Amazing

It never ceases to amaze me. I stand in ankle deep water as the ocean rushes in to the shore. The sound is deafening. Sometimes the water splashes higher toward my face or chest. I look straight ahead. All I see is water stretching endlessly into the horizon until, in some trick of the eye, it meets the sky in a distance that seems to be a million miles away. Another wave crashes in. My feet shuffle down as the sand beneath my feet slips away in various directions.

We have come to the beach for a few days away. It is hundreds of miles away from the care and concern of the day-to-day life we embrace. Now and again, we feel the need to get away. We need to feel the sun on our face. We need the sand between our toes. We smell like suntan lotion. Our hair goes unkempt for parts of a day. We go off our normal diet and eating schedule to eat trail mix and cheese sticks and Saltines.

We come here to take a deep breath. We leave our work world behind. We may take the time to start or finish a book. We may play cards. We may people-watch. We stick our feet in the deep end of the pool. We sit on the beach and just stare into the distance.

Every time though I find this moment where I stand in the ocean and lose myself, just for a moment. As the water surrounds my feet, I look ahead and see a sea of blue, water and sky. I am standing at the edge, just barely in the water. I consider all the water I can see then struggle to understand how I cannot really fathom how to ever measure it. Birds sometimes flutter by overhead or hop away from the white foam on the ground. Another wave curls then grows in the distance until it crashes into me. The sand beneath my feet melts away. I feel very small in the grand scheme of things but not worthless. I am always amazed.

The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.

~Genesis 1:2

Funny Does It

The older I become I more vividly realize how life seems to come faster than before. Maybe, I am just becoming more measured than before. Either way, life does not slow often enough these days. As a parent, this seems to be a constant yank-and-tug back and forth between the obligations you have committed to and the family who needs and expects your undivided loyalty. Don’t think I am complaining because I am not. I realize I am blessed with the life I share with my wife and daughter and with family and friends.

Still, the day-to-day sometimes weighs heavy on a body. Work and worry often spoil the good part of life while eating away at time and energy. Even though I feel I have been around long enough to know how life ebbs and flows, I am continually amazed how in a low moment something unexpected happens to make me refocus and better appreciate my life.

That said, recently one evening at home, we exercised our regular routine. Homework was completed while supper was cooked. Afterward, we sat at the dining room table to talk with each other while we ate a meal together. The kitchen then had to be cleaned and Hannah needed a bath before bedtime. This night though we were super-efficient. When I wiped off the last kitchen counter to walk into the living room, Hannah still had some time before getting ready for sleep. She then urged me to watch her perform some gymnastics.

I admit I was not sure what my role was to be in all this. Frankly, I was tired from a day at work and really wanted to just sit down for a few minutes. Hannah persisted. I soon found out I was nothing more than a semi-active spectator. She asked me what gymnastic moves I would like to see her attempt. I had to admit to her I wasn’t very informed about gymnastics lingo. She rattled off six or seven things she could do. I caught the name of maybe three things.

For the next few minutes, I called out the name of some maneuver so Hannah could attempt it. I found out I not only am unfamiliar with gymnastics terms but I also have no idea if she was performing those moves correctly. None of that seemed to really matter. She flipped this way, cartwheeled that way and balanced on her hands against the wall.

At one point though, she tried something and it went humorously wrong. She started laughing. This gave me permission to laugh as well, which at that moment was much easier to do than to hold the funny inside. We laughed for a few seconds. I soon realized that part of her laughter was watching and listening to me laugh.

She then looked at me and said, “I love to hear you laugh.” That hit close to home as making others laugh is one of my favorite things to do. She then proceeded to half-heartedly mock my laughter. We both laughed some more.

Time passed. It was soon time to get ready for sleep. After Hannah and Jennifer had turned in for the night, I sat alone with one solitary lamp lighting a corner of our living room. The busyness of just a few minutes earlier had faded into a peaceful quietness. Funny, how I was still tired but I felt somehow revived. I thought about that laughter we shared and that moment in time. I understood how laughter, as advertised, is good medicine. I was also very grateful our daughter embraced laughter enough, even at her own expense, to share it with me. I pray that no matter how old she gets she will understand how a good laugh will always be good for her soul.

