Month: May 2011

Neither Rain, Nor Snow, Nor Petulant Customers…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’m going to have to call the Post Office tomorrow to apologize.  That’s what you do when you make mistakes, jumping to erroneous conclusions before examining all the evidence.  It’s a common situation for me to find myself in, but I still haven’t figured out the cure.  After fifty-some years of making the same kind of error, over and over, I still look at an event and make a determination, then hastily act upon that determination.  As they say, history repeats itself.  What’s the other quote?  Oh, yeah…”The only thing we learn from history is that we don’t learn anything from history.”

I wasn’t rude as I talked with the nice lady at the Post Office last week, but I was frustrated.  Several times during my busy day, the toll-free line had rung with a customer on the other end wanting to find out tracking information for their package.  We shipped out a large quantity of orders last week and we always pay a little extra to track every package, just so we can answer the customer’s inquiries.  “When did you ship it?”  The click of a button and entry of a name brings the information.  “Where is it now?”  The answer to that one is already in front of us after completion of the first operation.  “When will it be delivered?”  That extrapolation comes after examination of the first two answers, but is usually fairly easy to arrive at.  This day, for some reason, none of the information was visible for the packages about which the customers were inquiring.  The program which was usually so informative only showed our initial printing of the label. 

I knew the answer immediately.  All last week, a new substitute Postman had run the route and picked up our bins of outgoing mail.  The regular Postal employees know that all the packages have to be scanned into the system and usually do that onsite, either inside the store or out in the parking lot.  Since I hadn’t seen that happen with the new guy and now the information wasn’t showing up on my computer screen, the obvious had occurred; the rookie hadn’t done his job and now we were paying the price as our customers lost confidence in our ability to do ours.  I made a call to the supervisor at the Post Office, apprising her of the situation.  I didn’t accuse the young man, but told her what my computer screen was indicating and led her, not so subtly, to the same conclusion I had drawn.  “No, we’re not mad.  We just need things to be done correctly.”  Those were my words, but I was mad.  And, it was certainly his fault.  In reality, I didn’t want the young man to get in trouble, I just wanted him to do his job.

Turns out, he was doing just that.  Today, I looked at the records in that program again, finding that every single entry from our shipping last week showed exactly the same thing.  According to our tracking program (from a third-party, not the Postal Service), not a single package had reached its destination last week.  My initial reaction was anger.  I was even more convinced that the new guy had flubbed his job completely.  I even snapped out to the Lovely Lady, “How can they be so incompetent?”  I almost reveled in my misery (some of us are put together like that, you know) for some time, until the bright light of lucid thought pierced the darkness of my mood.  Maybe there was something wrong with the program!  That’s a possibility.  Our online postage service has had one problem after another with a new version of its software they released just over a month ago.  Could that be it?  I quickly changed to the Postal Service’s website and checked the tracking of several packages.  There it was in black and white…the rookie had done his job on every single one of them.  The packages which should have been delivered had been; the locations of the others were listed, just as we normally expect.  It wasn’t a personnel problem!  It was a technology problem!  I was ecstatic!

Then it hit me!  The news, which was good for my business, wasn’t so good for me personally.  I now have to make amends.  The apology will have to be made and I will hope that no lasting damage has been done.  And, once more, I have to give myself a good talking to.  Why, just recently I stood with friends and told them what a good job the Postal Service does with our packages.  Their on-time rate is exceptional.  Our customers are constantly calling and emailing us to share their joy and surprise at the quick delivery time of their orders.  I know the organization to be competent in their performance.  But at the first sign of problems, I place blame and make phone calls.  I am ashamed. 

I am hoping that this will be the last time I have to learn this lesson.  I am fairly certain that it will not be.  But I will attempt to remember this and the myriad of examples that have come before, the next time I’m tempted to jump to the conclusion.  Why should we expect competent folks to be incompetent?  Why would we accuse people we know to be honest of dishonesty?  I’m convicted by what the old professor says in “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe” when the other children believe that Lucy is lying about the world inside the wardrobe.  “…a charge of lying against someone you have always found truthful is a very serious thing, a very serious thing indeed.”

We are taught to expect the worst in others, both by our experience and by our role models; even by the media and the world around us.  I live in hopes that I may one day break out of that conditioning and assume the best about people.  Rose-colored glasses?  Nope!  Good advice is to be found in the Bible, when we’re told  to “consider others better than ourselves.”   I think I’ll work on that in the days to come.  I’ll let you know how it goes….

I’m pretty certain that this battle will rage as long as I breathe.  I’m glad I don’t have to face it alone.  Do you fight the same type of battle over and over?  Good.  Then, you know what I’m up against and can help me do better.  I’ll try to do the same for you.

“Learn from yesterday; live for today; hope for tomorrow.”
(Albert Einstein~American physicist~1879-1955)

“(Love) does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” 
(I Corinthians 13: 6,7)

Memorial Day…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“I wish I could have seen Strider again, Grandpa.”  The precocious five year old stands in front of me with a pensive look on his face.  His mom, like her mother and father before her, wants her children to face the truth, so he has not been lied to.  Our family dog was his friend, the beneficiary of frequent trips to the treat bag by this youngster, and also an eager participant in numerous games of fetch with the child.  I remind my grandson that we just won’t be able to see Strider again and he is satisfied.  I am not.

It was not my intention to broach the subject again, but as often happens, other events have brought the conversation to mind once more.  I told a friend a couple of nights ago, that I was done with the “dark” subjects that have been the focus of my writing on numerous occasions, and seemingly more frequent of late.  I have attempted to move to lighter subjects and still intend to keep my daily rumination moving in that general direction.  Just not tonight.

