Embrace The Mystery

“A tree with strong roots can weather any storm. If you have not done so already, the day to start growing those roots is today. Gratitude, respect, and discipline are three powerful ways to ground and nurture your relationships. But keep in mind also, that trees sway in the wind. They are not rigid. Even the largest and strongest trees sway when the wind blows. Allow for uncertainty; you can be sure it will come. Find the lesson in the unexpected; it has come to help you in your quest to become-the-best-version-of-yourself. Try to enjoy mystery; it will keep you young.  

The present culture despises uncertainty, and so we waste endless amounts of time and energy trying to create the illusion of security and attempting to control the uncontrollable. We curse the unexpected because it interferes with our plans, even though it often carries with it the challenge we need at that moment to change and grow into a-better-version-of-ourselves. In the same way, our culture has no time for mystery. If we cannot solve or prove it, then we ignore it or discredit it.

“Life is not a problem to be solved, it is a mystery to be lived,” wrote Kierkegaard. Your spouse is not a problem to be solved, your children are not problems to be solved, your boyfriend or girlfriend, your partner or fiance is not a problem to be solved. They are mysteries to be accepted, encouraged, experienced, and enjoyed. 

Relationships are not to be understood and fixed and solved; they too, are mysteries to be enjoyed. 

The best participants in the mystery we call relationship seem to be people who don’t need to understand everything, the ones who aren’t out to prove anything, those humble enough to accept when they are wrong and hold their tongues when they are right, the people who don’t have an agenda, who aren’t in a hurry, and who don’t need the credit when things go right and don’t pass the blame when things go wrong.

Those are the rare souls who seem to be able to hold their arms wide open and embrace fully the mystery of loving and the joy of being loved.” 

So roots, storms, uncertainties, and mysteries are to be enjoyed? Really now? The above was taken from page 67 in Matthew Kelly’s book “The Seven Levels of Intimacy: The Art of Loving and the Joy of Being Loved.” With God’s empowerment, may we each someday be one those able to hold our arms wide open and embrace fully the mystery of loving and the joy of being loved. Sweet indeed!!

“Do You Know Something I Don’t Know?”

David Anderson lived in Boston with his wife, Sarah, and their three children, Rachel, Shannon and Jonah. He was a very successful businessman, and one of the rewards of his success was their their summer home on Martha’s Vineyard. Sarah and the kids spent the whole summer there, while David usually spent part of each weekend and always came for the first two weeks of July.

One summer a few years ago, he was driving out to the beach at the beginning of July when he made a promise to himself. For two weeks, he was going to be a loving and attentive husband and father. He would make himself totally available. He would turn off his cellphone, resist the temptation to be constantly checking his email, and make himself completely available to his family and a genuine experience of vacation.

You see David worked too much. He knew it. Everyone around him knew it. When you love your work, that’s one of the dangers. When you rely on your work too much for your identity, that’s one of the pitfalls. From time to time, David felt guilty about how much he worked, but he managed to brush the guilt aside by making the excuse that it was necessary. Sometimes he overcame his feeling of guilt by calling to mind the many privileges and opportunities that his wife and children were able to enjoy because he worked so hard.

Did the rationalizations succeed? Only temporarily. But this vacation was going to be different. David was going to be attentive and available. 

The idea had come  to him in his car, as he listened to a CD that a friend had given him. People were always giving him books to read and tapes to listen to, and the gifts always made him cringe, because he knew the giver would ask him his opinion the next time their paths crossed. But for some reason, he had popped this CD in as he drove out of his garage this day. 

The speaker was discussing dynamic relationships; feeling a bit uncomfortable, David was about to turn it off when something that man said struck him: “Love is a choice. Love is an act of the will,” he said. “You can choose to love.”

At that moment, David admitted to himself that as a husband he had been selfish, and that the love between him and Sarah had been dulled by his selfishness, by his insensitivity, by his unavailability. This self-centeredness manifested itself mostly in small ways. He insisted they watch whatever he wanted to watch on television. He made Sarah feel small for always being late. He constantly put his work before the needs of his family. He would take newspapers to work knowing that Sarah wanted to read them, and that he would be unlikely to have time to do so during his busy day. He was constantly saying “Some other time” to his children, “Not now” to his wife. But for two weeks all that was going to change. And so it did. 

From the moment David walked through the door, kissed his wife, and said, “You look really good in that new sweater. That’s a great color for you,” Sarah was taken back, surprised, even a little perplexed. Her first reaction was to wonder if he was having a dig at her for buying more clothes, but when he smiled and asked her, “What have I missed?” the genuine compliment settled in and felt wonderful. 

After battling the traffic to get to the vacation house, David just wanted to sit down and relax, but Sarah suggested a walk on the beach. David began to refuse, but then thought better of it: “Sarah has been out here all week alone with the children, and now she just wants to be alone.” So they walked the beach hand in hand, while the children flew their kites. 

The next morning, Sarah almost fell out of bed when he brought her breakfast in bed. Admittedly, David had woken their daughter Rachel to help him pull that one off, but it was extraordinary nonetheless. Over breakfast he told her about a dream he had that night, and then he asked, “What would you like to do today?”

Sarah couldn’t remember the last time he had asked her that. 

“Don’t you have work to do?” she countered.

“No,” he said. “We can do anything you want.”

Over and over throughout the day David said to himself, “Love is a choice. Love is a choice. Love is a choice.”

And so it went. For two weeks, they relaxed, they were happy. It was a dream vacation. Two weeks without the constant harassment of cell phones and e-mail; they visited the maritime museum, even though David hates museums; he allowed the kids to eat ice cream whenever they wanted; he even managed to hold his tongue when Sarah’s getting ready made them late for his best friend’s birthday dinner.

“Did Dad win something?” their daughter Shannon asked her mother one day. Sarah laughed, but she had been wondering herself what had overcome her husband.

After lunch on the last day, David excused himself and walked the beach alone. He thought of the promise he had made to himself driving out two weeks earlier, and now made a new promise to keep choosing love when they got home.

That night as he and Sarah were preparing for bed, Sarah suddenly stopped and looked at David with the saddest expression he’d ever seen come across her face. David panicked. “What’s the matter/”

“Do you know something I don’t know?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

  Sarah said, “The check-up I had a few weeks ago … Did Dr. Lewis tell you something about me? Dave, you’ve been so good to me. Am I dying?” 

