Still Here

April 8, 2016April 8, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

“Okay. 1020 Jasper Street in Palmyra, New York. Is that right?”

“No! Elmira, New York. Elmira!”

I am, once again, struggling. Even on my best days, I find communications confusing. Frustrating, even.

Today is no different.

It seems that the older I get, the more difficult it is to distinguish between differing dialects. Bad phone lines don’t help.

My new friend on the telephone, a customer in the East who needs a product my company is offering for sale, has labored to make this Southern boy understand at several points along the way.

I fear I have finally crossed the line and offended her.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep making mistakes.”

At times like this, I feel like a failure as a businessman.

Her response is instant. Gently, she says, “I’m still here on the line. It’s not too late to get it right.”

A few moments later, after some laughter and a little more stumbling, we say goodbye. I hang up the telephone and sit in silence. Her words ring in my head.

It’s not too late. . .

I wonder.

I snapped at a friend yesterday. In attempting to fulfill a task I had volunteered for, he had the misfortune to be the last in a line of folks who had played the too-busy-card.

“Everyone’s busy. I’m busy. She’s busy.” I jerked my chin to nod in the general direction of the Lovely Lady standing nearby. “We’re doing it anyway. What’s busy got to do with it?”

I’m a failure as a friend.

I would like to not feel the way I do today about that conversation.

Is it too late to fix that?

My beautiful granddaughter sat on my lap during the early service at church recently. As the sermon began, she found she needed something solid under her bulletin to be able to write the answers to the questions. You can’t write lightly with a crayon, you know.

A quick glance down the row in front of us made it plain the hymnals were all in use. The nearest one was in front of her daddy, four or five chairs away.

Knowing a whisper wouldn’t suffice, she made sure there was some volume to her call down the row. “Daddy! Daddy! Da….”

I clapped my hand over her mouth and, leaning down near her ear, whispered sharply, “What’s wrong with you? You know we don’t do that in church!”

Instantly—instantly—I was sorry. The hurt in her eyes as they looked up into my face spoke louder than any response she could have shouted at me.

The hurt in my heart matches the hurt in her eyes.

I’m a failure as a grandpa.

Is it too late to fix that?

There is so much more to say. I’m just not sure I’m the one who should say the words.

I shipped the order; I apologized to my friend; I even held the little girl close and made sure she knew I wasn’t upset.

There is more to do. I am sure I’m the one who should take action.

I am grateful for a Savior who gives second chances. I am grateful for people around me who are willing to do the same.

I am grateful for the opportunity to do better next time. And the time after that.

It’s not too late.

The line is still open.

Life and hope. They walk hand in hand.

We’re still breathing.

The more ugly, older, more cantankerous, more ill and poorer I become, the more I try to make amends by making my colors more vibrant, more balanced, and beaming.
(Vincent van Gogh ~ Dutch artist ~ 1853-1890)

Love does no wrong to a neighbor. . .
(Romans 13:10a ~ ESV)

Spinning Jenny

April 7, 2016April 7, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I actually felt bad as I accelerated away from the stop sign. It was only a momentary thing.

I had noticed a number of the distinctive seed pods from the maple tree on the windshield of my truck as I left home, but didn’t take the time to brush them off. The cause of my short-lived remorse was simply the thought of removing the seeds so far from their parent tree, a gorgeous scarlet maple that stands in my backyard, not twenty feet from where I write tonight.

It was a foolish thing, but I can’t help it. I seem to have foolish tendencies sometimes. It may run in my family.

Then again, it may run in the entire human race.

I smiled as I shoved down on the accelerator, imagining how it appeared from behind the truck. The helicoptering seed pods were caught by the wind and brushed up and over the cab of the truck, to spin in the blustery gale.

I planted maple trees all the way to my destination.

I have been fascinated with the fantastic little helicopters all of my adult life.

