Special Company

Posted on August 17, 2016 by Doc Arnett

I walked out the door early Saturday morning and felt like I walked into another world. The air was fresh and cool, almost chilly. After a couple of months of heavy heat and high humidity, this was wonderful! I stood for a moment, looking around and taking it in like someone who hasn’t been allowed to go outside for some time. Our flowers perked brightly above their bed of cypress mulch. A heavy dew beaded the grass and the vehicles parked in the driveway. A shining stillness spread about me.

A bit later, Randa and I sat on the porch, taking bites of fresh-baked walnut-date waffles and sipping coffee. We talked for a bit, lingering in that refreshing coolness before starting our two-hundred-and-fifty mile drive up to Doniphan County.

It takes a while for that first fresh coolness of an August morning to come around. It’s hard to put it on the calendar and plan around it. It helps, though, if you’re watchful for it and willing to pause for a bit. It’s the pausing that most of us miss; it doesn’t matter how often the opportunity comes if we can’t suspend our busyness for a bit.

In that regard, it’s not all that different from the refreshing of the Spirit. That’s not something we can spritz on as we bustle about getting ready for work. It’s not a thing to be brushed on in the mirror at the traffic light. Even as good as it is to give thanks before each meal, that alone will not yield the renewal that replenishes our minds and hearts and spirits.

For that we have to quit treating the Spirit as a casual acquaintance we see from time to time on the bus line or a colleague we greet in passing down the hallway. He is not the guy in the pickup truck over at the next pump or the cashier at the Quik Pik. If we want the lifting of his good work in us, if we want the refreshing renewal that fills us with grace and power and light and love, then we must quit treating him with casual indifference.

We must treat him as the Heavenly Guest; pull up a chair and sit for a while, as eager to listen as we are to speak.

H. Arnett
8/17/16

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Faith and Action

Posted on August 16, 2016 by Doc Arnett

Sometimes they rant, sometimes they cry, sometimes they simply sit with frozen faces, deliberately keeping away all traces of emotion. Even that, at some point, becomes emotion. What they all share is the frustration of distance between what seems to be reality and the situation as they desire it to be.

The disciples and more casual followers of Christ sometimes came to him with similar situations: Why can’t I be the one at your right hand? Why does he always get to sit next to you? Where’s my kingdom? Make my brother divide his inheritance with me! We’re hungry!

Whether from faith or frustration, all of these people felt that their situation should be different and that Jesus had the power to make it different.

In some cases, it’s casual selfishness. In some it’s a keen awareness of repeated injustice. In some it’s the inevitable collision of physical and other needs in a non-distributed world. What seems to be a key difference among the sufferers lies in the area of hope and action. Some ingrain their resentment and begin to close their doors around them. Some spread their misery. Some withdraw into deep despondency. Others lash out, sometimes against the perceived cause or perpetrator and sometimes at whomever or whatever is convenient.

The overcomers, though, take ownership and action. They talk face-to-face with the other party. They propose and pursue solutions. They accept the limitations of the current situation but do not believe in its permanence. They change their attitude or their circumstances, or both. They find common ground and make that their foundation for pursuing the future with others.

They pray for miracles and work their way forward, one small step at a time. When the crowd is too tall and too large, they climb a tree. When there is no crowd, they find a quiet place and pray for wisdom and courage. They cast their nets on the other side of the boat. They try something different rather than expecting the world to change its rules for them.

Sometimes, they skip a meal so someone else can eat. They bring their weakness to those who are strong, giving and gaining in their relationships. They forgive, they choose service, they act with bold hope, they endure.

And as long as we endure, there will always be hope.

H. Arnett
8/16/16

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Sunny Side Up

Posted on August 11, 2016 by Doc Arnett

It is not always easy
to find the time or the inclination of mind
to focus on the beauty that is formed
in the world around us.

Sometimes it seems more natural
to be drawn into the swirl and swallow
of the wallowing in the muck
even when it should disgust us.

I’ve heard that “misery loves company”
but I’ve also noticed
that neither host nor guest
seems any better for all the sharing.

I’ve noticed, too,
there’s not a lot of fun
to be remembered
while you’re cleaning up after a pity party.

It does not come natural to me
to see the good in a bad situation,
but I do know that whether
the glass is half-full or half-empty

you can usually get a refill
if you ask politely.

H. Arnett
8/11/16

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Lessons from the Past

Posted on August 10, 2016 by Doc Arnett

Twenty years ago this month, I began working as principal at an alternative school in the heart of Kentucky’s Bluegrass region. In those seven years, we only had one or two students that ever made me wary regarding my physical welfare. We had a few with genuine psychological issues. Mostly, what we dealt with was immaturity and frustration. Clear, consistent boundaries combined with sincere respect and compassion go a long way in dealing with troubled youth and much of the remaining population.

