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Christianity and the Tao of Eight Ball

2010-01-22T03:06:45Z

There’s only one stripe left on the table now; six solids; and the eight ball. I’m solids. Yippee.

The worst thing is I haven’t even had a turn yet. My opponent – call him Minnesota, and why not? – has dropped a string of six balls since the break. Seven if you count the one he dropped on the break.

A good break splays the balls across the table, making the shooter’s job easier. Too many balls near too few pockets make the game messy. A better break will drop a ball or two. My opponent spread the balls nicely, and he dropped a solid.

“Nice break,” I say. It’s a gentlemen’s sport, I suppose, or as much as any sport can be whose main tools are essentially sticks and stones.

Now, if I had dropped a solid on the break, I would have tried to shoot the solids. I mean: there’s already one in the hole (duh!). But Minnesota here knows that in pool you don’t take the shortest path. You take the most predictable. It might not be quick and it might not be simple, but he’ll choose what he can plan over the easy shots any day of the week. This is his day. And the stripes start dropping like my geometry grades.

Eleven ball in the corner; nine in this side; thirteen off one rail and back to that side; twelve in the far corner; ten in the side; and fourteen in the opposite corner. He’s got me down by five now – six if he hadn’t knocked in one of my balls on the break!

But even Minnesota can’t plan for everything. Seems he gave that last shot a little more back spin than he wanted and now his fifteen is blocked behind my four.

“Good defense,” he says. I’ll take what I can get, but we both know I had nothing to do with it. It’s a gentlemen’s game, remember? He surveys the table, then points with his cue for emphasis and says, “I’ll try banking two rails – fifteen in the corner.”

The cue ball goes exactly where he aimed it. (HINT: It always does). Lucky for me his aim was off; and it’s my turn at last.

I remember playing pool when I was in junior high. The clubhouse in our housing development had a couple pay tables. At 50-cents a rack pool was one of the least expensive, pre-Nintendo distractions for me and my friends. I think Pong had been invented by then, but really… Pong?

I never was very skilled at pool as a kid. The idea of anticipating the next shot eluded me completely. Unfortunately, that’s about 90% of the game. Slamming the ball home from the opposite end of the table sure looked good, but if the cue ball speeds off to who-knows-where then you better hope you have a clear shot at something.

Picking up the game again at 45 (that’s six-and-a-half in dog years) has been instructive. With what I hope is a more mature eye, I know that the easiest ways are not always the most profitable. And with enough planning and patience I might just run the table on Minnesota one day.

[He’s not talking about pool anymore is he? No I don’t think so.]

“I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.” (Ecclesiastes 9:11).

God has promised these two things common to all men: time and chance. For what? Well… for the race; the battle; the bread; riches; favor… take your pick. Of course, Solomon ends his entire discourse with “the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep His commandments: for this is the whole duty of man,” (Ecclesiastes 12:13). And now we understand what our time is for; and why He is the God of second chances, and third chances, ad infinitum.

Too often we think of a “second chance” as something we get when we’ve messed up. Take a clue from Minnesota and look at it as the opportunity that comes only from properly using your first chance! Believe me, I’m glad for the grace of God that allows me to get up and try again if I fail (again and again). But how much better is it when we get the first shot just right, and set up the next shot as a bonus?

Solomon also said, “be thou in the fear of the Lord all the day long. For surely there is an end; and thy expectation [read “anticipation”] shall not be cut off.” (Proverbs 23:17-18). So there is an end. We all get time and chance, but how much and how many? The best we can do is get to anticipating our next move. The eight ball is going down one day and there is an end.

So, I chalk up my stick like I know what I’m doing. I don’t, but I’ve got half a dozen “opportunities” waiting.

“Three in the side,” I say. And I’m talking here to the three ball, not my opponent. But the three is having none of that and teeters at edge of the pocket, taunting me. Meanwhile the cue ball caroms off to situate itself perfectly for Minnesota’s next shot.

“Fifteen in the side,” he commands. The ball obeys.

“Eight in the corner.” His word is law. Game over.

Boy, it’s fun having this instructional tool in the company break room. Once in while I even win. But the chance to learn something is worth the time either way. Now if only I could learn something about shooting pool.

Ireland, Part Three

2008-07-07T00:46:00Z

I hope you've enjoyed this amateur's tour guide to the Emerald Isle. I had a lot of fun putting it together, mostly because I was faithfully writing something in my journal on a (mostly) daily basis while we were there. Here are the final few entries from IRELAND:

Tuesday, July 21

8:30 a.m.

We left yesterday at 8:30 for Blarney. From Bray, it’s only about 230 km (or about 175 miles, I think) but it took about four hours or more to get there, not including stops along the way.

At 9:30, after skirting the south of Dublin, we came to Kill – we came to a town called "Kill," that is. Kill, as we learned, is the Gaelic word for "church." (The suffix "een" is Gaelic for "little," hence Killeen – a town in Texas as well as Ireland – means "little church").

The potential for comedy about Kill seemed endless. One sign we saw actually said, "Welcome to Kill." (Hold on there… your beach has a sign warning me I’ll be fined £1,000 if I litter, and yet…)

We also imagined hundreds of local football fans cheering their home team with "Kill! Kill! Kill!" I suggested that this could be quite intimidating to the opposing team. But Brian says we’re likely to hear that chant at most football games regardless which town the teams are from.

After breakfast in Naas (pronounced "naas"), we went on to Cashel, home of St. Patrick’s Rock (or, the Rock of Cashel, as it’s known). This structure, or parts of it date as far back as the fourth century (long before our ancestors realized their ships would not fall off the edge of the earth).

Though it would eventually become a church, the rock was initially home to a fortress. It’s easy to see why the location was chosen. From the top of the hill you can see for miles in every direction. It’s very strategic.

At the base of the Rock was a wonderful café called "Granny’s Kitchen." There are a few tables inside, but we had lunch at an umbrella-covered table inside a walled garden across the path from Granny’s. The view was so distracting, we nearly drove off without paying.

The weather continues to be magnificent. We left Cashel at 2:30 and passed through Cahir by 3:00. Then we headed straight toward Cork and west to Blarney.

Once in Blarney, we bought a few souvenirs, then wasted no time climbing the slippery, limestone stairs of the famed Blarney Castle. There were rooms all along the climb, each marked with a plaque – the "family room," the "kitchen," the "priest’s room," which (curiously enough) was located just above the "young ladies’ bedroom." (Hmmmm…)

At the top, the stone was very smooth and slick (worn by rain and heavy tourist traffic, I’m guessing). Though the top of the embattlement was about chest-high, the parapets were cut out to only about shin-high. And, with no guardrails or safety fence, my legs went a bit weak. I discovered my acrophobia is more pronounced than I realized.

But, not to be deprived my only chance, I sat on the edge of the castle (83 feet high), bent over backward and kissed the Blarney stone. The stone itself is about 81 feet above the ground, so you’re actually leaning over the edge, upside-down and backwards in order to do this.