Happiness is good medicine, but sorrow is a disease.
~Proverbs 17:22

Road Trip: Rear View Mirror

I’ve written about road trips a great deal the last few years. Getting in a car to go somewhere doesn’t seem to generate a great deal of excitement to some nowadays. Allow me now to get out my old man soap box to climb on so I can say back in my time going somewhere was usually some adventure. Folks once got in a car just to go on a Sunday afternoon drive. My generation drove our hometown from one end to other every weekend for years. It did not matter that the drive took no more than five minutes but it was something you just did back then. In our teen years, it sure seemed as if all of us were bursting at the seams to get our license to drive. It was a major deal. It no longer seems that way. We all have too many gadgets to get lost in these days. And some allow themselves to live off of generated fear to even consider living a normal life anymore.

I can recall that itch to drive when I wasn’t old enough to do so legally. In some way, learning to drive was intimidating. I remember driving backroads near where we lived just getting the feel of how a car operated. I could feel the power of the car just by having my foot on the gas pedal. I had to learn not to stomp on the brake pedal without giving others in the car a concussion. Then there was the challenge of a manual transmission. It became all about rhythm, a type of dance with the car on an asphalt dance floor. Deep down I just knew I could learn to drive but that this time learning, which seemed to last forever, was all that stood in my way from my own adventures behind the wheel.

At some point, I understood driving would just become part of what is done each day. I was right. It has. Of course, as with many things you imagine when you are still greener than grass and so wet behind your ears that it appears sweat has soaked your neck, I envisioned it all differently than what it became.

Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, I just knew I would live forever in faded blue jeans and flannel shirts. I knew I would somehow end up with a truck or some type of Jeep or International Harvester truck. I envisioned myself standing with one foot on the ground and the other on the entry into the vehicle. Behind me a creek flowed in the background deep in some woods somewhere. I could see myself barreling through the North Georgia mountains with the sun always positioned in a place where I would not need sunglasses so I could always see things in their true colors. The eight track player would be playing Bob Seger or The Allman Brothers.

Life, of course, turned out differently. I am not sure if somehow I had been able to live out that dream from long ago if I would have enjoyed it. You just never know some things. Nowadays when we load up for a road trip I pretty well know the plan. We share driving duties often. That, at times, is a bit of a change for me, as I tend to like being behind the wheel. Either way, as we ride down the highway and the hum of the tires on the road turn into some quiet melody, I envision myself riding through the sunny mountains. I have my window rolled down and my left arm on the top of the door as the wind tickles the hair on my arm. I tilt my head slightly to the left, look in my rear view mirror, and, somehow, return to the here and now.

Playlist for Road Trip: Rear View Mirror

The Allman Brothers Band "Ramblin' Man"
Lee Roy Parnell "On The Road"
Beck "The Golden Age"
The Pretenders "Middle of the Road"
Rolling Stones "I'm Gonna Drive"
Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band "Still The Same"
Alan Jackson "Drive (For Daddy Gene)"
Linda Ronstadt "Poor Poor Pitiful Me"
Eddie Rabbitt "Drivin' My Life Away"
The Doobie Brothers "Rockin' Down The Highway"
REM "Drive"
ZZ Top "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide"

Slice of Life

Clouds moved in. Rain seemed eminent. Thunder sounded as if had just tumbled across the ground.

An overhead light in the form of three separate bulbs lit up our living room. The television was on but had been paused for homework to be completed. The actors stood frozen in time on the screen with their facial expressions locked in odd contortions. Our front door stood open with our glass door keeping the outside world from us but ajar enough so we could still spy into our yard.

On the couch, Hannah did school work. Her task was to read a book for twenty minutes. As she read her book out loud, she occasionally broke into song. The words of the book, thirty pages about dogs, became lyrics. Once I thought I recognized one page about beagles being set to the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. It was still August but I hummed along anyway.

Startled by the thunder, Kayla, our cat, hopped off the stairs onto the living room floor. She had only taken one or two steps before our dog, Sadie, tauntingly pranced around her. Kayla, unamused at her nemesis, stopped to hiss a protest and take a half-hearted swat at the dog. Sadie barked, hopped on two legs then tried to engage the cat in playtime once more.

Jennifer, busy in the kitchen, stepped into the room to survey all that was going on at the moment. Fresh from assisting Hannah with math homework, her eyes briefly met mine. Her eyes and my eyes both seemed to glaze as if we were both a bit overwhelmed at the chaos of the moment.