Friday afternoon found the music store a beehive of activity.  It seemed that the floodgates had opened and customers were almost compelled to pile into the place.  In the middle of that flurry of busy-ness, he came in.  The young man was a frequent visitor for the last number of years, usually just coming in to check out the stock and see what was new.  If he found something that caught his fancy, we would start a conversation; first about the “real” price of the item, then about the possibility of making a trade.  If I was lucky, he would find time during his visit to sit and play a guitar for a little while.  For his age, the boy was one of the best guitarists I have seen, employing some advanced techniques which many seasoned players would love to master.  He didn’t have them all mastered, but he was well on his way.  This was one of our lucky days and he sat and played a few moments as he waited for me, drawing the attention of others in the store, as he always did.

I had just traded for some items he wanted, which he brought over to me when I got a free minute.  He had no money to spend, but there were other items he could bring in to trade.  He asked me to hold the ones he wanted and promised to return soon with his trades, which he did within a short time.  We talked about business and almost nothing else.  Our transaction concluded, we shook hands and he promised to come back.  He never will.

I got word on Saturday night that yet another family had lost their son.  I don’t know all the details of his death, but I do know that he was far too young.  I wasn’t finished with our friendship yet.  There were things I would like to say to him.  Like my grandson and the dog, I wish I could have seen him one more time.  If only I had known it would be our last time, I would talk about something else besides the power rating of the amplifier and the battery life of the microphone.  God’s timing is perfect, but mine definitely is not.

As I write this, Memorial Day is upon us.  It’s a day for remembering and honoring those who have gone to their reward.  We mostly think about it in terms of the military men and women, but many families use it to remember those absent from their number, whether military or not.  From where I’m standing tonight, it seems a good day to think also about the living and to consider what we want our conversations to be with them.  That next visit may never come; the opportunity to say those words in our hearts may never present itself again.   Just a suggestion from a saddened and not-so-very-wise man, but today would be a great day to say the important words and to show the people you love that you do (love them, that is). 

Then again, maybe that should be every day.   Carpe Diem.

“I expect to pass through this world but once.  Any good, therefore that I can do, or any kindness I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now.  Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”
(Stephen Grellet~French Quaker missionary to the United States~1773-1855)

“Be very careful then how you live, not as unwise – but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”
(Ephesians 5:15,16)

From Where I’m Standing…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The telephone jangled, interrupting the relative quiet of the morning hours.  “Could you tell me the value of a dulcimer?” the female caller asked.  I assured her that I could and would, and asked a few pertinent questions.  Brand?  It was a name I had never heard as a maker, but no matter. Condition?  Excellent! No scratches, very nice finish.  Anything broken?  No nothing, except it was missing a string. 

Satisfied with her answers, I placed her on hold for a few moments and did a little research.  Finding no such maker in the bluebook, I turned to that most influential of all marketplaces today, Ebay.  There were a couple of dulcimers with that name which had sold and I arrived at an approximate market value.  I returned to the telephone, and related the results of my search to the young lady.  She agreed that she would be interested in selling me the instrument if I could offer a price in the vicinity of what we discussed.  Before she hung up, I reminded her that the number was not an offer.  The actual offer amount would depend on the item matching her description.  She was satisfied and assured me that she would be here later today.

A few moments after I opened (very few), the SUV pulled up and a young man and young lady got out, each going to the back seat to grab something.  The man came in soon thereafter, carrying a very small baby, mere months old.  She followed immediately after, carrying the dulcimer in a case and a cheap electric guitar.  It was the usual situation; expenses were mounting for the baby and there was no job to be found for either of them.  I determined to keep my mind on the appraisal of the instruments before moving to their need and began to examine the dulcimer.

Wow!  Have you ever heard the ancient story from the Far East of the blind men examining an elephant?  It has been retold for a number of years now to demonstrate the alleged fallacy of absolutism.  The blind men all feel a different part of the behemoth and each has a different description of the same animal.  One says a rope (the tail), the next a tree trunk (the leg), still another a fan (the ear), and on and on.  The story is supposed to illustrate the danger of believing in absolute truth, when we have a limited knowledge of the subject.  Well, this dulcimer was a prime example of that!  The young lady undoubtedly had been truthful as far as her knowledge went, but she was wrong about every single point we discussed!

The name she threw out as the maker of the dulcimer was simply the name of the author of an instruction book on playing the instrument, which happened to be in the case.  When the dulcimer was taken out of the case and turned over, the label plainly said “Made in Taiwan, Republic of China,” leading me to think that doubtless this fine instrument had been manufactured in the center of the Appalachian Folk Music world, where the finest dulcimers have always been made.  (Sorry, just my poor attempt at irony.)  Strike one!  No matter; I was on to the overall condition.  Of course, the first thing I had noticed as I opened the case was the high gloss of the finish.  This is a huge red flag on an instrument of this type, since it indicates a heavy spray coat of varnish, which inhibits the tone of the dulcimer significantly.  Also, the heart-shaped sound holes cut into the top were clearly poorly cut and sanded using power tools, leaving an irregular look to them.  It was obvious that this was a factory-made, cheaply-built instrument, intended only to entice uneducated novices into opening up their wallets in the hopes of purchasing a quality dulcimer for a low price.  Strike two!

At this point, I thought it prudent to warn the couple that we were not going to be purchasing the instrument for the price I had mentioned earlier, since it did not meet any of the standards we had discussed.  We had one other criterion to meet; the question of whether anything was broken or not.  The broken string was a given, but could be easily remedied.  I asked why the other strings had no tension on them, another red flag when purchasing any stringed instrument.  They couldn’t answer, since neither of them had attempted to play it (it had belonged to Grandma, now deceased, you see).  Noticing a slight separation in the finish near the connection point for the strings on the body, I nevertheless started to tune it up, finding it necessary to tighten up the screws on the friction tuners before completing the task.  For some reason though, the pitch continued to drop as the strings were tightened.  I immediately stopped tuning and looked more closely at the finish separation.  A huge gap had opened up between the top layer and the body!  If I had continued tuning the strings up to pitch, it probably would have pulled the fingerboard completely off.  No wonder the tension had been completely off the strings!  And, Strike three, You’re out!

