Driving Through the Red

Posted on May 15, 2018 by Doc Arnett

Around the time the first tornado was skirting the edge of Ark City last night, I was driving up to Wichita for Cowley College’s baseball team’s championship game. Moderately heavy rain and the occasional loud clunk on the roof of the car were the only apparent effects on my particular route. I was just east of Oxford when the alarm sounded on my cell phone. I checked the weather service information for storm location. It verified what the sky seemed to suggest already: the severe weather was located south and east of me at Geuda Springs. I was headed north and west. I kept going.

Somewhere about the top of the fifth or sixth inning, the game was delayed by lightning in the vicinity. After taking a look at the weather radar, I took a look off to the south. Although I didn’t see any vivid spikes, it was a virtual light show. Constant flashes and flickerings lit up the dark clouds from west to east. This was the north edge of a long line of intense activity, a band of green-fringed red on the weather map. Squarely between me and home.

As I drove south on I-35, I was relieved that the rain was lighter than I expected. Just out of Haysville, that relief ended. For the next twenty miles, I drove through the most sustained and intense rain I’ve ever encountered. At times, all I could see were the taillights of the tanker truck in front of me. At times, even those blurred and were briefly blanked out by the vertical river. A line of trucks driven by saner folks turned into the service center at Belle Plaine. Just past that, in the most intense part of the downpour, a few cars had pulled over onto the shoulder.

I was concerned, among other things, that I would not be able to see the exit sign for my turn. About four or five miles south of that service center, the rain let up a bit. Just in time for me to see the sign “Wellington, 1 mile.” In the lightening rain, the tanker driver pushed back up toward the speed limit and I watched his lights fade into the night.

I turned toward Winfield, grateful for the blessing of safe travel and improved visibility. Just fifteen minutes from home, I heard another alarm sounding on my cell phone. Another tornado warning for Cowley County. This one was just over twenty miles east of Ark City, south of Dexter.

In the season of storms, we hope for safety, that we and our property are spared. Driving through the red zones, we think of home and pray that it will be still be there, that those we love are safe within its walls. And that we will soon be with them once again.

H. Arnett
5/15/18

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Beyond Common

Posted on May 11, 2018 by Doc Arnett

We walk for years in the calm common of our lives,
day to day to day
unrolling in the same way,
predictable as paper towels
or toilet paper
and then one day you tug out one more Kleenex
from a half-full box
but the next one drops its duty,
stays inside, failing to follow the chain
that is supposed to bring
one after one after one

and you wonder who it was
that had one thing to do
at The Facial Tissue Factory
and just couldn’t quite get that one thing done
in such a way as to keep you
from having to dip down through the plastic orifice
knowing that you couldn’t pinch just a single one
but would bring up a whole wad
and then have that to deal with
on top of everything else.

Or maybe it was a car wreck,
or surgery,
or cancer,
or sepsis,
or an aneurysm,
or a stroke,
or a neighbor’s trash setting fire to the whole county—
including your house—
or losing your job,
or your child,
or whatever else it was

That made you realize all at once
that your loved ones are more precious than you ever imagined,
that nothing about life is common no matter how repetitive,
that friendship is sacred,
that the faintest scar
is proof of healing
and that even a half-cup of re-heated coffee
may be God’s own comfort.

H. Arnett
5/11/18

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Warning: Contents Under Pressure

Posted on May 10, 2018 by Doc Arnett

I reckon some folks have a daily habit of counting their blessings. At a moment’s notice they can rattle off thirty or forty fine things about their life and all the reasons they just feel so blessed. Other folks seem satisfied with the occasional quick estimate. “Yeah, I guess I am pretty lucky. Nothing’s on fire right now and I haven’t missed a meal in quite a while.” Still other folks keep a different sort of list, an expansive accounting of all the stuff that isn’t what it should be, isn’t what they want and quite frankly isn’t at all what they deserve. Without hesitation, they can spew out a historical listing of groans and grievances, misfortunes and abuses, injustices and indecencies, disappointments and disillusions.

