Tuesday, December 29, 2009

A GodWink: The Personal, Handwritten Note

Alright texters, hear this:   You can exchange quick little snippets day and night on your mobile devices, laughing out loud, rolling on the floor or whatever, but you've not really lived until you've received a card via U.S. mail (you might call it "snail mail"), handwritten, addressed directly to you, and inside a note, handwritten, to you, and to you only.  


Today I retrieved such a treasure from my post office box, sent by a wonderful woman, a member of my church  whom I rarely see, and usually then only from a distance, but whose countenance and spirit exude such peace and love that it is just a good thing to behold her, wave to her and exchange smiles from across a room or down a hallway.  Her smile spreads warmth that can be felt, like a nice Pashmina draped over shivering shoulders, or the hooded "house coat" that belonged to my Sweet Pea's paternal grandmother, and in which Sweet Pea likes to wrap herself and hunker down for comfort.


On a day like today, [of which I wrote in my previous blog (Remembering Mr. G)], haunted by a premonition that something wasn't quite right, I received this precious and priceless gift of spiritual affirmation and encouragement, opening it just at the moment when I was about to lecture God on the relevance of human contact.  (Yes, I do have some nerve!)   Before I could plow into my soapbox speech (Now, God, I know You see me down here . . . . .), as I opened the card and began reading, God winked at me, and stilled my tongue and my thoughts.


So what's the big deal?   Think about what goes into the production of The Personal, Handwritten Note.

  • someone has to think of you
  • the thought of you has to be so compelling that the thinker is prompted to act
  • in case you haven't tried it lately, and especially if your handwriting is like mine, some effort is invested to write complete, coherent thoughts that another person will be able to read, filter and understand the intended message
  • there is some sacrifice involved, as in placing one's thoughts on paper, the writer is sending a part of him/herself
  • the writer invests resources of paper, ink, envelope and stamp (for some this may not be a big deal, but whether great or small, the person who thought of you evidently thinks you're worth the effort)

As one who lives closely with Technology (yes, just as The Personal, Handwritten Note is capitalized, so has Technology taken personage, just like The Weight [lots of which I need to lose, but that's for another blog on another day]), and as much as I appreciate Technology which affords me abilities beyond my own humanity, the satisfaction of acquiring the many computers and peripheral devices I have acquired over the last 20 years, or working my magic as one of my lawyers still says today (even after 22 years of magic), cannot in any way measure up to the warmth and gratification of receiving The Personal, Handwritten Note.

Remembering Mr. G

Just now I learned that I lost a friend.  One might think us an unlikely pair to befriend each other.  He was old enough to be my father and from a socio-economic background and a side of Houston that in my childhood I would not have known existed. but for television.  Still, we had some crucial commonalities:  belief in God, a sense of fairness, trying to do the right thing, wanting to make things right when they're not, what marriage is supposed to be about (even though we are both divorced), an observation of folks' penchant for power and the corruptibility of such.   He was no saint, and would freely admit it.  Although I knew his name well and had known of him for 30 years or so, had he not needed my legal support services, we would never have met.


We had not known each other long, and our visits were generally no more frequent than bi-weekly.  But during those visits when our work was done, we took time to converse.  The subject matter of our discussions was not frivolous, nor their content pretty or politically correct.  We both spoke in a plain, straight-forward manner, and while respectful of each other, we never shied away from the issues of race, gender, wealth, professions, or any other factor pertinent to our discourse.  While we did not butt heads, he did observe and respect my willingness to question his positions and my unwillingness to rubber-stamp his declarations.  


I expected to see him yesterday, but never received a call to establish a time for our visit.  Since I last spoke with him either Christmas Eve or the day before (right now I'm now quite sure which), he has weighed heavily on my mind, more so than usual.  As I thought of him early this morning, I realized that I was more concerned about not having heard from him for the sake of hearing from him, than not having heard from him for the sake of whatever task he would ask me to tackle next.  And in my driving around Houston yesterday and today, I realized that I was thinking of him more than I was listening to my own music.  Now I understand why.  


My friend was as genuine and down-to-earth as any man or woman I have ever known.  His voice was as rich and resonant as his face was smiling and friendly.  His parents named him well, as in many ways he was his name personified, even while, during the time of our acquaintance, the last year of his life, he admits that he did not always do that name justice.


I soon recovered from the initial shock of the news.  So, why speak of my friend now, especially in a way that says he is not due to be canonized?  It is simply for the reason that I am reminded that none of us have come here to stay -- even if we want to, or try to.  Life is a gift of indeterminate ticks of the clock.  True, many of those ticks have been wasted by all of us in some quantity or another.  In hindsight my friend saw that waste and was trying to do better.  And today each of our "hindsights" can be used to plot a clearer, surer, more sustainable path to the future.  Notice I did not say an easier path.  As some of us can attest, it is one's quest for the easier path that can cause one to waste many ticks of the clock.


Well?  What about you?



Friday, December 25, 2009

The Real Joy of Christmas -- Part II

Here it is:  the evening of Christmas Day.


This writer's premature commencement of celebrating the Day began in early December with active participation in Christmas concerts with the Houston Choral Society and Antioch Baptist Church, followed by the mid-month Christmas Candlelight Concert at South Main Baptist Church, and then two Christmas Eve worship services (5:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m.) at South Main, and two really nice gatherings -- one with family and one with friends.  