To me, the magic of Spring is encapsulated in those wonderful winged vehicles. Oh yes—they are indeed vehicles of mass transportation, moving hundreds of thousands of seeds from the parent tree to a resting place on the ground.

Some of them fall immediately under the tree, where they will languish, perhaps springing up temporarily, but perishing for lack of sunlight and virgin earth in which to sink their roots.

Others will be shanghaied, as were those I planted during my morning outing in the truck, and will be carried to places far away. They’ll never be reunited with their sires, but they perhaps, will grow to prodigious heights themselves and populate a different corner of their world.

The great majority of them will spin and blow from the limbs of the stately tree to nearby destinations, sailing as far as the limitations of their physical design will allow. If the circumstances are right, a single maple sapling will arise from the spot in which each of them alights.

If.

Imagine, if you will, the feeling of hanging from the parent tree in Spring. By the thousands, the little pods develop over the course of a few weeks as the days lengthen and become warmer. The seasonal rains do their part, as well.

What a sensation! Not a thing in the world to be feared, with food whenever it’s needed. Clinging tightly to the limb, there is protection from the elements close to the warmth and strength of the great structure with its roots going down deep into the soil below.

The wind blows and the pod simply swings, secure in its place. It spins a bit and wonders about the odd sensation, but is calmed quickly with the reassurance of security and safety.

But today—today—the wind blew thousands of the little helicopters off of the tree. Imagine that feeling!

I can’t help but think the first reaction would be one of pure panic. No more safety. No more comfortable assurance of things going on as they always have. Questions rush to mind.

Where will I stop?

What if I get sick on the way to where I’m going?

What will I find there?

How will I get on?

Who will care for me?

Somehow, I envision the sensations changing as the spinning continues.

This isn’t so bad!

I could do this for awhile.

Why was I so afraid?

Did I call these little life conveyances an example of the magic of Spring? I think magic may be too fanciful a word, although for some, the reality may stretch the boundaries of faith even more than the thought of magic.

The master design by the Creator of everything is far beyond the ken of our puny intellect. From the largest of intelligent beings to the smallest of plants, He has planned the perpetuation of each species in ways we could never have imagined possible.

I gazed in wonder at the maple tree earlier this evening, my inferior brain attempting to take in the scope of all the samaras hanging under the tender leaf shoots which have only this week begun to appear.

Samara is the scientific term for the spectacular seed conveyances which are now spinning into the air everywhere. I prefer the name the children in Northern England use for the mysterious devices.

Spinning Jenny, they call the helicopter-like seedpod, as they toss it again and again into the air.

Spinning Jennies. I may always call them that, until the day I turn loose from the tree I hang from myself.

Ah. At last we come to it.

Our Creator did not forget humans in His design for perpetuating the species. And no, as incredible as is the process of procreation in mankind, I’m not referring to how we keep the species going physically.

I’m considering a more spiritual thought as I make the comparison. And, I assume that most who read these words are followers of Christ—believers—as I am.

He called us to leave the place of comfort. He called us to minister to all the world. He called us to die daily—to take up our cross and follow Him. (Luke 9:23)

And, just as quickly as that idea blows the winds of change over us, we feel ourselves spinning and falling, borne away from comfort, and ease, and all that is familiar.

I smiled earlier at the thought of the cute Spinning Jennies flying through the air.

I’m not smiling anymore.

They are falling to their death. To their death.

It is a sobering thought.

And the Teacher said, “Except a grain of wheat fall to the ground and die, it remains alone.”

It’s a steep price to pay for a fantastic, exciting, scary journey.

But, think of it my friends! The ultimate payoff is life itself.

Life itself.

For ourselves and for those we bring with us.

The trees know.

Is it time to let go yet?

A price will be paid.

It will.

Oh. But, what a ride!

Time to let go.