Stop a minute to consider…This young lady hadn’t told me a single lie, but had answered, as truthfully as she knew how, every question I had asked.  Yet, she had been wrong on every single detail!  The wrong maker’s name, poor condition (from poor manufacturing), and broken beyond reclamation to boot! 

According to the proponents of the elephant allegory, the young lady wasn’t wrong at all, just giving me the facts as she saw them.  In fact, she was in error on all points.  Her ignorance of what she was holding didn’t change reality one iota.  In most other areas of discussion also, we do everyone a disservice to posit that perspective changes truth.  It is possible to be completely convinced of the truth of something, all the while believing a complete fabrication, to our ultimate harm. 

The instrument the good folks believed should sell for a handsome price will never go up for sale as a musical instrument in my store.  I do, however, now possess a very nice piece of art which looks surprisingly like a dulcimer.  It could be purchased for a very reasonable price, if you care to hang it on your wall…

“The truth is incontrovertible.  Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.”
(Winston Churchill~British orator, author, and Prime Minister~1874-1965)

“And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
(John 8:32)

Not It!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

“Let’s play Kick-the-Can!  Not it!”  It was a familiar suggestion on a summer’s evening, just as the blazing-hot sun lowered toward the western horizon.  We played the game even when it was just me and my brothers and sister, but it was best when the neighbor kids joined in.  Maybe the Wileys would be visiting from their mission down in Mexico and we’d get some of them to play with us too.  After the initial yell by the kid with the bright idea, the calls of “Not it!” from the rest would ensue.  The point was to not be the last one to call it out.  Of course, the problem with that was that either you could claim you had already said it and no one heard you, or the others, being bigger and more authoritative could claim that you hadn’t said it when you had.  Usually the youngest or most timid was “it” for the first go-round.  Yep, I was the youngest.

Kick-the-Can?  Surely you remember, don’t you?  It was either the best or the worst version of “hide-and-seek” ever.  The rules were basically the same, but with the additional thrill of having the base being a large tin can.  I’m sure there are many variations on the rules, but what made it so much fun is that, if a player had been found and was about to have “1, 2, 3 on _____” called on him/her (thus making them “it”), they could run to the base faster than whoever was “it” and kick that can as hard as they could.  The unfortunate kid who was “it” then had to find the can and return it to its proper position, hoping to still be able to see where the kicker was and get them out.  The reason I mentioned that it could be the worst version of hide-and-seek is that frequently I spent many hours chasing the can and looking for the big kids without ever beating one to the base.  Sometimes, they would tire of the game before I ever caught my first hider.  But when I wasn’t “it”?  Best game ever!  We spent many hours playing every summer.

My Mom tells a different story.  Her version is that we played a game called “Not it!”  You see, in the confusion of yelling to keep from filling that unwanted position, we would sometimes spend a good part of the dusky minutes as the sun set arguing about who had said it last.  Finally, in frustration, one of the bigger kids would start calling out “Eenie, meenie, minie, moe…”  No, the next phrase wasn’t that politically incorrect one you’re remembering, because our parents absolutely wouldn’t allow us to use it.  My dad wasn’t a civil rights activist, wasn’t liberal in any sense, but he just knew it was wrong to call any race by a denigrating name.  So it was, that in those days of the Cold War, the next phrase in our version of the child’s verse came, “…Catch old Khrushchev by the toe.”  It was popular back then to disparage the Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev (he of the shoe-banging incident), since the Soviet Union was undoubtedly the worst regime in existence at that time, in our eyes.  Anyway, by the time we got to “…my mother told me to pick the very best one and you are not it” part, all the older kids (understanding the pattern of the little ditty) had reshuffled and left me or one of the other clueless younger kids in the right place to be selected, so the result was the same as the “Not it!” game. 

The Lovely Lady recalls that one of the older residents in her neighborhood would frequently come out and pick up the can himself, carrying it into his house, to quiet the racket when their kick-the-can games went too late into the night.  Theirs were played under the street light on their cul-de-sac street while, over eight hundred miles to the south, we played ours in the light of the front porch in our circle drive after the natural light faded.  When the can was kicked far enough that it exceeded the limits of the illumination, you were in trouble.  Sometimes, even the hiders had to come and help look for the base, temporarily safe until it was located and returned to its  proper place.

Ah, but then came my favorite call, especially if I was still hiding.  The call would go up, “olly olly oxen free!”  We could move from our cramped hiding positions under the wheelbarrow or up in the trees, where we had hidden, fearing discovery at any second.  No more sitting with the Lantana blossoms brushing against your nose, about to make you sneeze any moment!  We all came in safe!  A truce between battling parties was called and there was no penalty, no one left to call, “1, 2, 3 on Paul!”.  No more being “it” interminably.  We usually came in happy and calling out to each other as the game ended and our heartbeats slowed to a regular pace after the excitement and anxiety of the game were behind us.  Joy and relief!  We came in safe!

I always thought the phrase of “olly olly oxen free,” came from the English equivalent, “all-y, all-y, all’s in free,” which would be just fine, but it seems that it may actually come from the German phrase, “”alle, alle auch sind frei,” which means literally, “everyone, everyone is also free.”  Either way, still a great descriptive phrase of the relief and satisfaction in the reprieve that ended the exciting game.

