Quiet Evening on the Prairie

Posted on December 17, 2015 by Doc Arnett

If you head east on County 20 off of US-77 between Winfield and Ark City, you’ll drive through a few miles of rolling plains. It’s mostly farmland, soybeans and such. The Walnut River runs south through this section, a slight current drifting over toward the Arkansas River. Well before you reach the river, you’ll notice the Little Mesas of the Flint Hills, a series of tiny plateaus bordering the river.

As soon as you cross the bridge, the road will curve to the right, taking a bight between the hills and the river bottom. Pretty soon, you’ll come to another curve where the road bends up the rise into the Flint Hills. Right before you get there, you might notice a field of grape vines growing off to your left. That’s a pretty good hint that you’re getting mighty close to the Wheat State Winery.

If you were to ease off the road in the curve, preferably staying on the gravel lane, you’d end up at the winery. A few of my colleagues, some with their spouses, ended up there with me last evening.

I’d arranged for a private wine tasting and light supper there last night for them, a gesture of appreciation and an opportunity to get to know each other a bit better. I’d picked up some cheese and crackers, a veggie tray and also made some more of my not-yet-famous Mad Hawaiian Chili. I dumped in a couple of packages of small smoked sausages, intending to pull them out as appetizers. But—and this will not surprise my wife in the least—I forgot to bring tongs. So… the sausages stayed in and that didn’t seem to bother anyone so far as I could tell.

We visited around the serving counter and table, sampling nearly a dozen wines, ranging from sweet to dry. The favorites varied as much as the personalities and a few of those personalities invited a bottle or two to go home with them. All of us took something else home with us, too. Memories of a pleasant evening, knowing a bit more about one another, new acquaintance with others’ spouses and for some, remembering the image of a dozen deer grazing in the field by the parking lot.

I will keep and cherish this memory as the first of many intended occasions, when we focus on knowing one another, cultivating the relationships that can transform both ourselves and the places that we work. I’ll also take the memory of a serene sky, a deep rose rising from the horizon and fading into an endless blue with that pale band in between.

And the brightness of stars in a prairie sky, high above a frosty night, stretching beyond the imagination, drawing me toward heaven.

H. Arnett
12/17/15

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Keeping Time to the Music

Posted on December 16, 2015 by Doc Arnett

I have at times lived within the deliberate confines
of walls carefully constructed
to provide some layers of insulation
between me and the things and people
I thought might be a bit too much to handle.

Sometimes burning the candle in the middle,
I faced the riddles of both ends smoking
and the blackened wick running too thin
at the times I most needed some thick light
to blind me into understanding.

I have found the darkness cold and callused,
indifference sometimes feels like malice
and whatever keeps out the heat
also keeps the ice from melting
and warmth seems prelude to enlightenment.

I came back out of that aching emptiness,
willing to live and to be alive,
willing to give and forgive and be forgiven,
willing to run the risk of love offered
though seldom held sacred.

I have gained a few new scars,
and sung off-key on more than a few bars
of some fine and ancient melody
whose lyrics rise within every heart
that seeks the Light.

But I have kept the tune within me,
fretted the notes that run along the length
of a hand-carved neck set into the body,
a pleasing resonation of silver strings,
knowing that singing opens the heart

and sets the spirit free.
His music has kept me alive,
kept me going when my own going seemed gone,
moved me along at times beyond my own footsteps.
I am held by a hand stronger than my own,

a hand both gentle and firm.

H. Arnett
12/16/15

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Banking Up

Posted on December 15, 2015 by Doc Arnett

After everyone has had all they want of my Mad Hawaiian Chili, we sit and talk at the table: Randa, Sam, me and a younger couple that Randa and I have known for several years. Conversation continues with fruit salad and Randa’s mighty fine strawberry bread. After that, I offer samples of my latest batch of authentic hand-milled Kansas cider.

Our guests have had my cider before: the first year was not too bad but last year’s batch had a harsh edge to it. Their skepticism is understandable but this year’s product is the best I’ve ever made: smooth, slightly sweet but still crisp and clean. I watch each one carefully as she or he tries it and am pleased with the responses.

