An Unexpected Psalm

Posted on April 26, 2016 by Doc Arnett

Good morning and good blessings to you. This morning’s piece is a bit unusual for me. The opening line has been harping away inside my mind since Sunday morning before I went to church. This morning, it was hammering away again. At first, I thought, “This isn’t how I start my devos…” But it was so insistent.

So, I started with that line and then it just flowed… took less than half the time it usually takes. I hope you find something in it that is a blessing to you or someone you know. At the least, I hope you find it worth your time!

Good to you,
Doc

I will worship you, O Lord;
I will lift up my heart and be glad in your presence.
I will exalt your name;
I will magnify the name of the Almighty.

For you have lifted me up
from the midst of despair.
You have given me hope and strength
in the midst of dust and drought.

In the midst of strife and turmoil
you have given me peace.
You have released my spirit
from the bonds of darkness and despair.

You have set my feet upon the path
that you have chosen.
You have turned my face toward the east
and given me purpose and desire.

You have made firm what was weak;
you have given strength for each day.
You have given me vision in the midst of darkness
and settled my heart to serve you.

When I was in the midst of darkness,
you shone the light of your love in my heart.
When I was in the midst of depression,
you turned my mind toward hope.

My mind is at peace
and my heart is settled
because you have given me hope and strength,
because you have settled my heart to serve you.

Therefore, I will worship you, O Lord;
I will lift up my heart and be glad in your presence.
I will exalt your name;
I will magnify the name of the Almighty.

H. Arnett
4/26/16

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Sprouted in Stone

Posted on April 25, 2016 by Doc Arnett

Outside the south wall of my office, a row of big white boulders runs along the border of the building. By estimation rather than actual measure, I guess that each one weighs several hundred pounds. Some probably go a half-ton or more.  Each is pocked with small holes. Imagine a huge chunk of bleached sponge with relatively little ability to absorb and retain much water and quite definitely unsuited for cleaning spills or washing a car.

As I walked along the sidewalk running east and west beside the rocks, I noticed a tiny tree growing from one of the holes one of the big rocks. The shape of its leaves suggested “birch” but there may be a dozen varieties of trees whose leaves take that shape in their early stages. Again by estimation rather than actual knowledge, I imagine a seed drifted about in the south Kansas breeze for some time, eventually winding up in that particular hole in that particular rock.

There may have been some similar means that brought about a small deposit of dirt and humus in that same hole. Recent rains added moisture, the sun added its abetting and the seed did what seeds are made to do; it sprouted.

I’ve seen similar events in many of the places I’ve hiked over the years. Tiny trees growing in rocks and boulders. I’ve even seen large trees, comparatively speaking, growing from the face of a bluff. Most often, it’s either a cedar or some sort of scraggly pine or yew.

As said, I’ve seen many trees surviving even when growing in a rock.

But I’ve never seen a tree that I would say is thriving in such an environment. A tree can sprout in a rock, yes. Sometimes it can grow and send its roots through the seams of stone into something resembling soil. It can hold on for years, even decades. But to truly thrive, it needs a deeper store of moisture and nurture, a setting more suited to achieving something beyond survival.

I’ve seen humans in similar settings.

Sometimes it’s a marriage that turned out to be far less than what we imagined. Sometimes it’s a work situation. It can even be a church. Whatever it is, we feel that we are starving, exhausted and thirsty and there’s just no source of nourishment for us in that setting.

Sometimes, we effect a change of some degree. Sometimes, the degree seems drastic. A new spouse, a new job, a different church. Sometimes, we seek that change too quickly. We forget that our God can use ravens to feed a prophet, that He can send forth water from a rock. We forget that the strength needed to flourish in the green season often comes from time spent in the dry. Roots with easy moisture do not seek the deeper store.

Still, it is sometimes true that the place where we are first planted is not the place where we are intended to stay and grow and serve. Until that time of replanting comes, we can control our attitude, focus on the good and be grateful for that. We can also consider the needs of others.

When we seek to move the small tree from the rock into the garden, we must work with gentle hands and caring hearts. And it is good for us to remember that though we are limited, we are not helpless. Even when we cannot completely change the situation, we can offer support and encouragement. If we cannot move the tree or even budge the boulder, we can at least bring water.

H. Arnett
4/25/16

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Shakespeare in Kansas

Posted on April 22, 2016 by Doc Arnett

No, this isn’t another version of someone seeing Elvis on the Amtrak to Memphis or Michael Jackson spotted at a secluded resort in Argentina. I’m not claiming that I caught a glimpse of Shakespeare coming out of the Piggly Wiggly. I’m not sure we have Piggly Wiggly in Kansas. What I am sure of is that Cowley College’s drama students have pulled off another fine presentation. Of course, they had some mighty fine help and lots of cooperation and working together.