I find myself periodically wishing to hear that phrase these days.  Oh sure, I still like hearing it when the kids yell it out as they’re playing, but that’s not what I’m referring to now.  Life has gotten extremely complicated.  There’s more than enough sadness and distress to go around; economic problems weigh us down; the stress and aggravation in the workplace are overwhelming sometimes; even the joyous events of life are frequently accompanied by confusion and complexity.  Where’s the light at the end of the tunnel?  When do I get to hear the call, “olly, olly oxen free!” and relax?

I refuse to end an essay on children’s games with a sermon, so I’ll leave you to work through it.  Suffice it to say that the answer is in plain sight and the call has already gone out.  Just because we haven’t yet responded doesn’t negate the facts.  I remember a night when I found the best hiding place.  The large bougainvillea plants along the edge of the yard had thorns, but if you were careful, you could slip under them and be completely concealed by the viney plant and its large leaves and copious blossoms.  I guess I must have been too close to the road noise, or maybe I dozed off, but when I looked out after a long while, there was no one near the base, so I headed in to kick that can as far as I could.  Imagine my chagrin when the can was gone and no one came running to count me out either.  I looked around, finally poking my head inside the house.  There they all were, Kool-Aid glasses in hand, enjoying a cool drink, while I was still playing the game with vigor.  The call had gone out and I hadn’t heard.  I was annoyed, but a glass of grape Kool-Aid soon set that right.

I love summer!  I think I may save one of those old tin coffee cans and spend a little time with the grandchildren.  It may be awhile before they understand all the rules, but they’ll sure have a great time kicking the can.  I just might give it a tap or two, as well…

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
(Jesus~Matthew 11:28)



“Hide-and-seek grown-up style.  Wanting to hide.  Needing to be sought.  Confused about being found.”
(Robert Fulghum~”All I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten”)

The Bright Side

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

Tornado alley.  What a benign name for such a terrifying place.  Can’t you just hear the old guy at the gas station giving directions?  “Well, you go down the road a spell ’til you get to where the old rendering plant used to be.  Take a left there and go past the old Parson’s place; you’ll know it by the forsythia that blooms in spring.  Well, no.  It’s not spring now, but you should see it when it is!  Keep going another mile or two and you’ll see Tornado Alley.  You can’t miss it!  It’ll be the one with all the people running for their “fraidy holes” tonight!” 

I’ve got to tell you; I’ve lived here for over 34 years now and somehow tornado alley doesn’t seem so benign right now.  As I write, the immediate threat of a tornado is past, but for an hour or so tonight, the combination of lightning and thunder and wind and strange sounds up in the air made for a few tense moments.  The tornado sirens in town and the loud beeps of constant weather bulletins on the television didn’t lessen the tension any, either.  You’ll pardon me if I waste the next few moments on levity now, just to achieve a sense of balance in my psyche.  And, if someone will just turn down the volume of the thunder rumbling up above, I’ll be able to shift gears.

Someone wrote online tonight that tornadoes kill more adult males because men go outside to see the storm instead in staying under cover.  Well, of course we do!  What kind of real man could stay inside hiding in a closet when there is no sign of danger except for the sirens going?  Why, just tonight, the mayor of our town wrote on Facebook that the sirens were only sounding to caution us, not because any tornado had been sighted.  I think it may be as my son-in-law phrased it when describing his babies who wouldn’t go to sleep at night.  “They are afraid that something might happen while their eyes are closed.”  Come to think of it, that could explain my lack of sleeping hours, too!

I am afraid that I am just as much a “looky loo” about the weather as I am about other events with people involved.  I don’t want to be the only one who didn’t see it as it happened.  Who wants to be the one to say, “That was right outside my window.  I didn’t see it because I was hiding in the bathroom, but it was right out there next to me”? 

I hope you won’t think the facetiousness misplaced.  I know that many people have died or lost possessions in the storms of the last few days.  That said, I find that humor and self-deprecation is one of the ways we can get through bad times without losing our sanity…although, as you are no doubt already aware, I have taken leave of my senses long ago (hence, the title of this blog).  It has been a trying few days and I’m working at staying out of the dumps.  That’s the place in which I tend to linger when events have gotten the better of my spirits.  There’s not much good to be found there, anyway.  While we’re in the vicinity though (of the dumps, that is), I will mention that we’ve had to say goodbye to a good friend, since our faithful family mutt, Strider died unexpectedly last night.  It’s a personal sadness that won’t soon be banished, but I had the chance to contemplate the temporal nature of pets with you in a recent post and I’ll not make you dredge that up again.  He was an indefatigable puppy all of his life and we enjoyed him immensely.  We should all be so happy-go-lucky.

So, if you happen to be driving by my place the next time there’s a tornado warning and I’m standing outside looking at the sky; honk your horn and yell at me to go inside. No, wait!  What are you doing out driving in that kind of weather?  Maybe you should stop and watch with me.  That way we could all head for the fraidy hole together if we see that big, bad twister coming at us…



There’s a technical term for a sunny day that follows two dreary, stormy days.  It’s called Monday.

Whatever happened to the cow that got carried away in the tornado?  Udder disaster!



Stay Sharp!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

He got out of his car and walked behind it, opening his trunk.  I never know if this is a good sign or not.  If he’s bringing in a guitar for repair, I’m not excited.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy rescuing disabled instruments, but more that I don’t really have the time to keep up with repairs these days.  Come to think of it, I guess if I enjoyed it more, I’d take the time, but that’s a discussion for another day.   He closes the trunk and comes toward the front door of the music store and I’m encouraged.  I recognize the case as one that should carry a nice instrument.  If he wants to sell that one, I’m definitely interested.  Not like the majority of the musical instruments which come through my doors on any given day.  Mostly, they’re sad economy models which should never have been manufactured, much less bought and sold.  But then, you’ve heard that complaint from me before, so, like the discussion of time management, that will wait for another day to be aired again.

