’ve had almost thirty-five inches of the white stuff in Saint Joe this year. Not much by Cleveland and Buffalo standards but that’s over three times the yearly average for the place where the Pony Express began and Jesse James ended. And we’ve got the potholes to prove it.

I’m sure that there’s some textbook somewhere, probably in a civil engineering school, that has the formula for calculating both the number and average size of potholes. No doubt, it incorporates such factors as surface temperature, composition of paving material, ground temperature, moisture content of accumulated snow and age of snowplow driver. I do know, without benefit of that formula, that the size and number of potholes increases noticeably with each pass of those heavy steel blades. Each frozen clump takes with it more loose material out of the hole when the plow rips across and so the hole gets bigger with each cycle.

I suppose one could argue that this phenomenon presents us with a dilemma: to plow or not to plow? Let’s see, should we leave an accumulating base of treacherous snow packed into ice or should we provide a safe driving surface? If we clear away the ice/snow, folks will complain about the potholes. If we don’t, they’ll complain about the wrecks and broken utility poles. So far, we’re still going with trying to clear the roads. It’s more work and requires some follow-up with patching and paving.

It’s not completely unlike the continual work of self-examination and repentance necessary to keep our minds, hearts and lives free of sin. It’s tempting to overlook those convenient little vices, isn’t it? Tempting and treacherous. Better to hit a bump now and then and dodge a few potholes than to go sliding off the bluff.

H. Arnett
2/23/10

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Other Than Predicted

Posted on February 22, 2010 by Doc Arnett

On Saturday evening, the posted weather forecast called for between four and eight inches of snow on Sunday. It started early, before I got up and made my way downstairs. By mid-day, the revised report had lowered the expectation by half. An unanticipated resurgence in the afternoon pushed it back to its former level. By storm’s end around midnight, we had over nine inches of fresh opportunity.

We’ve had forecasts before that didn’t pan out quite as predicted. Sometimes, the collision of warm and cold moved south of us, sending the devastation of ice to southern Missouri and leaving us with nothing but a dusting of snow. Sometimes, the mix line moved north, casting Iowa in a treacherous glaze and bringing us nothing more than showers. And, other times, we get caught in the midst of the heavy. With a bit of looking around, there’s always someone who got off easier than we did and someone who got a heavier hammering.

I’ve prayed to be spared from some storms and have walked without so much as an umbrella. Sometimes, I’ve shoveled the same snow four times. Some days, my faith and hope shine undaunted and I face the trials as if the whole thing were nothing more than a quick sweeping of the steps. Other times, it seems that I can sense the weight of a single snowflake on my shoulder. Most often, I would rather be spared the storm but I know that faith is not formed in the carefree life of ease but is rather forged in the path of obedience.

So, for today, I will slow my speed a bit and carry a shovel. I will praise him in the shadow of this storm and trust him to bring spring in its own due season.

H. Arnett
2/22/10

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The Opportunity of Consequence

Posted on February 19, 2010 by Doc Arnett

In what seems like a previous lifetime, Van Sims and I were replacing the roof on a small house in northern Tennessee. In our early twenties, he and I had graduated together back before Graves County, Kentucky, had seen the wisdom of having one high school instead of eight or nine. Our graduating class had fewer than thirty students in it. None of those others joined us for the current cooperative venture under a July sun.

In the midst of the sweat and sting, dirt and debris, we stood on the ceiling joists, prying tin off of the low sloping rafters. The “uumphh” of breath suddenly forced from the body caused me to look over at Van. “You OK?” I asked, seeing him clinging to the rafters on either side where he stood. “Yeah,” he assured, “but I think I may have knocked some Sheetrock loose on their ceiling. My foot slipped off a joist.”

About thirty minutes later, there was a louder “uumphh.” This time, there was no question about the opportunity to repair a ceiling; Van’s lower half had disappeared into the upper half of a closet. His response to my query about his health and well-being changed a bit this time, too; “Ahh, I think I skinned up my shins a bit.”

Kicking to free his legs from the broken ceiling, he pulled himself up and apologized, “Sorry about that. I was trying to be careful but I guess I wasn’t careful enough.” “Don’t worry about it,” I responded, “It won’t take much to fix it. You sure you’re OK?”

It’s a little tricky, sometimes, trying to keep our footing and to keep doing the work we need to do. The extra effort of a stubborn nail, an awkward angle and slick dust underfoot can send us suddenly where we hadn’t planned to go. Those unanticipated trips often involve collateral damage that can sometimes take a few years to repair. Sometimes it’s our fault, sometimes it’s someone else’s and sometimes it’s just something that happened. Debating blame is not nearly as productive as working on the fixing.

Whether dealing with the aftermath of bad decisions or bad luck, I’ve noticed that it’s a lot easier to forgive the blunders of someone that we love. And that might, to some degree, explain God’s grace and patience with us.

H. Arnett
2/ 19/10

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Prayer & Prophecy

Posted on February 18, 2010 by Doc Arnett

In this dream an older man walks by me, a man whose last words before this dream were “I never want to see you or hear from you again.” He turns and says, “I think it’s time you started talking to me again.” I stand and we embrace. I tell him, “That way leaves a cold and lonely hole inside you, doesn’t it?” He answers and begins sobbing against my shoulder, “I love you.”

I answer again, “I know. I knew that even when you didn’t.”

I wake, wondering whether the dream was prayer or prophecy and then remember that those two often walk together.