Altogether, about thirty-five students had parts that involved being on the stage for something other than moving props. There was the star elfin character who hung above the stage in a black silky cocoon for over twenty minutes before emerging at the start of the play. There was the sweet little five-year-old girl whose nocturnal imagination appeared to be the stimulus of A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream. Then there’s the host of playful fairies, elves and misshapen creatures. Add on the troupe of vagabond actors, lovers and rivals and parents and what-have-you. Well, there are a lot of performers in this production.

Then, there are all the supporting cast. People doing make-up, helping with costume changes which could not have happened without procuring, altering and making costumes. With the sensual scenes of nymphs and fairies, some costumes took less material than others, I suppose, but all of them took time and talent. Then, there are the dozen sets or so of long, pointed ears, the transforming make-up of distortions and deformities. Throughout the play, there were people pulling ropes, handling off-stage tasks that make it possible for things to appear and disappear. Another twenty or so of these folks.

And, of course, you have the people who built seating for the stage so that the play could be performed “in the round.” Enough seating so over a hundred people could enjoy the intimate performance. Ushers and escorts to get us all to those seats. People to serve refreshments at intermission…

All of those hours of memorizing lines, blocking, rehearsals, choreography and on and on and on. There is a tremendous amount of work that goes into theatrical performance. Those mesmerizing dances and synchronized motions were mapped out by a choreographer, someone with a vision for physical movement. Those performers did not just come up with that, it took the talents of Cara Kem, our dance instructor, blended with those of the actresses and actors.

And, of course, everything hinges on one other person, someone whose job it is to take responsibility for everything that we see and experience during a production. All of that is guided by a director.

In our case, a director of unusual ability. A director whose own original plays have been performed in New York City. An incredibly talented man, one John Sefel. A man with a gift for drawing from others and from his own imagination. A guy with the ability to see in his mind how a scene or a set or an entire production should look, sound and feel. A person with passion for his craft and for the people who pursue and perform it. When great love and great talent come together, amazing things happen. I saw that last night.

I see it in plays, in workplaces and in churches. I see it in colleges and campgrounds. I see it in concerts and choirs. I’ve seen it in tobacco fields, hayfields and hospitals. When talented people devote themselves to a common cause, when each one performs the individual role with passion and selflessness, amazing things happen.

Especially when we stay in step with our Choreographer and follow the guiding of our Director.

H. Arnett
4/22/16

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City View

Posted on April 21, 2016 by Doc Arnett

Nineteen floors above the floor of the city,
I sit by the window in a room too dark for reflections,
invisible to the middle-aged man
watching TV two floors above me in the opposite wing.

Beyond and below me the river holds its channel
parallel to Lower Wacker Drive.

I take in the tall and narrow view defined by
stone-edged buildings reaching far above me.
Beyond the bridge on Michigan Avenue,
the lights of cars pulse and throb along their lanes.

Their sounds are faint and dull,
like trivial memories of a long day’s traveling.

Just north of the bridge, the concrete curves
off to the right, gently swooping into the flight of stairs
leading down to the walkway along the water.
A series of smooth white arches sweep into the overhead curve

holding the span that keeps what is beneath
safe from what is held above.

Lights reflect across the breeze-brushed surface of the river,
a soft glimmering in the night,
another bit of beauty shining up from the floor of the city
while men sit chin to knees propped with wrinkled cardboard signs,

living off the pity of strangers
and sleeping in the doorways of burnished buildings.

I sit in the midst of this privilege, this seeing in the darkness,
slowly sipping cream sherry
while I contemplate another day of education conference,
walking the halls and aisles of this grand hotel,

a small piece of pasteboard pinned to my lapel
telling an indifferent world who I am and where I am from.

H. Arnett
4/21/16

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Celebration

Posted on April 20, 2016 by Doc Arnett

I sat last evening, chatting with colleagues, just before Cowley College’s annual awards banquet was to begin. Nearly every table in the Wright Room was packed with people: students to be honored, parents and guests, teachers and other staff members, trustees and administrators. Salads at every place, cheesecake at the ready and four buffet lines set to start. We were all ready for an evening of accolades and laughter, accomplishment and recognition.

Just five minutes before the ceremony was set to begin, I got a text from Randa: “Give me a quick call before it starts.”