I’ve never seen the man before, but he does want to sell the instrument.  New in town, he, like most of the others hawking guitars, has a hard-luck story.  Also like many others, the story involves a vehicle and the need to get it from one place to another.  I look over the instrument and start to offer him a price, when he reminds me that the guitar is American-made.  “They’re going on Ebay for a couple of thousand,” comes the claim.  I flip the guitar over and sure enough, there is the “US” in the serial number.  I see no sign of the dreaded “Made in Korea” lettering I had expected, so I’m ready to revise my offer.  He makes sure that I know he’s not going to demand book price for the instrument, since he just needs enough to get his truck out of the impound lot.  After hearing his price, I decide it’s an equitable amount to pay for a professional grade instrument and the transaction is completed.  He walks out counting his hundred dollars bills and I put the guitar on my workbench to clean it up for resale as I get a few free moments later.

After awhile, I find time to start on the clean-up and flip the guitar over on its face, much like I did when I examined the serial number earlier.  This time, I notice a sticker in an odd place and decide to remove it.  Much to my chagrin, when the paper finally comes off, I see some lettering that looks suspiciously like the end of the name “Korea”.  The rest of the lettering is obliterated by a substance that looks much like a glob of lacquer, no doubt placed there to eradicate the evidence that this guitar is, indeed not American-made, but the much cheaper oriental-built model.   My expectation of a reasonable profit margin for the guitar has flown out the window faster than the shyster had carried the instrument in earlier this afternoon.

It would be an understatement to say that I was angry.  But, it might surprise you to learn that the ire was aimed exclusively at one person…myself.   I tried to work myself up to blame the former owner, but realized that it was a lost cause.  I’m the one that should know better.  I’ve bought thousands of guitars by now and I know; people lie.  For whatever reason, they lie.  It may be to generate enough pity to convince me to pay more than I normally would, possibly to cover up that fact that they’re selling stolen or borrowed instruments (it’s happened a number of times), or as in this case, to misrepresent the model and extract more cash from me.  Whatever the rationale, I know that a fair percentage of the folks I buy from will lie to me during the process.  “Fool me once; shame on you.  Fool me twice…”  Yep, there’s no fool like an old…  But, here I go speaking in adages again and beating around the bush (another one?).  I want to trust folks, but I know better!  That’s why I keep books.  That’s why I have the internet to research the instruments I purchase.  There is no one to blame but myself. 

By now, you know that I readily admit to not being the sharpest blade around.  I’m starting to think that I make these mistakes habitually just to prove that I have nothing about which to brag.  My intellect falls short time after time, leaving me to make up the difference by hard work and God’s provision, the latter being far more dependable than the former.  On this day, as I was contemplating my ignorance and berating myself, a certain customer came to mind.  This young man is especially fond of the style of guitar I had just purchased, regardless of whether it happened to be made in the United States.  While he won’t pay more than such an instrument is worth, he can usually be counted on to be interested in those that I purchase.  As I mused about whether to call him or wait for him to come in eventually, a car pulled up in front of the music store.  I laughed in spite of my agitated state of mind.  It was that young man, arriving mere moments after I thought about calling him.  Of course, he was interested!  After trying the guitar out for a short period of time, he assured me that he absolutely wanted to buy it! Quite reasonably, I won’t be able to sell the guitar for what I once thought it worth, but I won’t have to “take a bath” on it either.

Did he arrive at that moment by chance?  You can make that call, but I know what I believe.  The old cliche “Our disappointments are God’s appointments” comes to mind.  I’ve reminded you before of my Dad’s favorite quote, “Man proposes, God disposes,” which he often used to soften the blow of ill-fated plans.  For some reason, I tend to think that just as often (maybe more often), the application can be made to the unearned successes which we encounter in our bumbling around.  And I’m grateful.

I’m obviously still having to work at keeping my wits about me on a daily basis, a task I don’t seem to take to naturally.  And, now that you know how gullible I really am, I hope there won’t be a rush to take advantage of that, too.

I can trust you, can’t I?

“You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough.”
(Frank Crane~American minister and columnist~1861-1928)

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord.  ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.'”
(Jeremiah 29:11)

Still Safe

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Today’s post is a repeat of one from last week.  I hope you’ll pardon the repetition, but a combination of things have made this a weekend of reflection and I’m not ready to put a lot of it into words.  A day of prophecy unrealized, with many thousands of people who are now disappointed and confused, along with a terrible night of death and terror for neighbors to our north were a big part of my reasons for the decision.  On a personal note, my faithful dog was suddenly struck blind this weekend.  Not a momentous event, in the scope of things, but one that brings sadness to me and my family, nonetheless.  A second reading of this earlier writing was helpful to me, so with an edit or two, I present it for your consideration once more.  I’ll try to do better tomorrow…


“Help me, Daddy!”  the terrified young boy screamed.  The family was spending the afternoon at the beach, but things were not going as planned.  The young father had made sure that all of his children learned to swim, at least enough to get out of most normal circumstances they would encounter in the water.  This, however was no normal circumstance.

As Mom and the older sister waded and looked for sea shells, the boys and their dad had opted to swim in the breaking surf.  It was an incredible experience for the boy of nine or so.  He and the others walked out twenty or thirty yards through the breakers; sometimes letting them hit him on the bare stomach; sometimes jumping up in the air as they approached, watching them go past with the white water swirling around his legs.  Deeper and deeper the water became as the shore was left behind.  Chest high, it would reach and suddenly, he would stumble as the ocean floor underneath him rose quickly and he was only knee deep again, yards from the shore.  And the waves!  One after the other, they came incessantly; water piling over on top of water.  Wave after wave pummeling his body, again and again, until he tired of it and just wished for it to stop for a moment.  But, more waves came, wearing the young boys and their father out.

