Message from the Passed

Posted on August 28, 2017 by Doc Arnett

I’ve been a Facebook user for several years now. I don’t know how long FB Messenger has been a thing but I do know I only started using it a few months ago. Whatever other quirks and smirks there are about it, there’s one aspect that I cannot currently fathom. How does it decide when to reveal the existence of messages?

On Friday evening I was catching up with some communications. For some reason, there was a list of FB messages I’d never seen before. There was one from someone who’d read some of my devotions in The Quiet Hour and noticed I was a native of Kentucky. There was one from a colleague who’d worked with me at Highland Community College and didn’t have a current phone number for me. There was one from someone who wanted to let me know that her son had a new job. There was one poignant message from someone who’d come to a funeral and wanted me to know my words had touched her heart and brought her peace in a tragic situation.

I replied to each of them, apologizing for not knowing that they had sent me a message a couple of years before I ever started using Messenger. Two or three of them responded right away. It may that one or two of the others are no longer active on Facebook or maybe figured they’d wait about as long as I did. Fair enough I suppose. There was one message that transcended all of those in regard to its emotional impact. It came from a dead man.

There’s no way I’m going to elaborate even briefly about all the history between him and me. He was my hero when I was growing up and I quite literally adored him. At some point, views that we held ran counter to one another and the closeness disappeared. Some years later, we began to enjoy each other’s company again. Then there came a rift that moved him to write to me, “I never want to see or hear from you again.” Just in case I let it slip my mind, he reminded me a couple of years after that. And so I obliged him.

His declaration of separation did not keep him from occasionally sending me another angry email of some kind. When our mother died, he chose not to join the rest of us for the visitation or the funeral. When he died near the end of September in 2015, his obituary acknowledged only one surviving brother. In fact he has two other brothers and two sisters still living. One of each of them attended his burial in western Kentucky; I did not go.

I did think of Richard often and prayed for him. I don’t know that he did the same for me but I would not be even slightly surprised if he did. I was however, greatly surprised to find out that he had sent me a message less than two weeks before he died.

As I said earlier, I have no explanation for why that group of messages suddenly showed up this past weekend. I’ve been in Messenger dozens of times and there was never before any indication that I had a cache of messages from up to nearly three years ago. I checked again last night to re-read the one from Richard. It had disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared.

He had written, “Harold, I forgive you for all that you said and did to me. Please do the same for me.”

I hope he knows that I already did.

H. Arnett
8/28/17

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To Lie Down Weary

Posted on August 25, 2017 by Doc Arnett

To lie down weary
and rise up rested
must surely count highly
among life’s finer blessings.

To be well-filled
and rarely know hunger
must mean one lives
in a place of wonder.

To walk in winter
and yet stay warm,
to live without threat
of death or harm;

To walk in grace
and have enough to share,
the courage to love
and compassion to care;

To do one’s work
and draw one’s pay,
to sit in peace
at the end of the day;

To be with those we love
and feel the warmth of them near,
the music of laughter,
the sharing of tears;

And though these are all fine
and I’ve known every one,
at the end of my traveling
there is yet better to come.

When my labor is over
and my striving has ceased,
I hope that my ending
will be done in peace.

To lie down weary
and rise up rested
must surely count highly
among eternity’s blessings.

H. Arnett
8/25/17

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Nature vs. Nature

Posted on August 24, 2017 by Doc Arnett

Some would say it’s by creative design, deliberate intent,
and an overall view of the total scope of things.
Others say it’s nothing more than the inevitable
collisions and collusions of choice, chance and circumstance.

Some say it’s due to the struggle between good and evil,
the forces of darkness writhing in wrath and hostility,
refusing to admit the futility of fighting with the Light:
the minions of Satan versus the hosts of Heaven
and humans caught in between.

I will tell you that what I have seen
is that regardless of the explanations and assertions,
what I have seen at work in me
is that my natural inclinations seldom lead
to any lasting celebration.

I’ve never had a single moment of anything along the lines of vengeance
that didn’t leave me feeling worn and torn and filthy on the inside,
no matter how clearly justified it seemed at the time
nor how long the line of people who would agree.

What I see is that whatever terms I use
to describe the war that rages within me,
the only times that bring anything approaching the sublime:
peace, joy, contentment, satisfaction and fulfillment
or something along those lines—

the only things that still seem good
the next morning, the next week, the next year—
are those things that ring of truth, peace, grace, mercy,
and the incredible strength of humility:
the things that move forward the work

of what is good and decent,
righteous and right,
caring and loving,
treating others as I would be treated

and showing some slight semblance
of the amazing love
with which I have been loved,
and an abiding grace that completely ignores
what I might actually deserve.