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
(John 12:24 ~ NASB)

Oh! The places you’ll go!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers!
who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because sometimes, you won’t.
(from Oh The Places You’ll Go ~ Theodor Seuss Geisel ~ American children’s author ~ 1904-1991)

People Change

April 5, 2016April 5, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

The tears flow more easily these days. I can’t explain it. It’s not as if there’s any good reason—a daughter’s wedding for instance, or a totaled vintage sports car.

I apologized for embarrassing the Lovely Lady at the concert the other night. She just smiled and suggested that it doesn’t bother her at all. I’m going to take her at her word.

The concert? Oh, it was just a performance of the choir from the local university—an encore of their annual spring break tour material for the folks in our little town.

I used to detest choral music. I thought I was supposed to hate it. I grew up in the sixties and seventies, an era of rock and roll, and disco, with a little Take Me Home, Country Roads mixed in.

We didn’t listen to choral music.

But, people change.

The other night, I sat and listened to the young voices raised in harmony and let the tears roll down my cheeks without bothering to wipe them dry.

What beauty! What astounding beauty!

I was especially overwhelmed by one particular song—no, not the song—the singers. Two young ladies sang a duet, really solos which blended with each other seamlessly. The piece was written for two sopranos, and was quite high. The young ladies were up to the task and the result was spectacular—a performance to listen to again and again.

But—and this is odd—I remember reading that one of the sopranos had been an alto singer when she entered the university’s vocal program. A low alto. And here she was singing a gorgeous duet way up in the high range of the female voice.

What happened?

People change.

I sat at the dinner table with a few folks the other day. The portions of dessert which were served had been generous. The Lovely Lady noticed one of our guests was struggling to finish his too-large serving and mentioned that she wouldn’t be insulted if he couldn’t finish.

“We don’t require people at our table to clean their plates,” I added lightly.

My adult son jerked his face toward me in surprise.

“That’s not how I remember it used to be,” he said in a voice filled with mock-hurt.

I immediately saw scenes of battles-of-the-wills—little boy refusing his mashed potatoes—Dad insisting he eat at least a no-thank-you helping of the vile things—and I cringed inwardly. He was only half-serious now, and yet the images are inked indelibly on my brain. His too, I suppose.

Hanging my head a little, I replied. “I hope I’m always growing and doing things better than I used to.”

He laughed. “I’m not horribly scarred from the experience, you know.”

We laughed together. Still, the truth remains—at least I hope it does.

People change.

It is not always the case. An old friend and I stood today, talking about an acquaintance who passed away recently. My friend remembered the fellow as a teenager—headstrong, angry, and resistant to improvement.

As we talked, suddenly both of us fell quiet, thinking about the same thing.

“It’s funny,” my friend said. “He was just like that until the day he died.”

It’s not really that funny. Some people don’t change.

I think that’s just plain sad.

Lest you think I’m talking about us pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, and earning our own salvation, let me assure you, I’m not. That’s not the point at all.

Our redemption and adoption into the Family of God are guaranteed by one thing and one thing only—the grace of a loving God who Himself became the sacrifice necessary to satisfy the requirement of holiness and justice.

We are saved by grace, through faith in Jesus. Period. (Ephesians 2:8)

We don’t stay there without moving, though. Our journey through life continues on. We are presented with choices at every twist and turn.

We grow. We walk and we learn. We become, it is to be hoped, more like our Savior as we journey on. Prompted by the Spirit, we leave our old rags behind, and are dressed in His clothes.

People change.

The girl who thought she was limited to the low range of the female voice submitted herself to her mentor’s instruction and now sings with a range most of us can’t imagine. It’s a good thing, a very good thing.

The old man who once demanded perfection of his children and would not open up his ears to different melodies and harmonies than those with which he was comfortable is finally learning a more gentle manner and a wider repertoire.

More changes will come. At least, it is to be hoped more changes are in the future.

What a shame for a man to die in his obstinance. How does the gentleness of our Savior not compel us to become gentle? How does His love not move us to be loving?