(I must note here how truly unpretentious the Irish are, for they missed the perfect opportunity to sell tee-shirts saying "I bent over backwards to kiss the Blarney Stone." Capitalist that I am, I’d have purchased one, if they had. And why not? I think I was spending mom’s money by this part of the trip anyway).

While you’re arching back in full pucker, there is a guide holding your legs. And if he fails his duty, they very thoughtfully placed a steel grate directly under you, so you’ll have something besides the limestone to break your fall at the end of the eight-story drop.

Nancy got to kiss the stone, too (her father warned me against this, but…).

We had planned to see Tipperary or Kinsale, but it was late by the time we were done at Blarney. So, after dinner at "The Old Thatch" pub and restaurant in Killeagh, we drove non-stop back to Bray by way of Waterford (what a sight to see the Waterford Crystal building absolutely glowing with crystal chandeliers as we drove past after nightfall).

The sun’s glow above the clouds was still slightly visible at 11:45 p.m! It’s simply amazing. C.S. Lewis – the Belfast-born Christian writer and philosopher – called it "the interminable summer sunset." Brian says winter can be depressing, though: You go to work in darkness, and by quitting time, it’s already dark again.

Today: Back to Dublin.

Wednesday, July 22

9:35 a.m.

We saw quite a bit of Dublin yesterday. The day started with a ride on the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit), an electric train, to the Tara Street station in Dublin. From there we walked up O’Connell Street then over to Trinity College.

Trinity was founded in 1592. It was, according to our guide, originally intended to offer admission to all regardless of religion (all men, that is, as women have only been admitted within the past century). But twice in its history Catholics were barred from admission.

In one instance, Trinity required two oaths of all students: one to Britain (as an act of favor to the Anglican Church) and one against the doctrine of transubstantiation. The latter, of course, prevented any Catholics from the College.

The second instance came some years later when the Catholic Church prohibited its youth from matriculating, saying that those who did left Trinity decidedly less Catholic than when they went in. In reality, they were also directing potential Trinity Students to the newly created Catholic college in Dublin.

So much for that bit of history... but I found it interesting.

The campus is very old (of course) and its facilities very stately. I was most impressed by the library. It is the largest single-chamber library in the world and contains more than 4.5 million volumes. It is monumental.

We also saw there the Book of Kells. This is a very ancient copy of the four Gospels scribed and illustrated by Irish Monks nearly 1,500 years ago. They used the powder from ground rocks and plants to create very vivid colors. They are said to have spent their entire lives working on these beautiful books.

Next we rode the tour bus (double-deck, no top) through Dublin to Christ Church Cathedral. This is a beautiful, old Anglican church. One grave we saw in the crypt beneath the church dated back to 1709. The pipe organ had to be five stories tall. Also, Strongbow (the Norman invader) and his son are buried there.

Afterward, we headed for Planet Hollywood. Not a long wait this time. The food was great and we saw a few neat items from various movies.

[Since I wrote this entry, I have read C.S. Lewis’ autobiography, "Surprised by Joy," wherein he mentions summering with a cousin in Dundrum (though he lived in Belfast) and bicycling in the Wicklow Mountains. Apparently some of the stark landscapes he enjoyed there would later become an inspiration for the country of Narnia and its surrounding territories in the "Chronicles of Narnia" series.

The boys – who love the Narnia series – thought that was pretty cool that we had been right there where Lewis got his inspiration. So did I.]

Thursday, July 23

3:10pm

Today Brian and I went to a par-three course on Bray Head. The weather was great (so was the view), but it was a bit windy. In spite of the wind, Brian and I both birdied a hole each (my first ever).

Tonight the ladies are going to a movie while Brian and I stay with the kids.

It seems unreal that we’ll be leaving tomorrow.

Thursday, July 23

11:45pm

Brian and I rented "Hot Shots, Part Deux" while the ladies went to see "Seven Days and Six Nights." The kids watched "Toy Story" and played upstairs.

After another great steak barbecue (thanks, Brian) we went back to the flat. Nathan stayed at Deb and Brian’s (since Kyle got to stay there the other night). After we bundled up (it was a little cool, but very tolerable) we went down for a stroll on the esplanade. Nancy and Kyle got some cotton candy (which the Irish call "candy floss").

It’s so wonderful here. Someone told me, "there’s something about the island that just draws you back." In the relatively short time I’ve been here, I have to say I feel the same way. And, as we watched our last "interminable summer sunset" along the shore of the Irish Sea, I assured myself that, one day, we will be back. Hopefully sooner than later.

After some family photos tomorrow at Deb and Brian’s, we’ll go to the airport to begin our long way home.

* * * *

That’s where my diary ends. So much more could be said, but I wanted to retain the original flavor of the entries as closely as possible. I could drone on endlessly about how we enjoyed our trip. But, for now, let me only add that it will be very interesting, one day, to compare this journal to my second attempt. And that day - God willing - will come.

Ireland, Part Two

2008-07-07T00:23:00Z

Here is the second installment of the three-part journal of our trip to Ireland in 1988. Somehow it got deleted when I posted part three, so I don't know if the same pictures are included in this posting as I did in the first attempt. But here you go:

Monday, July 13

11:00 p.m.

Had a long drive today. It’s about a two-hour drive to Killkenny. But the scenery along the way was (as typical) beautiful.

Today we visited Killkenny Castle, which dates back to the 12th century and has been occupied, at various times, by Irish and English kings. It was very impressive. Though the structure itself had been redone several times, most of the interior has remained as it was in the 17th or 18th century. What carpeting and wall coverings could not be retained were painstakingly replicated.

The beds, however, were much shorter than is normal today. And the doorways were not much higher than six feet either, if that high. More interestingly, the toilets were nearly twice as big as our modern "johns" – rear-end-space wise, that is. Anyone smaller than William "The Refrigerator" Perry would simply fall in – even with the seat down.

So, from the size of the beds, the doors, and the toilets, we surmised that early Irish royalty must have been very short, very rotund people. Either that or they found some peculiar pleasure in sore heads and soggy bottoms.

One thing is becoming apparent – the nations of the world should stick to their own culinary territories. We had two meals today that drove this home:

[WARNING: The following is meant as a purely whimsical, good-natured observation and is not meant to offend any Irish persons who may read this one day (okay, Brian?). Any resemblance between these statements and truly professional assessments of food quality is patently impossible. And those who witnessed my two-fisted feasting will certainly know to take these comments with a grain of salt – and vinegar, please.]

In Killkenny we stopped at a pub called (honest) Paris, Texas.

As they had a poster from the movie "Paris, Texas" hanging on a wall, one assumes that movie had something to do with the name being what it was. At any rate, I am certain they did not name this place for the town where their chefs trained, wherever that may have been.

Don’t get me wrong – the food was good. But to advertise it in the menu as "Tex-Mex" was, I think, a bit of a stretch. (To be fair, I’m told Bennigan’s is about as Irish as Henry Kissinger, so perhaps we’re even on that score).