They were spread out a little distance when the father called out to them to head in.  Normally, the call to quit playing would result in a bit of cajoling and coaxing to stay for just a few moments more, but there was none of that this time.  The tired boys headed for the shore.  And then, just feet away from the shore it happened.  The youngest of them suddenly felt the motion of the ocean stronger than he had felt it before.  He couldn’t stand up any longer as he was drawn away from the shore ahead of him.  The beach at South Padre Island is famous for its “rip currents” or undertow, and he was caught in one of those dreaded waves, moving under the surface much faster than it appeared.  The terror was instantaneous.  Along with his brothers, he had learned to swim and was pretty good at it.  Even at that, he was no match for this kind of power.  As his father attempted to swim toward him, he realized the now all-too-apparent phenomenon that accompanied the rip current.  To either side of the outgoing current, the water was still moving strongly toward the shore.  It was immediately clear that he couldn’t reach the boy in time, so he did the only thing he could do.  He yelled!  “Swim!  Swim to the side!  Swim toward me!”  It made no sense to the scared little boy, who was trying to swim directly into shore against the current that was pulling him away from that safe haven, but he turned to the right and swam for all he was worth.  It seemed an eternity that nothing happened, except that he was drawn further out, but stroke by stroke, inch by inch, the lad pulled out of the current and into calm water and safety.

Standing on the firm bottom and shaking from the experience, the only thing he could think about was that his father hadn’t saved him.  All the time he was sure he was drowning, the only thing his father had done was to yell at him.  “Why didn’t you try to pull me out?” he asked accusingly.  The father, no doubt terrified himself, didn’t try to explain his actions, but picked up the little fellow and carried him to shore and his mother.  It would be a long time before the boy understood what had happened that day.  But, he never forgot the experience.

You know, I’ve heard the poem and the song based on it, entitled “Footprints In The Sand” for years.  It’s a tear jerking piece of poetry that talks about a dream of seeing two sets of footprints and the explanation that they were God’s and the writer’s walking beside each other.  But all of the sudden, there is only one set of footprints and the writer accuses God of leaving, only to learn that at those times which represented troublesome events in life, God carried her or him.  All very beautiful and romantic.  And wrong.  You see, what actually happens is that throughout life, God is imparting his wisdom and knowledge specifically to equip us for the difficult times.  And, as harsh as it seems, when those times come, He knows that we have the tools to face them and get through them.  Truly, we often wonder where He is when the night is darkest, when we fear the worst that can happen.  No, I don’t believe that He leaves us to “sink or swim”, but we’ve been trained in the good times, learned the lessons, and His strength is adequate.  We can face the challenges before us and come through just fine.

As I write tonight, I’m grieving for families who have lost loved ones, suddenly and unexpectedly.  My heart is torn apart for them, envisioning the pain they are feeling and even possibly, the sense that God has left them in the riptide.  Right now, they may be drowning in their loss and emptiness.  My prayer for them is that they will recover with the strength and courage that He has already provided and prepared them with.  His strength is perfected in our weakness.  A Father’s love never fails and never deserts us.

I have never forgotten the terrifying experience in the waves, but sometimes I still need a jolt to be reminded of the real lesson there.  We are safe wherever we go, led by our Father’s strong and able hands. 

“…Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,  for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
(Joshua 1:9)

“Comfort and prosperity have never enriched the world as much as adversity has.”
(Billy Graham~American evangelist)

Don’t Confuse Me With the Facts

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“…then I won’t be moving the piano for you.”  My words were calm, but inside I was seething.  This was a new situation for me.  In twenty-some years of moving pianos, I had never had a customer refuse to let me do it my way.  This rude lady was pretentious enough to imply that I had no idea what I was doing, and was refusing to allow me to take the necessary steps to protect the instrument as it was moved.  I picked up the piano dolly and indicated to my crew that they should retrieve the skid board lying on the floor, and headed for the door.

I will readily admit that I frequently have a much too high opinion of my knowledge and abilities.  This has been demonstrated all too clearly time after time, as events have undone my best efforts.  This time, I knew I was right and I wasn’t backing down.  My friend, Eric, had engaged my services to move the medium-size grand piano, which was in the living room of the little duplex.  Evidently, the owner was in a situation where she needed to move quickly and would not be able to take the piano with her.  Eric had offered to “sit” the piano for the duration of the time she was in this situation, so we were to disassemble the piano and transport it to his home.  I had arranged to hire two other men and we gathered our equipment and headed out the twenty miles north to this location.  We had some time and effort involved already, and I was going to have to pay the help, whether the piano was moved or not.  I was not a happy camper!

We had ridden together and enjoyed the company, joking with each other as we rode.  Just before we arrived at our destination, Eric had warned us that the lady could be “difficult”.  Evidently, she had a reputation for rubbing people the wrong way.  I was not worried.  I’ve always figured that I could get along with just about anyone and have been able to mollify most of the adversarial customers who have passed my way over the years.  This would be no different.  As we backed up to the front door, we heard piano music wafting from the open windows.  It’s not uncommon at all for us to find owners saying a last goodbye to their musical companion as we arrive, which is exactly what was going on here.  She left the bench to allow us entrance and we moved our equipment in efficiently and quickly.  This would take no time at all… 

As we always do with a grand, I closed the lid and took a pair of pliers around to the back and used them to remove the first L-shaped hinge pin.  The lady shrieked, “What do you think you’re doing to my piano?”  It was a first for me, but I explained that we needed to remove the lid before the legs were also taken off and the piano set on edge for the move.  “That piano has been moved six times since I’ve owned it and not one of the movers has ever removed the lid!  I won’t have it!” she snapped.  I had to think about that one for a moment.  It is definitely possible to move the piano with the lid on, but it is a risk, both to the movers and to the piano.  When the piano is on the skid board, the hinge side of the lid is downward and the heavy wooden piece naturally tends to fall open, unless it is strapped first.  Even with the strap, the danger of damage to the piano is constant, since the lip of the top hangs over the edge.  If not placed on the skid board just right, it will put all the weight of the five or six hundred pound instrument on the place where the hinges are attached.

