Getting It Said

It has been 3 months since I last posted to this particular blog. I once saw a pressure cooker explode. I don't want to do that, so I'm climbing back on my soap box while my old knees will still allow me to step that high. At this point, you know that you are going to hear my opinion on something that is really bugging me. If you don't want to read it, class excused. Otherwise, I'd really like to hear your thoughts on some of the things I intend to address over the coming days, weeks, months, years.

ACC used to mean "Atlantic Coast Conference", a onetime conference with a reasonable number of teams (home-and-home schedules were possible for basketball and in football, you were able to play all other conference members) and a certain amount of parity. That went away several years ago with the addition of Boston College, Virginia Tech, and Miami. Now, Syracuse and Pittsburgh are joing the conference. I think that it is not unreasonable to rename the ACC the "All for Cash Conference". Somehow it is hard for me to imagine several bus loads of rabid Syracuse fans trucking south in order to celebrate that well known rivalry between them and Miami. Who is really going to care if Carolina beats Pittsburgh in basketball as long as they can schedule (an up-in-the-air question) and defeat Duke? Several years ago, I chatted with sportscaster, Brent Musburger, when he was in Winston-Salem for a WFU - Duke game. Wake had already beaten Duke at Cameron Indoor and had high hopes and a great team capable of defeating them at home (they did!) Somehow, I don't see anyone other than ESPN3 sending a team to cover the Pitt - Miami basketball game. The latest expansion of the ACC is a done deal and I will learn to live with it. I do have one last question that I would like to propose to the powers that be... where will the conference basketball tournament find a place big enough to play and where will the tickets come from if less are alloted per school?

This one really drives me crazy. The NC State Legislature, in their infinite wisdom, has voted to place a referendum on a state constitutional amendment defining "marriage" as legally being only between a man and a woman (can you say, Pontius Pilate?) Those of you who know me, know where I stand on this and, I promise you, I'll be there to vote next May. What really sticks in my craw is the cost! The Winston-Salem Journal has carried articles for the past few days in which proponents of the vote, opponents of the vote, political analysts, and legal and financial experts have talked about the huge amount of money that will be collected and spent on ads in support of one side or the other. In my state, people are going hungry. At one of my schools, a copy can't be made unless you furnish your own paper. There is not enough school budget to buy copy paper! The Food Bank of Northwestern North Carolina has empty shelves! First responders of all types and educators at all levels are loosing their jobs! Where are our priorities? How can a person spend even a dime on amendment ads when their neighbors are hungry and the teachers of their children cannot adequately prepare for a class that is now too large? If you have an opinion on the amendment issue, I urge you to vote. I urge you to speak up in forums. I urge you to discuss the issue with family and friends. I urge you with all my heart to spend your money, not on TV ads, but on those who can use the help so badly.

I pray in silence and God hears me in silence.

The End

Thoughts tumble in my mind. It seems to me like watching clothes dry in a machine with a glass front door. My thoughts are picked up on the bottom, carried to the top, and then, with a solid "thump", coming crashing back to the bottom. I imagine myself as a hamster in a glass cage. I run and run on the wheel, going nowhere. Once in a while, knowing beforehand that it will be hopeless, I go over to the glass wall peer out and scratch on it, just trying to reach for something different in my life.

I've determined that this will be the last entry in my blog. I grow tired and angry and I don't really feel disposed to share that, over and over, with anyone. Over two years ago, I just knew that God had called me. "Here I am.", I called back and did what I thought I was being asked to do. In the past two years, I've found God to be failing in many ways. There are darn few of "His" children, with whom I have any contact at all, that I care about identifying as my brothers and sisters. Those that I don't know, God seems to not know either.

Here, where we are mostly fed, clothed, warm, and dry: We want to go armed so we can kill. We drive as if we are more important than anyone else and the safety of others, even children in our own cars, can't be our concern. Politically, we try to legislate morality as we see it, telling women what they can and cannot do with their own bodies and telling others who they may and may not love. Financially, we seem to have an "I've got mine and I don't intend to share it." attitude. On Sunday morning, we attend a pep rally for God and then we leave the game to be played by "professional" Christians.

I've always felt that the example of management went a long way in establishing the demeanor of those being managed. If God doesn't care, why should we? Even if I agree that God doesn't cause bad things to happen, how can I deny that, with all of his power, He doesn't do anything to stop them either. Do you stop one child from touching a very hot stove and then allow another child to be badly burned? When a child dies, I don't want to hear that "God has a plan." or that "God must have needed another little angel." Using that logic, God must have a gracious plenty of young angels who have starved to death or been killed in wars.

I fear God. I fear His anger. I fear His indifference. I fear that I will never feel His arms around me. James writes that, if we draw closer to God, He will draw closer to us. The very best that I can do is to approach tentatively. I am not able to run enthusiastically to His arms no matter how much I long to do so.

