Bedpans and Handkerchiefs

July 17, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 8 Comments

Flowers for my heart with tender words
And a gentle touch that says so much
This is how I’ve heard that love should always be. *

I’ve been thinking about love recently. You may be surprised at what I’ve decided.

Love isn’t flowers, isn’t a close embrace, isn’t sweet nothings whispered into an ear as you dance in the dark. And, it certainly isn’t the thousand dollar diamond necklace slipped around the throat of the picture-perfect beauty queen primping in the mirror before slinking out to a romantic dinner for two.

Our culture lies.

It lies every time an ad suggests that all you need to keep your mate’s love is some pretty new bauble. It lies with each new revelation of ways to keep love fresh in some exotic destination or with an amazing new scent.

I want some new images to exemplify love.

How about a toilet seat? Either up or down will do. Love is him, putting it down for her. It’s her, ignoring the fact that it never gets put down.

Perhaps it could be black olives. He loves them, so she includes them in her recipes. She hates them, so he removes them from the frozen pizza before it goes in the oven.

The list could go on, including not a single item that Hallmark could market. The old toothbrush he used to clean up that ugly old vase that she bought at the second-hand store. The spool of thread she emptied to mend his favorite old work coveralls. The ice scraper he uses on frosty mornings, so she doesn’t have to stand out in the cold and do it herself.

In recent years, I have found some new items that illustrate love. You don’t want to hear about them. They are uncouth and will make you say the word gross as you see them in print. And that’s a shame. Because, you see, the other lie that our culture tells is that your mate will always be attractive and will always be healthy.

He won’t. She won’t.

The bedpan and the urinal spring to mind. Bodily functions become the concern of the one who loves. Embarrassment and squeamishness are abandoned as love does, not what it wishes, but what it must.

Not so uncouth, but still not an attractive thought, the fork and spoon push their way into the symbolism, as one mate must feed another. The memory of feeding the cake to each other at the wedding comes back with a rush, and we realize that it is a promise we will keep.

I believe that the one item I would chose to symbolize love most is nothing more than a simple handkerchief.

These cloth relics of the past have fallen out of fashion–replaced by the paper tissues we use and crumple into the trash by the thousands. I still like to have one in my back pocket and would be lost without it.

With the handkerchief we clean the hands of children, and yes, wipe their noses too. I mop my forehead when the perspiration beads and threatens to run down my face. But, all through my life the one thing I have used that square bit of cloth for, more than any other use, has been to wipe away the tears that have come.

When puppy dogs died suddenly, the tears from the children’s eyes were soaked up—those from my own, as well. When the frustrations of financial want were too much, the handkerchief once again dabbed away the tears of fear for the future.

I have seen the tears of spouses as they turned away from the hospital bed their lover lay upon, perhaps for the last time. Other tears have been wiped away as conversations led to the realization that mental faculties were failing, and then again as elderly parents departed from this world to a better place.

Tears fall. Sometimes, they are tears of happiness. More often, as life progresses, they are tears of worry and of sorrow, but always, they are tears of love.

Tears fall. And we wipe them away. For each other.

Tears fall. And we stay.

Because—love.

Life is like an onion; you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.
(Carl Sandburg ~ American writer/poet ~ 1878-1967)

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.
(Revelation 21:4 ~ NIV)

* from How Love Should Be by Jeremy Michael Lubbock ~ American singer/songwriter

The First Step

June 15, 2015June 18, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I don’t believe that dreams are prophecies.

Well, now that I’ve ostracized a good number of folks, let me qualify the statement. When I say dreams, I mean the normal sort. You know–the ones we have when we lie down to sleep at night. The ones made more vivid by that extra round of extra spicy Buffalo wings you had at dinner. Or, the scary movie which was splashed across the television screen as you sat and dozed in your easy chair.

It doesn’t mean dreams aren’t meaningful. They often are. When we sleep, our minds go where they will, no longer guided and controlled by our discipline and resolve. Things we already know about ourselves, but aren’t willing to think or talk about when awake, somehow can be revealed as images in our sleep.

I usually can’t remember what I dream about.

Usually. But, not last night.

Even before I was completely asleep, in the wee hours of this morning, I lay in bed and saw myself standing on the edge. No, not the edge of a cliff, although I have seen that image in my head before, both in real life and in dreams.

The edge I stood upon was that of a circular hole in the floor beneath me. The hole was large enough for a body to fit through comfortably. Funny thing, I could look down the hole and see that it was lined with a white pipe, almost like PVC.

I could only see about ten feet down the pipe and then it curved out of sight. Even in my half-awake state, I could feel my heart racing. In my dream, I backed away from the pipe. Then, drawn by some irresistible urge, I eased forward step by terrified step to peer downward once more.

I really dislike heights. Heights without handrails, that is. Give me a good grip on a handrail and I’ll look down from the highest cliff or the highest tower you could imagine. There was no handrail here.

It was just a hole. A hole that led somewhere–I couldn’t tell you where.

I knew it was a dream. I knew it. You know how your mind works. It seems real, but you know it can’t be. And besides, you’re lying in bed with the fan blowing on you.