David’s eyes filled with tears. Wrapping her in his arms and holding her tight, he said, “No honey. You’re not dying. I”m just starting to live!”

I hope you were positively challenged as I was when reading the above story that opens Matthew Kelley’s phenomenal book titled “The Seven Levels of Intimacy: The Art of Loving and The Joy Of Being Loved.” This story  reminds me of a statement by Vaclav Havel, the Czech dramatist and human rights activist who later became his country’s president, who wrote, “I believe that nothing disappears forever, and less so deeds, which is why I believe that it makes sense to try to do something in life, something more than that which will bring one obvious returns.”

Relationships, whether founded on truth or not, when experiencing restoration and actually begin thriving, reflects my passion and are gifts of endless returns to all of us in the ripples. This book will guide you to invest your relational energy well!  Blessings …Merlin

Please click the link below to read the first chapter or to purchase.

https://dynamiccatholic.com/the-seven-levels-intimacy-paperback

Don’t Just Hope…

The following story is taken verbatim from Matthew Kelly’s book “The Seven Levels of Intimacy: The Art of Loving And The Joy Of Being Loved“, a book best introduced and discussed in every home around the supper table before the kids leave home … with their own copy, of course!

Peter was just an ordinary guy. He liked to watch football, drink beer, and hang out with his friends. From time to time, when he was alone, he would get a little introspective and start to think about where his life was going. It was then he thought about relationships; more specifically he would wonder whether he would ever have a truly great relationship. He always concluded that he hoped one day he would. 

One thing Peter loved to do was people-watch, and if you like people-watching there is perhaps no better place than an airport. 

A few years ago, he was standing at the airport in San Francisco waiting for a friend when he had one of those life-changing experiences you sometimes hear people talk about …. the kind that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. 

Straining to locate a friend among the deplaning passengers, Peter noticed a man walking toward him carrying two small bags. The man stopped right next to Peter to greet his waiting family.

First he motioned to his younger son, who was perhaps five or six years old. Putting down his bags, he took the boy in his arms and gave him a long loving hug, and as they drew apart long enough to look at each other, Peter overheard the father say, “It’s so good to see you, son. I’ve missed you so much.”

The boy smiled shyly, averted his eyes and replied, “Me too, Dad.”

Standing up, the man gazed into his elder son’s eyes (the boy was maybe nine or ten years old) and, cupping the boy’s chin with his hand, he said, “You’re already such a fine young man, Nathan, I love you very much.” With that he took the boy in his arms and gave him a long tender hug. 

While all this was happening a baby girl was eyeing her father and squirming excitedly in her mother’s arms, never once taking her eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man turned to the child now and said, “Hi baby girl!” as he gently took her from her mother’s arms, kissed her face all over, and pulled her to his chest, rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment. 

After several long moments he handed his daughter to his elder son, declared , “I’ve saved the best for last,” and proceeded to kiss and embrace his wife. After a long moment, they drew back to look at each other. He stared into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed, “I love you so much.”

 As they stood staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands with both hands and covered in smiles, they reminded Peter of newlyweds, though he knew from the ages of their children that couldn’t possibly be.

All of a sudden, Peter became awkwardly aware of how engrossed he had become in this wonderful display of unconditional love, no more than an arm’s length from him. In that moment he began to feel uncomfortable, as if he had intruded on something sacred. But he was amazed to hear his own voice asking, “How long have you been married?”

“Been together fourteen years, married for twelve,” the stranger replied without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife’s face.

“How long you been away?” Peter asked. 

The stranger turned to him now, smiled, and said, “Two whole days.

“Peter was stunned. He had guessed, from the intensity of their greeting, that the man had been gone for weeks, if not months. Two whole days, he thought to himself, and smiled. Now embarrassed, hoping to end his intrusion with some semblance of grace, Peter offhandedly said, “I hope my marriage is that passionate after twelve years!”

Suddenly the man stopped smiling. He looked straight into Peter’s eyes with a forcefulness that burned straight through to his soul, and he said something that left Peter a different man:

Don’t just hope, friend, decide!”

And with that, the stranger picked up his bags and he and his family strolled off.

Peter was still watching them disappear into the distance when his friend came up to him and said, “Whatcha looking at?”

Peter smiled and, without hesitating, replied, “My future.”

Great relationships don’t just come to those who hope for them. Hope is worthless unless coupled with real effort. Great relationships belong to those who decide to put in the effort and make them a priority. Don’t just hope … decide!  

Please click below to read the first chapter!

https://dynamiccatholic.com/the-seven-levels-of-intimacy-paperback

Candy Boycott and Gas Tanks

Today is Friday Nov 9, 2018 and I awoke to a melting snow at 7:30 am being done away with by a light rain. It was unusual for me to sleep that late but I had been writing thank you notes until nearly 2 am. That came about because I always checked our PO Box on Thursdays to get my weekly reimbursement for my efforts the week prior as an independent contractor, but since the accident, the checks stopped and we had no further interest in checking the box weekly.

So yesterday, we went to the post office and mailed my Sis two books,  One was “Stuck in the Weeds” by Paul Stutzman, who I have yet to meet, though I greatly admire his first three books. The other book entitled, “Sometimes I Sing” was the work of our first cousin, Mary Hershberger, who has resided in Syracuse NY where she retired as a public high school English teacher, at least sort of. But as the book attests, she early on with three young children, found herself divorced and in dire need of additional income. Being quite resourceful, she bought her first fixer upper home with a loan from her folks, who were also retired public school teachers, and since, has rehabbed nearly three dozen homes, only slowing down now in the past five years. Much should be said for Mary’s spunk, and fact is, she really did acquire some outstanding real estate over the years, and now approaching 80 years young, is finally letting go of several of her choice rentals near the Syracuse university campus.

So indeed, after a month the Dalton PO Box was crammed;  election flyers, three bills now past due and six get well cards, four with both street and PO Box, but two with only PO. My deduction is postal workers are lazy like the rest of us; they push everything they can thru the PO Boxes so they need not handle it again into our street mailbox, if given the choice at least!