And so now, I return to my hamster wheel where I'll continue to run and run and get nowhere. I am such a coward that I could never cause harm to myself. On the other hand, there are many times that I ask God for painless release from the tedium and weight of this life. How long must I run in this wheel, my God?

Blessings and MoWing

My granddaughter, Reese, who doesn't turn 6 until the end of this month can teach us all something about blessings. She is really into leading the mealtime blessing. We all hold hands and she prays out loud. She thanks God for as many individual blessings as occur to her (sometimes the blessing goes for an extended time, but always worth paying attention.) On occasion, she has been known to end the blessing by saying, "God, please don't send us any more blessings. We have enough already." From the lips of a child to the heart of this adult; there is a real lesson to be learned here and probably a sermon or two as well.

Since March, I've been MoWing. This isn't a typo, it is the acronym for Meals on Wheels. Since I have a school bus driving gap each day about the same time as MoW delivers, I've managed to find 3 days a week that I can take a route. The blessings are many. It is logical, of course, to figure that some blessings accrue to those receiving the meals. I'm ready to tell you, however, that those blessings don't begin to compare to the blessings that I receive.

First off, I get to work with and for two very special people. Sally McLeod and Anita Abernathy have had plastic surgery... I'm sure because they never stop smiling (is that natural?) They seem to love their jobs and they make all of the volunteers feel needed and valuable. MoW can always use more volunteers (336-721-6910). They begin delivery about 9:30 a.m. and most routes can be completed in an hour to an hour and a half, usually twelve to fifteen stops. MoW will be glad to put you to work one day a month, one day a week, every day, or some combination. They are wonderful about working out a schedule to fit what the volunteers are able to give. So far, I've met volunteers who are old friends from Maple Springs UMC, First Baptist Church, and Old Salem. There are probably others that I know, but our days just haven't overlapped yet.

The folks to whom I deliver meals are just like everyone else in that they have good days and bad. I run mostly the same two or three routes, so I see them at least once a week and sometimes more often. Many have pains. Some try to hide them and some share their anguish. Many are immobile and you can tell that they would like to be working in a garden or on their yards or just walking the aisles of WalMart. Many seem to enjoy the couple of minutes that I visit with them more than the meal itself. They all have life stories and, slowly, I'm hearing them and getting to know the folks as individuals. One wrote a well known, early '60s hit song, sung by one of the "girl" groups. When I see him, I always leave singing it. Some of the professional caregivers that I meet at the homes are all heart and, I believe, would probably work for free if they could and the need was there.

Besides the blessing of getting to know people, God has placed a couple of reminders on my heart. I am never allowed to forget that there are and always will be people in worse circumstances than my own. A day out on a route reminds me that there is always food in my refrigerator. Another blessing dawned more slowly. As you might imagine, some of the neighborhoods are not the best. Though this is true, I began to notice that squirrels still play in the yards and trees and birds sing without regard to their surroundings. This is God's reminder to me that we are all His and are blessed. Sometimes, we just have to open our eyes and ears to know it.

Spittin' Steam

I am so mad that if I were to spit, it would probably come out as steam!

Today, you saw my school bus coming down the road as you neared the stop sign on your side of the intersection. Instead of stopping, you floored it, ran the stop sign, and jumped in front of the bus. You didn't care that I was doing the legal speed limit nor that I had a bus full of elementary school aged children. You gave me almost no time to react. I locked the air brakes on the bus and just avoided creaming the rear of your car. You didn't even glance back. I threw kids onto the floor, into the back of seats, and into each other. Physically, there were only bumps and bruises; no serious injuries this time. I had a bus full of terrified, crying children. I didn't have time to even get your license number and, you probably knew, no one would do anything to you anyway. Little did you care about more serious consequences like broken bones, including skulls, necks and spines. You were just glad that you weren't held up by another "damn" school bus.

This scenario didn't happen as described. Not because you didn't do just exactly as described, but because I anticipated that you would. I did end up with some upset children and it wouldn't surprise me to hear from some parents. In fact, I hope that I do!

I anticipated your stupid move because of expert training by my bus driver instructor. She had a mantra that she taught us: "Anticipate. Anticipate. Anticipate!" What she didn't say and what I've learned for myself is to anticipate idiots, fools, and those whose life is so wrapped up in "self" that other drivers or pedestrians make no difference to them.

Idiots are those who think that a 15-ton school bus can stop in the same amount of time and distance that it takes a compact car to make the same stop. They either don't consider or don't care that it is not possible to stop an ocean liner in the same distance that a speed boat can be stopped. Often times, I am driving my bus at the posted speed limit, but that just isn't enough for many drivers. Speed limits aren't really laws anyway, are they? They aren't like, "Thou shalt not steal." Aren't they actually just parameters showing us how fast we can drive without much chance of getting a speeding ticket? Everyone else speeds, so if a school bus can only do the speed limit, why shouldn't you be in front of it?