Start pushing people into corners and embarrassing them in front of their friends, though, and you’ll usually end up with what you deserve: a fight on your hands. It’s bad enough when your insecurities disrupt your own classroom. When they disrupt a small school and everyone else has to deal with it, that gets downright annoying.

I had one or two teachers who deliberately provoked students for their own amusement. Fortunately, most of our staff had greater maturity and compassion. They didn’t tolerate behavior that threatened others or disrupted learning but they were very patient with the quirks and quips of adolescents who vibrated between childhood and maturity.

Probably owing more to their efforts than mine, we graduated a good number of students and helped many others through those awkward transitions. We also improved the learning environment of our own students and in the classrooms of the other district classrooms. Given a little personal space, constant supportive direction and a place where their good efforts were noted and encouraged, most of our students accomplished more than even they believed possible.

I think that model works pretty well in the other alternative spaces of our lives. Accountability coupled with appreciation for people and leadership molded by integrity aren’t just good things; I think they’re downright godly. Might have to try them out in this job…

H. Arnett
8/10/16

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Stronger Than Drought

Posted on August 4, 2016 by Doc Arnett

A billowing cloud of dust rises out and up
from beneath the deck of the mower
as I push across the nearly bare space
below the elm trees.

A scraggly growth of weeds and grass:
not enough for green
but enough to be unseemly
when left un-mowed for three weeks.

I would like to sow seed
but it would sear in the summer heat
here in the heart of the Tornado Belt
where the sun could melt shingles.

The sowing will have to wait
for more gentle times
when what is tender can survive long enough
to grow the roots needed for thriving.

This is not the time of planting
but of tending to what could wilt
in this long dry season
when not every reason seems clear.

Too much attention to what is new
can cause us to lose what has grown for years—
and tears are not enough
to carry to carry a crop through the drought.

Even something strong as hope
needs feeding from time to time
and something as fickle as weather
favors the farmer who prays for wisdom

that is stronger than his own ambition.

H. Arnett
8/4/16

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Today’s Menu of Choices

Posted on August 3, 2016 by Doc Arnett

If today I focus on all the ways that things could go wrong, there’s a pretty good chance some of them will.
If today I focus on the strength and wisdom that God supplies, there’s a very good chance that things will go well.

If today I focus on the things that frustrate me, disappoint me, and bring me sadness, there’s a very good chance that I will be frustrated, disappointed and sad.
If today I focus on the things and people that make me feel rewarded, fulfilled and blessed, there’s an excellent chance that I will feel blessed, fulfilled and rewarded.

If today I blame others, criticize others and find fault with others, there’s an excellent chance that I will have a perfectly miserable day and spread my misery to others.
If today I choose responsibility for my own choices and actions, and tolerance, patience and encouragement for others, I will help make a good day.

If today I choose to walk in faith, look for and see the good that is around me, and share the grace that I seek and have been shown, I will reflect the Light that lives in me and be a blessing to others.

I believe that I will make a good day today.

H. Arnett
8/3/16

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Oil Change

Posted on August 1, 2016 by Doc Arnett

It was late in the evening but not yet dark when I decided to change the oil in our car Saturday. I try to do that at least once a year whether it needs it or not. You know, support the oil companies, create the illusion of a diligent owner, deceive the neighbors into thinking I occasionally do something useful, that sort of thing.

So, I got my stuff together and slithered under the car. Pretty soon, I realized the car was too low for me to change the oil in the driveway. So I pulled the car forward to where the front hung over the edge where the driveway slopes off a few inches down into the garage. It was still a snug fit underneath but it would have to do.

The drain plug was in pretty tight and I had to push pretty hard on the wrench handle to loosen it. Then I pushed a little harder. After that I pushed a lot harder and that was enough. The plug loosened and my hand slammed into the metal framing both bruising the knuckle of my ring finger and scraping off enough skin to graft a small burn. Not yet having any small burns that needed grafting, I left the skin where it was.

I soon discovered that there still wasn’t enough room between the drain plug and the drain pan for me to keep the pan in position while I removed the plug. I had flattened an appliance-sized cardboard box so I slid that underneath the car. Figured it would catch and soak up a small spill. It did indeed soak up a small spill. Unfortunately, in the time intervening between removing the plug and sliding the pan in place, I had more than a small spill.