H. Arnett
8/24/17

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Social Experiment

Posted on August 23, 2017 by Doc Arnett

Seeing as how it was such a lovely day and I was on my way to Wichita anyway, I figured the drive would be a good opportunity for a spiritual experiment. You see there’s this strange admonition in the ancient writings of a Jewish philosopher that has recently caught my attention.

Seems the guy was contemplating the notion of a group of people trying to get along with each other and he wanted to help them out a bit. Sort of put them on the right track as it were. As he began his list of instructions for unified effort and collaborative living, the very first specific he gave them was “be completely humble and gentle.”

The idea of me making such a radical change all at once seemed a bit daunting but I did want to give the notion at least token effort. As I was rolling out of the College fleet parking lot onto the torture track locally known as “South 2nd Street,” I had an idea. (Since it’s been three or eight years since my last one, there was plenty of room in my brain for this one.) “What if I applied being ‘humble and gentle’ to my operation of a motor vehicle on the public highways?”

I thought my middle-aged male alter ego was going to rupture an artery or at least blow a gasket! “Humble and gentle when I have a steering wheel in my hands and a gas pedal under my right foot? Are you delirious?! Dude, you are way too old to start taking those ancient writings seriously!”

Just to put Self at ease, I immediately pulled out in front of a dump truck that I didn’t want to follow for the next sixteen miles. The front tires on the minivan screeched slightly as I accelerated away from the “Slow” sign at the intersection. (It may have been a “Stop” sign; I didn’t have time to read it carefully.)

By the time we crossed the Arkansas River, the dump truck was right close behind me. I notched my speed up a bit, only for the purpose of providing a safe distance between us. Of course. By the time I got over to I-35, though, my experiment began to take better shape. As I changed directions and headed north, my driving began to change, too.

As I approached a slightly slower moving vehicle, I checked the mirror. Car coming up behind me but already over in the passing lane. “Ah,” I thought, “I’ve got room. I could swing over, hit the accelerator and not have to follow this truck for another six or nine seconds.” Then I remembered my project. I slowed down and waited for the car to pass. Usually I’d zig right over behind the passing vehicle as soon as there was a car length or two between us. I waited for a few more seconds and then moved over. Then I left a bit more distance between the truck and me before pulling back over into the right hand lane.

I kept up this experiment throughout the day. It was downright embarrassing to note how many ways my driving would have to change if I was going to be serious about applying this new concept.

I may have to rest up a decade or two before I’m ready to start trying it out in the workplace… Might be good if you’d pray for me on that one…

H. Arnett
8/23/17

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A Persistent Affliction

Posted on August 22, 2017 by Doc Arnett

In the recent events in Charlottesville, and in others preceding it, we continue to witness a ready predisposition in our species to do violence to those who are afflicted with the lack of good sense to agree with us. I suppose it traces clear back to the earliest stories of the family human.

Cain perceived that his brother was more Abel to please God and that realization did not sit well with him. Jacob and Esau had a similar rift but theirs did not result in fratricide, mainly owing to the fact that Jacob got out of Dodge while Esau was waiting to convert motive and means into opportunity. When Jacob returned a few decades later, he had the good sense to send a generous gesture of good will on ahead of him. Although the brothers patched things up well enough, ensuing generations from the lineage of Isaac and Ishmael haven’t done so well. It’s easy enough to blame one side more than the other but there’s probably enough to go around. And it’s spilled over into the area of beliefs as well.

Although they claim to follow the Prince of Peace, it seems a good many of the philosophical lineage of the Carpenter prefer a literal application of his statement that he came to bring war, not peace. Not content with fighting the heathen in ways that the Messiah never intended, we have become rather well versed in fighting other believers as well. Sometimes in the city park and sometimes on a global scale. It seems that over the centuries our practice has made us quite adept at never allowing the Lord’s teaching on loving our enemies to interfere with our lust for carnal warfare. No sirree, when it comes to such matters as government, territory and dominion, we truly become nondiscriminatory; we are just as satisfied to drop bombs on other Christians as we are to fire missiles at pagans and heretics.

And should self-propelled missiles be a bit too hard to come by, we’ll make do for now with rocks and clubs. Something satisfyingly primitive about that, although the occasional can of pepper spray can be right handy as well.

People of violence are never at much of a lack for opportunity. Apparently nothing is quite as satisfying to one hater as trying to bash in the skull of another hater. Whether it’s a soccer game or a puddle of oil, we seem to have little trouble getting right nasty about having our way with things. Somewhere right near the bottom of the matter is that we cherish power and control. And the more persuaded we are about the moral superiority of our position, the more willing we are to use immoral means to see it secured.