Fools are those who either can't tell time or have no self discipline. Every single school day, school buses drive exactly the same route at almost the exact same time. It shouldn't be rocket science to figure out that leaving home a few minutes earlier or later or taking an alternate route might help the problem of being caught in school bus traffic. Yet, as it happens, every single school day, I get to see the same drivers in the same cars jump through stop lights and stop signs at the same intersections trying to get in front of the same school buses. Fools must truly be those who do the same thing time after time and yet expect a different outcome each time.

I probably have the least patience with those of you totally wrapped up in "self". School buses are required to drive very slowly in bus parking lots and student pick-up zones. The reason for that should be obvious. I see you every day drive past a sign that clearly says "School Buses Only" because you cannot or will not wait in the long line that other parents are in waiting to drop off their children. You drive much faster than any bus is allowed. You are on your cell phone. You are putting on your makeup or eating your breakfast. At least one of you has a pet in arms. How absolutely uncaring can you be! School buses turn on flashing amber lights before turning on stop lights to pick up children. If you see the amber lights, your thought process seems to be, "If I hurry up, I can get past the bus before the red stop lights come on." Some of you make it and some just go on through the red lights, just like you do at intersections. What you fail to consider, since it is only you that you are thinking about, is that a child might be running a bit late and, seeing the amber bus lights, might hurry across the road without waiting for the red lights as well. You believe that you might win the lottery, but you don't for a minute think that you might kill a child!

I could spit steam out of the sheer frustration of failing to get you to see the ultimate cost of your poor decisions. I will promise you this... if any of you who read this are guilty of such actions near my bus and I happen to recognize you, the next time we meet, I will be so much in your face that you will think that you've donned a Ross mask. Please, please read this carefully and then read it again. Share it with someone. If, between us, we can keep even one child from being killed or injured, isn't it worth the effort? You and your job just aren't that important. If all else fails, be a little bit late getting to wherever you are going and feel good about doing it safely.

Who Would Really Want To Be "Meek"?

If one reads the Beatitudes, as found in the fifth chapter of Matthew, it can be said that the rewards that they promise will be delivered in heaven, all except for one: "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."

The following are headlines or parts of headlines taken from the Sunday, April 17th edition of the Winston-Salem Journal newspaper:

"Youths beat a gentle man; One beat the system"

"Woman accused of assaulting father in '02; She is now charged with stabbing her boyfriend to death"

"Experts warn of Facebook stress"

"Barrage said to kill at least five civilians in rebel-held Misrata"

"Violent storms kill several in N.C."

"Tornados kill dozens across Deep South"

"Bomber kills 5 NATO, 4 Afghan troops, interpreter"

"Mothers killing kids isn't so uncommon"

"Husband kills wife, 3 children, himself"

Who would really want to inherit this earth? If there is indeed a heaven, being there doesn't have to be much better than the earth as we know it in order to be wonderful! As far as my share of this old earth might go, you are welcome to it.

Running Away

I caution you that this is going to be long, so you may just want to skip it. I would guess that almost everyone, who tries to write, does most of the work in their head before putting it down on some media. I know that this is the case for me, although my organization of thoughts may often be disjointed.

I'm ready, for about the 5th or 6th time, to run away from home. All of us had the "I'll show them. They'll be sorry." thoughts when we were young. Maybe we even made it around the block, but we always came back before anyone missed us. Later years bring real desires to run. Maybe it's a terrible job, an unhappy relationship, too many responsibilities, a choice that must be made, but can't be faced or a combination of many factors.

I think that I missed my absolute best chance to run when I got out of the Marine Corps. All I could think of was getting back to college (the damned expected route - "I'm now grown up and must do as expected!") Sara and I were young, very much in love, and had no real obligations to anyone other than our partner. We were used to living in small towns and very large cities. We were used to living in houses and efficiency apartments. We were used to making a living on our own. The love and the lovemaking didn't depend on geographic location!

Do you remember Tod Stiles and Buzz Murdock traveling Route 66 in their Corvette? How about "Me and You and a Dog Named Boo" travelin' and a-livin' off the land? Sara and I couldn't have afforded a Corvette, but we might have been able to afford some old clunker or even, in those days, taken a Greyhound bus. A year of exploring the US, with maybe some side trips into Canada and Mexico, wouldn't have made a difference in the grand scheme of things, but what a golden opportunity was missed.

