The loquacious businessman is full of stories.  Some of them are just that–stories.  I mean the kind of stories we would call fibs or, if you prefer, lies.  He has a lifetime supply of these stories and doesn’t need an invitation to begin one at any time.  I know.  I’ve endured the tedium of any number of them over the years.  That said, some of his stories are worth remembering.  One in particular comes to mind tonight.  At least, a phrase from the story comes to my mind.  The details themselves are lost in the mist of the years that have passed since he first told me the story. 

The man sold appliances for a national chain of stores at one time.  He tells of learning the ropes in selling from a master, and it is obvious from his success as a businessman later in life that he learned his lessons well.  Now, regarding the phrase I recall, it seems that frequently, the chain of stores for which he worked would run advertised specials on their appliances.  When they did, the word would come down from management that a certain model of washing machine, or stove, or refrigerator was their “nail-down model”.  At first, I assumed that it meant that they would nail down the sale with this model which was priced very attractively, but that was not the case.  “Nail-down model” meant, very simply, that this model was never to move from the showroom floor.  It was not, under any circumstances, to be sold to a customer.  Any customer who came in waving the ad and desiring to buy this bargain was to be upsold to a better model.  He claimed that the sales people were threatened with losing their job if they actually allowed a customer to buy the “nail-down model” during the sale.  We know this tactic today, as “bait & switch”.  It is understood to be illegal, and theoretically, a thing of the past.  I wonder.

I realized the other day, that I have a nail-down item in my store.  A few weeks ago, a gentleman came in with a very small, vintage-looking case under his arm.  He wanted to know if I could tell him anything about the instrument contained therein.  I could and did, but not before I became very interested myself in the instrument.  It was an old ukulele which had been made in the 1960s.  As it happens, the instrument was identical to the one on which I learned to play the uke.  Mrs. Jones, our grade school music teacher, had offered to teach any student who would come a couple of days a week, before the school day began, how to play the instrument.  It was a popular instrument back in the sixties and my brother and I convinced our parents that this was an essential purchase.  I don’t remember learning anything except three chords, but the memory of acquiring that instrument and carrying it to school for special lessons with Mrs. Jones is one of those that I treasure, all these years later. As I examined the man’s vintage instrument, I had to have it!  He reluctantly gave me a number that was well above the going price for these old instruments, but I wasn’t in the mood to let it walk out the door. I paid his price.  The instrument is in a display case in my music store now.

It’s not for sale.  There may be those who will accuse me of a bait and switch scheme of my own, since customers are more likely to see this instrument first upon entering the store, before seeing the ukes that are for sale hanging on the wall further back.  I have directed several of them to the ones hanging on the wall, after they have inquired about this one.  Since there is no advertising campaign which has brought them in to see the old uke, there will be no claim of a scam, but a number of them have complained that it is not fair for me to display an instrument which they cannot buy.  It’s still not for sale.

It would seem that there are different reasons for having items of which we cannot turn loose.  Perhaps, like the low-priced appliance, we would not make enough profit if we did.  Maybe, like my ukulele, there are memories tied up in it.  It could even be that we have acquired things which are so much a part of us that we wouldn’t even think of letting them go, but we really don’t know why.  There is nothing wrong with placing value in things, but I wonder sometimes, if we’re actually too attached to them.

I’m curious to know if you have any nail-down things in your personal life.  You know…that jacket that you’ve had since you were a teenager, perhaps that heirloom that Aunt Susie left to you; maybe your nail-down is even something in your mind which you can’t let go of.  Someone was unkind and you’ll never forget (or forgive) them.  You were bullied as a child and you hold onto the memory of that as an excuse for all the bad things that have happened since then.  The possibilities are endless.  There may be some things we would even describe as good, but which we hold onto tightly, lest they slip out of our grip.

I remember a few years ago, after my Grandma died…my father gave me something to keep as a memory of her.  The old sugar jar has no monetary value; it could never be sold to pay the mortgage.  It has however, been in my family for four generations now.  My great-grandmother used it to keep her sugar in, my grandmother did the same, and my father also did for a short time.  Now it sits in our kitchen, easily holding the bags of sugar, greatly reduced in size since the huge ones of the early and mid-twentieth century.  My father left me with one instruction, which I will never forget, regarding this family “heirloom”.  “If you ever get to thinking that this is something important and start to place too much value on it because of your family history, I want you to promise me something.”  Of course, I wondered what he was getting at, and told him so.  He continued, “I want you to take a hammer and hit it as hard as you can, right on the side, about here…”  These last words were said as he indicated a spot in the center of the huge glass jar.  I got the message.  This is not a nail-down model.  There is no reason to get my heart set on this piece of glass, with its metal lid and ancient homemade handle.