I quickly excused myself and headed outside where I could get a good signal and not be surrounded by two-hundred-and-fifty people in animated conversation. At first, I couldn’t get a signal (thank you “America’s most reliable service.”) The screen showed Randa’s number dialing but there was no connection. I walked farther away from the building and tried again. Connection.

I don’t know if it was a weak connection or my hearing impairment coming into play but I couldn’t catch everything she said. I did hear “Sam… suicide bomber… Kabul…”

I don’t know that you would even have to know that Sam is my second oldest son to imagine the effect those words had. He is in his second deployment to Afghanistan, his third or fourth to the Middle East. Perhaps you’ve seen or read or heard by now about the bombing in Kabul yesterday that killed several people and injured hundreds.

Before I had time to ask or understand anything further, my chest began to crush my heart, my stomach clenched as if suddenly twisted into cable and my throat closed up like a clenched fist. I asked the question that is the first reaction of every parent, every spouse, every child, every sibling, every loved one, “Is he okay?!”

As it turned out, Sam is fine. When Randa started a sentence with “Windows were broken…” I thought Sam had been in Humvee that had run over an IED. But no, what happened was that the explosion broke windows and knocked pictures from the walls in the building where he was working but no one there was injured. All of the people in his work unit were fine.

Three of my sons are on active duty and all three of them have deployed at least once into the Middle East. All of them have taken fire of one form or another. I do not dwell on the possibility of phone calls that do not end as this one ended. I also know that car wrecks, construction accidents and falls in the shower can also result in similar calls. We live in a world filled with dangers and every moment that we breathe is one more than we are guaranteed.

I said goodbye to Randa and looked around at roses blooming under gray skies. I took a few deep breaths and headed back inside to enjoy an evening with a large group of good people. People who believe in love and faith and hope, who strive for excellence through service, who are raising their children and grandchildren to do good work, help one another and treat others as they would like to be treated.

I took a bit more notice of my food, my water and the people around me. I delighted in their company and in our camaraderie. I presented an outstanding student award on behalf of a chairperson who could not be there and introduced presenters from other departments. I joined in the applause and the recognition. And in the giving of thanks.

H. Arnett
4/20/16

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Mean Kids

Posted on April 15, 2016 by Doc Arnett

Ronnie Smith had polio when he was a kid. He wore those clunky Forrest Gump braces on each leg and used crutches to get around Trenton Elementary School back in southwestern Kentucky near the middle of the previous century. He was three or four years older than me, in my brother’s grade at school. Normally, he wouldn’t be playing with a third-grader but that day, he was happy to play kickball, even if it meant doing it with some little tow-headed runt.

Our game was the picture of simplicity: I’d roll the ball toward Ronnie, he’d tilt his crutches way forward and time his motion so that his legs swung forward and he’d kick the ball. Then, I’d run and get the ball and bring it back and roll it again. It was like he was throwing a stick and I was the happy little Lab bringing it back.

We’d been playing for a while during the morning recess when he really got into one. The ball soared over my head clear out to the basketball goal set up on two old creosoted posts. As I turned to run for retrieval, I saw one of my classmates running toward the ball. He got there just before I did and grabbed the ball and clenched it to his chest.

“Give me the ball, Lewis.”

“No!”

“Give me the ball, Lewis!”

Again, he refused and tightened his grip when I reached for it.

Lewis was at least as strong as me and ten pounds heavier. I briefly considered wrestling with him and then decided on a quicker option. Without another word, I punched him right in the nose.

His nose seemed to explode. Blood gushed out both nostrils. He shrieked in pain and grabbed his face with both hands. The ball dropped to the ground and Lewis took off toward the playground supervisor, blood dripping through his fingers. I picked up the ball, looked over toward Ronnie and figured life as I knew it had just ended. But, I thought, “It was worth it. What kind of a dirty rotten little bully steals the ball when someone is playing kickball with a crippled guy?! If you won’t stand up for a kid with polio, then what good are you?!”

Mrs. Dickinson was standing about a hundred feet away. As Lewis approached her, I figured I might as well head on over and wait for the sheriff to come arrest me. Lewis got to the teacher and gurgled out, “Harold hit me in the nose.” She looked down at him and then looked at me. “Go on in and get yourself cleaned up,” she said to Lewis.

As he trudged off, still bleeding profusely from the nose, she looked at me.

“I was playing kickball with Ronnie,” I pleaded, daring a quick look up at her, “Lewis stole the ball.”

I knew it was a pretty shallow defense. I’d seen older kids get in fights, more wrestling matches, really. Paul and Patsy had both gone to Trenton. In all those long years, I’d never heard of anyone hurting somebody else, much less giving someone a bloody nose.