And for some reason, after my accident September 18, I decided early on to acknowledge each get well card. A decision a bit strange perhaps, but I compare it to the decision I just made one day out of the blue as a teenager to stop eating candy. It wasn’t like I had agonized over this possibility for months, or that I had a health condition forcing the issue. Truth be told, it was likely instigated by my subconscious  economical inclinations to save loose pocket change back when  one quarter was worth more than a dollar bill today.

You might chuckle but to give this snap candy decision some credibility, you need to know that during  my high school senior year I also quit eating lunch in the cafeteria. Nothing against the food, I certainly was not protesting the environment or chemical agriculture, for the first Earth Day in 1970 was still 4 years in the making, but seriously, I really think it was all about the economics of my virtually non-existent cash flow, sub-consciously of course. Let me paint the picture. In March of my Junior year, I had purchased a motorcycle and weather permitting, or not, I frequently drove it to school but it only got 40 miles per gallon if that. Barely two round trips on a gallon of gas, and for sure not, if we raced, “dragged” main, etc.  Gas was less than 30 cents a gallon then and I soon figured out I’d rather forgo lunch and keep the two bucks mother gave me for lunch every other Monday morning.

Truth is, skipping lunch was many times more difficult than merely abstaining from candy. But really, writing about this now makes it all sound so bizarre! Why didn’t I make some really worthwhile decisions back then instead, such as perhaps safeguarding my morals or even more basic, consider whose path am I following anyway?  Rather, I focused on such trivial decisions involving only candy and pocket change. Oh I understand the argument could be made now fifty years later, that those resolutions served me well, but seriously, in the scheme of values affecting eternity, I really missed out!

This all reminds me of two teenagers years ago, now middle aged, well known and respected in many circles, at a time when the US interstate highway system was yet under construction. Their brush with disaster is revealed in a book I highly recommend titled “The Principle of the Path”, beginning so innocently with an auto chase in chapter one continually building our understanding  throughout the book, that “direction, not intention, determines our destination” until in the final chapter we experience the crescendo of free choice that God judiciously allows each of us, right up until our final breath. Loretta while visiting her mother’s church last summer heard her pastor describe this Path book as his “go-to” book for Jesus seekers. Within hours “Path” was on my phone, read, and processing in my subconscious for 7 months until I thought of it while writing about this skipping lunch and boycotting candy routine.

But now back to my story. In true derelict fashion, I went into Woolworths and purchased a bag of snack size Snickers or Milky Ways and indulged most of the bag that afternoon while sitting in the car waiting on Mom who was shopping while I was listening to the AM radio play such songs as Downtown, This Diamond Ring, Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter, Help Me Rhonda, etc. We didn’t even have a FM car radio then. I do recall you could special order a turntable to play records in a 1961 Desoto because a bachelor neighbor had one and he lived 2 miles off the highway on a MN township road with very little gravel, mostly clay and rutty! Maybe he only played it while parking! You youngsters have no idea how technology has changed everything!

So at home later with my candy bag nearly three quarters empty, I chucked the remaining bars into my chore jacket pockets and went off to feed the animals and milk the cows. And that was it. A done deal. I do remember at a valentines party a few months later, I accidentally put some of those tiny peppermint heart candies in my mouth and promptly flushed them down the commode. Decades later, I would enjoy a candy bar (Loretta loves Snickers and sometimes I’d buy her one and she’d share) but never again did candy hold much appeal to me.

Actually now, ice cream is my drug of choice and I could write much about my struggles with ice cream, from a child years before the candy swear off right up to this week on Tuesday when I saw my SmithFoods retail dock was simply removed to make room for greater dock capacity at the expense of assuredly, my future retirement happiness. After all, once again, it is all about the money! I can no longer purchase my favorite flavors for six quarters a box and I too will have to visit Buehlers and pay retail which I have not done for nearly two decades; imagine paying $4 a box!  

So back to the thank you notes. In similar spur of the moment fashion, I made this rather strange decision to acknowledge everyone who sent me a get well card. Last night after watching a movie with Loretta, I returned to writing more, two down, four to go. Now understand, my average word count on these cards, is likely at least 100 words, sometimes even like 200-300. I really do enjoy engaging with these get well card writers, and that comes as no big surprise to you, since most of you already know I seldom ever meet a stranger.

Actually, I should do a word count on the 50-60 cards sent me but I bet twenty words of encouragement would be close to average! I know all these people, except the three preschoolers whom are Susan Murray’s granddaughters. And many of them have more health challenges than I have now. I mean serious health concerns, not just if they’ll ever have a good jogging gait again, never mind any marathons. And so, if I’m going to invest in a stamp, I’m going to make this encounter hopefully positively memorable in their minds and worth their time. After all, they were willing to step out of their boat and send me a card. And so I try to comfort them, reminding them of happier past events, as well as encourage them to envision their future joys by looking forward. Seriously, you all really do need to read this “Path” book I mentioned earlier. It could be key to your survival actually, and greatly enhance you just flourishing for now .

And so I wrote notes last night; way past my normal bedtime until 2AM nearly! Totally disrupted my normal wind down activities and days reflections, not to mention my rebooting and start up this morning. But I really do think God understands our need at times go with the flow. One note actually got way out of hand in length! Since I mailed it I can’t count the words, but likely 800 or more. Lately, I have found, life indeed is a journey of “in the moment adventures!” And sometimes, it’s just good to communicate.. when it’s on your heart, when it flows, because too often the stream is dry or the opportunity forced if you postpone your “obedient action.”

I’ve certainly enjoyed sharing and traveling with you this Christmas Eve 2018 as I finish up what I started weeks ago. Perhaps we’ll pick up one of the two books I sent my Sis next time and see where that leads. Merry Christmas to each of you and blessings as you GO FORTH>>>> soon into 2019. I suggest you go to Amazon and check out Andy Stanley’s The Principal of the Path I mentioned above. The introduction and at least through chapter one and the car chase are free. Remember, it’s direction, not intention, that determines destination. Might just be a good first read for you in 2019! And then you can bless someone else. And that “obedient action” may even enhance your “path” to greater fulfillment! Commit to  investing well in 2019!

Greetings in this “dawning” of another Christmas Season

I’m drawing here from one of my favorite authors, Tim Keller, with his accent on the word “dawning” in his shorter than usual book, “Hidden Christmas: The Surprising Truth Behind the Birth Of Christ.” I was first encouraged to read Keller by our youth pastor years ago while we served as MYF sponsors with him. Thank you Thomas, because Keller’s books revealed the astonishing basic scriptural truths to me undoubtedly providing the spiritual impetus for what I refer to now in my blog as “Retooled and Thriving.”