Later we move into what Randa likes to call “our fancy sittin’ room,” a la The Beverly Hillbillies. Softer seats with a bit more room does seem like a pretty good idea after dinner. We sit and share our histories, perceptions, challenges and joys. Of course, we could have continued with the light banter, surface questions and such but something about the night seemed to invite a deeper knowing.

In the process of those revelations, we gain greater understanding of one another and ourselves. We find a deeper basis for relationships which are already strong. There is an extension of each into the other, a more colored and textured knowing, a greater intimacy.

As the night passes, I feel that I have gained something that does not decline or fade away. There are no deposit slips for valued visits and precious time, but their worth does not decline with the years. Treasures such as this are not put at risk with the ebb and flow of the stock market. And the dividends they pay are without measure.

We may have lots of acquaintances and many colleagues but I never met a man who had too many friends. We have about as many as the time we’re willing to spend.

H. Arnett
12/15/15

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Homecoming

Posted on December 14, 2015 by Doc Arnett

As I drove the two-hundred-and-fifty miles toward home this past Friday, I reflected on my work week. I thought about the high points and low points and some of the points in between. I remembered conversations, reflected on decisions and considered ones yet to be made. There’s always, I suppose, some degree of flux and flow in our goings on. Some things change, some things don’t and some things seem to but don’t.

That seems to be the nature of organizations, communities and families and pretty much everything else. We either adapt or we don’t, take advantage or suffer both real and imagined inconveniences.

Somewhere to the northeast of the Flint Hills I began to think less of what had passed and more of what lies before. I began to think about Randa and Sam and getting home. I thought about the younger couple we’d planned to have over for supper on Saturday. I thought about the work Randa had done to finish up the dining room project: painting the big built-in cabinet, including the trim around the thirty-six individual glass panes in the upper doors. These good thoughts ushered me into the darkness near Emporia.

Two hours more of driving got me back to our home near Wathena, Kansas. When I finally turned up the long gravel driveway to the house, I saw what looked like flames rising up near the southwest corner of the house. Not near enough to shock me; I knew it wasn’t the house on fire!

Instead, Sam decided on an early Christmas present for us. He’d heard us talking for months about getting an outdoor fire pit. So, being the kind of guy that he is, he’d bought us a nice metal brazier and thought this was the perfect opportunity for an early Christmas present. He had the fire going and the wine poured. As soon as I stepped out of the truck, he gave me a hug and a glass. Randa stepped out the door about that time. She gave me a hug, too, but kept her glass.

We sat out there for hours, watching the fire, laughing, talking, sharing and sipping. These are the things that turn minutes into memories and friends into family.

Some day, a larger crowd will welcome us home and we will drink the fruit of the vine anew, with Him who has made all things new. Until then, this will do nicely.

H. Arnett
12/14/15

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From Good to Great

Posted on December 11, 2015 by Doc Arnett

It has been some time since I’ve seen a string of dawnings like those we’ve had this week. Every morning has seen significant patterns of light and shadow among the low clouds of the eastern sky. This morning as well unfolded with streaks of rose just above the horizon and hints of pink blushing the edges of higher clouds. What delight it has been to drive in to work with that sort of peaceful beauty coaxing me into another good day.

It has also been quite some time since I’ve seen such a string of little “brush fires” at work! In fact, I’m pretty sure I’d have to go clear back to the Nineties when I was principal at Scott County Alternative School. It’s not a matter of declining energy or dwindling patience; every day this week has brought forth at least two incidents of significance that attempted to devour chunks of time and hunks of energy.

And yet, I have gone home each night with a genuine sense of satisfaction and genuine gratitude for having this job, at this place, with these people.

Yesterday afternoon, we had an employee recognition event to celebrate designated milestones for years of service, to grant a key award and to commemorate a retirement after twenty-five years of service. For each person marking the miles of ten, fifteen and twenty years, as well as the major award, colleagues made short speeches about their time together. It was so apparent that these people do not just sincerely care for one another, they genuinely love each other. The joking, the comments, the anecdotes, stories and personal observations all conveyed that. People also spoke of others’ faith, convictions and dedication to beliefs.

I will not claim that this is Paradise, Lost or Found. I will not claim that we have discovered Shangri-La or created our own little Utopia. Of course there are conflicts, disputes and probably three or eight people in the bunch that don’t really like each other. But I do affirm that this is a place that believes it is possible to manifest the ideals of academia, attend to business and still love one another.