My shoulders drooped and I waited for the executioner’s sentence.

“I saw the whole thing,” she said quietly, then laid a hand on my shoulder. “You go on back and play ball with Ronnie.”

Sometimes, teachers are just plain amazing, aren’t they?

Now, I don’t extol vigilantism and this sort of playground justice was part of another place, another time and a distant era often misremembered without the cold fears of nuclear war and invasion. But I will admit, if pressed on the point, Lewis Peterson never again interfered in any way when Ronnie Smith and I were playing kickball.

By the time recess was over, his nose had stopped bleeding. By the next week, we were friends again.

H. Arnett
4/15/16

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Beyond Radio Lane

Posted on April 14, 2016 by Doc Arnett

If I could rise up
above this frosted deck,
above these frosted roofs,
somewhere near the tops
of these black-branched trees,

then I would see
still higher
the stark frame
of the radio tower
stretching up behind
the small block station
like some Midwestern miniature
of the Eiffel Tower.

Beyond that I would see
hours of rolling prairie pasture,
blackened by the burning of spring.

Just past Grouse Creek,
my soul would stream singing
into the Flint Hills,
gouged by gullies and ditches,
their slight rise stretching
farther north than east.

I’d hover there for a while,
smiling into a distant morning,
its rising into a pale sky
thinning blue into silver
and forming a warming glow
that speaks of good to come,

rising above the ashes
of grass and small cedars
and scorched posts.

Below them,
freshened by recent rains,
hosted by the growing sun,
a surging green will come,
a renewing healing to cover the scars,
and feeding the cattle of a thousand hills.

H. Arnett
4/14/16

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Ricardo

Posted on April 13, 2016 by Doc Arnett

I do not know of any other friend I have made based on such little time spent together in the same room. By all accounts without regard to some higher power, our meeting was entirely coincidental. At a national On Course conference in California nine or ten years ago, organization ambassadors were asked to spread throughout a large room filled with about five hundred people. These folks were sitting around circular tables in groups of six or more. When the spreading out was done, I happened to be standing by Ricardo’s table.

Dr. Skip Downing, On Course author and founder, asked us to share stories of “launching out into something without really knowing how it was going to work out.” At our table, I shared the story of quitting my job as a high school teacher at Calloway County (KY) High School, loading up my family and our personal belongings and moving four hundred miles away to start on my PhD at Ohio State University. After several minutes, Skip asked the people to let him know if they’d heard a story that the whole group should hear.

Having heard the details of using a gutted school bus as a moving van and three years spent living with my first wife and six children in a two-bedroom apartment, Ricardo thought my saga fit the criteria. So, he stood and signaled Skip and I shared my story with five hundred people. I guess Ricardo had chosen well; everyone applauded enthusiastically when I finished.

That was the entirety of my physical association with Ricardo. That one session.

But when I emailed him after returning home from the conference, he accepted my offer to be put on my daily mailing list for my morning meditations. Over these past years he has continually responded with appreciation, encouragement and gratitude. His comments have helped me keep going in those times when I wondered whether or not anyone was reading what I’d written. His praises about my descriptions and insights have lifted my spirits again and again.

And so it was with great anticipation that I looked forward to his promise to meet me at this most recent conference. As we sat together at a small table in the hotel restaurant, I watched and listened intently.

Ricardo’s passion for students and their well-being was obvious as he spoke about the program he has operated for years. I could not miss his love of his family as he spoke of his children and of his own growing up, earning small bits of spending money by helping his father do gardening work for others. As always, Ricardo was also encouraging to me, telling me again how much he appreciates my writing and commending my devotion to the craft. There was another thing about Ricardo for which I gained an increased respect and appreciation.

In the midst of his zeal and care for others, his devotion and determination to help others, along with his apparent concern and love for me, I realized that I had the rare and distinct privilege of being in the company of a man who exuded gentleness. It showed in his eyes, his face, his voice, everything about him. A man of great faith and devotion, a man of passion and wisdom, a man of tempered touch.

I knew before that lunch that passed too quickly that I love the man, respect his work and his values. In the midst of that refreshing peace and gentleness, I realized that I also admire him. He reminds me of another Teacher whose life we both try to emulate, whose grace we have tried to reflect. A man who showed us we do not have to be in physical proximity to have a great relationship.

H. Arnett
4/13/16

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Old Folks away from Home

Posted on April 12, 2016 by Doc Arnett

I have recently discovered that there are hazards in traveling with younger colleagues.