And what about today?  The Day?  
Events?  Nicht
Concerts?  Nada
Parties?  Nein
Lots and lots of presents?  Beaucoup -- but not the tangible ones of which most folks will think.


Today was a day of uncommon peace.  No frenzied phone calls.  No traffic.  No let me think about it response after I laid out a myriad of reasons why The "X" Plan is right for my audience.  No.  No.  No.  Today I overslept, not being fully awake until 9:00 -- that's normally mid-morning.  So what was the day all about?  Nothing.  And everything.


Today I joined my daughter and her husband for an afternoon meal at one of the finest rehabilitation facilities, located in the Texas Medical Center.   We joined a close family friend who has been encsconced there for a few weeks now.  We ate a meal prepared and served by folks who were not on "holiday," which made me try to imagine what was going through one man's mind as he handed me a plate of Cornish hen, yams, green bean casserole and a wheat roll, with a smile and a Merry Christmas!.  The free-flowing fountain of carbonated beverages was bypassed in favor of a bottle of Tropicana Pure Premium orange juice with some pulp.  (Why drink trashily when there's good stuff to be had?)  I stood at the checkout, wondering what happened to the cashier, and when I stopped a passing employee, she said It's on us today.  Merry Christmas!


Visiting a place like TIRR can put one face-to-face with the results of one's mistakes or the bad decisions of others, resulting in severely broken bodies, or, as in the case of our friend, an illness visited upon him without invitation or provocation; it just sneaked in one day and made itself at home.  Our quiet visit was often interrupted by my son-in-law (truly he is an angel on special assignment to see after my Sweet Pea), as he would leave our table to assist other TIRR residents in their high-tech wheelchairs, and their guests as they maneuvered among the tables to be seated.


In the countenance of a young teen we saw the rawest anger, so strong that it pierced my heart.   We saw a woman, perhaps my age or a little older, with the sweetest spirit, so sweet that Daughter could not help but comment.   In a moment of bare-naked candor, Daughter asked our TIRR resident:  When did you stop being angry?  He replied, I was never angry, just afraid.  I would wake up and survey my body, starting with my toes and working my way up to determine if anything was different; and sometimes there were differences; that would make me afraid.  But after the second surgery, I wasn't afraid anymore.  


After our meal we returned our TIRR resident to his room, and as he got situated, Daughter said you know, any of us could be in here.  I know I've had some close calls.  But this has made me mindful to be careful.  Our TIRR resident agreed, adding that he knows that, comparatively speaking, he's still in pretty good shape.  


I stood at the window, looking out over the forest of concrete and steel in the Texas Medical Center, thinking about all that our TIRR friend has endured:  an illness that spans three decades, the unjust, unfair and unwarranted treatment visited upon him, the  people who could and should have stood by him and did not, and how when he answers his phone and is asked How're you doing? -- will always answer -- Pretty good.




So what about This Day?   That's what I've been talking about here.  Can't you see?  This day of uncommon peace had nothing to do with brightly wrapped packages containing tangible gifts.  The gift of this day is the uncommon peace -- the kind of peace in knowing that even though things are not as they once were, I'm still okay; that undeserved gifts and consequences deserved but withheld (we Believers refer them as Grace and Mercy) are blessings that go far beyond the inventories of the finest stores.  The gift of this day is the uncommon peace in seeing one who has every reason to be bitter and angry, resentful and hateful, and instead enjoys moments of scathing humor on the one hand, and deep-seated gratitude on the other.  After all, he's still in pretty good shape.


This day we celebrate what was, what is, and what is to come:  God in the flesh, coming to earth as a baby, growing into a man, gathering disciples, teaching them how to live, love, suffer, endure, and make more disciples, teaching them the same.  And one day, He will return.  That is the real joy of Christmas.

Monday, December 14, 2009

The Real Joy of Christmas: Part I

The Christmas season has become the most commercial time of the year, and each year it seems to start earlier than the year before.  Now, instead of the day after Thanksgiving, there is evidence of Christmas in retail stores before Halloween.

Every year we rack our brains
Trying to find the ultimate things.
When if we just sat still awhile,
We would save quite a mile
Of running hither and thither and yonder.
Running frantically, full of wonder.
What could it be that I could get
To give ultimate pleasure without much debt?
And all the while we wonder
If we will receive what we most want

What would it be like if we kept the Christmas sprit throughout the year?  – gifting our family and friends and the folks we don’t know that some of us only think about in December – we call them the poor  . . . the homeless.

What if we just gave from our hearts all through the year?  Would we be more reasonable and prudent with our resources?  Is there any other time of the year that folks typically go way overboard and beyond the bounds of their budgets?

Wouldn’t it be great to remember those who have less – or little – throughout the year?  I’ll bet you won’t believe this – but I tell you it’s the truth: you have never seen real gratitude until you have given a hungry person some food.

And you know what I’ve found?  When I really feel down, one thing that can pick me up is doing something for someone else.  It’s a whole lot better than searching for that perfect present – that car – that fur coat – that humongous chunk of compressed carbon (you may want to call it a diamond) – that Wii that's now $50 off and still too pricey -- that "free" $500 phone that enslaves you by means of a two-year contract -- and giving it to someone who may value the thing more than he or she values you.  (Take it from someone who was not valued by one who vowed to do so 'til death they parted!)  Don’t you think you’re worth more than a car?  A phone?  A fur?   A Wii?  Or a chunk of compressed carbon?