Then dinner was at the New York Pizza Department ("NYPD", get it?) in Tremore. This was pizza in as much as it was round and had a tomato-ish paste and some meat and cheese. Again, it was good – but hardly "New York" style.

We’re spending the night in Tremore, which is located on the south of Ireland on the Atlantic shore. It sits right at the top of a huge bay overlooking the ocean. Just gorgeous.

We’re at a wonderful B&B called Ocean View House. It’s just a few hundred yards from the ocean. Deb’s church has retreats here annually during the October "Bank Holiday." Most businesses here are closed for the bank holidays, unlike America, where the banks don’t get their own holidays, so they close for every other known holiday, including "National Paper Cut Awareness Day."

After breakfast here Tuesday, we’ll go back north about 10 miles to Waterford to visit the famed crystal factory and some other shops. Then it’s back to Bray in the evening.

Wednesday, July 15

8:35 a.m.

After a hearty Irish breakfast at Ocean View (any Texan would be proud to cook breakfast as good as this), we headed back north to Waterford.

This is a wonderful village on the River Suir, which joins with two other rivers before pouring into the Atlantic (together, they are known as the "Three Sisters").

The Reader’s Digest book about Ireland (which Debbie gave us prior to our trip) had an interesting story about Waterford:

It seems that, when the Normans were planning to invade Ireland, under the leadership of Strongbow, Waterford was a strategic location that had to be taken. To the west of the outlet of the "Three Sisters" (and north of Tremore) is a town called Crooke, and to the east is a peninsula called Hook Head. Strongbow coined a phrase we repeat even today when he vowed to take Waterford "by Hook or by Crooke."

We shopped at a mall in Waterford and, after lunch, visited some shops along the main streets. Then we toured the Waterford Crystal factory. Even those who think they know something of crystal works would come away in awe of the work and craftsmanship here. The guided tour is a must.

We learned that the cutters may work for eight years before they attain the level of "master craftsman" in certain types of cuts (wedge and flat cuts are the two main cuts). All told, there are about 2,000 cuts involved in the variety of pieces Waterford makes. And the cutters must memorize each one!

To graduate to the title of "Cutter," a student is given a dish (about five inches deep and 10 or 12 inches in diameter) on which he must complete 10 of the most difficult cuts. He is given three attempts – the least flaw means the bowl is smashed and he must start again. Three smashes and he fails the piece.

We’re told no one has ever failed the piece – a testament to the rigors of their training. We were also told that the "apprentice bowl" (as it’s called) takes about 17 hours to complete. The finished piece is given to the student as a diploma. They also sell these bowls to the public, for about £200 (roughly $300).

The drive back from Waterford is a long way, though not as long as from Tipperary, I understand. (I could not resist asking my brother-in-law, Brian, just how far is it to Tipperary, and he dutifully answered, "a long, long way." The Irish, I’m finding out, are nothing if not patient - and, considering the family he’s married into, he’ll have to be). Anyway, the scenery was, again, breathtaking.3

After a ferry ride across the Suir, from Passage East to Ballyhack, we drove up through Enniscorthy. Much of the first half of the drive afforded a view of the Blackstairs Mountains to the West. Closer to County Wicklow (and Bray) we nearly had a cliff’s-eye view of the Irish Sea to the East.

Today we will climb Bray Head.

Wednesday, July 15

11:25 p.m.

… and climb Bray head we did. But first…

Brian picked us up after 10 a.m. and, after getting the rest of the crew at their place, we went to shop and mail some cards in Bray. I even made an unscheduled trip to the camera store after my camera spilled on to the cobblestone sidewalk. The new filter cost £7.50 – it could have been much worse.

We got lunch at Dixon’s (a deli downtown) which was fantastic – then Brian and I, along with Nathan, Kyle, Alyson, Derek and Brian’s mom, Marie, set out for the hike up Bray Head.

From far away, Bray Head does not look as daunting as it is. Parts of the slope seemed to be nearly 45-degrees. But, the climb took only about 15 or 20 minutes, and it was worth every step.

Despite a distant haze, all of Bray and some of Dublin and Howth’s Head were visible as clear as could be. Half way up Bray, we could see all the land from the Great Sugar Loaf to Howth’s Head. At the top, of course, we could see that and all the Irish Sea coast to the east. Brian tells me that, on an especially clear day, you may catch a glimpse of Wales on the other side.

By the time we reached the top, I’d worked up a bit of a sweat – but no more than I do in Texas just walking outside to check the mail.

I saw in the European edition of the USA Today (somewhat of an oxymoron there, huh?) that Texas has now had 21 straight days of 100-plus-degree temperatures (Dallas, anyway), and has instituted fines of up to $1,000 for watering violations. (When do we go home again? I’m not sure I know where I put the tickets).

Tomorrow I may finally try to reach the Bryans – our missionary family in Dublin. Either way, tomorrow we will see "Black Pool" (for so it its name means).

Friday, July 17

9:30 a.m.

Had a beautiful day yesterday – weather-wise, first of all. So much so that we decided to forego Dublin, for now, to visit Powerscourt.

Powerscourt is a house (modestly so called) and a garden (several really) in the nearby town of Enniskerry. It is owned by the Slazenger family – related to the owners of the sporting goods company – who, if I understand correctly, are descendants of Irish Viscounts.

Twenty years ago, the house was all but completely destroyed by a fire. The restorations were completed only last year, and it marked the first time (at least in a long time) that the house and the grounds were opened to the public.

Words fail to describe the beauty of this palatial home and the expansive, flowered grounds (probably why I shot a whole roll of film there). There seemed to be trees of every variety, some indigenous and older than the home itself, no doubt, and some planted very recently. Jaqueline Kennedy donated one tree in the "back yard" in 1967.

I’m certain there may be larger gardens somewhere in the world, but I’ve never seen or heard of one quite so diverse. The rose garden alone is breathtaking, with its many varieties and shades – so colorful and sweetly pungent.

Jordan had a bit of a fever before we got back, so we dropped him and Nancy at the flat. After dinner at Brian and Debbie’s, we went back to the flat and I took Nathan and Kyle for a walk on the seafront. We played some arcade games and rode a few rides at Dawson’s Family Fun Center. Then we got some sodas and collected rocks, and also skipped some rocks on the Irish Sea.

The weather continues to be gorgeous. I love just sitting here with the kitchen window propped open and enjoying the cool, moist air. Meanwhile in Texas, I read that they have had 20 heat-related deaths, and no relief is in sight.

Saturday, July 18

9:05 a.m.

We didn’t do much Friday. Kind of a "laid back" day after Jordan’s restless night. His fever is gone now, though.

We started late Friday morning and just did some shopping after lunch. Brian took Nathan and Kyle with Alyson and Derek to see "The Little Mermaid."

We had a great steak barbecue at Brian & Debbie’s (Irish beef is fantastic, every bit as tasty and tender as the best Texas Black Angus I’ve eaten). Then the ladies went to see a movie ("Sliding Doors") while I took the boys to the flat and Brian stayed home with his three.