It’s only a dream. Jump! What could happen?

No. Wait! What’s down around that curve? You have no idea what’s down there!

What if there’s no more to it than what you can see and it drops you into a bottomless pit (I hear those are real common in dreams)? You’ll fall screaming forever. All because you jumped into a hole you knew nothing about.

I considered the issues. Really.

In my dream.

I wondered–Is this the only way I’ll ever really make the transition from restless dreams to deep sleep? I have to trust myself to this tube that goes who-knows-where without any more information. If you think about it, we do it every night.

Mr. Tolkien talks about roads that sweep you off your feet to foreign lands. Sleep can do that too. Really.

Perhaps the mystery slide is representative of a major decision which I need to make. Life goals stand ready to be grasped, if only I’ll trust myself to the unknown depths. I’ll never get there if I don’t take the plunge.

Decision time. What will I do?

I take one last downward look and–I swing my legs over the side of the bed and go downstairs to get a drink. When I return ten minutes later, the slide is no longer to be found and I sleep.

Ah, wonderful sleep.

After attending church this morning, I came home to help the Lovely Lady prepare our traditional Sunday Dinner. The feast for family and friends has come to be a high point of our week. Food, discussions–escalating to disputes and then diminishing back to agreeable differences, jokes, and lovely memory-making are the stuff these times are made of.

There is a shadow over my memory of today’s feast.

As I helped prepare the table, my brother sent me a text. I wasn’t ready to read it yet.

“He doesn’t feel like she has a lot of time left.”

He is my Dad. She is my Mom.

Tears came to my eyes without warning. Even as I write these words, they come again.

Through my tears, I see that hole from my dream again.

I’m beginning to grasp it now.

You’ve seen them before, haven’t you? Extreme water slides. Thrill seekers flock to them every summer. The drop in altitude is what they love–that quick plunge, setting them free from gravity for just a fraction of a moment, long enough to wonder if they’ll ever stop in time to avoid disaster.

They know they will. It’s been safety tested. Why, they even climbed the tower right beside the tube, exclaiming all the while about where each twist and turn will take place. Pointing to the plastic pipe right beside them soaring up into the sky above, they know just where it starts and where it will end.

They know. And they’re happy to take the plunge.

Because they know.

The red-headed lady who raised me has been climbing for a good many years now. She’s had lots of company along the way, but there is just One who has always been there. Always.

The day is coming. Soon, it seems. No one can know for sure.

I can just see Him standing there smiling, asking her if she’s ready. I don’t know if she’ll be frightened, like I was in my dream. But, I do know her answer will be in the affirmative.

She’s ready.

He’ll wrap His strong arms close around her and they’ll take the first step together. She’s never done this before.

But, He has.

And, He knows.

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
(1 Timothy 1:7 ~ KJV)

I won’t have to cross Jordan alone
Jesus died for my sins to atone
In the darkness I see he’ll be waiting for me
I won’t have to cross Jordan alone
I won’t have to cross Jordan alone…
(I Won’t Have To Cross Jordan Alone ~ Thomas Ramsey ~ American songwriter)

Picking My Brain

May 13, 2015May 13, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Say! You’re a great teacher! Thanks for helping me understand all that!”

I had never seen the slender young man before, but we had spent the last hour in my music store discussing a myriad of subjects. Banjos, violins, vintage guitars–you name it, if there was one of them in the store, we talked about it.

The twenty-something fellow was like a sponge, soaking up every bit of information I laid out for him. After we had talked about the construction of the century-old violin he brought in for an appraisal, we also discussed its accessories and value. By the time I had exhausted my knowledge of the violin family, he was profuse in his praise.

“How can you know so much about this?”

A little embarrassed, I gently brushed aside the compliment, and he wandered through the store for awhile, stopping to admire a vintage acoustic guitar on display. Before we finished our conversation about that subject, we had widened the field of the discussion to include several other old instruments hanging in the place. Again, he was amazed.

“Really! I’ve never had anyone who could tell me so much about musical instruments.”

He continued to pump me about the various instruments, asking questions that made me reach back into my memory of the basics and methodology of each one. I must have passed his test, because at the end of the hour, he concluded his comments with the above statement about teaching.

I’m laughing.

I tried teaching one time.

Tried. Failed.

Really.

I didn’t have the patience. Seriously, when I told a student something a single time at a lesson, I expected them to retain that information as long as they were studying the subject. Why else would I have told them?

I taught you this last week! Why do I need to tell you again?

Now you’re laughing. I’m not a teacher. The nice young man is wrong.

May I tell you what I do know?

What I do know is that not one idea in my brain belongs to me. Not one.

What I do know is that there is no knowledge which I retain about any subject that I acquired without the assistance of someone else. None.

Everything I have has been given me. Everything. Some may wish to argue the point, but I contend that none of us has acquired anything of ourselves. Oh, I don’t mean that we haven’t worked to attain it, but we cannot even claim the credit for the strength to do that work, much less the intellect to understand the subject in which we claim expertise.