Well, I suppose it’s at least as easy to ignore “Be completely humble and gentle” as it is to disregard “Return good for evil, blessing for cursing.” Easy, of course, unless we actually are trying to please Jesus and not ourselves. I guess either way, we certainly fulfill his prophecy that “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

H. Arnett
8/22/17

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Total Eclipse of the Sun

Posted on August 21, 2017 by Doc Arnett

Our other home—in northeast Kansas—lies in the direct path of the total eclipse. At one point, Randa and I had planned to go up and be there for the super-hyped event. But, in view of the multiple forecasts of over-saturated travel zones, an invasion of hundreds of thousands of solar-seeking spectators and all sorts of shortages, outages and portages, we decided to stay in Ark City.

As it turns out, the weather forecast for that particular segment of NOAA’s prognostication domain indicates a twenty percent chance of showers and thunderstorms this morning followed by “partly sunny” conditions. I guess if the part that is sunny turns out to be at the peak of the predicted phenomenon, those eclipse glasses will come in pretty handy.

Having gotten a pretty good head start on the current generation, I’ve witnessed a few eclipses over the years. I’ve never bought the glasses but I’ve never ventured to stare into the sun during an eclipse either. Seeing it get sort of dark in the middle of the day when there’s not a cloud in the sky is a pretty cool thing. Some people believe that the darkness that fell upon Jerusalem and the area when Jesus was crucified was due to a rather well-timed eclipse.

On its surface that seems like a plausible explanation, I suppose, though there are others who say, “Hold on a minute there, Sunshine; there’s all sorts of evidence that this was not your usual solar eclipse.” I certainly welcome you to dig into the history and the apologetics relating to that discussion. I might even join you.

That bit of controversy to the side, I will confess that today’s eclipse is interesting to me but not nearly as compelling as it apparently is to a great many folks. I hope they all get the view for which they’re looking and hoping. Seeing the sun darkened on a significant segment of the earth for a while is a pretty cool thing, especially if it happens at just the right time to keep you from being the next Aztec sacrifice.

But the event that I really, really, really want to see? Well that would be when the Son returns to this earth…

H. Arnett
8/21/17

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A Quiet Refreshing

Posted on August 18, 2017 by Doc Arnett

On the morning after the storm,
we sat out on the porch for a while,
grateful for the cool air,
the quiet breeze beneath blue skies and green trees
and knowing that the sunrise
would bring some sort of reassurance,
a blessing of light beyond the night
of wind and flood.

We talked in between bites
of honey-drizzled waffles
and sips of caramel coffee:
possible plans for a holiday weekend,
time that we might spend traveling together
and a tear-touching story she had seen on TV.

We need such times as this,
time to contemplate miracles and minutiae,
to breath calm moments,
to give thanks for our daily bread
and not being led into paths of darkness
masquerading as light,
to be grateful for the night’s rest
and passing blessings,
a caressing of time and such moments as this
when we are reminded that not all of life
is duty and monotony and pressing needs,

to remember the answering of unspoken prayers
and to be prepared for greater works
that we will do
and will be done in us.

H. Arnett
8/18/17

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Slip Sliding Away

Posted on August 17, 2017 by Doc Arnett

I’ve never been much for pulling off the road in a rainstorm. Probably has something to do with barely repressed machismo, middle-aged male ego and maybe a few other things as well. But at least part of it is fairly keen memories of Dad driving through snow, rain, dark of night and whatever else lay between us and our destination. “Just slow down enough so that you can see at least a few seconds in front of you and keep moving,” he’d say in a way that was hard to tell for sure whether he was talking to me or to himself. “If you pull over and stop you’re more likely to get hit by someone who’s driving too fast for the conditions or just not paying close enough attention.”

And so over the years I’ve driven through some pretty intense storms, some of which had induced other drivers to pull off the road and wait for someone like me to run into them. I never obliged on that point, I’m happy to say. There were times when I slowed down to twenty-five or thirty miles an hour but I kept going. As long as I could see a few seconds in front of me.

Yesterday’s storm here in southern Kansas and northern Oklahoma set a new high water mark for my driving experience.

We drove through several miles of intense rain and wind heading over to the Lowe’s store at Ponca City. The rain fell by bucketfuls and the wind blew it into sheets that crossed the highway at a slant. Then it got worse. Even though the rain was falling by truckloads the wind was blowing so hard that there were no rain “drops” on the windshield. There were horizontal streaks running from west to east with no downward drift. “Well,” I mused out loud but in way that was hard to tell for sure whether I was talking to Randa or to myself, “this is probably as close to driving in a hurricane as I’ll ever come.” Randa was hoping it would be as close to driving in a tornado as either of us would ever come.

We made it to Lowe’s albeit in considerably slower fashion and with a bit more concern than usual.