Today we’re planning a trip to Dublin. Wednesday we’ll meet the Bryans and go to church with them in Dundrum (they live in Rathfarnham).

Saturday, July 18

11:20 p.m.

Just got back from Brian’s place and Nancy and the boys are fast asleep. Brian and I watched "Tomorrow Never Dies." Even though this is the trip of a lifetime, we have allowed time for some very "ordinary" things, as well.

Dublin was tiring today. Although I expect it’s largely that the whole trip is just taking its toll on us all, we did a good bit of walking, too.

We parked just a block or so from the seat of the Irish government. We viewed quite a bit of the collection of paintings and sculptures at the National Gallery of Ireland. Then a walk through the Natural Sciences museum (not sure if that was the proper name, but it was along those lines – lots of flora and fauna and such).

Next we toured the main government building where both the parliament and the Teoshaich sit. The Teoshaich (pronounced "tee-shock") is the leader of the nation, whereas the one they call "President of Ireland" is more of a figurehead, much like our own (insert joke here).

Finally, we had lunch at (the name escapes me, but it’s a really good Chicago-style pizzeria). This, I can safely say, was as close to authentic Chicago-style pizza as I’ve had in Ireland so far. Make no mistake – the previous comments on cuisine notwithstanding – this was good pizza. (Oh, I should also mention, we did have some very good Chinese food several days ago).

We had hoped to eat at the Planet Hollywood (I didn’t know Dublin had one), but the wait would have been too long. However, Nathan and Kyle saw and touched the actual R2-D2 unit from the "Star Wars" films – heady stuff for Nathan in particular. Nancy got to see the motorcycle from "Lethal Weapon 3." But, as it was encased in glass, she was unable to touch the seat whereon sat the much-ballyhooed behind of Mel Gibson (what a pity).

On our way out of Dublin, Brian first took us further into the city – down O’Connell Street. We crossed the Liffey on the O’Connell Bridge, and I think I found the camera the Irish Times uses for the "Live Shot" on their website.

Dublin was packed with people. Hopefully when we go back for the bus tour (the one with the open-topped upper deck) it will not be as crowded as the weekend traffic is.

Oh, I almost forgot: On our way to eat, we walked through a park called St. Stephen’s Green – and that it was. I’d say it’s the "Central Park" of Dublin, but, having never seen Central Park, I’m only guessing. Winding asphalt paths lead through huge, thick trees into expansive, lush yards dotted with fountains and flower gardens. It was – as is our popular word now – lovely. Can’t wait to go back to Dublin.

Tomorrow: Church and the dedication of my newest nephew, Sean Daniel Tobin. Then Monday, we’ll be off to Blarney, Cashel, and, possibly, Tipperary, too.

Tuesday – Dublin. Wednesday afternoon and evening with the Bryan family. Thursday we may just climb Bray Head again. Then Friday – home.

It all seems to be going so fast. Only time enough to begin to let Ireland sink in – then we must leave her behind.

Sunday, July 19

10:55 p.m.

Had a wonderful time at church this morning with the "Christians at Number Five." They had a guest speaker, Frank O’ Sullivan, who brought a tremendous message from Romans, chapter six. (I even got a copy of the tape they recorded with the message and some of the congregation’s a capella singing as well).

He related how Christianity is a fundamental change in the way we live, and not simply an "add-on, like you take up squash, or needlepoint." He brought out how that, when we are properly affected by the grace of God over and above our sin, we can, by that grace, overcome sin.

After the teaching, we had the Lord’s Supper, then Sean Daniel was dedicated. Robin – another of the church’s elders – used Luke 2:52 (one of my favorite scriptures) to remind Brian and Debbie of their charge to ensure Sean grows up properly in "wisdom, and in stature, and in favor with God and man."

Not much going on the rest of the day, though, as we wanted to rest up for the trip to Blarney tomorrow. We’ll try to leave around 8:30 a.m.

Is it October already? (Ireland, Part One)

2007-10-02T01:19:00Z

Yes, yes. Still here. Sorry it's been so long and all that.

It occurred to me that I have too much already written to excuse myself from posting so sporadically. I had a modest e-mailer called "THREESIXTEEN" that would be easy to "rehash" for this blog. Problem is most of my blog readers are former THREESIXTEENERS.

However, there is one piece that I never used - there are several, really, but one in particular for which I've received some positive feedback. It's a long piece - but then If I had posted it in May to keep you interested, you might not have noticed that I haven't posted ANYTHING for the past six months.

So, here is a diary of our family's visit to Ireland in July 1998. I present it in three chapters - partly to keep from overloading the curious reader, and partly to ensure I have at least two more ready-made postings for the rest of October. I hope you enjoy this as much as we enjoyed Ireland.

IRELAND

A Brief Diary of our Visit to the Emerald Isle (Part One)

FOREWORD

This is an incomplete chronicle of our family's trip to Ireland in July 1998. It was the first time we (myself, my wife, and three boys) had ever been outside the United States, let alone across the Atlantic Ocean. On the way there, we met my mom in Chicago. This would be, I believe, her third or fourth trip to Ireland.

We shot about twelve rolls of film during our trip. They only begin to show the beauty of this wonderfully unspoiled, ancient land, to which words alone cannot do justice. And we found the Irish people to be very warm and welcoming. "Cead Mile Failte" as the saying goes - "A Hundred Thousand Welcomes." (We figure we wore out about 92,000 of them).

The following is a transcription of a hand-written journal I kept nearly every day during the trip. Some factual errors have been corrected, and a few additional memories added.

It must be acknowledged here that this trip was a gift from my most gracious sister, Debbie, and her wise and benevolent husband, Brian, and was at least partially bankrolled by my dear, sweet, wonderful mother. We cannot thank you all enough for the gift you've given us. The memories of the enchanted, beautiful "Emerald Isle" will, no doubt, warm our hearts long after we've forgotten how much money we owe you.

Friday, July 10

It's after 8 p.m. in Bray. We've been in Ireland about 12 hours so far, and we've yet to top the time it took us to get here from Texas.

We left our house at 1:15 p.m. Thursday (July 9) and arrived at Dublin Airport at 8:15 a.m. Friday (July 10). Total time door-to-door: about thirteen hours.

I alone am awake in the "grandma flat" that my sister Debbie and her husband Brian secured for us. It's quite nice. Two small rooms - a kitchen and a living/sleeping area - plus a full bath. It's perfect, considering we will be spending most of our time out-and-about.

It is still very bright out. The sun will not be down until after 10 p.m. and will be back up before 5:30, I'm told. Being so far north of the Equator, Ireland gets an obscene amount of daylight during the summer months.

Our flights (Dallas to Chicago and Chicago to Dublin) went very well. In both instances we landed ahead of schedule, without falling short of the runway - which is always a plus for me.