Now in the reference frame of the Exxon Valdez and the Gulf Coast spills, it was minute. On the scale of my cardboard box, it was rather substantial. After a while I noticed that the oil slick had oozed down the length of the cardboard and was dripping onto the floor. I propped up that end with a small block. I finished draining the oil and removed the pan and re-installed the plug without losing any additional skin.

When I tried to remove the filter, it was too tight for me to loosen with grip strength alone. I used a filter wrench attachment for my ratchet wrench and it came off without too much trouble. The attachment was stuck so tight to the filter I had to hammer it loose. After filling the engine with fresh oil, I started the car up and backed it back out into the driveway.

Then I went back into the garage to pour the used oil into the now empty oil jug. I managed to spill oil all over the top of the jug. Then I noticed that oil was now draining off the cardboard at the opposite end. I wiped the jug down and set it over on the floor. Then I folded up the cardboard so no more oil could drip off the edge. After that, I got out the mineral spirits and began cleaning up the spills.

Somehow, I managed to turn a fifteen-minute job into a full hour. But at least the car had fresh oil and a new filter. And I saved at least five bucks by doing it myself, not counting the cost of antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids.

It’s not that unusual in this world that small things turn into bigger things. Sometimes because of our own ineptness and sometimes owing to that of others. Sometimes it’s a lack of forethought and sometimes it’s the lack of any thought.

Always it’s the reaction we choose that determines whether or not we use those things as part of making a good day or part of ruining one.

H. Arnett
8/1/16

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A Rugged Healing

Posted on July 27, 2016 by Doc Arnett

Monday’s dawning came in dark tones of gray. A rumbling of thunder rolled me awake into some sort of thin consciousness, a reluctant rising. The rain came too light to darken the concrete beneath the thicker branches of the elm tree but heavy enough to ruin the planting of flowers in the bareness between the driveway and the corner of the house.

I headed to work.

An hour later, a small group of colleagues headed east on US-166 toward Independence, Kansas. The rain had let up but low clouds as far as we could see made it look as though we could find rain again at any given moment.

About thirty miles out, we passed over a ridge. Miles of low scraggy hills filled a fifteen mile gap toward the next ridge. This is not the majestic rise of the Rockies or the moody weight of the Smokies but the Flint Hills here in southern Kansas have a beauty of their own. A beauty of low scrub brush marking the lines of creeks and ditches. A beauty of hard-shelled pastures in thin soil. A beauty of remarkable openness and space, strangely green for the last week of July in a place where the heat index has tipped the three-digit mark for most of the last twenty days or more.

These hills do not yield the inspirational awe of stone-edged mountains that rise miles above the plains. They do not bring the mystical aura of low fog easing over the bluffs and snaking along the low line of deep valleys. But they do bring a healing sort of soothing, a gentle softening of life’s hard edges.

A man could stand here for hours, or sit on a small outcropping of limestone in the midst of wild weed blooming. He could look about as far as eye can see over mile after mile of rugged rolling land, spotted by herds of Angus and Shorthorn and a dozen other breeds. He could find his mind eased away from whatever it was that started such a day. Should he choose to do so, he could pray with eyes wide open and see the very hand of God spread about him.

And feel his spirit calmed by a greater Spirit, his heart soothed by something near and good.

There are times when we need the grandeur of inspiration, the mystery of shrouded vales. But today, and many days, we need the calm and tender touch of something vastly greater than us, yet somehow near and clear. A reminder that in the midst of all that grinds away at us, there are springs and streams that bring a soft and silent serene renewal, something sent from the Source that gives us life.

H. Arnett

7/27/16

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Singing into the Night

Posted on July 22, 2016 by Doc Arnett

After an early morning fishing jaunt, Jeremiah and I head back to Ark City. We go by the car wash first, mindful of the watermilfoil infestation warnings at the lake. We wash off the boat, trailer and rear wheels of his high-rise F-150, then head home. With the temperature breaching ninety, we are ready for AC and breakfast.

After the waffles, he begins a couple of pallet projects. About halfway through, he realizes that the spaces in the pallet he is using aren’t wide enough for most wine bottles. We check the single pallet Randa and I have left over from the flagstone delivery. It will work.

Back to the car wash to pressure spray the dirt and grit off the pallet. Back to the house to resume work.

While he works on the wine rack and the other rack, I rake up small branches and other tree litter in the yard. There are also several small chunks of concrete the contractor scattered around when spreading out dirt from the driveway replacement back in the winter. In the intermittent squall of the small circular saw, punctuated by sounds of pounding old nails deeper into oak, both of our projects make progress.