Hidden Christmas is a book I now reread each fall following Thanksgiving in preparation for Christmas. Truthfully, I never was a Christmas addict, though as I am quite steeped in church culture, it was a season pretty much like all the others that came and went over the years devoid of any personal passion from me. That was until I read Hidden Christmas a few years ago (I think this is now my third such annual  encounter) after God started literally purging my “temple” as Josiah did the temple in the OT while re-discovering the scrolls  and re-instituting temple worship. The process that swept thru my mind a few years ago may best be described as the reformatting of my hard drive, certainly not merely a re-booting.

Starting with the Isaiah 9:2, 5-7 passage, I quote “the people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned….”  The New King James uses the word “shined” but I much prefer “dawned”, likely because very few people, except for truckers and dairymen, have witnessed more sunrises than I. Fact is for me, “dawned” connotes such a rich understanding of progressing from complete darkness to a full brilliancy of color in the sky and the freshness of a new day, from the glistening dew on the lush vibrant fields and forests to the swooping birds in flight. “Shining” does have potential too, but I find it more static, for “shined” can be either switched off or on. Whereas for me, “dawned” evidences a daily renewal of the redemptive process, not that the incarnation is a repeated event; let alone daily. Let it be known there was only one such event, ever! But yet, with us mere mortals, though we may need to shine as admonished in the Sunday School chorus from “hide it under a bushel, NO! I’m going to let it shine”, I prefer to focus on the incarnation event in that as “a light has dawned.”

And I do believe, “dawned” is the path many of us actually do discover Christ. My generation’s “accepting” Christ was more a “shined” event; we were “exposed” in a situation, whether camp, Bible School, youth retreat, crusade, revival, etc., where we suddenly found ourselves in the “time to make a  decision spotlight”, whether it was orchestrated or not, perhaps by “pure”coincidence, or as we reflect later, a “mass movement”, it was now time and the thing to do. And so we did.

See why I much prefer “dawned”. Keller explains it as “it doesn’t say from the world a light has sprung, but upon the world a light has dawned. It has come from the outside. There is light outside of this world and Jesus has brought that light to save us; indeed, he is the Light (John 8:12).”  And actually, now as we find ourselves in our mature years, we realize that we were actually “dawned” upon a number of times, speaking now solely of our spiritual growth cycles, throughout our life to date. Keller wisely ignores all this trivia, but goes dead center for the Christian religiosity cultural jugular artery or vein. He clearly makes the point, that unless you have first come to fully understand and appreciate the significance of the “incarnation”, you’ll not understand let alone appreciate, the fullness of God’s revelation of salvation afforded us by his resurrection, nor have any inkling of empowerment by the Holy Spirit.

So, what are we to do, with this fairy tale magical once upon a time event, that you and I have encountered annually since memory serves? First, perhaps we begin by believing the report about what has happened in  history, that God really did become a human being, and thank Him for his reality in our lives.  Secondly, in appreciation, simply ask Him for more faith in order to accomplish greater “works”, works best interpreted as “obedient actions” as we read in James 2:18.

Quoting Keller near the end of the first chapter, he writes “There has never been a gift offered that makes you swallow your pride to the depths that the gift of Jesus Christ requires us to do. Christmas means that we are so lost, so unable to save ourselves, that nothing less than the death of the Son of God himself could save us. That means you are not somebody who can pull yourself together and live a moral and good life. When Jesus died on the cross, darkness fell over the land. The Light of the world descended into darkness in order to bring us into God’s beautiful light (I Peter 2:9) The promises of Christmas cannot be discerned unless you first admit you can’t save yourself, or even know yourself, without the light of his unmerited grace in your life. This is the foundational truth from which we can proceed to learn the hidden truths of Christmas!”

Such hidden truths include “The Gospel is Good News, Not Good Advice”, “The Gospel Story Changes How We Read Other Stories,” “The Gospel Turns The Worlds Values Upside Down,” “God May Take His Time, But He Keeps His Word,” and “The Gospel Is Ultimate Rest.”

May we share the Gospel “dawning” as the truth has “dawned” upon us, whenever, wherever, however, in our lives thus far. Join the growing throng of Keller Annual Advent Readers (KAAR) seeking to be reminded of the Incarnation, its truths, and our subsequent obedient actions.

Merry Christmas!

Edmond Fitzgerald

The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald recalls the Nov 10, 1975 disaster on Lake Superior as popularized by Gordon Lightfoot and others. This has been a favorite song of mine and it has been on my mind of late, especially since we were recently in Duluth and so enjoyed Lake Superior and the harbor. 

My life began its chaotic November 2016 tailspin innocently enough amidst one of the most beautiful autumns ever in Wayne County OH, far away from any threatening waves. It was a week before the anniversary date of the Lake Superior tragedy on Thursday Nov 3rd, around 6 am that I was collecting milk samples in a tie stall barn walking in between these 45“gentle” cows,  much as I did as a teen back in MN with my father. In fact, that was why I ever even agreed to visit this herd every month, as I just enjoy reliving my childhood days from the early sixties.

 And as it also happened back home as a kid, that day for whatever reason, cow #25 got spooked.  We did make eye contact ever so quickly and having been around cattle, I recognize sheer terror in their eyes as she did no doubt in mine, and the battle commenced. I was looking for “wings to fly away with” rather than a mere “fox hole” but my only apparent option was moving forward  maybe another 10-12 inches in an attempt to escape her machine gun rear hoof .. but not before she solidly connected once on my right knee. In the ensuing seconds she repeatedly attempted to hit several more home runs and I was concentrating all my strength on mere survival. When she finally exhausted her “bullets” and the dust cleared (seemed like forever but was likely only 5-7 seconds) I was simply exuberant; I could stand on my right leg! Absolutely unbelievable! Actually, I learned later the knee indeed had been damaged, although no bones were broken, but we did not figure that out for another two weeks when I unexpectantly experienced the biggest drop ever in my life on concrete, resulting in yet another spinal compression fracture.