So, what do you say?  Are you ready to get rid of some of those nail-down items that have taken over your life?  Find the hammer and do it!  It won’t be easy.  It might even seem like saying goodbye to some old friends.  But, when our lives are ruled by things, and memories, and habits, we are indeed prisoners.  It’s time to break down some bars!

The ukulele will probably move some day, too.  Now, if only I can figure out a way to sell it for as much as the greatly inflated price I actually paid for it!

“Set your affection on things above, not on things on this earth.”
(Colossians 3:2)

“One who cannot cast aside a treasure at need is in fetters.”
(From “Lord Of The Rings” by J.R.R.Tolkien~English Author~1892-1973)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

The note on the outside of the envelope informed anyone who cared to pay attention that, “Tampering is prohibited, under penalty of Federal Law.” I looked at the advertising piece, definitely not something I had requested, and started to toss it away without even giving it a perfunctory perusal. Hesitating, I considered the blurb promising severe penalties ranging from a huge fine to ten years in jail and decided that perhaps I should see what was contained in this piece of mail that these folks were so intent on protecting.

Interesting. The instructions for opening the mail piece appeared to the same as many checks which I have received from various sources. “Tear along each side. Then remove the top tab.” The corners of my mouth twitch as I am taken (momentarily) back to my childhood and once again am hearing the voice of Mr. Olsen telling of the two ants running at breakneck speed along the top of the cracker package. As the story-teller begins to giggle, he informs us that one of the ants asks the other why they are hurrying so and the breathless reply comes, “Well, it says to tear along the dotted line!” As I return to the here-and-now, I suppress a little giggle myself and check to be sure there are no ants on the envelope before following the directions. In no time at all, I am reading the words that tell me that, due to my diligence in keeping my nose clean, I have been approved to receive a small business loan of up to two hundred thousand dollars! I was nearly successful with the giggle, but couldn’t suppress the guffaw that escaped my open mouth at reading this.

Again my hand made a motion toward the circular file nearby and again, something stopped me. I lifted the page which explained the stellar reputation my business has earned that made me eligible for such an offer. Under the first page, as if to give a pledge of good faith, I saw it–a check for forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and eighty-five dollars! It appeared to be a legal tender check, right down to the endorsement section on the back. I could take this check to the bank! Nearly fifty thousand dollars could be mine today! With just a stroke of the pen (and believe you me, that’s how my messy signature would appear to your eyes), I could have all that money in my bank account, ready to use for whatever purpose I desired!

You do know, of course, what I promptly did with the check, do you not? Yes, that’s exactly what I did. I tore it into little bits and dropped it into the trash can. It is virtually the same thing I did with the perky young thing who called me the other day offering an “extremely low-interest loan”. I returned a polite “no thank you”, but she insisted on asking how I could refuse such a good deal. I asked the young lady if they would expect me to pay the money back. She replied that they would indeed. As I hung up, I told her that I had no intention of paying back such a loan and consequently would not be accepting her kind offer. With the click of the phone, the tatters of her sales pitch floated into the imaginary trash can, much as the very real ones had done in front of me as I tore up the check..

Pay the piper. Strings attached. Quid pro quo. These are all terms we use that indicate an obligation incurred because of something received. The offer of easy money is always followed by the demand for hard payment. All too often, I have fallen for the gimmick instantly, only to repent over time. It is likely that you are nodding your head contemplatively, as you read this. You too, have succumbed to the siren call of easy credit, of fast cash, or of instant gratification. The problem with all of them is that the day comes when the piper who played the beautiful music that lulled you into acquiescence demands to be paid for the dance.

In this season of political rhetoric, I know that some could wish that I would draw the parallels to our government (and there are parallels), but for tonight, I have loftier goals.

I want to draw your attention to an anomaly in the law of quid pro quo (literally, “this for that”). I want to remind you of the one Piper who has no demands to make for the dance. To my knowledge, only once in human history has such an offer been made (and meant). The music of Grace is sweet and beautiful. It calls to us with no strings attached, no demand of payment to be made at a future date. There is a price for this music, terribly high, but it was paid long ago, by the very One who now plays the tune for us.

Many will refuse to dance, entranced by the music to which they are already marching, all the while knowing that one day they will be dunned for the pleasure at a cost far beyond what they can afford. Once in awhile, they listen momentarily to the Piper’s music, acknowledging its beauty but, believing that the cost is more than they can pay, they march on. The day of reckoning will be a sad one, but make no mistake; it will come.

As we walk through life, I trust that you will have the wisdom to avoid the pitfalls of shady offers and easy money. How much simpler it is to toss the worthless paper into the trash now than it would be to obligate yourself for years to come.