Captain of my own ship? What a fraud!

Many who have affirmed that status find, to their chagrin, that it is a complete falsehood. Physical strength may be gone in a moment’s time. So too, the intellect is as likely to be snatched away as it is to remain at our beck and call throughout our lives.

I must share my meager store of information because it was never mine to hoard. It was never mine to dole out. It has never been mine to sell to the highest bidder.

I may not be able to teach skillfully, but I can talk endlessly. That will come as no surprise to those who know me well, nor to quite a few folks who know me hardly at all, but nonetheless have endured my oral ramblings at length.

The Lovely Lady and I sneaked out to eat at a fast food restaurant tonight. The girl at the cash register called out the total for our meals and then added a phrase I’ve never heard before. I don’t even think it’s a real thing.

“With your Wise Person Discount, your total will be eleven dollars and seventy-nine cents.”

Huh? Wise Person Discount? Are you kidding me? Just because I’m getting old?

I took the discount. I’m grateful for the compliment.

Still, I’m not sure she really understands the concept of wisdom. Wrinkles and gray hair aren’t equivalent to wisdom. Some of the most foolish folks I know are much older than I. That said, it is to be hoped that the passage of years has brought with it a tiny bit, perhaps just an iota, of wisdom. But that too will be a gift, unearned, unmerited.

I still believe that every good thing comes from the Giver of all good gifts.

Freely we have received; freely we must give.

It’s not much, but I’m going to keep dispensing the knowledge contained in my head. Perhaps a bit of wisdom will be thrown in here and there.

Hey. It’s possible.

Come see me and pick my brain. We’ll see.

“True wisdom exists in knowing that you know nothing.”
(Socrates ~ Classical Greek philosopher ~ ca. 469 BC-399 BC)

“If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.”
(James 1:5 ~ NIV)

Fuzzy Reality

May 12, 2015May 12, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Cataracts.

It almost seemed as if the nice young lady said the word with a question mark after it. You have cataracts?

I did say it with a question mark. A big one.

Cataracts? Me? Old people get those. I’m not old.

The nice young lady, who happens to be an optometrist, was kind at least. She agreed with me. Sort of.

“Why yes, Mr. Phillips, most people are much older than–what are you? Let me see. . . Oh. Well, fifty-seven isn’t that unusual for them to start.”

I’m still trying to work it out in my head. Did she just call me old? Ah, well. No sense in beating around the bush, I suppose.

The years are passing.

I don’t heal up as well as I once did. Arthritis is creeping into my hands, especially in the cold winter days, and even in these damp spring evenings I feel a few twinges in the joints. Age does that to a fellow. I’m doing what I can to fend off the evidence of aging, but it will inevitably be a losing battle.

Still, I stand here in relatively good condition and consider the young lady’s diagnosis. Cataracts in both eyes means that the lens are gradually clouding over, beginning (just beginning) to block the light rays necessary to see well. Over time, the cloudiness will grow thicker, blurring the sight and possibly robbing the ability to distinguish certain colors.

At last, I may actually have an excuse for wearing non-coordinated pants and shirts, or possibly even mismatched socks. That could work to my advantage.

But, it seems to me that this is something of a paradox–perhaps even a bit ironic. At a time of life when I believe I finally see things more clearly than I ever have, I find that I have a few years of clouded vision and blurry views to look forward to.

Oh, I’m sorry. I seem to have mixed the applications up a bit, haven’t I? We were talking about the physical issues of growing old and I injected a bit of the spiritual into the conversation. Well, since we’re here already, perhaps we’ll spend a minute or two more on the spiritual, shall we?

You see, I’m struck–and when I say struck, I mean hard–with the sneaky way these things creep up on us. We pride ourselves in having our eyes wide open, in seeing all the aspects of the life we live. All the while, our vision is becoming cloudy, the details of reality becoming fuzzy.

Do we really see things as clearly as we think?

I wonder. When the Teacher suggested that there were blind men leading blind men in the days when He walked this earth, do you suppose that those blind leaders got that way in an instant?

Wouldn’t it rather be true that they once strove to see God’s way clearly? They hadn’t always been old men, blinded by the result of years of failing sight. I have to believe that at one time, they too were wide-eyed idealists, hoping to change their world for the better.

Years–and bad decisions–have a way of altering dreams and vision. It’s as true with our spiritual vision as it is with our physical sight.

The young lady tells me that I’ll need to wait a few years for the right time to remove my cataracts. A simple and highly effective surgery will make things right again. Until then, I’ll find ways to deal with the inconveniences of the disease.

I wonder if the other sight will be quite as easy to set right?

Perhaps. The Teacher once used spit and mud to do the job.

I’d like to see things the way He wants me to again.

You?

“The only thing worse than being blind is having sight, but no vision.”
(Helen Keller ~ Blind/deaf author/lecturer ~ 1880-1968)

“And your life will be brighter than the noonday; its darkness will be like the morning.
(Job 11: 17 ~ ESV)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

aging

Bedpans and Handkerchiefs

The First Step

Fuzzy Reality