Historically, my last encounter with a heifer resulted in a leg cast way back in 1951 at the age of nearly three, I had crawled thru the steps over a fence to frolic with the calves and while in true cowboy pursuit, I got too close and one of them nailed my left leg and I enjoyed a hot MN summer in a cast… none of which I remember of course, except it was the summer Mom was pregnant with Verla.  And yes, even then, it seems I worked overtime at complicating other people’s already stressed out lives with my fiascoes!

Back to my current reality, and in my momentary exuberance while assessing the collateral damages, I suddenly realized the tip of my ring finger on my right hand was half tore off with at least a quarter inch gap between the top portion ( nail, bone, and some flesh) and the bottom larger portion, I presume, of just flesh. I did not feel much pain, being a bit in shock you know, but at least I was not nauseous which always signals a bone break, at least in my body. So extracting myself from the battle zone and walking in circles assessing the damages but mostly just praising God that I was still standing, never mind the goofy ring finger dripping blood all over the white limed floor. And  strange as it sounds, I was absolutely clueless as to what happened to that finger … and it still remains a mystery.

Many of you in Sugarcreek township area have visited this farm frequently if you purchased your cheese and meat at the E & B Bulk Food Store that started up in the ‘70’s on S Wenger. The store has moved twice and is now known as Shady Lawn on the corner of Zuercher and Hackett. Enough history!

So what do we do now? This excitement is not the usual morning occurrence and I am still doing a low grade rendition of hyperventilating while I keep repeating in low monotones between breaths, “oh my, oh my”. Finally focusing, I gave instructions to the Steiners to continue the testing, taking off my sample belt, provided some instructions, wishing them well, telling them I’d return to finish after the ER visit, and walked out to my Prius, my sanctuary away from home, sort of sliding into the seat nursing a very sore right leg into the space provided. Again thanking God for his mercy between breaths, I proceeded to drive the 12 minutes north on Wenger  Rd toward home.

Walking in the garage, Sir O Riley welcomed me warmly offering to lick my bloody finger and apply his healing salve! No, I did not offer him the option, but it has been known to work well in the “wild.”  It was then I realized the “oh my’s” and my weird breathing pattern had finally ceased and I was actually feeling rather well. So instead of unlocking the door and going into the house and waking up Loretta, I took off my coveralls, bade Riley farewell, climbed back into my Prius, and drove off to the ER to have this finger fixed. And that was all quite routine, at least until the stitching was to begin. Yes, we better have a tetanus booster too. I knew my last tetanus would have been done at Dunlap, now Aultman Orville, but they could not locate any such evidence, so considering the current dilemma of my flesh, I deemed a booster was likely advisable.

My ER Doc was fun, having grown up on  dairy farm near Sterling, though he seemed a trifle perplexed about how he was going to stitch this unique wound, not resembling a typical inner city knife slice and dice adventure. I told the Doc after showing him my left hand’s ring finger, whose third digit has been visibly absent from me since several days before first grade, that perhaps we should just now with this opportunity, match the fingers up and simplify this visit for both of us, with a quick slice of his knife to the bloody digit. Apparently that was not an option in this ER’s protocols, though I still think he secretly agreed with me, you know, with him being such a practical farm boy and likely thinking,“you know, this old guy is nearly 70, why not? It would save everyone much time and money this morning. And it really is going to be difficult to get that nail bed repaired properly with surgery later, so the fingernail grows out right!”

I also need to tell you earlier while waiting for the x rays, I had sufficient presence of mind, to pull out my phone and click off several really awesome bloody pictures in the event someone desires proof. Maybe someday when I learn how, I’ll include pics with the post! Concerned about my comfort, he did inject enough novacaine at three sites that I never took anything more for pain for 18 hours. Soon enough, he quickly installed seven stitches and neatly trimmed away the extra flesh, that just did not want to fit back in, which reminded me of my brother Dan’s budding mechanical abilities as a kid, when taking an alarm clock apart and ending up with extra parts after re-assembling, but never mind, it didn’t work either. The difference here hopefully, is that we are dealing with living tissue that does heal. Simply amazing how much healing I’ve witnessed in this body thus far in my life!

Now one of the negative sidebars on all this third digit repair was that even I, who is known to take too many chances, was thoroughly convinced that I had better “go on” an antibiotic this time. Realizing how damaging such prescriptions are even for a week to my intestinal flora and my continued general well-being, (google the Brain – Gut Connection for more info) I knew this time that this prescription was not an option and Loretta concurred later. So I basically quit taking all of my “daily additives”that Loretta has researched over the years to be beneficial for me … but when combined with an antibiotic,  the effect of the combination is unknown and we certainly did not want any complications. And we are happy to report that the finger did heal quite nicely having the stitches removed Nov 14th and now looks normal. But even before I had resumed Loretta’s “daily additives” for a week, another shoe dropped on Nov 16th as I alluded to above, making the heifer event seem like a Sunday School picnic. That event needs to be told too, but not just now.

I just listened to the song one more time. Purposeful Melancholy. Unique Harmonics. Gripping Experience. Ice-water Mansion? Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours? (stanza 5) At some point, perhaps you’ll catch the underlying theme to all these stories? Or not? 

Blessings to you on your adventure road!

Early AM May 5, 1967

So, can I presume you all have gone to sleep at least once while driving? I really doubt if any of you have struggled with staying awake while driving more than I. There were periods of my existence when I literally fell asleep weekly if not daily while driving.

The first instance I can recall now of such an all out struggle to stay awake occurred on my ‘62 Honda Dream 300 when I was 18. I was driving through the early morning hours from York NB to make an 8 am Botany exam at Hesston College. For now, never mind why I was out there in the middle of the night in the first place as that indeed may be another story.

Driving conditions that early morning on the infamous TX to Canada US Rt 81 were simply superb; wind still, 55 degrees, and a glistening heavy dew that had fallen much earlier though shining brightly now in the bright moonlight. I had passed over the Kansas line, guessing it to be around 2 am since I didn’t wear a watch back then. By then, I’d been up 20 hours after pretty much pulling an all-nighter the night prior, waxing floors on campus translating into less than three hours in the last 48. Exhaustion was really taking its toll as I headed next for Salina. Truck traffic was light that morning on that old two lane concrete ribbon stretching south through the patches of fog in the lower areas that were predictably several degrees cooler, and easily detectable as I was without either a windshield or a fairing for protection.