But, when it comes to the choice of marching to the drum beat of the world’s taskmasters, or dancing to the music of Grace…

I hope you’ll dance.

“Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance.
And when you get the choice to sit it out, or dance
I hope you dance.
I hope you dance.”
(“I Hope You Dance”~American Country song written by Mark Sanders & Tia Sillers)

“Ho! every one that is thirsty in spirit,
Ho! every one that is weary and sad;
Come to the fountain, there’s fullness in Jesus,
All that you’re longing for: come and be glad!”
(Lucy J Meyer~American educator/songwriter~1849-1922)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

“Well, you can just sit there and cool your heels for a little while!”  My brother and I had been caught in some misdemeanor again, so Mom pulled out another of her little obscure phrases and tried it on us.  “Cool your heels?  What does that mean?”  The words were spoken as an aside to my brother, so as not to poke the already buzzing hornet’s nest again.  The intent failed.  “You just sit there and keep still!”  thundered the weary lady, already well past the limit of her patience for the day.  We kept still.

I really hadn’t thought about that phrase again until the other day as I walked out to the back yard where a couple of my grandchildren were sitting on the park bench.  I approached from the rear, so they were unaware of my presence.  I heard their little voices talking with each other about some mundane subject which I don’t remember.  What I do remember is the four little feet swinging in the air.  As they sat, unworried by the passing of time, they “cooled their heels” and enjoyed life.  Hey!  This is one of those AHA! moments, isn’t it?  Almost fifty years later, I finally get it!  But, these kids have a much better way to wait than my brother and I.  We sat angrily, awaiting the words that would set us free from our prison.  There was no carefree, happy-go-lucky air to our countenance.  We couldn’t wait to get up off the seats we were on and back into trouble again.  I think that I like their waiting better than mine.  Now that I consider it, I still wait with a case of the grumpies.  Rather than taking advantage of the momentary respite to consider the joys of life and to count my blessings, I tend to count the passing seconds as wasted time, never to be recaptured, muttering under my breath the whole time.

Many of us are not good at filling the “in between” times, the periods in our lives when we don’t have a clear directive.  We call it “marking time”, “passing time”, or even “treading water”.  They’re not encouraging descriptions, the last even implying that we’re in the throes of a drowning incident.  It all reminds me of the British sit-com entitled “Waiting For God”, which the Lovely Lady and I watch periodically.  As you might expect, the story is about old people, no longer of any use to society, who are just passing time, waiting to die.  What an empty and sad concept!  I have to admit that the idea is not entirely foreign to us in this country either.  Many of our aged parents and grandparents sit in wheel chairs at nursing homes, with nothing at all to fill the time except to stare at television screens and wait for mealtimes.

I do know one lady who is the exception to that rule.  The Lovely Lady’s mother is now in her eighties, having suffered from crippling rheumatoid arthritis for close to forty years of her adult life.  But this is one lady who is not passing time.  Even with her misshapen, contorted hands, she plays the piano daily.  Frequently, she plays for song services in the lobby of the home where she resides.  She writes letters to friends and family; her scrawled missives, although becoming harder to read, a testament to her devotion to others.  An avid reader all of her life, she continues that practice daily.  Most evenings find her with one or more family members in her room playing a couple games of Scrabble, at which she remains quite formidable (I won’t even attempt a match!).  She’s ready for God, but she’s certainly not waiting for Him.

I’m reminded of playing music many times over the years with different bands and ensembles, mostly in the classical genre.  Frequently, the director of the group will call our attention to the last note in a piece, reminding us that it’s a grave mistake to just play the note passively or to let it die out.  “It’s as much a part of the music as is the first note!  Give it life!  Make it exciting!”  We never just hold a final note.  It’s either building or softening, moving and still full of life.  The piece is not yet ended and we keep communicating that until the very last beat.

Are you thinking that you’re done?  You’ve played your part and moved off the stage, so you’re waiting for who knows what?  I want you to know that you’re not finished until the last breath is drawn, the last word spoken.  You may be waiting right now, but you can do so joyfully, and with anticipation for the next act, whenever that may commence.

Why don’t you just pull off your shoes and socks and cool your heels a little while?  It seems to work for the kids.  I’m going to try it too, the next time I have to sit and wait.  My guess is that their method sure beats my normal case of the grumpies.  Maybe we’ll find out together.

“You usually have to wait for that which is worth waiting for.”
(Craig Bruce~Canadian software developer)

“But those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength.  They shall mount up on wings as eagles.  They shall run and not grow weary.  They shall walk and not faint.”
(Isaiah 40:31)

Originally published 9/7/11.