Any place where people will be willing to do that, to be patient and kind, compassionate and forgiving, considerate and appreciative, is a place that can be a fantastic place to live and work. It will not be Heaven, but it will be a good place to be together on our way there.

H. Arnett
12/11/15

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A Father’s Kiss

Posted on December 10, 2015 by Doc Arnett

As I almost stop and begin to turn west on Radio Lane, I look to the left and see a bright orange glow low in the sky. I pause, feeling that longing for slow days and time to gaze off into the sunrise for a while. I wish that I were already retired or on vacation and living somewhere with a good long view of the east. But the will to work is strong and I turn onto the way I need to go.

Heading south on Summit a minute later, I keep looking off to the east, see those long lines of color behind the trees, beyond the houses, beyond the city. To the south and west a deep nest of bruising clouds gather in the darkness, pushing their way toward me. I look back toward that calling brightness.

Instead of steering straight in that long s-curve where Summit meets Kansas Avenue, I turn away from the threatening blue and head away from town. It is early enough, I convince myself, that I can take time for this indulgence. Past the school, rising over the railroad tracks, I continue east, never looking back behind me.

Out here now, on the bypass, I swing over onto the shoulder and park. I roll down the window, feel the cool of morning air… and stare out across the river bottoms, beyond the lines of bare-branched trees, beyond the distant rim of the Flint Hills. Long rills of color run above the horizon, stretching straight toward Oklahoma. Back to the northeast, they curve left and upward and end beneath a few stars and clear sky.

Even on the darkest clouds slightly south, a faint blush of rose soothes the edges of the coming storm. I do not know what else lies in the forming of this good day. But I do know the One who has made it and know that He has numbered the hairs on my head and that I am worth more than many sparrows.

I look back to the east again for one long, lingering moment. I sigh and switch the headlights back on, swing out onto the road. A sun that I cannot see has brushed the sky above me and I know that I am blessed beyond belief. To wake in a warm bed, be fed and clothed and then see glory such as this is to feel God’s own kiss tender on my forehead.

My Papa loves me.

H. Arnett
12/10/15

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After Hours

Posted on December 9, 2015 by Doc Arnett

I visited with one of my department chairpersons yesterday evening. Just past five o’clock, we met at El Maguey’s over at Winfield. Among several fine characteristics about El Maguey’s at Winfield is that it is located just a couple of blocks away from Cowley College’s Winfield outreach facility.

We sat sipping drinks, dipping chips into salsa and munching on bits of conversation in between crunches. Even though the talking was pretty much entirely focused on college concerns, there was a bit more discernment going on above that. In the process of sharing thoughts and ideas, rational reflections and ambitious notions, we came to know each other a bit better on a personal level as well.

Admittedly, there wasn’t anything said that could not have been said in his office or mine.

But those things would have been said in a slightly different manner. We probably wouldn’t have laughed quite as loudly. And we definitely would not have toasted the future in quite the same manner.

It’s not that relationships cannot be built up through interactions at work. It’s not that we can’t forge bonds of collegial quality within the confines of academia. But I believe that it’s in those other aspects, the road trips, conversations over coffee and recollections shared from long ago that we provide a greater dimension. It’s these sorts of semi-casual caring, the insights into the people behind the roles that can cultivate the depth and connection that carries us through the disagreements and quarrels, the controversies and intensities.

Ultimately, I find that when people are willing to take a little time with each other, time to understand the perspectives of the Other, we become something stronger than a work unit. If we are willing to genuinely care about each other, even at some point willing to love one another, we are able to endure more, able to accomplish more, able to thrive more.

Perhaps those are among the reasons why our Creator taught us to love others as we love ourselves.

H. Arnett
12/9/15

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A Dawning of Praise

Posted on December 8, 2015 by Doc Arnett

I will welcome the morning’s coming
as one whose loved ones return.

I will embrace the dawning of this new day
as one who has waited for good news.

I will bask in the quietness of this calm stillness
as one whose heart aches for soothing.

I will praise the Lord God who has made me
as one who has escaped the enemy’s own snare.

I will bear the burdens of this good day
as one who knows that he does not lift alone.

I will go on beyond the regrets of the past
as one who has forgiven those who did not ask.