It was indeed a beautiful early morning to be traveling under the stars, but now I was really tired, and could only think of getting back to campus, a shower and a few hours of sleep before the exam. Fortunately for me ,I was riding without a backrest to lean against, such as a backpack, so I was not able to relax and get comfortable or likely my struggle to stay awake,would have been far more difficult. You would think just fighting the wind resistance in your face at the bikes cruising speed of 62-65 MPH would have provided the necessary impetus to stay awake.

I kept thinking of warmer and more restful experiences in my younger days as a teen in Becker County MN, such as coming in from working in the woods with Dad on a Saturday afternoon when the temp was thirty below zero with a 15-20 mph NW wind and you began shedding all those ice crusted layers to sit on a kitchen chair that I had moved to the center of the 36 inch square floor register ducted from big wood stove in the basement immediately below. Basking in that 80 plus temp, I soon warmed up and then slid over to a nearby couch for a luxurious nap before being rudely wakened and reminded it was time to begin the afternoon chores. At least the barn was insulated from above, by a mow still half filled with sweet smelling alfalfa hay and the 8 inch sidewalls were filled with wood shavings mixed with lime to discourage the mice from seeking warmth ‘there and performing their usual mischief. Exhaust fans kept the barn’s temp around 38-40 degrees and removed some of the offensive humidity and odors. Understand being raised on a MN dairy farm surrounded by more rocks than rich soil and where cold and physical exhaustion are literally your mortal enemies, I early in life learned outdoor work, whether caring for the cattle or in the woods, provided me an intense appreciation for warmth and naps, and preferably, simultaneously!

Considering my great disdain for cold, I wonder now how I ever developed such a passion for motorcycles as a teen, especially considering my cycle was my only purchased mode of transportation the last 17 months in MN before leaving for college in KS. I have many memories of being very cold traveling on my three Honda’s during my younger days. In that fact, I’m sure I’m not alone, considering the US motorcycle craze that began in the mid-sixties with the widespread marketing of the extremely reliable and affordable Japanese bikes. Strange how those Japanese bikes in the sixties evidently replaced the dime store toys from Japan I had found as a child in stores such as Woolworth’s where my Aunt Ruby worked during the fifties. Carry that a step further into the seventies and Honda very successfully broadened their US manufacturing presence into automobiles, especially with the introduction of the Civic early on so popularized by such as Rick Case Honda in NE OH in the early seventies. By ’77, Honda introduced the Accord loaded with options for a mere $3995 soon joined by if not even led by Toyota, Datsun, Mazda, etc. Who would have ever thought the cheap toys of the fifties would be replaced by quality cycles and then cars? Quite unlike the quick demise of the Yugo from eastern Europe! I wonder why? An interesting topic indeed for another day since I have a little experience in the economies of four of the former Yugoslavian countries since 2008 having traveled there on business eight times.

But exposure to the elements five decades later are no longer necessary and certainly not as trendy. US sales of motorcycles continue to plummet each decade as the younger generation now is attracted to the  abundance of creature comforts including heating AND cooling (even available in the seats), not to mention the sounds (satellite radio, elaborate stereo sound, phones, bluetooth), the sights (video players, cameras), safety features( (airbags & warnings galore!). The gas mileage available today is phenomenal; hybrids such as my Prius, can comfortably transport four larger passenger and get nearly 50 MPG whereas my two passenger Honda 300 was lucky to see 40 MPG and much less with a head wind, especially if the passengers weight equaled 300 pounds.

Sales of motorcycles today are primarily only to the hardcore enthusiasts, or the weekend warrior, who only takes his cherished bike out of the garage if the weather is ideal; dry and warm! Indeed, our culture has changed! Consider how dragging main in the sixties has been replaced now by cruising the internet on smart phones and tablets. Indeed, today creature comforts are nearly considered a right, not merely a luxury!

By now you are indeed wondering if I really did make Dan Troyers 8 am Botany test? I certainly could not have envisioned what I just shared above since I was not into science fiction during high school at all! But you must realize, diminishing your mental and visual acuity on a motorcycle at 65 MPH can be much harder to correct than when up and moving on 4 wheels with a steering wheel. Also, being warm and dry really helps. The exception to that scenario is if your only escape route is dead ahead and only 36 inches wide!

Perhaps you don’t physically nod off or snap your neck, as during class, at church, or while at the in-laws after Sunday dinner, but whether on a bike or in a car, your eyes may glaze over and presto, you drift out of your lane. And all the while, hearing the engine, feeling the air in your face, the vibrations both in your hands and feet, never forgetting the ever present bladder that needed emptying 50 miles ago. Now being so painfully full you are thinking that the discomfort may just help keep you awake …  when actually, if you were scared sufficiently, you will then become BOTH wet AND cold!

Understand, I do not fully equate falling asleep (whether nodding off or snapping your neck) while driving, in the same realm as having your eyes glaze over though their outcomes can be equally tragic. Hopefully for both your longevity and your family, you do not have a clue of what I just described in the above paragraph. I maintain the “glazing over of the eyes” condition provides you a fighting chance depending on your millisecond response to abnormal stimuli such as a change in pavement texture providing you both touch and sound variation that a trained “glazer” will aptly assimilate and respond to both timely and appropriately. Fortunately, the rumble strips now found frequently on interstate roads as well as on some two lane state routes, not only on the sides but also on the center lines, will undoubtedly prevent many future accidents by both “glazers” and “nodders”

Secretly, I hope I never have to depend on a computer driven car, though everyone who knows my driving record of late, is apt to quip that such would be an improvement! I remember so vividly a full page magazine advertisement (but not in the smaller Readers Digest format) in either ’59 or ’60 displaying two couples in a convertible going down the highway ( I think 4 lane) with the top down and the seats facing each other surrounding a little table in the center, with, I believe a board game in process. No one was steering and the traffic was flowing around them. It was a pencil drawing, and the car resembled a full size ’59 Buick, with its unique fins. I do not remember the ad’s intent or even who sponsored it….but since the only magazines I recall in our home in that era were either Successful Farming or the Farm Journal, I am totally confused as to why it may have even appeared in a farming magazine. I remember viewing that sketch frequently in that time frame of my life and thinking how unlikely that was ever to occur… but no longer! I even recall the ladies had scarves to keep their hair in check from the turbulence.

