love

Memorial Day, Again

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I was reminded that yesterday marked a year since my young friend Derek went to spend eternity with his Savior.  A whole year has passed and still I expect to see him come through the door again.  It seemed that perhaps a reminder was in order, so I’m re-posting my thoughts from that day.  I hope you’ll forgive a sentimental old man.

Memorial Day

“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 had been 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 finest guitarists I have known, employing some advanced techniques which many seasoned players would love to master.  He didn’t have them all perfected, 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 with the family dog, I wish I could have seen him one more time.  If only I had known it would be our last time, I would have talked 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 our military men and women, but many families take the opportunity 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 carefully what we say in our conversations with them.  That next visit may never come; the opportunity to say those words in our hearts may never present itself again.

It’s just a suggestion from a saddened and not-so-very-wise man, but today would be a great day to say those important words and to show the people you love that you really 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)

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

Un Abrazo

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Yesterday’s post told you to keep your hands to yourself.  I was thinking about that all day and realized that I didn’t want to leave you with the idea that I don’t think we need each other.  If today’s post leaves you feeling that I’m sending mixed signals, I’m really not.  Yesterday’s discussion showed that personal responsibility is necessary to insure that we function on a moral level.  Today, I’m thinking a little more about the emotional level.  

 The Spanish title above?  Oh!  I just think that “hug” sounds more manly in that language…

Appropriate touching is allowed here…

“I need a hug.”  The Facebook post was terse and stark in its naked honesty.  Below the post, the lonesome girl’s “friends” had made various comments informing the young lady that they were “there for her” and reassuring her that she was cared for.  A couple of them even made cute little stick pictures with various symbols on their computer keyboards, intended I’m sure, to look like hugs.  It is possible that the young lady felt better after the exchange of remarks and fake hugs, but I did not…Until I noticed a final reply, under all the other desultory entries.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”  Help, at last, was actually on the way.

There is nothing in the world that can replace a genuine, physical hug.  I don’t understand it.  The manly part of me wants it not to be true.  But, the act of putting your arms around someone else to greet, or console, or show affection, has no known substitute.  The touch of one human who cares about another is a powerful, and somehow mysterious, force.  Nothing really changes; the issues have not been faced and altered; not a single thing has been reversed, but suddenly the forces arrayed against us seem somehow less formidable. 

Human touch.  What is it about one person making physical contact with another that communicates so many things?  We touch the face of one who mourns, in sympathy.  Babies’ cheeks are squeezed by countless admirers.  Winners are slapped on the back. High fives and knuckle bumps suffice to celebrate a myriad of small successes.  And, of course, there is the ubiquitous handshake.  Friends greet each other with it; businessmen seal transactions; why, even opponents “shake hands and come out fighting”.  A universal sign of respect and honesty, the execution of the handshake varies from culture to culture; high art in the gang cultures, a mere slap on the hand in sporting events.  Some cultures tend to simply slide the hands together without squeezing, while such a handshake would be regarded in the rural areas of the United States as “fishlike” and as such, suspect from the get-go.  Regardless of the differences, the one thing that ties them all together, that makes the act significant, is the fact that one human physically touches another.   Respect, concern, joy, honesty…all are represented in the touch of one person to the other. 

Still, I’m realizing more and more, as I move past the years when I thought it embarrassing to be involved in one, a hug is hard to beat.  I think it might be because there are so many people from whom I want and need hugs that are no longer around to give them.  Some are just separated from me by miles, others by a more permanent barrier.  Loved ones and friends who have passed on are no longer able to encourage, to commiserate, to demonstrate love, with an embrace.  There is an empty feeling inside me as I realize that my arms will never go around these people again on this side of heaven.  There is also some regret that I didn’t let down my guard more often to hug and be hugged when they were here.  The older I get, the more my foolish masculine pride is left behind as I embrace old friends and family members.  Sure, sometimes to mask the beginnings of a hug, we reach out with the hand to be shaken first, before drawing the other one close to embrace while maintaining the grip on the hand.  I guess somehow, it give us a kind of “plausible deniability”. “Yeah.  We were just shaking hands.  No, it wasn’t a hug.  I just kinda put my arm on his shoulder too.”   No one believes it, but if it helps to get past the macho mindset that we’ve developed in this country, it’ll have to do.  I hope you won’t fall for the silly deniability argument, either.  It really is a hug.  And, that’s okay.

We need each other.  Our Creator made us to thrive in concord with other humans.  For some reason, He also designed us to function more efficiently when we have physical signals of affection, and respect, and support.

I kind of like that.  At least, I’m learning to.

“Greet one another with a holy kiss.”
(2 Corinthians 13:12)

“I will not play tug o’ war. I’d rather play hug o’ war. Where everyone hugs instead of tugs, Where everyone giggles and rolls on the rug, Where everyone kisses, and everyone grins, and everyone cuddles, and everyone wins.”
(Shel Silverstein~American children’s author)

Mushy Stuff (that I don’t understand)

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Valentine’s Day came and went yesterday.  I planned to write a brilliant post on love.  I really did.  So, I sat at the keyboard and thought about all I know concerning love.  And, I moved on to fast cars and guns.  Tonight, again I sit at the keyboard and dredge up every bit of sagacity I can manage on yesterday’s intended subject.   Words fail me (An extremely rare event!).

I don’t understand love; can’t explain it, nor can I begin to describe how it works.  I’ve been asked the secret of a happy relationship before and I realized that I have no idea.  Oh, I remember events which have occurred over the years of my marriage and the couple of years leading up to that, but the events don’t explain the phenomenon.

I know that millions of dollars a year are spent by folks who are looking for the secret.  A profusion of conferences attempt to explain how love works, the secret to re-igniting love, and even how to put laughter back into your marriage.  Checking Google tonight for “Christian Marriage Conference”, I couldn’t help but notice that there are 24 million results.  Twenty.  Four.  Million.  I’m pretty sure the folks who run those conferences can’t explain it either.

What I do know is that the Lovely Lady and I have spent well more than half of our lives enjoying each other.  Undoubtedly, I’ve had the better part of the bargain, but she tells me she’s content (and I’ve never known her to lie).  I’m still wracking my brain to explain it and probably will go to my grave confused about the reasons.

I really don’t have a clue.  All I know is I wouldn’t give up a minute of the last 32 years for anything.  Whatever makes this love thing work, I’m  up for another 32 years.  After that I might be qualified to wax eloquent regarding the origins and mechanics of a good relationship.

Ask me again then.

                   
“Let the wife make the husband glad to come home, and let him make her sorry to see him leave.”
(Martin Luther~German theologian and church reformer)

“One time I gave Dale a little peck on the forehead and we got a ton of letters telling us to cut that mushy stuff out…So I had to kiss Trigger instead.”
“Roy Rogers~”King of the Cowboys”~1911-1998)