By the time we headed back toward Ark City, the sun had emerged and starked a beautiful rainbow against the dark hindquarters of the storm that had moved on north and east. An SUV driver who thought fifty-five was way too slow passed by us on the left. He was barely ahead of us when his vehicle suddenly slipped sideways a foot or so. I slowed a bit but he didn’t. He kept right on going as if he didn’t want to be late to his next hydroplaning appointment.

Whether in the midst of the storm or in its aftermath, we know that God can see our path clearly, no matter how intense the circumstances that cloud our vision. We know that as long as we keep in step with his Spirit, we are on the right route. And if we sometimes find ourselves sliding sideways a bit, it might be that we need to ease up off the gas for a while.

H. Arnett
8/17/17

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Through the Panes

Posted on August 15, 2017 by Doc Arnett

Following a long day and a Board of Trustees meeting at the end of it, I finally headed home yesterday evening, a bit after eight o’clock. I walked through an empty hallway toward the Second Street exit from the building. Through the glass entrance of our administrative wing, I could see one of our students standing outside on the concrete apron that bridges from building to sidewalk. She was obviously agitated, crying and talking on her cell phone. I pushed one of the doors open and walked toward my car parked on the opposite side of the street, pretending not to have seen or noticed. Interrupting a teenager in the throes of emotion can provoke rather unpredictable responses.

Just as I was two steps away from the curb, she finished her conversation. I hesitated, debating sanity and such matters. Something of compassion intervened and I turned back toward her.

“I know it would be a dumb question to ask ‘Are you okay;’ I can see that you’re obviously not okay. Is there anything anyone could do to help you?”

Still crying, she responded in a broken but non-hysterical voice, “A very close friend of our family died. He was my father’s closest friend… he had a heart attack. I think I need to go home.”

For some of our students, “home” can be several thousand miles away and involve inter-continental travel. Even though her voice held no discernible accent other than what one would expect in southern Kansas, I asked her how far she was from home. “Two hours.”

I suppose I could have given her the old “you need to stay here so you don’t miss the first day of classes tomorrow” admonition but she didn’t seem to be quite in a place of receptivity and I certainly wasn’t in a place where I wanted to deliver such admonition. Instead, I told her I was very sorry to hear that and that it is a really tough thing to learn of such loss when you’re not with your family.

“Do you have any friends here with you? Anyone you know?”

She replied that she did and said that she thought she would call one of them. She assured me that she would be okay and so I began to turn away and head back toward the street.

“Sir,” she spoke in a slightly trembling voice. I turned back toward her. She looked at my name badge and then turned her eyes back toward mine. Eyes moist and tears still streaming down her cheeks, she paused and tilted her face slightly forward toward me, “Thank you for asking.” She spoke in a tone of tender and yet almost desperate sincerity.

I nodded and answered gently, “You’re welcome.”

Sometimes the least we can do is also the most we can do. It’s not much but it’s infinitely more than pretending we didn’t notice.

H. Arnett
8/15/17

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In Memoriam: Sandra Sue Woodworth

Posted on August 11, 2017 by Doc Arnett

On an August morning that threatens rain,
we are gathered here in the delicate pain of hope.
The notes of old hymns fill the spaces
between friends and strangers
as the organist preludes eulogy and prayers.

The high dome of the sanctuary arches over curving balconies.
Oak pews with hymnals and Bibles in the racks
slope from back to front toward the oak casket
nested against the raised platform and pulpit,
a silent harmony of hardwood
and hand-rubbed finish
resonating below the circular centerpiece high above:
eight main radials of stained glass
framed by inlaid maple and walnut.

I never knew this woman
except through patterned images reflected
in children and grandchildren.

The minister reads a fine bouquet of their good memories:
rides and food, meals and moments,
a lifetime of loving family and friends,
intentional sharing and caring,
an unaltered path of dignity and devotion.

After the final prayer,
we file down the stairs to greet the ones we know,
to convey what concern we may.
In between the hugs and handshakes,
the smiles and nods,
I find a table of pictures.

In one, framed from behind her,
Susie sits at a dresser,
mirrored image of an alluring young woman
in a long formal dress,
dark hair sensuously suspended barely above the shoulders,
her head tilted toward the earring she is clipping.

On the opposite end of the table,
one of her with her husband.
Even in her seventies and fully gray,
she still looked like an actress:
slender and elegant,
a radiant smile and a timeless sense of grace

that will yet live on
in those who bear her image and more—
lives like hers
that share an even greater reflection.

H. Arnett
8/11/17

Posted in Aging, Christian Devotions, Death & Dying, Family, Poetry, Relationships, Spiritual Contemplation | Tagged , , , , , , , | Comments Off on In Memoriam: Sandra Sue Woodworth