I insisted, “We have to remove the lid to move the piano safely.”  The lady, obviously thinking me ignorant, dug her heels in.  “You’re certainly not saying that those other movers did it wrong, are you?  They were professionals.”  Her last statement showed what she thought of me and my rag-tag lot, but I wouldn’t be cowed.  At that point, I determined to eat my losses and go home, much to the consternation of Eric, and evidently, also the piano owner.  As I raised the lid back up to prop it as we found it, she said, “But why won’t you move it?  They all did it that way.”  Just at that moment, my eye was caught by a flash of white color in the cherry finish of the piano, right by the hinges.  I looked more closely, seeing a very serious crack in the side of the piano.  Looking back at the other hinge, there was matching damage there.  “Yes ma’am, they did it that way and that’s the reason your piano is broken already.”  I must admit, my tone was probably a bit jubilant, because instead of just my word, we now had proof.  I explained a little more fully what had happened in one of the earlier moves and she was contrite as she listened.  “Go ahead and take it off.  I see your point,” she acquiesced.

The piano was moved without further problems and we left with both parties satisfied.  A few years later, after a couple more moves (with the lid off!), I sold that piano for her and she was grateful and congenial.  Her earlier acrimony stemmed from distrust, both of an unknown piano mover and a change from the norm.  As far as she knew, the norm was the way it should be and there was no reason to change her original assessment of the hick and his motley crew.

I said earlier that my too high opinion of myself is in evidence frequently.  In reality, it is pretty constant.  You would think that seeing life lessons such as this one in the making would forestall the same errors in my life.  You would be mistaken.  I wisely stroke my chin and say, “You see what happens when you think you know it all?”  Then the next time the opportunity arises, I’m sure I know it all and almost invariably make a fool of myself.  Sometimes, good advice is just that; good advice, regardless of our opinion of the counselor.

How’s your objectivity?  Somehow, even after all these years, the worst sentence in the English language remains in popular use.  “We’ve never done it that way before.”  What does it take for us to realize that an error repeated over time remains an error?  Even if we don’t see evidence of damage, it doesn’t mean that the damage hasn’t occurred.

Change is not always bad.  But, I think I’m going to have to work on this open mind thing.  I don’t quite have a handle on it yet.

“Without advice, plans go wrong; but with many advisors, they succeed.”
(Proverbs 15:22)

“Some men are just as firmly convinced of what they think as others of what they know.”
(Aristotle~Greek philosopher~384 BC-322 BC)

QUIET!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Everything is so loud now.  The cars that go by on the street vibrate with the “Boom-Boom-Boom” of the huge sub-woofers in the trunks.  At home, the television is adjusted to a volume that enables my ears to discern the conversation between the characters in a program, when abruptly, we’re at a commercial and the volume is suddenly blaring so loudly that I jump with alarm.  In my store, the customers come in to try out instruments, asking, “May I plug it in?”  I answer in the affirmative and help with the amplifier connections, knowing that I will regret it very soon.  And, I’m not disappointed, as the volume begins at an agreeable level and gradually rises through the middle decibel ranges where conversation is still possible, and finally on up to a painfully loud degree on par with sitting in the wall seats at a NASCAR event. This is especially true if there is more than one musician playing an instrument; each one vying to be the dominant voice in the musical conversation.

Even the trend in restaurant design is to make the dining rooms alive with sound.  It is no longer in vogue to have cozy, private corners to dine in peacefully, but we must be in the middle of the action, with cooks yelling out at each other as they mix and fry and bake.  The room is so live that you can hear the conversation of the couple on the other side of the establishment as they discuss what her boss did to make her angry today.  And the hustle and bustle of the wait staff!  Back and forth, to and from the open kitchen again and again, with trays and dishes and plastic desserts.

On the weekend, we go to church, which was once a fortress against the cacophony of the outside world.  Now the seven foot grand piano, designed with a powerful voice to fill a concert hall with beautiful music, has a microphone installed so that we can amplify it.  Where we who are singers used to stand close and listen to each other to achieve an ensemble sound, now we huddle around monitor speakers and hope that the technician in the sound booth has our microphone turned up enough so the crowd can hear us.

In every sector of our lives, each voice vies to be heard, the tumult growing ever louder, and the individual clamoring voices are soon lost in the din.  It seems that none of us will be content to stand silent and wait to be recognized, but must force our way into the conversation.  Every syllable, even every musical note is intended, not to contribute, but to dazzle; not to comfort, but to impress.  Even when there is no sound, and we sit at our computers to communicate, the way to be noticed IS TO YELL with our upper case letters.  None of us wants to be a wallflower, but unfortunately none of us will be heard in the resulting confusion.

Years ago, I sat on the stage at a Christmas concert, having completed my part of the brass ensemble prelude.  The organist moved to the huge pipe organ and began his part of the musical meditation…and the crowd noise grew.  He played a few more notes and the crowd talked louder.  We assumed that the man would simply finish his piece through the accompanying hubbub.  Suddenly, the music ceased in mid-phrase.  The organist turned off his light and moved to a chair in the choir loft and sat down facing the audience.  For a few seconds, the crowd noise continued unabated, but gradually it quieted down until finally, you could have heard a pin drop in that huge crowd of over a thousand people.  After a moment of this quiet, the musician stood and returned to the organ bench, turning on his music light and completing the piece he had prepared for the occasion.  The crowd sat speechless and attentively still until he was finished.