The Chicago-to-Dublin leg was not without its moments. It was long (about 7 hours) and at times "bumpy." I say "bumpy" because that's the cute way our Aer Lingus (Gaelic for "lingering in the air") captain chose to describe this turbulence (from the Latin turbu, meaning "excessive" - and lentus, meaning "pants wetting").

"We'll follow a route over the St. Lawrence Seaway to the Atlantic," he said in a soothing Irish brogue. "And, as always, [did he HAVE to say "as ALWAYS"?] when we get out over the ocean, we may experience a bit of the bumps."

The phrase "a bit of the bumps" struck me as an understatement on the level with a proctologist saying, "you'll feel a little pressure" as he Vaselines a gloved finger the size of a garden hose.

You could say he was only being honest and trying to prepare us for the possibilities. But then, had he been truly honest, he might have said "more than likely, we'll be shaken like a James Bond martini." But this sort of forthrightness is, of course, frowned upon in the optimistic world of commercial airline pilots, who always "hope you enjoyed your flight" in spite of the fact that your stomach is still somewhere over the Atlantic.

Ireland - in spite of the fact that it is entirely too far away from my stomach - is a beautiful country. We've only just glimpsed the "Garden of Ireland" (County Wicklow, where my sister and her family live) and it is breathtaking. It's refreshing to be in a place where this can be said of the scenery, as opposed to the climate. When we left Dallas, it was steaming at an oppressive 104 degrees. Dublin greeted us with a brisk 14 Celsius (which is about 60 degrees Fahrenheit, or 23 linear yards, I can never remember which).

Only the first day here and I've feasted twice on "fish and chips" - very popular here as well as in England. "Chips" are actually French fries, but the Brits had to give them another name, owing to the fact that they want absolutely nothing to do with anything remotely French. Consequently, what we in America call "chips" they call "crisps," because they are crispy, and "crisps" sounds better than "bits-o-spud," which is, in fact, their name for Prince Charles.

Tomorrow, Debbie's church is hosting a picnic in the Wicklow Mountains. Can't wait to see the sights. After Tour de France vacates the island (Monday) we'll go to Killkenny en route to Blarney.

Saturday, July 11

It's 8:37 a.m. I've showered, shaved and dressed and no one else is up yet. Hardly noteworthy except that it never happens at home. Not the showering and shaving part, but the part where I'm awake before everyone else. Never happens - ask Nancy.

My sister just called. We need to be ready to meet the rest of their church group at about 10 or 10:30 ("half ten," as they say in Ireland). Just enough time to have some eggs and "rashers" (bacon) for breakfast.

Sunday, July 12

6:35 a.m.

I know, I know. I'm never up at this hour in Texas. Actually, I've been up since about 5:45. It's either the excitement about being here or it's that the sun was up about half an hour before I was. It's incredible. This time of year Ireland gets about 7-and-a-half hours of dark. The sun is up from about 5:15 a.m. until well past 10 p.m.

We spent most of yesterday in the Wicklow Mountains. What sights! We saw how aptly County Wicklow was dubbed the "Garden of Ireland." Everywhere is thick, lush, green land. There was a "soft Irish rain" most of the morning. This, unfortunately, spoiled the picnic Deb's church had planned.

We first went to the church. The sign in a first-floor window reads "Eglinton Road Christian Fellowship." Deb says they just call themselves "Christians at Number Five" (the number on the house where their church meets). Each of the various rooms is used for either Sunday school or the worship services. The bottom floor is a coffee shop and reading room, which is open to the public nine months each year (they close the shop during the summer months).

We met a few of the members at the church there, including Pat - one of their elders - who teaches as a lay leader. (They are, as yet, without a "full-time" pastor - but they have various preachers from other Christian churches in the area who also visit as guest speakers). Then we met a few more people at the picnic site before the rain chased us off. They seem to be a great group of folks.

From there we drove further up into the mountains and saw a "lovely" (our new word of the day) waterfall that feeds a stream through the most wonderful valley below. At the bottom was one of many sheep farms in Glendalough (Gaelic for "valley of the two lakes").

[As an aside - the Gaelic language is commonly used by less than 10% of the population, but the language is still taught in schools and is very much a part of the culture. Street signs are all written in Gaelic first, then English. Some radio stations and one of the main TV channels runs completely Gaelic programming, including news, sports and dramatic shows.]

Sheep abound both high and low, and they have the right-of-way on the narrow roads. Even some of the most heavily-trafficked roads are about the width of one and a half lanes on an average American street. Admittedly, two cars can fit on the opposing lanes, but then, we didn't see many Cadillacs or oversized Dodge Ram pick-ups. In fact, there's hardly anything but foreign cars here, for some reason. Imagine that.

After stopping for lunch near the top of the waterfall, we started back to Bray (going a different way) and saw even more striking scenery. The pictures I've taken will only begin to do justice where words fail. It is simply beautiful.

Brian also stopped at an old and very peculiar graveyard dating back to World War II. Ireland was (I learned) neutral during the war. But apparently a German plane crashed on the island. I didn't find out just what they might have been doing over Irish airspace to begin with, but nevertheless, when they crashed, many of the crew died.

The survivors were interned in Ireland, at least for a time, and the dead were buried in that plot in the Wicklow Mountains. The German consulate continues to maintain the site to this day. When we were there, several flower arrangements were quite fresh.

This morning I strolled down New Court Road (where our flat is located) to walk along the Irish Sea. My first turn did not lead me where I wanted to go, but I happened on a wonderful vantage point where I could see the entire shore and nearly all the land leading up to the Great Sugar Loaf (the largest mountain in the area - about 2,100 feet high). Bray Head loomed right behind as I turned around. I've got to get my camera out there.

On a curious side note: We Coca-Cola lovers have apparently been drinking vegetables and didn't know it. I picked up my first can of Coke here and read: "soft drink with vegetable extracts."

Now the ingredients read virtually the same - carbonated water, sugar, colour, acid (phosphoric acid), flavourings, caffeine - and Brian assures me they are the same. Except that American Coke has "color and flavorings," whereas theirs has "colour and flavourings." After tasting it though, I can assure you it tastes no different, even with the added vowels.

(I'm guessing the "vegetable extracts" are the coca beans?)

Monday, July 13

11:45 a.m.

Just stopping for a bathroom break on our way to Killkenny.

We walked to downtown Bray yesterday and watched the Tour De France ride by, in all its drug-induced glory. (The second day of the race and we hear they're already disqualifying riders for steroids, or some such). The whole event lasted all of two or three minutes. It seemed all of Bray was there, lining the streets four and five rows deep in some spots. It was exciting.

We went to Deb and Brian's church on Eglinton Road. They have about 40 or 50 members. It was moving to see and share their burden for Ireland.

There was a firebombing in Northern Ireland on Sunday that killed three children, all of them under 10 years young. I think Maureen (an older women in the church) expressed everyone's feeling of frustration and weariness over all the struggles and violence in the North.

We sang and prayed for Ireland, then shared the Lord's Supper.

That night, back at the flat, Kyle and I ran out to the yard to view the fireworks marking the end of the Bray Seaside Festival. We were cold (dressed only our shorts and tee shirts), but what a show!