In a moment of chemically induced disclosure, or just a wildly random moment of unpredicted honesty, I’d have to admit that although I’ve been in each one of those groups, there’s one that keeps pulling me in. Regrettably, it seems more natural to me to complain than to appreciate. Even as an occasional ringleader, I can tell you that being in or around that last group is no fun at all.

And yet there is something compulsive about self-pity and complaining. It’s not mesmerizing like a fire or tornado, you know, one of those things that are awful and entrancing at the same time. It’s more like when you know a jug of milk is past the expiration date but you have to unscrew the lid and take a whiff anyway.

Misery loves company because somewhere at its core, misery is both sadistic and masochistic. It’s like a leper colony that is always recruiting other members. And although leprosy is a lot slower, the end result is pretty similar.

On those days when I know I’m coming in with an attitude of something other than gratitude, I should walk down the hall calling out “Unclean! Unclean!” Then my colleagues could just lock their doors until the danger has passed.

H. Arnett
5/10/18

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A Reminder of Mystery

Posted on May 9, 2018 by Doc Arnett

Even in the midst of darkness and pain
there are still gains to be made.
Hope is distilled in the presence of fear
and the nearness of loss sometimes leads
to treasures that cannot be measured.

The strongest bonds are somehow strengthened
and love that already seemed beyond comprehension
grows even greater.
Humble hearts span craters of darkness,
held by unseen light holding through the longest night
and drawing sustenance that cannot be explained.

Whether weary from walking the same daily path
or forced to face some unwelcome testing,
we look to the best of friends for unending prayers,
that lifting to the Light that invites a greater perfecting,
the shaping of human into the Divine,
creatures of earth and ash made into something everlasting,

Something shaped by the hand of God,
held by invisible power and given in that hour
what is needed for the moment—
though it may be grace when we desired mercy,
and strength when we would have preferred deliverance.

It is the power of presence that sustains us,
the perfecting of weakness that illuminates his glory
even in the midst of our collapsing,
a falling into faith when we believed
we had stepped out gasping into thin air—
yet found ourselves standing on more solid ground
than anything we had ever found in the realm of grasping.

And knew—at least for a moment—that what is unseen
is more real than what is seen.

H. Arnett
5/9/18

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A Change of Seasons

Posted on May 8, 2018 by Doc Arnett

A surge of spring that actually feels a bit like summer has given this strange season a kick into green. In the aftermath of a bit of rain and with temperatures in the upper eighties, it seems like an almost overnight change in local terrain. Fields of wheat are suddenly thick and green with heads of grain forming. Fields of corn have sprouted up with tender stalks standing eight inches tall. Last week, the fields were nothing but dirt with miles of parallel tracks showing the trail of planting. Huge stands of cottonwood lift solid plumes of leaves above the river bottoms. And in town, there are closer reminders.

Trees, bushes, vines and stems have sprouted blooms. Dormant lawns suddenly need mowing. There is a little patch of bamboo that stands behind the bronze tiger at the entrance to Cowley College’s administration building. Grounds crewmen sheared it to the ground a few weeks ago. In the frustrating chill of this year’s “can’t quite make it to spring yet,” the green sprouts endured a month-long phase of suspended animation. In the past ten days, they’ve leapt up to two feet high or taller, growing inches a day now.

Perhaps you’ve known that sort of sudden growth in your own life. Perhaps experienced those seasons of incredible green, been flush with faith and seen hidden seeds spring up or dormant buds suddenly erupt into abundant thriving.

Perhaps you’ve also known those other times, the long seasons of drought and unending winters of cold and sullen barrenness. Looked deep inside and wondered how you could feel so parched and withered. Perhaps wondered how you’d make it through.

For the seasons of abundant growth and vigorous renewal, let us yet be humble and grateful. Let us be mindful of others and attentive to service, assuring that the abundance with which we are blessed yields blessing for others. In the fallow seasons, let us be patient, endure with hope and be unafraid to ask others for the intervention of caring prayers. Remember previous seasons of trial and testing and God’s mysterious ways of providing what we needed.

Even when we walk in the dust and chill, let us remember that the earth will have its seasons and we will reap a harvest. If we do not give up.