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

“Mr. Phillips, we’re recommending that you change the engine filter, as well as the cabin filter.”  The young man standing in front of me was holding a filthy corrugated affair, made of cardboard and plastic.  As he set it on the service counter at the car dealership, his hand seemed to slip and the nasty thing plummeted to the tile floor.  The explosion of dust was instantaneous and it billowed about his feet and legs.  He lifted his hands in resignation and shrugged, the picture of feigned embarrassment, but exuding an air of satisfaction as well, having proved his point. I remember the act from the last time I was here.  On that occasion, he didn’t drop the filter all the way to the floor, just plopped it clumsily on the counter top, with similar effect.  I purchased the new engine filter that time, too.

I’m intrigued with filters.  In our modern day, we are surrounded by them.  We have filters to strain our coffee, filters on our faucets, in our clothes dryers, on the return air vent of our air conditioners, even on the tips of tobacco cigarettes. You may not recognize them as such, but the screen doors and windows on your house are filters, keeping out the flies and bugs, while allowing the air to flow through and cool the house.  We are surrounded by filters, those devices which allow the desired substance to flow freely through, and yet keep out the undesirable elements, whatever they may be.

I have noticed several things about these filters.  The most important thing that I note is that they need to be kept clean.  Sometimes that is accomplished by washing, sometimes by putting a new one in place.  The effect is the same.  When the same filter is kept in place day after day, week after week, year after year, it becomes less effective in one of two ways; it either clogs up, or it deteriorates, allowing the damaging particles to slip through.  Either option is unacceptable, the one reducing the flow of good things, and the other allowing too much of the bad to mix in with the good.

The other thing I have noticed, and this is almost universal, is that very few people pay any attention to their filters.  I bet most of you don’t change any of the filters you use as often as you should, with the possible exception of the coffee maker, since it is impossible to use with an old one.  Many times, I have been in a home and notice that the air conditioner is roaring loudly, especially near the return air intake.  “Do you change your filter regularly?”  I’ll ask.  The reply is always one of recriminations.  “No, I keep forgetting.”  “I just can’t remember what the size is.”  “I changed it last year!”  Until we can see obvious problems or symptoms thereof, we tend to ignore the filters, assuming that they are doing their job, whatever that is.

There are other kinds of filters, too.  I read a note in an online forum, to which I am subscribed, today.  The person, just slightly older than I, was complaining about some interaction she had had with someone on a popular social website.  There were several replies, all expressing similar opinions as hers.  These folks were bragging that they don’t use the social media, since everyone there is so “self-serving”.  I wondered if they had lost sight of their own place in this world; forgetting that, as older people, we have the responsibility to be in the marketplace, being part of the ebb and flow of information, sharing our wisdom when appropriate.  You see, when our own filters get so clogged up that only a little of the essence of life is getting through, we selfishly want to keep it all for ourselves, not giving of who we are and what we have learned, except with those who agree with us completely.  The filter is not functioning as it should to allow the necessary substance through.  Our only interest is that it stops what we don’t want.  Many of us seem to fit in that category as we get older.  We want to be left alone and to be able to sit in the snug little cocoons which we have constructed for ourselves, comfortable and blissfully ignorant of all that goes on around us.

On the other end of the spectrum are the times when the filters fail completely.  I am remembering an occasion when a salesman came calling on my late father-in-law.  This man had been coming in for years and during that time, had gained a considerable amount of weight, possibly as many as one hundred pounds.  We all saw that.  What we didn’t do is to call it to his attention publicly. My father-in-law, however, as older people often do, was beginning to believe that honesty really was the best policy, and he blurted out as the man came in, “I believe you’re getting fatter every time I see you!” We were as embarrassed as the salesman was, although he laughed it off, knowing that if he got angry, he would not make a sale.  His filter was still in place, even though my father-in-law’s was not.

You see, filters function for many reasons.  Sometimes, we just need for society to get along, so we filter what we say and do to protect the peace.  Our laws are filters, of sorts, helping us to act responsibly in our interaction with each other.  The restraint we use in our language is another, although that filter seems to be damaged, nearly beyond repair, these days.  Every once in awhile, I have to remind customers in my music store that their filters need to be adjusted, as they become offensive in their speech.  It seems to be a new concept to some of them.

If we wish to effect change in our world, we must each care for our own filters, making sure that they are efficient, as well as intact.  Disaster awaits otherwise.

I hope that, as you observe others who have not, you will resolve to maintain the filters in your life, both the tangible and the internal ones.  Your success as an agent for good depends upon it.

Your air conditioner will probably work better, too!

“Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips.”
(Psalm 141:3~NIV)

“Liberty consists in wholesome restraint.”
(Daniel Webster~American statesman and orator~1782-1852)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.