A true "blog" entry (do you really want to waste time reading this?)

2007-04-28T14:45:00Z

I suppose in some ways I've missed the purpose of having a blog. Most people who have their own blog post something new on a daily basis. But then, maybe, most people who have blogs are not over 40, with a family and a full-time job and... well, a LIFE outside the internet.

Profound topics don't present themselves every single day, but I guess I could just post for the sake of posting every once in a while. Just sit and type about nothing in particular; use lots of slang and pop culture references to let you know I'm "hip". But my problem is (one of my problems, anyway), is that nobody says "hip" anymore - it's the 21 century for goodness sake.

I was "cool" once, for about six months in the early 80's - or, at least, that's what my friends (all three of them) wrote in my year book: "Stay cool, dude." So I must have been at one time, if I had any hope of staying that way.

But being cool cost more than it was worth. And nowadays, I don't have time for all that. I have way too many mundane things to do.

For instance, I took my clothes dryer apart this morning. It's been rattling like crazy lately and I thought - or, rather, my wife thought - I might be able to fix it (no, she hasn't lost all hope for me yet). She even found a website that sells parts for old machines like our Kenmore. She was careful to add that the website specifically said their instructions were intended for repair professionals; a warning to armchair Mr. Fix-Its who might accidentally off themselves with 220 volts (220... 221, whatever it takes).

So, duly warned, I dove in to see what I could do. Answer: nothing. The part that the website suggested I might need to replace is somewhere behind a maze of wires and circuitry that I frankly have no business tampering with. Score one for the appliance repair industry, who will shortly get an invite to fix my machine.

On the upside, I found 86 cents in the base of the machine (along with a winter glove; two ink pens; assorted buttons; and about 63 gum and candy wrappers). And the dryer got a thorough cleaning, inside and out. When the repairman gets here, he'll never believe the machine is more than 16 years old (it doesn't look a day over 12 now).

But the morning is half gone. Nancy is out on an errand and probably thinks I'm being "productive", or at least getting ready for the day (I promised her lunch and a movie this afternoon). But I haven't even showered yet. My hands smell like a mixture of tool grease and Bounce sheets.

So, there you have it: a "true" blog entry. I can't be poignant all the time, can I?

Later, dude. (Stay cool).

"My Advice Comes with Insurance"

2007-03-15T03:37:00Z

Barbers seem to have a reputation for doling out advice, which is easy to understand. In an age when technology has eliminated the human touch in so many ways (ATMs; pay-at-the-pump; self-checkout) theirs is one of few professions that still demands personal interaction.

My barber, James, has never backed down from any topic -- at least not that I've ever seen. He obviously talks to a lot of folks, so I'm sure he gets information from a variety of sources. He hears a lot of different opinions, and he's not afraid to share his own on politics; sports; religion; marriage and child-rearing; you name it. Even those things he may not be expert about are never so above him that he can't at least express his thoughts.

And even if I don't share his opinion on everything, every once in a while he has a real gem for me. This one's so good I had to share it with you:

James knows my boys - maybe not as well as some folks, but he's obviously good at reading people. The barber shop where he and his brother, Randy, cut hair has been in their family for decades now. When Plano was at the far reaches of suburban North Dallas, their dad was cutting hair in the very same storefront shop in what is now "Old Downtown Plano." The used a have a shoeshine boy there every day (back in the day before "business casual" became the business norm). You can still get your shoes shined, but not every day of the week.

Now James and Randy have the place to themselves. I suppose you don't work in any service organization for
that long without knowing how to read people. I've been going to Plano Barbers for about 17 years - long before any of my sons needed regular haircuts. But James knows me and my boys now -- as much as any barber can.

He tells me they're "good boys," which, of course, I always want to believe. Still it's good to hear someone else say they think so, too. James has talked to me and Nancy enough to know that we're serious about bringing our boys up right. So he's not shy to share his experiences with his own children.

As we spoke one day about the challenges of having sons, he mentioned that his son had faced an important decision. I forget what it was (I wouldn't share it if I did remember), or even what solution James suggested, because James drove home his advice with a profound statement that has deep, practical applications.

James held the clippers in one hand and a comb in the other, he paused and looked at me in the mirror in front of my chair. I think this is the part of being a barber that I would like:

In the first place, I enjoy hearing myself talk. (My friend, Santiago, once quipped that my greatest joy as a writer is not in "having written", but in having other people read what I write. The writer's ego is a sad (if, perhaps, necessary) reality.

Secondly, there is no more captive audience in the world than a man wearing a hair-covered apron and sporting half a haircut.

So James pauses for effect, and he knows he has my attention now. He goes on to say that, after he told his son what he thought he should do, he reminded him that, "my advice comes with insurance."

What a great thing to say - to remind your child that, even when the choice is theirs to make, they can always count on your advice. And not just count on it, but bank on it.

At the risk of belaboring the point, what James was saying was:

"Do as I say, and if it doesn't work, I'll make it right."

But that promise implies a warning:

"Go against my advice, and you're on your own."

James has a lot of common sense. But his wisdom in this area is nothing new. He may have heard it from his mom or his dad, or someone else in his family. He may have heard it from a good friend. Or, he may have heard it from the Bible:

"A prudent man foresees evil, and hides himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished." (Prov. 22:3).

God's Word is full of promises for our lives -- for husbands and wives; for parents and children; for money, time and work -- and each one (directly or indirectly) carries with it guarantee:

"Do this, and you will live." (Luke 10:28). Christ was not speaking of physical life, but spiritual. To follow God is life. To love Him and be loved by Him is eternal life and happiness.

There are choices in life -- hard choices, too. But, thank God, His promises come with insurance.

A mind is a terrible thing to mind.

2007-01-14T12:32:00Z

Is there a fine line between "quirk" and "disorder"? They might bear a resemblance to each other at times but, for my sake, I hope they're not too closely related.

Did you ever stop to think about some of the weird things you do? Not the major habits of life, like why you procrastinate; why you bite your nails; or why you eat your peas first, then the yummy meat on your plate. I'm talking about the things that - every once in a while - make you look over your shoulder and think, Lord I hope nobody knows what a loony I am.

For instance: Why can't I change lanes without purposefully avoiding the little bumpy things? I'm not talking about the big white things that are like half a bowling ball glued to the road. Those will tear your axle off the chassis.

I mean the tiny reflectors that separate the lanes of traffic. It's not like they are going to inflict severe tire damage. Yet I am bound - every time - to steer between them. Sometimes you have to time it just right so your left wheels cross the line behind the bumps, then your right wheels cross ahead of them. It's like a game - the Lane Change Challenge! But is anyone else playing?

Then there are the odd habits that really make me wonder. Like when I'm taking my morning meds: I pop them in my mouth, then stick my tongue out at the mirror to be sure I took the right ones. They were just in my HAND! Did I not see them then? Is my memory that bad?

My wife has a few funny quirks, too. Not that I'm going to confess them publicly.