H. Arnett
5/8/18

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Monday’s Prayer

Posted on May 7, 2018 by Doc Arnett

I pray that today
the Lord may grant you wisdom
for all that surrounds you
and all that confounds you:
to speak
peace in the place of contention,
harmony in the midst of strife,
mercy in the presence of judgment,
kindness instead of condemnation,
faith instead of despair,
hope in the face of opposition,
unity in the threat of dissension,
submission instead of pride or rebellion.

And in all things, love.

And may you know in every moment of this good day,
the presence of his power within you,
power to do good and not evil,
power to endure all that must be endured,
power to love those who are not easy to love,
power to forgive those who do not deserve forgiveness,
power to bless those who curse you
and to pray for those who despitefully use you,
power to return good for evil,
power to believe that he is at work in all things
for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose

and power to know that you are indeed,
one of those.

H. Arnett
5/7/18

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Two Men Singing in the Dark

Posted on May 4, 2018 by Doc Arnett

In a hollow room at the thin end of a gravel lane,
we sit on plain lawn chairs brought in from the chill of night.
A dim lamp with no shade set close against the window panes
barely gives enough light for us to find the frets.

The shadows of our faces trace patterns in the singing
of old songs and the playing of even older guitars.
Two small jars sit on top of a makeshift table:
an abandoned dryer hosting slow sips
of wonderfully smooth Knob Creek Smoked Maple.

We sift through stable memories and verses,
choruses of Johnny Cash and John Prine,
Guy Clark and some fine bluegrass gospel,
songs I have sung for as long as Ben has been alive
and others we have learned together.

I make no pretense of hiding my pride
as he fingerpicks a song I don’t recognize,
a mellow tune and gentle lyrics of love
that sound like they could have been born
in a place just like this.

It is a fine thing to see a gift shared,
for a father to see his own love of playing and singing
bringing such good pleasure to a son,
to know that although Ben has practiced more and pushed further
yet he still holds to the pure joy of good music.

Somewhere toward midnight,
he begins the soft chords of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah
and I lean into the chorus, our voices echoing from pine planks
and laminated flooring, pouring what we are and what we feel
into the liberating loneliness of such lyrics and haunting notes,
scaling the crescendo and yielding to the primal lift
as surely as if fire flickered on the walls of this wooden cave.

It is a fine thing to sit in the deepening shadows before the dark,
feeling the heart of something so ancient and strong,
to know these notes will still shape memory and melody
far beyond this good night,
long after morning’s light will fade the frost
forming in the valley that defines the furrows of these mountains

while we sit, singing in a hollow room
at the thin end of a gravel lane.

H. Arnett
5/4/18

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Hiking the Mountain

Posted on May 3, 2018 by Doc Arnett

Ben fits Kinnon into the backpack hiking carrier, then lifts it up and positions himself into it. Straps adjusted, he gives a final twist to settle it into place and we head up the old road. It is a cool afternoon in mid-April in the coastal hills of California, near Atascadero. Even though it is mostly sunny, a strong breeze pushing through the trees leaves us grateful for two thin layers and committed to keeping Kinnon’s little knit beanie in place on his head.

We are hiking uphill alongside a spring-fed creek on Beauty Springs Ranch. Raging waters from last month’s flash flooding undercut the bank, nearly taking out the road in a couple of places. Layers of debris and driftwood tangle the road surface in the cuts and curves. Nearly all of the old smooth stones that once lined the face of the trail washed away. What are left now are crisp and sharp-edged, brutal for tires and tough enough on hiking shoes.

From time to time, we take a closer look at the creek, the occasional cropping of boulders and large stones forming pools underneath the tangle of oaks and other trees. I draw in the fresh scent of woods and clear water and the soothing smell of wildflowers once in a while. I watch Ben and his sure strides, bearing and balancing the weight of his fifteen-month-old, and remember how I hiked with him and his siblings a few decades ago. Those are good memories, long walks taken in the woods and alongside sandstone bluffs or limestone cliffs high above the Kentucky River. Early morning fog and summer sunsets. Sometimes the whole crew and sometimes just two or three of us.