Today, I want to run away again. I want it to be Sara and me and a dog named Lenny. For lots of reasons, I know that this just isn't going to happen, but the road calls to me with such a strong Siren song that sometimes I think I'll die of need to travel it. I don't think I've changed that much from the young Marine who was willing to go, but Sara has changed a lot. She has a family and friends and likes the idea of knowing where her next meal is coming from, where she will sleep tonight, and what she can pretty much expect from tomorrow. I would gladly give up those things, but I won't give up Sara, so the road may sing, but I cannot answer.

I don't run from work. Let me work, but let me do it my way for awhile. Let me deliver meals to the needy in Detroit. Let me drive school buses in Denver. Let me rebuild houses in Port au Prince. Let me prepare federal tax returns in Shiprock. Let me clear tsunami damage in Japan. Let me teach at The Gathering schools in Cielo and Nazaret. Let me live instead of exist.

Winston Groom, the author of "Forest Gump", also wrote a book titled "As Winters Die." I didn't care much for the book ("Better Times Than These", about Viet Nam, was better), but the title drove a stake through my heart. How many more winters might I see die and how many more springs will I see follow? Sometimes I think that I will burst from need. Who knows, maybe life on the road would take me away from the constant depression that I medicate daily and will medicate for the rest of my life.

What would I expect from the road? Sights, sounds, smells, feels, tastes. The stories of people I've never known. The opportunity to meet those who are trying to make their little corner of the world a better place to live. The chance to comfort those who need a hug or a friendly ear or a shared meal. The greatest expectation would be that the shared experiences would bring Sara and I so closely back together that one of us would not be able to breathe without the other inhaling.

I will love Sara forever and will stay with her wherever that might happen to be. On the other hand, in my truck, I keep a spare toothbrush, a bag of dog food, a clean pair of underwear (a lesson from my mother), and an atlas. So... if you ever see the little black truck, front seat filled with a smiling fool and a huge yellow Lab, heading out of town, don't expect to see it come back any time soon.

Random Thoughts (Again)

Gulliver: When anyone mentions the classic story, "Gulliver's Travels", the image that comes to mind is almost always that of Gulliver spread-eagled on the ground, surrounded by Lilliputians and staked to dozens of ropes. I have no trouble being empathetic to his plight. Like Gulliver, I'm tied to the ground by many ropes and surrounded by many Lilliputians. Some of the ropes are called responsibility, attitude, compassion, love, and ownership, among others. Some are strong enough to anchor an ocean liner while others are as thin, and yet as sticky, as a spider's web. My Lilliputians are known as family, friends, bosses, church, school bus riders, tax clients, and just people I meet on the street. As you know from the story, Gulliver was able to break from the bounds of the Lilliputians and continue with his travels. I do not believe that is going to happen to me. Itch: I have come to the conclusion that one of the worst itches to have, if you can't scratch, is the desire to trade automobiles. Sleep: Sara tells me that she very seldom dreams (and she almost never gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom!) I wish I could say the same. I never lay down to sleep that I don't dream. I have taken naps that lasted no more than thirty minutes and had a dream or dreams. I don't really know when a dream ends and another begins. Some nights it seems like there are many dreams and other nights it seems that I have only one dream, but it has acts and scenes within it. My dreams are vivid and often violent. I've been known to attack Sara in my sleep, which quickly ended her sleep. I have been known to dive out of the bed, dreaming that I was fighting with someone, and ended up knocking over the nightstand and lamp (needless to say, this also woke Sara.) I never have peaceful dreams. If dying is akin to peaceful, dream free sleep, it may not be too hard to anticipate. Lenny: I have a new dog, an old yellow Lab. I rescued him and went for an older dog so that he and I would match each other's life style pace. Lenny loves to be hugged and scratched and I love to hug and scratch him. Lenny loves to eat and I love... well, at least I don't mind buying all that food and feeding him. Lenny loves to curl up on my feet in the evenings when I'm home and I love warm feet. Lenny loves to chase things thrown for him and, as long as he brings them back, I don't mind throwing them. So far, Lenny doesn't do steps and we don't know why. He doesn't act like his hips hurt, but in his foster home, he never saw the upstairs. We only have a couple of steps into the house and he does those okay, but I'm still trying to find a way to get him into the front seat of my pickup. I can't lift 93 pounds of dog no matter how much I want him to travel with me. Vultures: If you have read the Peanuts comic strip for any length of time, you have seen Snoopy perched on top of his dog house pretending to be a bird of prey. That's the image that comes to mind as I sit in my bus waiting for the middle school children to be released to go home. Our buses are parked side-by-side and the drivers are all seated peering over the steering wheel and hood. As the children are let out of school, we gobble them up like so many kernels of corn. When all bus vultures have feasted, we take flight and deposit them across the county as if they we just so many seeds passing through the vulture body. Maybe it is no wonder that I dream the dreams that I have.