We take a break mid-afternoon to drive over to W. B. Meats on South Summit and pick up ground sirloin for supper. While Randa makes up the patties, I get a small bed of charcoal ready for smoking the burgers. Jeremiah resumes work on the wine rack, having to resolve a couple of challenges presented by slats that won’t quite work as wanted. By the time I get the meat on the grill, he’s figured out a plan that seems likely to work.

An hour before sundown, the burgers are done and the slots are marked for the rack that will hold the glasses. We take a supper break and then resume the wine rack project. Jeremiah engineers a plan for setting the front edge while I cut the slots. Then we work together to fasten everything in place using the brad nailer. In the process, a piece of oak splits off from one of the slats. A bit of glue, a couple of small nails and a clamp take care of that.

We sit on the porch for a while then, the three of us talking and watching smoke from the brazier rise up in the bright moonlight. Around midnight, Jeremiah decides to take a shower and turn in for the night. Randa and I talk a while longer and are surprised to see Jeremiah come back out. “I feel rejuvenated,” he chuckled, “That shower felt pretty good.”

I decide to take a turn and experience a similar result. Since Jeremiah brought his guitar with him, I pull out the twelve-string and we begin playing and singing in the living room. He shows us a couple of songs that he’s learned and then we sing some we all know. The day that started at five-thirty in the morning ends with us singing Jimmy Buffet songs at one-thirty the next morning.

Each tune carries away something of whatever aches and pains remain and brings in their place something soothing. Blues or bluegrass, rock or folk, grunge or gospel, it’s all music and its sharing brings something good between us. This is a key part of who we are and what we do in this family.

For as long as Jeremiah can remember, I have played the guitar and sang songs into the night. I will carry the close comfort and deep warmth of this good night for as long as I can remember. And give thanks for such memories.

H. Arnett
7/22/16

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Fishing Trip

Posted on July 20, 2016 by Doc Arnett

I rise early, anticipating the first father-son fishing trip ever with my thirty-one-year-old son who has traveled alone here for this visit. He drove over from Little Rock to Ark City on Friday afternoon, driving his high-rise black ops Ford truck and towing the small john boat he has personally converted to a bass fishing boat. In the dim light of dawn, I let him sleep a while longer while I run a couple of errands.

Back from WalMart, I get my fishing gear from the back room and take it out to his truck. I pack a small cooler with Mountain Dew and honey buns and then go to his room and wake him. “Hey, Bud,” I murmur, rubbing his back lightly, “You ready to rock ‘n’ roll this morning?” He rolls over, leans up, “Yeah.”

He dresses simply and quickly, and we head out. After filling up the boat’s small gas tank, we head out east to Cowley Lake, fifteen miles out 166. Even early on a Saturday morning, there are already seven or eight boats on the water, a quick indicator of the fishing pressure on this small reservoir nestled into the Flint Hills. A very light wind sends slight ripples across the reflections of dark banks and light sky. Cattle graze on the ridges south and west.

We move past the other boats and ease up toward a run of reeds. On my third cast, I bring in a nice-sized bass. Picture taken, fish released. We fish this spot a while longer, then move out around the point and over to the long finger channel in the southwestern corner. Working the weed beds along the line of the creek, I catch another and Jeremiah asks if it’s a smallmouth or a largemouth. “Largemouth,” I answer, and show him the lateral line of darker scales, “Some people call them ‘linesides.’ The smallmouth is darker and has vertical lines.” I forego the temptation to add something about the difference in the size of their mouths.

While fishing, we talk about the sorts of things that fathers and sons sometimes leave out of conversations, the pains that run both ways after a divorce, how things work in marriage and what matters in how you treat people. We watch a Red Shorthorn push her way through the bank brush and out into the water a hundred yards away.

Jeremiah starts up the motor, I pull in the small anchor and he moves us over to a small cove we wanted to fish earlier. “If that guy’s moved out of there, let’s start right up at the back end,” I suggest. We fish there a while then troll out to the middle. In a few minutes, Jeremiah sets his hook in a good fish. His pole bends that deep arc that stirs the imagination. I get the landing net ready. A minute later, an eighteen-inch bass is in the boat.

“That is the biggest bass I have ever caught in my life!”

Jeremiah is as proud and excited as I was when I caught my first three-pounder fifty years ago. I’ve only caught three or four that size since then so I know how big this moment is. For both of us.

No matter what pains may lie in the past, no matter what mistakes we have made, there is always good ahead for those who choose to let go of their hurts and angers, their wounds and woundings. If we decide to love and forgive, life will always bring us the good that we give to others. And we may find ourselves in a better place than we ever imagined possible.

A place of good reflections.

H. Arnett
7/20/16

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