People change. And, they should.

Perhaps, even that sentence should be modified. It won’t take much to change its meaning. Two punctuation marks.

People, change!

Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.
(Fyodor Dostoyevsky ~ Russian novelist ~ 1821-1881)

And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.
(2 Corinthians 3:18 ~ NIV)

I’ve Got All Day

April 1, 2016April 1, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Ten o’clock sharp. Every weekday morning. The door is unlocked and the music store is open for business.

It says so on the door in black and white: Business hours: 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM

Right on the door. In black and white.

I actually arrive most mornings an hour early. Preparations need to be made. Loose ends are tied up from the previous day’s business. Orders have to be assembled. Repairs sometimes need to be completed. I want to be ready for the customers who will walk through the door each day.

I see them in the parking lot. Nearly every morning, vehicles pull off the street and pause before the front door. They’re reading that business hours sign. They always leave—well, nearly always.

Earlier this week, as I readied the cash register at about a quarter to ten, I noticed a nondescript economy car pulling up to the store. I ignored it, certain they would back out and leave, to return after I opened up. I was wrong.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

The door rattled with the force of the blows. I wasn’t ready to open up yet, besides which, I tend to be a little obstinate when rushed before hours. I didn’t open the door. A car door slammed outside and I heard a tiny bit of tire-rubber being deposited on the asphalt as the driver left.

I think he was unhappy.

And yet, at 10:05 when he returned (the door then being unlocked), there was no indication of any residual discontent. Our conversation was cordial—friendly, even. It was interesting to hear him talk about his day. He said it more than once, so I’m fairly certain it was so:

“I’ve got the whole day off. I’m just going to take my time and do whatever I want.”

I’m confused.

The door pounding? The tire squealing? Something’s not right here. The sign clearly gives perspective on what one would expect. Experience with other retail establishments would discourage such actions.

And, he’s got all day. No hurry at all.

Why is virtue so hard? You know—patience is a virtue, good things come to those who wait—things like that.

Why is it so difficult, then?

I don’t have the answer to that. But, I do find myself thinking about the impetuous man. In quiet hours, I wonder.

I’ve got a whole lifetime. He had only one day. A whole lifetime, to live my life. Yet constantly, I am impatient—antsy to get on with things.

You too?

It’s funny. We have the signs that tell us what to expect. Springtime and harvest. Day follows night. One man plants, another harvests. To everything there is a season. All written in black and white for us to read.

But, we stand at the door, not being able to see what’s happening behind it, and we pound with our fists, perhaps even kicking it with our feet.

We know the truth. Our times are in His hands. For all our uncertainty and stumbling in the darkness, we believe He controls all that happens to us. (Psalm 31:15)

Or, do we?

He says wait, and we fidget—be patient, and we worry.

We’ve got all our lives. And, we can’t add one millisecond to those lives by worrying. He says that, too.

His plan is being worked out in us. He began the work; He’ll complete it. (Philippians 1:6)

Wait.

He knows how much time we’ve got. Pounding on the door won’t change His plan. Laying rubber in the parking lot will have no effect whatsoever.

Do you know that waiting builds us into the people we were intended to be? I hope I’m not stretching here.

They that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength. They shall mount up on wings as the eagles do. They’ll run and not grow tired. They’ll walk and not become faint. (Isaiah 40:31)

Patience, my friends.

The doors will open at exactly the right time and we’ll be welcomed in.

It says so right there in black and white.

Wait. Patiently.

Wait.

Have patience. Have patience.
Don’t be in such a hurry.
When you get impatient,
You only start to worry.
Remember. Remember,
That God is patient, too.
And think of all the times
When others have to wait for you.
(from Music Machine ~ Hernandez/Powell ~ Singer/Songwriters)

For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all.Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
(Romans 8:24-25 ~ NIV)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

Month: April 2016

Still Here

Spinning Jenny

People Change

I’ve Got All Day