Actually, it wasn’t really a discovery, more of a reminder really. During my most recent trip, I frequently realized that my movie quotes and allusions to news events both derived from things that happened before my companions were even born. They put up with me pretty well and seemed to tolerate the company better than one might expect. Of course, I suffered greatly at their insults regarding my rotary dial cell phone with its antenna sticking out the end but that’s just part of the price of roaming about the country with people who are half your age. I’ve adjusted to it pretty well which is a good thing: I don’t have a lot of choice! There just aren’t that many people my age who are interested in roaming about the country and attending professional conferences. I suspect that most of the roamers my age are in RV’s.

I do have to say that my companions did seem impressed when I started climbing up a rock column while we were waiting to get admitted into a really nice Italian restaurant. Then I realized they were probably just embarrassed. It never occurred to them that I was just desperate to stretch out a charley-horse in my calf muscle before my pacemaker quit on me. Now it occurs to me that they are probably unfamiliar with the term “charley-horse.”

Fortunately for me, we do share some key qualities that transcend age. We all believe in excellence, joy, humor, compassion and consistency. We believe that instruction should be interesting, challenging and engaging, that people should do their jobs and do them well. We believe that people who are affected by decisions ought to be considered and their input solicited in making those decisions. But perhaps the most transcendent shared quality is our faith.

After learning of some personal concerns within the group, we met in one of our hotel rooms and spent a little time in prayer. We solicited our Creator and Savior’s intervention for health and healing, for peace and wisdom, for safe travels and for blessing on those whose welfare is deeply upon our hearts. This sort of sharing draws colleagues into friendship and friends into a sense of family.

Regardless of our shared travels and mutual value systems, it is ultimately our willingness to love one another, to trust each other and to run the risk of opening up to each other that lets us elevate our relationships and our workplaces. These things bridge across our differences and disagreements and allow us to draw out and support what is excellent in each other.

It is good to share professional values and experiences, good to laugh and drink and eat together, good to see the strengths in one another and appreciate those. It is even better to share faith, love and hope. These things carry us through all testings and all time and will one day unite us in that final home.

Even if it seems likely some of us will get there forty years before the others.

H. Arnett
4/12/16

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Keeping On Course

Posted on April 8, 2016 by Doc Arnett

After a ten-year hiatus, I have come to California again for the national On Course conference. I was able to bring some terrific people from Cowley College with me. On Course is a student success program developed by Dr. Skip Downing about twenty years ago. The program focuses on the deeper issues and factors that affect personal success, including things like assuming personal responsibility, making good choices, developing self-management and self-motivation. It has helped thousands upon thousands of students—and teachers—improve their lives. Skip’s book is now the best-selling student success book in the country and maybe in the world.

Like the book, the conference is full of great ideas, great concepts and great opportunities. Teachers, counselors, advisers and administrators share engaging learning activities and ways of being more effective. Every time I have taught a class using the On Course principles I have had good results. Inevitably, when I require students to do a reflective essay as a major part of their final exam, I will read things like “This class was awesome!” “This class was exactly what I needed.” My favorite, though, is the one that at least half of my students have written in one form or another: “This class changed my life.”

One of those students who wrote that after the creative writing class I taught two years ago at Highland Community College is Brandon Beavers. We submitted his essay into the international contest sponsored by Skip and Cengage Publishing. One of the key elements in Brandon’s essay was a reference to his brother’s suicide, a tragic event that left Brandon drifting. On Course was vital in moving him to choosing a good direction for his life and getting him back on track.

Brandon’s essay, with a little help from me and more help from Skip, was one of the winning essays! He won a hundred bucks and his story is published in the current edition of the very popular textbook. I’d hoped that he would be here in Anaheim to personally read his story as part of the ceremonies but that didn’t work out for a few different reasons.

As it turned out, Brandon sees some benefit to his not being out here this week. A loved and valued friend of Brandon’s family committed suicide a couple of days ago and Brandon will be serving as one of the pallbearers. It stirs echoes of past pains in ways that only those who have suffered similar wounds may understand.

I am confident, though, that Brandon’s resilience will continue and perhaps even increase. He will share his grief with others who share other parts of his life. He will make good choices and use his emotional intelligence in good ways, not only moving through this but helping others move through it as well.

Along with that, though, he, his family and the family of the man who took his own life also need greater strength, greater grace, greater wisdom and greater comfort. They need your prayers. We all do.

I am convinced that the touch of God is greater than all the ironies of our lives. For over sixty years, I have relied on Him to keep me on course. But I have learned that when I take responsibility for making my choices and choosing my actions, He is able to work His will in my life with far less pain for me and those who love me. I think it helps make the job and the process more enjoyable for both of us!

H. Arnett
4/8/16

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