I will believe in the glorious possibility of good things
as one who has been chosen and cherished
before his own birth.

I will praise the Risen One who has redeemed me
as one whose spirit has been crushed and broken.

I will bless those who curse me,
do good to those who despitefully use me,
return good for evil,

as one who has understood
that the abundant life
is not measured by gain nor possessions

but rather by the confession
that God’s own rain
falls upon the just and the unjust

and knows that both fields
have been mine
at one time or another.

I will walk in the grace that has saved me,
live in the love that gives me life,
believe in the faith that moves mountains,

and hope ever when it runs against hope
that Lord works for good in all things
for those that love him
and are called by his name.

I will praise him
even though I am unworthy
to speak his name.

He is God.

H. Arnett
12/8/15

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Good Visits

Posted on December 7, 2015 by Doc Arnett

Beyond the almost empty parking lot, the silhouettes of the old Carnegie Library and a two story house rise up against the dawning sky. Large oaks and maples and a solitary spruce rise up even higher. Clusters of smaller branches sprout out from the nodes, stretching black against the long fingers of pink clouds. A lone car eases to a stop on Fifth Avenue, then continues north.

Three flags rise up also into the morning, each slack against the pole in the stillness of this December morning.

A local station rolls whatever version of the morning news is produced by their affiliated network. The President, the Republicans, the issues or at least whatever it is I am supposed to believe are issues. There are problems, it appears, and of course the worse possible response is whatever the other side is suggesting.

I turn off the news, focus on the work at hand and the deliberate memories of last night’s company: laughter around the tables, songs and stories in the living room, the smiles of children. Even washing the dishes is pleasant after such visits as this.

As I wiped each glass and plate, rinsed each bowl, I reflected on the voices and faces of my visitors, the jokes and stories shared in the kitchen. The cleaning was done within an hour but the warmth remains even on this chilly morning. The light curl of moist breath rolls and rises like the feel of good memories.

He who listens to the laughter of children hears the preamble of heaven; he who holds a child feels the touch of God.

H. Arnett
12/7/15

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Where God Lives

Posted on December 3, 2015 by Doc Arnett

During our Bible study last night, Pastor James quoted an Old Testament scripture that states “The Lord inhabits the praises of his people.” The quote was a segue from our corporate worship time to the lesson time. I don’t know if Pastor had planned it all along or if it was precipitated by the nature of the worship. As he talked about the meaning and expression of the verse, I couldn’t help thinking of the first teacher I remember hearing elaborate upon the same passage.

That teacher is one that opened my eyes and heart to both understanding and appreciating the literalness of that quote. And to experiencing it. That teacher is one for whom I have a great deal of respect. A rare teacher possessed of gentle wisdom and genuine passion for worship: my wife, Randa.

That first lesson came long ago and it ushered me into a realm of experiencing God that I’d never believed possible, much less experienced. By her teaching and by my encountering, both corporately and privately, I came to a realization: God truly does dwell in, reside in and move in the praises of his people. Critical to this realization is understanding that “praise” is not something we direct toward one another. It is not admonition, correction, rebuking or encouraging others, though all of those things have a place in corporate assembly and in private conversation. “Praise” is directed to God, an adoring exultation and celebration of who he is. With hearts and minds focused on him, all else shrinks and fades and we enter into a true communion of the spirit.

I get chill bumps just thinking about this notion and remembering the scores of times that I have witnessed it. It is something both miraculous and simple, something ethereal yet as real as the feel of hardwood pews and audible voices. When believers lift up genuine, sincere praise to God, they experience his presence. I have seen it, witnessed it, observed it, participated in it, experienced it.

It is not some frenzy of emotion, some self-generated excitement or pretended passion. You can get that at a pep rally, close ball game or rock concert. It is not the exclusive territory of Pentecostals, Perrier-sippers or stone-set Traditionalists. God’s fellowship has always been larger than ours and he is not only willing but eager to enter into our worship. It is not a matter of transforming the worshippers, though that does indeed happen.

It is rather a mere confession of reality, as real and pragmatic as saying, “Cold dwells in ice.” One does not have to lie on an iceberg to believe it any more than you have to stick your hand into the flame to know that heat dwells therein.

But it is infinitely more blessing and satisfying than either of those.

H. Arnett
12/3/15

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