We walk on, conversations about safe water and hunting wild turkeys, taking care of a place and what it means to have a job you like. Kinnon ratchets his head from side to side, sudden twists toward sounds or sights. Three-quarters of a mile up the hill, we come to a clearing and the empty stables. Black cattle graze in the pasture beyond the barns. Over five hundred feet above the houses in the valley, we look out over miles of California hills, April green and leaning toward the ocean. The sun is warm on our faces and the wind cool against our skin.

There is a nourishing in such things as this, a closeness of the divine in such fellowship of creature and creation. It is a drawing from ancient springs, the things that bind father and son and son, an understanding of those finest strands that grow stronger with time, the things of love and understanding. Things made even finer by shared faith and forgiveness, the deepest blessings of blood and choosing.

I close my eyes gently, concentrating on Ben’s voice and Kinnon’s happy babblings. For a moment, I feel that I could hike clear back to Kansas if they would stay with me. I smile to myself, open my eyes and Ben asks me, “Are you ready to head back down the mountain?”

I believe I am.

H. Arnett
5/3/18

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Observations in Extra Innings

Posted on May 2, 2018 by Doc Arnett

Okay, so you’re not a baseball fan. Stay with me for a couple of minutes anyway; it’s short and there are no exaggerated sound effects…

It was a dismal April for the Kansas City Royals. Batting averages slumped and ERA’s soared. Temperatures and ticket sales sagged into the freezing zone. In one agonizing streak, the Royals lost fifteen of seventeen games. For the Boston Red Sox, it was just the opposite; they were on fire, winning twenty games before May and thereby tying a major league record.

So, when the Royals took them into extra innings at Fenway last night, it was pretty special. When KC managed to grind out a run in the top of the twelfth, it was just plain exciting. In the bottom of that inning, the Royals’ closer promptly got the first batter out. As the second guy stepped in, I noticed what looked to me like a rather worried look on his face. That look did not change after the first pitch was called a strike. I said to Randa, “That is not a look of confidence on that batter’s face.”

He knocked the very next pitch clear over the top of the Green Monster, Boston’s hallmark towering left field fence. Game tied and two more outs left for the home team. Grrrr… We turned the TV off and headed to bed.

Thanks to an unrelated bout of insomnia, I learned just after midnight that the Royals scored three runs in the top of the thirteenth inning and held the Sox to two runs in the bottom of that one to win the game. Three wins in four days. Not bad for a team on the skids!

Observations: 1) Looking confident is not nearly as important as accomplishing the deed. In other words, it’s not how good you look; it’s how well you do the job. God doesn’t care how impressed others are by your claims of faith; he cares about whether it’s real or not. 2) Even on a losing streak, good things can still happen. Never give up hope and never quit stepping up to the plate and taking your turn. 3) It ain’t over till it’s over. Yeah, it’s an old cliché but it’s still true in opera, career, baseball and life.

H. Arnett
5/2/18

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California Morning

Posted on April 12, 2018 by Doc Arnett

I have come here from Kansas,
having left the still brown landscape
of winter’s left over stems and stalks,
a flinching retreat of spring in the still-stinging cold
of an unexpected snow bruising the early blooms.

I rise on the first morning of the conference,
go to the window and look out
from two hundred feet above the street.

Beyond the glass,
out past the nearer sounds and shapes,
underneath long streaks of gray clouds,
between here and the blank banks of mountains miles away,
rivers of lights swirl and stream along the streets,
roads and highways
as the beginnings of another day
merge and mesh and mingle
and occasionally confirm that the rules of physics
are not often bent by the will of the impatient.

Beyond the noise and motion,
in the quiet gray that eases in against
the stone-bare chill of a distant ridge,
there is something that seems like the edge of time,
a place that welcomes the mind
to think of things that calm and quiet,
things of good and beauty,
things worthy of praise, even.

Things that speak to both heart and spirit,
an inviting nearness that brings both strength and soothing,
a readiness for moving into the next part
of this day the Lord has made,
no matter how far from the wide open space
of the familiar plains.

H. Arnett
4/12/18

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