We know each other well enough to know that the look was not one of giving up or turning away. It was a look of two people who understand how God has blessed as a family. This is what we wanted, what we prayed for, and now what we have. These are the days we once dreamed to live.

There are days when life is crazy. There are days when things seem to pile on top of each other. There are days when there is little fun to find, and, frankly, those days can be difficult to navigate.

There are days though when we listen above the noise and look over the disorder and cut past the worry. We realize there is so much more going on than noise, disorder and worry. It’s the slice of life that makes any unpleasant parts of life not seem so bad after all. It is a dream come true, and a dream that is better than we ever imagined.

Scenes From A Summer

Although the calendar and the weather may say otherwise for a few more weeks, summer, for this year, is over. The times when the sun rose early and stayed until deep in the evening are gone for now. I look back on the summers of my youth with plenty of fond remembrances. Now, as an adult, I measure summer by how many times I need to mow the lawn and how my work schedule becomes insanely busy for a few weeks. As parents, Jennifer and I also measure summer by how well Hannah’s summer goes. For this reason, this summer we tried to pay closer attention to summer so Hannah can remember some of this summer in the years ahead.

For us, summer started with a half day of school. That day ended with Hannah’s skinned knee from a fall in her friend’s yard down the street. It rained on that first summer Saturday. On Sunday, Jennifer got sick. Hannah stayed with Aunt Missy while I took Jennifer to the emergency room.

Things got better though. We celebrated Jennifer’s birthday at Mammaw and Pappaw’s house. Hannah played soccer in their backyard with cousin Sara’s friend, Rage.

Soon enough, summer camp started with Hannah making lots of new friends. She constantly needled counselors Seth and Caleb. She even made her first “boyfriend”. When I inquired about him I was told by her to not ask about him. Anyway, for the record, he was a young man whose name started with a Z and ended with a y. Hannah passed her camp swim test and generally enjoyed camp much more this year than ever before.

There was a week away in the Smoky Mountains. We stayed at a place with a pool just outside our second story balcony. The pool had a cool curved slide where Hannah became a pro quickly. We visited Dollywood where our meal at Aunt Granny’s was free when their computer system crashed. There were rides on swings and roller coasters. Then there was that one night we walked to a restaurant in the heat of the late afternoon. The walk took longer than we wanted but the food we consumed was very good. Of course, we had to walk back. By the time we left, we walked the twenty minutes back in a thunderstorm. We arrived back in our room with clothes soaked in wetness down to our skin all the while knowing how this was one trip we would always remember.

Some of our neighbors left during the summer for a multi-week extended holiday. Other neighbors added a new fluffy white puppy. Hannah spent plenty time turning cartwheels in Mrs. Barbara’s yard. There were other moments like rubberband bracelets, gymnastics, cheer camp, fake fingernails, potato chip sandwiches, and watching Independence Day fireworks from our front porch and back deck. There was Vacation Bible School under tents in the heat of June. There was the church outing where Hannah tossed cornhole with her friend Olivia. And another church outing where Hannah stood beside her grandmother and served food.

There was Hannah catching a tiny frog with her hands in the front yard. There were back-to-back visits from Mike the UPS guy who helped return a heavy, damaged delivery. There was unreal humidity and occasional thunderstorms. There was counting foggy mornings in August because Pappaw Dills's dad once said the number of foggy mornings in August will equal the number of snows in the upcoming winter. There was Kayla the cat napping on Hannah’s bed and Sadie the dog barking at deer in our backyard.

There was a visit to see grandparents and uncle Donny in Georgia. There was the annual July 4 trip to the lake with family with lots of food and swimming. Hannah even had the chance to see and hold one of her youngest cousins-one also with the name Hannah.

There was a countdown until Hannah’s birthday as she left nine behind for ten. Hannah’s birthday party was held at a rock-climbing place. She and her friends spent a few hours connected to ropes trying to pull themselves up the side of walls. Afterward, cake and presents were served.

Soon enough, it was school registration day where we found out details about the upcoming school year. While summer had been fun for her, Hannah indicated she was ready to get back to the classroom. I knew this when I took her to a cheerleading practice one afternoon late in the summer. She had not seen some of her school friends in months. When I walked her into the gym where they would all spend the next few hours together, I heard a gaggle of girls scream “Hannah!” They then all rushed together embracing her with hug after hug.