H. Arnett
2/18/10

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Warm Front

Posted on February 12, 2010 by Doc Arnett

It’s not even the middle of February yet but I declare this is the longest winter I can remember! Seems like it started around the middle of November, when we had our first snow of the season and there hasn’t been a lot of respite since then. We’ve had days on end of cold fog and more days of not seeing the sun rolled up one on top of the other. If pressed on the matter, I’d have to admit I haven’t been popping my gingko biloba and my senility has not yet reached the point of qualifying for other chemical improvements to recall. So, it could just be another case of suppressed memories that keep the ghost of winters past from blasting my remembering with scenes of longer, darker, colder months.

Whatever the case, this current winter has certainly been cold and long and gray. That’s what made Wednesday such a wonderful day. Even with the wind chill down in single digits throughout most of the daylight hours, a bright sun made it seem much warmer. Funny how the sight of bright blue skies can help chase the blues away. It was just delightful for those of us grown rather weary of this radical distraction from the Global Warming doctrine.

It is not such a rare thing in this world that an Arctic indifference bruises with its numbing grip. If a single day of sunshine can be such a welcome thing and bring such a fine change to hearts and spirits, consider how refreshing kind words and thoughtful actions must be to those lives lost in winter’s long shadow.

H. Arnett
2/12/10

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Signs of the Lack of Time

Posted on February 11, 2010 by Doc Arnett

The once-white carpet was already stained and dingy-looking when we moved in nearly four years ago. After a dogged attempt at cleaning downstairs, we tore out the Berber in the living room and dining rooms. We left it on the stairs and in the second floor hallway. The months’ long remodeling of the upstairs bathroom failed to improve its appearance much. It had passed from dingy to just plain dirty.

Feeling primarily responsible for the decline in condition and aware that this is the week before Valentine’s, I decided I’d arrange a little surprise for Randa; I’d have it cleaned professionally.

I was well aware that any pleasure Randa might take in finding clean carpet would be quickly overwhelmed by her realization that strangers had been in her unprepared-for-company home. So, I got up a little before five yesterday morning so I could do a bit of straightening up. Fortunately, it doesn’t take much to create an illusion of tidiness to the casual eye of the hopefully focused-on-something-else carpet cleaning person. By the time we left for work, the living room and kitchen looked pretty good. The other rooms have doors.

Musser’s Cleaning Service arrived as scheduled and completed the job more quickly than I expected. The carpet cleaning guy called me to tell me he was finished, let me know the price and give some advice on fans and drying. But the first question he asked was, “When was the last time you had this carpet cleaned?”

I paused only briefly, reflected for a moment, scanned all stored data under the heading of “Carpet Cleaning” and responded, “Uhm… I don’t think we’re ever had that carpet cleaned.” There was no such ensuing pause on his part; he replied immediately, “I didn’t think so.”

There are things that show, rather quickly, their neglect: yards, houses, dishes, automobiles, clothing. Others are a bit slower to serve notice: fences, concrete floors, relationships, spirits. But eventually, everything not cared for, not attended to, not nourished, shows the signs of lack.

I suspect that many’s the clean house with too little love and I know that I’ve seen more than one home with dusty blinds where the ties that bind are carefully kept and visitors feel welcome.

H. Arnett
2/11/10

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Hairnets & Plastic Gloves

Posted on February 10, 2010 by Doc Arnett

It’s been just a week now since we had an on-campus tragedy.

One of our food service workers suffered an apparent heart attack at work and was pronounced DOA at the hospital. Needless to say, her co-workers took it hard but none harder than her husband and son who also work in the cafeteria. I cannot imagine the emotional challenge that such a thing would involve. Even if I could, it would not guarantee that I understand its effects on these particular ones.

While some cafeteria workers met with counselors or talked with each other, several other employees, including maintenance, administrators, office workers and faculty pitched in to help out. Some stood in the serving line and filled plates, others kept the tables wiped down, others refilled the containers on the salad bar. Some swept the floors and cleaned and others were simply there in case they were needed. On Friday, so that Janet’s friends and fellow laborers could attend the funeral, that scene was repeated.

None of that erased the ache of loss nor eased the pain of separation. But every bit of it showed caring and concern and a willingness to alter the routine of their lives in order to respond to the need in someone else’s. And it is that that is so very important, so very precious. Whether it is a co-worker who has collapsed on the job or a city that has collapsed halfway around the world, it is the raw eloquence of sincere actions that touches the hearts of others.

H. Arnett
2/9/10

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Hard Times

Posted on February 4, 2010 by Doc Arnett

I came across a PBS program the other night that was recounting the cheerful tale of the Donner Party. I suppose there were a few new details in that particular retelling of how dozens of people lost their lives in a vicious winter while trying to make their way to California. The story has remained more or less fixed in our national consciousness because of the dark secret of survival that most in the wagon train resorted to during the two to four months they waited for rescue. According to the records of this particular narrative, not all of them waited for natural causes to provide their next ghastly meal; some of them murdered for food.

A similar degree of desperation took place back in the Sixties in the aftermath of a plane crash in the Andes mountains, though I’ve never heard that any of those survivors hastened the demise of their comrades in order that they might dine a bit sooner.

There’s a common saying that we don’t know what we’d do until we’re put into a particular situation. Perhaps we might also say that we don’t know what we would refuse to do, either. While I agree, rather completely, with the saying and would have to admit that in various situations in the past, I have surprised myself. Sometimes, the surprise was pleasantly reassuring and sometimes, devastatingly disappointing.

But in my most honest moments of self-examination, I would have to say that I have never yielded to any dark temptation that I had not previously imagined myself doing. The mental rehearsal of a thing does not always make it easy to do but it does make it more likely. Fantasy creates reality, whether for good or for not-so-good. Which is one more reason for us to guard our hearts closely and only entertain thoughts of doing what is pure and good and holy.

No matter how dire the circumstances and even when those circumstances exist only in our imagination.

H. Arnett
2/4/10

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