OK, maybe just one:

She has what I call the "defense syndrome". This condition usually manifests when I'm behind the wheel and she's a passenger. Inevitably some idiot (read, "any driver on the road who is not me") will cut me off, turn without signaling, or commit the cardinal vehicular sin of going the speed limit in front of me.

At this point I'll growl something about "jerk" or "moron" and glare at the other driver. Generally the glare is severe enough to make honking my horn superfluous. I like to honk anyway, just in case the offender hasn't seen my piercing gaze.

Then the defense syndrome kicks in, and Nancy will always have some excuse for this waste of perfectly good asphalt:

"Maybe he's lost and doesn't know where to turn."

Or...

"She's probably watching for garage sale signs."

Or...

"Maybe he's going to get medicine for someone who's sick."

Boo hoo! What about my needs? I have places to go, too, you know! These videos aren't going to return themselves to Blockbuster.

Of course, Nancy has no idea whether she's right about these folks. But she has to be sure I know I don't own the road. Not yet, anyway.

Also, there's my habit of counting stairs as I go up or down. This one ought to bother me more than it does. I do it on every staircase I use, but why do I do it at home? I mean, I've lived in this house for near 15 years now; I know there are sixteen steps. But I cannot use the stairs without counting them.

Sometimes I count them in Spanish - just because I can count to "diez y seis". But, sometimes, it makes me wish there were only fifteen steps; because "quince" is the last easy Spanish number (after that it's all something "y" something else).

Then there is the odd way that I...

What's that? Oh.

In your defense, Nancy thinks I've said enough. I'm gonna go glare at her.

Reaching the Small

2007-01-03T01:47:00Z

I read a great quote a few days ago. It came from the pen of Edmund Spenser who (near as I can tell from the Google search I did five minutes ago) was a 16th Century English poet. I wish I knew the exact context, but I think the quote speaks for itself:

"Ill can he rule the great who cannot reach the small."

Isn't that profound? So many leaders -- or would-be leaders, rather, seem intently focused on the greatness of their sphere of influence. And, really, who among us would not love to be thought of as a "great leader". The aspiration to lead is, of course, nothing evil - so long as one can maintain a degree of humility (contrast King Saul and King David, for instance). But in these few simple words Spenser makes a salient point that few of us consider:

I should preface this by saying that I work in the children's ministry at our church. I have worked in children's church for three years, and before that I spent 12 years teaching a Sunday school class for second-grade boys. And old habits die hard so, in spite of the position I hold as a division manager at my "day job", my thoughts on leadership run primarily to teaching elementary-aged children.

Without context, I can't say whom Spenser had in mind as either "great" or "small", but the adage seems to hold in whatever realm you apply it:

In the Air Force, the enlisted men (I was one) had the idea that the best officers were those who had been enlisted men at one point. Not that other officers were automatically bad, of course, but it just makes sense that a former enlisted man turned officer could at least understand both "sides" as it were. They were trained how to lead their peers, but they also knew (better than most officers) how to relate to the enlisted. Personally, I remember only one such officer, and I can say he never made me feel "small".

In the business world, I have seen how the men who worked their way up "through the ranks" (like my father and my father-in-law) seem to have a better grasp for managing their workers. They know how to relate to their subordinates without making them feel subordinate.

Likewise, the best parents are not those who merely tolerate their children, but actively engage them in any and all areas of life that they possibly can. To a lesser degree, this also is the job of the children’s church ministry. And although there are seldom any first- through sixth-graders one might consider "great", there is a solemn duty to "reach the small" that belongs to the whole church – not just the children’s pastor or youth pastor. Remember, Jesus said:

"Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God." (Mark 10:14).

Forget all the nonsense about "touching the future". We need to engage children to do something for God today! They shouldn’t have to wait until they're "older" to serve God and extend His Kingdom. If you are not involved in your children’s church ministry, I urge you to find a way to at least encourage those who are. They love what they do, but they need to know they’re not alone.

What are the odds?

2006-12-20T04:16:00Z

I found two dimes in my pocket the other day - both dated 1965. What are the odds? I mean, finding one coin that's 41 years old maybe, but two?

Anyone who knows me could probably tell you I have way too much time on my hands. And if you weren't certain of that already, I should mention that I also like playing with numbers.

Last week, as I fidgeted over the many ways to say "I love you" to my bride of 20 years, I started writing down several important dates in our lives. I came up with seven dates that, of all dates, are the most notable. They are: her birthday, mine, our anniversary, and the birthdays of our sons.

Not being content with simply listing those dates, though, I proceeded to add each row of six-digit numbers (months, days, and years). Then I totaled those numbers and divided the result by the number of dates I had written. The result? Exactly 20. Exactly the number of years we've been married. If any of the dates had been one digit off, it wouldn't have worked. If I had waited until our 21st anniversary to toy with those numbers... well, I wouldn't be wasting your time about a silly numbers trick.

I know it's not the wildest coincidence you'll ever run across; and I know something about strange coincidences:

Twenty-one years ago I had a friend at a church in Valdosta, GA. It happened that he was engaged to a teacher at a school attached to another church in town. He knew I was from Illinois, and asked if I would be interested in meeting a new teacher at his fiance's school. This girl also happened to be from Illinois. I'm no statistician, but I think the odds of that are probably close to one in 50; not a sure thing, but not a long shot by any means.

To make a long story short (and much less romantic) we met, fell in love and - as I have already said - we have been together happily for now 20 years. But I get ahead of myself.

While we were dating, a few odd coincidences came up. For instance, we found out that:

Both of us were born while our fathers were in the military.
Both our dads were vice presidents of their companies when we met.
Both of us have an uncle "Buddy."
Both of us have an aunt "Faith."
Both of us have a sister named Debra Lyn (Well, my sister is actually Deborah Lynn).

One more? Okay:

Add our older boys' birth dates (1/11 and 3/11) and you get our youngest son's birth date (4/22)

What are the odds? Really, any one of those is just a silly coincidence. All of them together are still not Twilight Zone material. But you have to admit, it's pretty uncanny.

Of course, if that were all we had in common, it would be nothing on which to build a relationship. Thankfully we found many common beliefs, interests, goals, and desires; and through the years we have created many more.

When we were engaged, I told Nancy that God had brought us together, and only He could part us. Hopeless romantics on my part? Perhaps it was, back then. But now - with my love for her two decades deeper - I am more and more convinced what a Heaven-sent wonder she is: great friend; caring mother; captivating lover. What are the odds of finding a woman like that?

Nancy: The truth is, while the numbers (coincidentally) add up perfectly, the words that best express my love for you are harder to calculate.

You are the sum of all that is good about my life. You are a part of every part of me, and without you, nothing quite figures the way it should. You are the common denominator in every joy, every comfort, every strength that I own. Without you, my life would be only a fragment of what it is today. And I love you, so very much.

Happy Anniversary.