As I pulled this post together, I realized what a great summer we have had. For some, we may sound boring. For some, it may sound as if we are easily amused. No matter, this is a picture of us, and this one summer in time. Now, it will be tucked away safe in our memories for a cold, winter afternoon years from now when we will need to be warmed from the cold winds of time.

Scenes From A Summer soundtrack
Ella Fitzgerald "Summertime"
Keala Settle from "The Greatest Showman" "This Is Me" 
Francesca Battistelli featuring Staffany Gretzinger "Defender"
Bridgit Mendler "Hang In There, Baby"
Katrina & The Waves "Walking On Sunshine"
The Petersens "Take Me Home, Country Roads"
Mercy Me "Even If"
Louis Armstrong and Dave Brubeck "Summer Song"
David & The Giants "Just Started Living"
Rowan Blanchard and Sabrina Carpenter "Take On The World"

Slow

I have rarely been one to rush things. I am content to be the one heading up the end of the line. I suppose if I were cast in some movie role, I would be the slow-talking, slow-moving, aw-shucks guy who would always be a bit late being clued in on the rest of the scene.

That does not mean that I don’t recognize how quickly life moves. I have my own obligations that nip away at time. Family obligations add to that mix as well. Throw in how the world operates today and soon enough life seems too full and too fast. There is always something to do. There is always someone that needs attention. There is always something for which to be anxious. Not all those things are bad but adding each together can wear a body down.

Sometimes it takes a deep breath to make it all better. Other times, someone reminds you to just slow down. Maybe a nap will provide a brief respite. Recently, for me, it was a chance to sit down for a moment while waiting to pick up Hannah from school.

I left my workplace making a short drive to Hannah’s school. Typical bumper-to-bumper traffic on multiple lanes of highway greeted me. Changing lanes while navigating the route needed to go occupied my thoughts. Quietly, the radio played an outdated traffic report. I approached a few red lights silently praying the light in my lane stayed green until I passed under. Soon enough, I was at the school searching for a parking space.

The sun was bright on this day. The weather had not yet yielded to summer, so the low humidity made this day in the month of May still feel like spring. The skies were as blue as blue can get. I made school officials know why I was there. They made me aware they would send Hannah soon.

On this day, Hannah had a strings lesson. I knew my wait would be a bit longer than any other day. I sat down on a bench to live out the wait. Of course, this meant I could pull out my phone to see what I had missed in the twenty minutes since I had last looked. Quickly, I noticed my phone battery was low. Playing it safe, I put my phone back in my pocket. I told myself how a body never knows I might need that extra battery life on the ride home. I sat on the bench determined to pass the time away without the assistance of modern technology.

Without warning, I sensed a breeze. It was slight but enough to tousle the very ends of my hair. In the distance, I could hear traffic, maybe even a siren from an emergency vehicle. It became hard to recall exactly each moment then. I could feel myself slipping away. I looked at the blue sky lost in its deepness. I realized then how the leaves in the trees were being brushed back by the wind. For a moment, I felt as if I were in some three dimensional event. Everything around me felt as if it kept moving forward while I stayed still, left behind while everything kept going. I tried to breathe it all in and hold as long as possible.

Soon enough, Hannah emerged from the building ready to go home. I stepped back into that well-worn, comfortable place that sometimes can become overgrown with stress. It was better now though. It was as if things had been reset. It felt more like the place where I belong.

When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.
~Psalm 94:19

Art For The Heart

It was a special day. The entirety of the third grade at Hannah’s school had an art show. Each student named a local landmark to paint for the show. In the weeks prior to the show, the students tapped their creative sides to put paint to canvas providing their interpretation of a famous local location. They also spent time researching their chosen landmark to write a blurb that appeared alongside their painting. On the big day, we dressed up, entered the school library to see each student in Hannah’s class standing by their painting while also willing to sign autographs.

About a year earlier, Hannah’s grandparents and uncle took her to the Lookout Mountain Incline Railway. Lookout Mountain rests on the southern side of the city of Chattanooga. At the top of the mountain is a breathtaking view of the city. There, a rail car can lower you to the foot of the mountain into the St. Elmo neighborhood. Then, the rail car makes the climb to the top of the mountain. The trip is about one mile long, so the ride, both ways, is rather steep. Something about thinking about this excursion had Hannah hesitant to ride the incline initially. Once there though she embraced the opportunity. Months later, that venture had made such an impression on her that she decided to capture it on a painter’s canvas.