Why didn’t I think of that?  I would have continued playing, increasing the air flow to the reeds and adding pipes until they couldn’t help but listen.  The problem with that approach is that what they hear isn’t the music the composer intended to be experienced.  The distorted, roaring product presented would have been a far cry from the beauty of the piece as it was written.  And everyone would have walked away poorer; the organist in anger, the audience in distaste.  No, his method achieved exactly what should have occurred in the first place; the authoritative voice of the beautiful instrument speaking to the quiet anticipating ears and hearts of the hearers.

Why don’t you take a little time to listen for the Voice today?  Be still, and know…  Come away from the babble, the confused pandemonium of the noisy streets and workplaces, and sit quietly for just a few moments.

Rest.

“Here you are. Brought back to me by your wish mixed with mine.  Noise cannot touch us here.  I will try and make for you the calmest place there is within this loud and getting louder world.”
(Rod McKuen~American poet and author)



“The sound of ‘gentle stillness’ after all the thunder and wind have passed will be the ultimate Word from God.”
(Jim Elliott~American missionary & martyr~1927-1956)

Safety

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Help me, Daddy!”  the terrified young boy screamed.  The family was spending the afternoon at the beach, but things were not going as planned.  The young father had made sure that all of his children learned to swim, at least enough to get out of most normal circumstances they would encounter in the water.  This, however was no normal circumstance.

As Mom and the older sister waded and looked for sea shells, the boys and their dad had opted to swim in the breaking surf.  It was an incredible experience for the boy of nine or so.  You walked out twenty or thirty yards through the breakers; sometimes letting them hit you on the bare stomach; sometimes jumping up in the air as they approached, watching them go past with the white water swirling around your legs.  Deeper and deeper the water became as the shore was left behind.  Chest high, it would reach and suddenly, you would stumble as the ocean floor underneath you rose quickly and you were only knee deep again, yards from the shore.  And the waves!  One after the other, they came incessantly; water piling over on top of water.  Wave after wave pummeling your body, again and again, until you would tire of it and just wish for it to stop for a moment.  But, more waves came, wearing the young boys and their father out.

They were spread out a little distance when the father called out to them to head in.  Normally, the call to quit playing would result in a bit of cajoling and coaxing to stay for just a few moments more, but there was none of that this time.  The tired boys headed for the shore.  And, just feet away from the shore it happened.  The youngest of them suddenly felt the motion of the ocean stronger than he had felt it before.  He couldn’t stand up any longer as he was drawn away from the shore ahead of him.  The beach at South Padre Island is famous for its “rip currents” or undertow, and he was caught in one of those dreaded waves, moving under the surface much faster than it appeared.  The terror was instantaneous.  Along with his brothers, he had learned to swim and was pretty good at it.  Even at that, he was no match for this kind of power.  As his father attempted to swim toward him, he realized the now all-too-apparent phenomenon that accompanied the rip current.  To either side of the outgoing current, the water was still moving strongly toward the shore.  It was immediately clear that he couldn’t reach the boy in time, so he did the only thing he could do.  He yelled!  “Swim!  Swim to the side!  Swim toward me!”  It made no sense to the scared little boy, who was trying to swim directly into shore against the current that was pulling him away from that safe haven, but he turned to the right and swam for all he was worth.  It seemed an eternity that nothing happened, except that he was drawn further out, but stroke by stroke, inch by inch, the lad pulled out of the current and into calm water and safety.

Standing on the firm bottom and shaking from the experience, the only thing he could think about was that his father hadn’t saved him.  All the time he was sure he was drowning, the only thing his father had done was to yell at him.  “Why didn’t you try to pull me out?” he asked accusingly.  The father, no doubt terrified himself, didn’t try to explain his actions, but picked up the little fellow and carried him to shore and his mother.  It would be a long time before the boy understood what had happened that day.  But, he never forgot the experience.

You know, I’ve heard the poem and the song based on it, entitled “Footprints In The Sand” for years.  It’s a tear jerking piece of poetry that talks about a dream of seeing two sets of footprints and the explanation that they were God’s and the writer’s walking beside each other.  But all of the sudden, there is only one set of footprints and the writer accuses God of leaving, only to learn that at those times which represented troublesome events in life, God carried her or him.  All very beautiful and romantic.  And wrong.  You see, what actually happens is that throughout life, God is imparting his wisdom and knowledge specifically to equip us for the difficult times.  And, as harsh as it seems, when those times come, He knows that we have the tools to face them and get through them.  Truly, we often wonder where He is when the night is darkest, when we fear the worst that can happen.  No, I don’t believe that He leaves us to “sink or swim”, but we’ve been trained in the good times, learned the lessons, and His strength is adequate.  We can face the challenges before us and come through just fine.

As I write tonight, I’m grieving for a family who has lost a son, suddenly and unexpectedly.  My heart is torn apart for them, envisioning the pain they are feeling and even possibly, the sense that God has left them in the riptide.  Right now, they may be drowning in their loss and emptiness.  My prayer for them is that they will recover with the strength and courage that He has already provided and prepared them with.  His strength is perfected in our weakness.  A Father’s love never fails and never deserts us.

I have never forgotten the terrifying experience in the waves, but sometimes I still need a jolt to be reminded of the real lesson there.  We are safe wherever we go, led by our Father’s strong and able hands. 

“So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.”
(Matthew 7:11)

“Comfort and prosperity have never enriched the world as much as adversity has.”
(Billy Graham~American evangelist)