I Heard Him Call Me Out Today

2006-11-19T19:22:00Z

I heard him call me out today,
His voice was loud and clear.
Though hidden in my harried life,
His plea I still could hear.

The din of music and TV,
Could never drown him out,
For what he has to tell me,
Is important, there's no doubt.

He calls me to a sweeter life,
A world of joy and bliss;
A life where childhood dreams come true,
He promises me this.

Dreams - it's said - are for the young,
But he invites me still.
For in him dreams can still come true,
If we only yield our will.

A certain enchanting pleasure,
Is in his happy voice,
He has delights in store for me,
But I must make the choice.

Not all my neighbors heed his voice,
Though his offer is open to all,
Perhaps it is the price they fear,
That cheapens his sweet call?

For what he offers is not free,
But it brings joy and so much worth.
If only they knew his wonders,
O' what joy! What delight! What mirth!

And so I haste to sacrifice,
That he to me would give,
That daily, sweet, inviting bliss,
That I may joyfully live.

My offering in my hand I hurry,
And my yearning yet hopes on,
But when his call at last I answered...

...

The Ice Cream Man was GONE!

[It's been so long since I wrote this one I couldn't tell you for sure what inspired it, but it had to have been a summer day when the ice cream man was out peddling his goods, his loudspeaker at full blast. I don't answer his "call" as much as I used to, but I still drool like Pavlov's dog when I hear the music.

I thought this was a fun turnabout on the sappy e-mails most of us get every other day (what the folks at Snopes.com call "glurdge"). You know the ones. If you end up forwarding this little bit of frivolity, just promise me you won't add any nonsense about the "miracle blessings" your addressees will get if they forward it to 15 more people. In my experience, the other 15 people won't care anyway.]

While I'm at it...

2006-11-12T20:32:00Z

While I'm waiting for my blog hits to just EXPLODE (ha ha), I get to rant endlessly about whatever I want. So, I thought, why not books? Someone has said that to in order to write well, one must be well-read. I'm not into a lot of highbrow literature, but I do enjoy reading.

Anyone who knew me in high school knows that has not always been the case. I was called a lot of things in high school, but bookish was not one of them. But after a year or two in the Air Force, living in the barracks with no mode of transportation apart from a friend's car, I found myself staring at a stack of used books in an old shop, and one in particular caught my eye: Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451.

What a perfect "first book" for me (I had read several in high school, but this was the first that I had chosen for myself to read). It was - and I think still is - the quintessential anti-book story. In a nutshell, it is about a future world where books are banned, and firemen only exist to start fires in the homes of the "lawless" who are found possessing books.

It won't spoil anything to tell you that one fireman becomes fascinated by the contents of several books he has taken from a burning house. As his dangerous curiosity for reading increased, so did mine. I've never thanked Ray Bradbury (who at this writing is very much alive), but I guess I have read that book at least five times. And in the years since I first read it, not one year has gone by that I did not read several new books (in 2001, I read 17).

Even more amazing than the story itself is Bradbury's prescient view of the future. He wrote the book in the early 1950s, yet I counted a dozen or more things (technology, inventions, etc.) that did not exist in those days that are now quite commonplace. He really had amazing foresight. And not just for future science, but for the politics of book-banning, the propaganda of censureship. It's frightening to realize that there are cultures in the world today in which owning a certain book or preaching a certain doctrine can mean a death sentence for the guilty party.

As Thanksgiving nears, it certainly makes me glad to live in America. Not everything's perfect here, I know. But we are a free people. It may not be a direct quote, but Winston Churchill said, "Democracy is the worst form of government in the world - except for all the other ones that have been tried."

Silhouette

2006-11-12T01:30:00Z

the Silhouette…

This was a fortuitous shot, this silhouette of the boys on the Atlantic shore in December 2002. I knew the effect would be nice: their shadowy forms against the sun-drenched, glittering surf. But the arrangement of their forms was not something I had planned – nor could have. And yet, on seeing the result the second or third time, it struck me as a poignant picture of the boys – not just for that one moment in time, but for this wonderful time in their lives:

Nathan, the eldest brother, is walking out beyond the shoreline and looking back toward his brothers.

Fourteen at this point in his life, he has been a teenager for a while and is trying out this wide world. He’s wading off the shore of his youth to begin preparation for launching into the sea of adulthood. It is not his time to sail out just yet, but he would plumb its depth and know its power before he attempts his inaugural voyage.

And yet, he glances back, knowing that, leaving the shore, he must soon also leave a part of himself behind. The shore where he was nurtured – where all his life he heard tales of the sea – will soon give him up to the deep waters, where alone he will chart his own course to find himself… and his God.

Kyle, twelve in this photo, stands on the shore facing his elder brother. He knows his time to step out is not far behind. His very posture seems pensive, as if he would watch his brother until he’s gone from view. He too has heard tales of the sea of life, and seeing his brother launch out before him will fuel his own desire to sail off.

He will be advantaged by the same teaching his elder had, but more: he will also watch the elder to see how the waves and the currents carry him, and how he carries himself. But the second will learn that what works (or fails to work) for his elder will not always work (or fail) for him. His course may be charted for vastly different waters. He, too, is eager for the chance to sail out, but for now he is content on the shore.

Seated near Kyle is the youngest, Jordan. He is six in this photo. The shore suits him so well that he sits and rests; he has yet none of the fascination for the deep that his elder brothers have. His is a smaller world, and there is much yet to be learned.

For now it will be enough to watch the souls of those who go out and come in and hear their tales of life on the deep. Though he is not much impressed - or not so much as his brothers - he will manage to hide away the stories. When the day comes that he recalls them, they will seem fresher, more vibrant and meaningful. And if he wisely gleans from them, his journey will be ever more peaceable - even the storms will seem more as milestones than millstones.

So it is, we all have our passage into the deep - into the place where we do business with God. And though our business with Him may take each of us to diverse places on life’s sea, He will assuredly give us all one lesson:

"TRUST ME.

"I, who made the seas and all that sail them, have journeyed myself on the waves. I know what it is to be tossed and what strength the winds may muster.

"I know how the black clouds steal the sun and stars that map your path through the deep, and how with abandon they empty themselves of rain and lightning and thunderous noise. I know how the dark, churning sea swallows whole ships and crew. I know how rugged shorelines gnash at the ship with jagged, rocked teeth.

"But I know that the same clouds bring fresh water to slake your thirst from the salty air, and the same winds fill your sails to bursting, and carry you swiftly to your desired haven.

"All who sailed life’s seas before you have known the same fears. But you will not know my power any other way. The shore holds safety, indeed… but the deep holds mysteries of ‘great and mighty things thou knowest not’… ‘but thou shalt know hereafter.’ Only in surrendering yourself to current and wind and wave (mere circumstances, all) can you ever hope to fully know the salvation I alone can bring.

"The shore promises safety, it’s true; but if you would know me fully, only the deep waters will reveal me. For I have said…

"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep. For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.

"They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits' end.

"Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven. Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!" (Psalm 107:23-31).

(c) Darrell Reedy, 2003