Isn’t it ironic now that the bigger problems remaining to be solved in this 60 year old glimpse into the future, has not really changed much since the Renaissance? We have yet to overcome or fully explain the effects of gravity on the board game and the drinks in the open air of the convertible at 60 MPH not to mention keeping inertia or the air turbulence in check. Maintaining safe passage in intestate traffic at 60 MPH in a driver-less car I understand now has been virtually accomplished though not yet affordable or even desirable by or for the masses.

Back to our original reality of getting back to campus for that 8 am Botany test. Yes, I was “glazing” big time. Yes, I was simply exhausted, totally spent. And I knew I was weaving in my lane that was only 11 or 12 feet wide max. I tried to concentrate on the Botany test; vocab words, photosynthesis, chlorophyll etc. No avail! I tried thinking about how it was going to be without a cycle for the immediate future as I was taking it back to sell it to Emil Yoder’s son Royce who was best friends with our campus pastor’s  eldest son, who was killed several months later during the summer of ’67 in a freak one car accident coming home for lunch on a Harvey county dirt/gravel road.

You would presume a cycle enthusiast like me even thinking about selling my bike to help pay next year’s tuition, would waken me up a bit but not so! Even recalling my good high school friend Butch slamming his new Honda CB 160 into the side of a Chevy Corvair with a canoe on top, that suddenly turned in front of him killing him instantly that Sunday evening in early May of ’65, didn’t help. I did begin thinking though how hard Butch’s death was on my folks that spring, since I had just gotten my cycle 5 weeks earlier. But now it was two years later, three AM on May 5 of 1967, and I am here in northern Kansas struggling big time for my very survival, just to merely stay awake, not fully comprehending at all in my youthfulness then, just how quickly my life could be cut so tragically short by merely drifting inches to either the left, and get clipped by a tractor trailer rig bumper like a bug on its windshield; or by drifting inches to the right, to clip one of those concrete bridges Old Rt 81 was so famous for, and in those days, of course, there were no guard rails before the bridge to guide a lane wanderer like me away from a fatal impact. 

My guess is though, at whatever age we find ourselves just now, that we all have experienced the intricacies, “fragilities”, and the “finalities” of life, whether by our actions or by those of others. It especially evident now as we look into the rear view mirror of our lives, and at my age now of 69, we seldom if ever cannot say we were very blessed to have enjoyed our years to date; mercy in the fact we didn’t get from life what we really deserved, and grace in the fact we did actually receive far more from life than we ever deserved!

And yes, I did drive onto campus soon after 5 am rejuvenated by the night’s ride and the brilliant sunrise on my left over the slightly wavering glistening maturing wheat fields, and lastly over the rows of Hesston Corp’s newly manufactured cotton pickers in the storage lo on my left, ready for transport. After a luxurious shower and a quick nap to recharge my system, I took the test and even got an A in the course. Later that day I delivered the cycle to Royce, and even better, the next day paid down my next year’s college bill with the $300 leaving only $1230 yet to pay!

Truth be told, I had bought the bike from a Delvin Schlabaugh of Wolford ND who purchased it in Sarasota FL and I rather doubt if he drove it all the way to ND. It had 3000 miles when I purchased it for $350. and had nearly 18000 miles on it when I sold it to Royce for I believe $300. Cheap miles back then certainly, but now as a parent, when I consider the risks, I was most fortunate to have endured my teenage follies.

Several weeks later after my math final, at 2:30 pm and a sizzling temp of nearly 100 degrees, I walked off campus up to the pharmacy at the intersection of Rt 81 and Main. Would you believe I was dressed in a shirt and tie, with a sign marked “Fargo ND”, ready to hitch hike back up north on the very same road I had so struggled to stay awake on only three weeks prior. Would you believe that with two short rides and one lasting thru the night requiring me to do most of the driving, I arrived in Fargo by 8 AM. the next morning! And actually, I had even a harder time staying awake that night! And those three rides during that 17 hour span, dear reader, will perhaps provide the foundation of another real life encounter, for as I recall….

Blessings!

“The Absent One”

Hi Merlin

I wonder if you knew that your paternal Grandmother Lena was a writer and that she had at least one of those writings published in the Gospel Herald.She also wrote poetry and I am including one of those poems here that touches me. I read it as we sat down to our Thanksgiving meal last week …. Remembering Elaine.

The Absent One    by Lena Oswald Erb  (9/24/1890 — 3/2/1980)

As we gather at the table

                And watch each smiling face,

Our hearts fill with emotion

                To see the vacant place.

We may strive to hide our longing

                In the midst of mirth and fun,

But we’re thinking, thinking, thinking

                Of our loved but absent one.

When we gather round the fireside

                With merry laugh and jest,

How we wish the absent dear one

                Were here with all the rest:

Still we join in all the frolics

                But we wish the day were done,

For we’re thinking, thinking, thinking

                Of our loved but absent one.

Yet when the day is over

                And we all have gone to rest,

We feel the heavenly Father

                Does all things for the best;

So we cheer our drooping spirits

                With the rising of the sun,

But we can’t help thinking, thinking, thinking

                Of our loved but absent one.

Perhaps you are familiar with this writing of Grandmas. I don’t know of the loss she writes of here, but she really strikes a cord with me. I do love the rhythm. How sweet it would be to talk with her but her words allow me to relate to her today. What a gift!

Cousin Loretta

 No, Loretta, I had never heard of this prior. And to think, Grandmother Lena lived in 2 rooms of our home my last several years of high school and even beyond. I now am deeply sadden how my self-centeredness back then, prevented me from sitting down with her and discovering this creative avenue in her full life. I do wonder if she could have written “The Absent One” after the unexpected death on 10/29/1919, of their fourth child, Mona, age 17 months, while yet on the share cropper farm near Beemer NB, prior to moving to their own their farm near Detroit Lakes MN in 1943. Thank You Loretta for sharing.

Merlin

Greetings All of You Possible Blog Readers!

Today is Memorial Day 2024. I’ve been exploring this morning the WordPress software, what drives this blog. I just came across a Welcome Letter I drafted back in November 2018 to be sent to new subscribers that I don’t recall though I ever sent anyone. But that doesn’t carry much weight with me anymore as Loretta can attest. If you pick up on the clues I’m sending out , such as going to the gym now frequently, reading and listening profusely, writing continually, taking more time to communicate, even looking up persons of influence in my past, you may make some credible deductions about my State of My Union, or Of my Body. That’s exactly why I avoid mirrors and cameras, which was much easier before phones became human appendages. Doesn’t Mark Twain have an aging quote?

Just a minute ago I discovered this letter was indeed sent out at 11:21 pm 11/24/18, minutes before I turned 70, as my very first now of 312 blog posts. Until just recently, they were mostly just weekly. Shocker! No incriminating comments from me. Don’t you know what you say, even think, is what you get? Haven’t you read or ever listened to Carolyn Leaf’s writings or talks? Profound stuff!

For example, most notable thus far of these memorable renewals, which is a list I’m making, was writing my HS English & Speech teacher, always in heels, dressed to the gills, and yet, a Harley rider and the only sympathetic teacher to my only mode of transportation back then (most of the other teachers thought we were budding Hell’s Angels) in’65 when I bought my first bike, a ’62 Honda 300 and drove it 11 miles to school on dry days, even if temps were in the lower 20’s. I even wrote her a letter in the last five years on her 100th birthday, to which she even responded, thanking my sister Verla when she went thru her party’s congratulatory line. Mrs. Bruins lived well til 102.

Enough peripheral introductions. Here is the post.

Entering this world of a creating a blog may be a small step for many of you, but for me, on the day before I turn 70, it is a major undertaking! I basically withdrew from the technology race when my eldest son Ben was in middle school and was totally enamored with computers. He became my expert and I moved onto other tasks in my business and in 2001 when he transferred to UC, I was in trouble and even though I had been courting a sale prior, I did spin off that component of our business within months rather than attempting to catch up.

However, back to the blog, it’s not like I haven’t thought about doing this for several years. The event that finally forced me out of my boat so to speak, and it  happened on land none the less, was the auto accident I caused at 9 pm September 18, 2018 in front of a friend’s house near Cochran St and Rt 30, the first street east of the Dairette. The split second I saw my Prius hood shoot straight up and felt the crash, I knew my life would never be the same again. And indeed, it wasn’t. Yes, I was still here and that was good, but I’d been ready to go home for some time, and actually, more ready than I even originally thought. But now, I also was instantly retired, but at least alive.

And that was good too, because I’d spent years thinking just how would I tell my 20 clients I was finished. So that all sounds like a double win! Right? But honestly, several days later, would you believe I really seriously thought maybe I would have been better off just having gone on home-home? What a difference a day can make! Especially when tempered with severe pain, a massive dose of obnoxious reality, and perhaps an inordinate amount of time to think and reflect on the pain I had just inflicted again on my wife for not just a few weeks but likely for 5 or 6 months! I should also include the guy that was forced to hit me, and even Larry, my likely frustrated insurance agent.    

And you have absolutely no idea how far-reaching the ripples from that crash are still ever expanding into the nooks and crannies of the crudely constructed edifice of an abode (my temple of sorts) that I, Merlin L Erb, have slapped together (figuratively speaking of course as I much prefer working with words rather than lumber) since I first frightfully squalled on Thanksgiving Day 1948. And a few of you were actually there at Grandma Erbs (whether you remember it or not, speaking to my cousins now) that day for dinner when Stella Mae Gingerich Erb was noticeably absent from the table and instead, was resting at St Mary’s Hospital in Detroit Lakes, MN with her first born.

And so in summary, this blog will be my attempt at sharing not only the ripples since 9/18/18, but indeed the tremors and  even a few shock waves I’ve witnessed in my 69 years of life. OK, can we just be real honest here and I’ll admit my guilt in both the tremors and shock waves. I was not merely witnessing; often I was indeed the cause! Some posts may make you smile and recall similar events in your life, while others portray an absolute train wreck! But all are presented as I best recall and hopefully, not to merely entertain you, but to challenge you to get out of your boat and give others in your sphere of influence, their much needed hope to keep “going til they’re gone” as well, and of course, without nearly the drama I put into play on 9/18/18.

I really do enjoy communication, both written and spoken. Had I known it was a major available when I was in college, there is no question what I would have chosen it, especially after Mrs. Brun’s impact on my life thru her high school speech class in my senior year. As I recall, by the time I graduated in ’73, Communications had been added as a major at Moorhead State College. And since I seldom speak publicly, I now resort to writing and more than anything, I find it good therapy for an aging mind.

The big drawback I’m currently experiencing is this compelling desire to share, but with whom? I’m quickly tiring, as are they no doubt, of me intruding on my friends, family and acquaintances by emailing them my latest revised documents. I understand a blog functions more the way we provided salt and trace minerals to our cattle when I  was a boy. We simply placed it on the bunk in a box and they consumed it “free-choice” whenever they felt the “urge”, and it’s not like I ever communicated with any one or group of those Holsteins, as to when they felt or didn’t feel that urge, but it did work! We always had healthy animals! I really do like the term “free-choice of His GRACE” and I have it on very high authority, that “free-choice” rules, and by that I mean, it always has, and always will. I trust in a literary sense, it will for me here too …. And for you as well!

Three days ago I read a book by Gary Miller, who writes frequently for such as CAM, Christian Aid Ministries in Berlin OH, and the strikingly refreshing & worthy Plain Communities Business Exchange (PCBE), titled “Going Till You’re Gone” (GTYG) that speaks truth and says it far better than I. Fact is, if given my druthers, I’d encourage you to read that first. Trust me on this, for I know you’re not all ready for GTYG, especially since it was specifically written for the over 50 crowd, but don’t worry, you’ll all catch up soon enough, and actually, for some of you, you may need an early start just to get here on time. Why else do you think I’ve been so  majorly inconvenienced three times in 30 months? Not merely because I’m a stubborn or a really slow learner, surely? (update here 5/27/24: I suffered, no actually witnessed, several more close encounters including a triple by-pass in July ’20 which was like going for a hair cut compared to the 12 breaks in my legs below my knees on 9/18/18 and then in ’22, hospitalized again with a serious knee infection. All being God’s inconveniences to get me on the potter’s wheel to mold me into His image…)

Blessings as you ponder God’s continual grace and mercy to all of us.