Her painting was bright and colorful and worthy of all the other wonderful words a parent could imagine. All the paintings were good. I was amazed at the detail some had. Others had a great mixture of colors. Each though was unique and special like the artist in each child.

After the art show exhibit, Hannah’s school day was over. Jennifer and I determined we would spend the time right after the event in some special way. We felt the way to celebrate was for the three of us to have brunch. Fortunately, the two adults outvoted the nine-year-old or we would have munched on something from McDonald’s. Instead, we went to downtown Chattanooga to a restaurant specializing mostly in breakfast items.

Then over omelets, bacon, biscuits, fruit, French toast and various types of coffee and water, we talked about the art show. We talked about Hannah’s classmates. We noted how much they have all changed in the past year, a quarantine casualty of not being able to get to know your child’s friends and their parents while waiting in car line or aftercare. After eating all we could hold, we shelled out enough money for a decent dinner all the while knowing the next meal would likely be much later in the afternoon. We walked out the door to locate our car and go home. Jennifer and Hannah had the rest of the day off while I worked from home.

There are a lot of things I recall about that day. Some of them I have already mentioned here. The biggest takeaway is how we were able to spend time together as a family while not being overwhelmed with work or school or worry over family and friends. Obviously, Hannah’s painting is one of those things to remember about the day. It will be a cherished memento from third grade for years to come. It will always be something memorable about this day. I am sure after the school year ends, it will hang on a wall.

For me though the other picture in this blog post is the one I will try to remember for the rest of my days.

As we left the restaurant, Jennifer and Hannah turned down the sidewalk toward the parking lot where our car was located. As is often the case, I was a few steps behind the two of them. Around us was the skyline of the city Jennifer grew up in, the city Hannah is growing up in, the city I have grown to love, and the city we will all grow old in. Hand in hand they walked into the landscape of concrete and steel with the backdrop of a clear blue sky with Lookout Mountain off in the distance. It just seemed like a moment that should be captured for remembering at some later time.

Now, removed from that moment, I understand I may not recall all the details of this special day. The names of Hannah’s classmates may fade from me with time. I probably won’t recall what I wore that day. Remembering the specific brunch items we shared may be a chore years from now, Hopefully though, I will recall this place we call home and many of the moments we shared together here. I especially hope my mind will always carry the image of Jennifer and Hannah, hand in hand, in this place at this time. I hope it will be painted onto the canvas of my memory for now and all time.

Road Trip: Bowling Green

At a certain time in my life, I put many miles on my truck traveling to Bowling Green, Kentucky. I first went to Bowling Green to be part of a friend’s wedding in the mid-1980s. Little did I know then how one day in the not-so-distant future I would live there for a time.

Fast-forward a few years and a college friend (hi, Kelly!) was working in Bowling Green for a company that produced video yearbooks for schools. With her connections, I soon interviewed with that company. I was then hired to work there.

I moved to Bowling Green in the late spring. I had an apartment just outside the city limits of Bowling Green near the Chevrolet Corvette manufacturing facility. I worked evenings so I well remember looking outside my front window during the day spending time watching new Corvettes being test driven by my apartment.

For much of the rest of that calendar year, Kentucky became my home. I had a number of friends who lived nearby so it was good to see them on occasion. Nashville was an hour south and other friends lived there. I was often on the road visiting Music City, USA on weekends. A few times, friends visited me for a weekend in Bowling Green.

My day-to-day world then was in the town that is the home to Western Kentucky University, Houchen’s Grocery, the Greenwood Mall, and Beech Bend Park. One of the local radio stations was the Beaver, WBVR. Another friend (hi, Christi!) worked for them. It was always nice to turn on the radio and listen to her.

I also recall Kentucky had some incredible sunsets. I have lived most of my life where sunsets slide behind mountains. In Bowling Green, the land was flat, so experiencing the sun slip slowly toward the ground was a nice change of pace.

I remember during one friend’s visit from Nashville how we visited a restaurant named Quincy’s. It was a steakhouse and featured a salad bar. I don’t recall what we ate when we went. I do remember laughing so hard that my friend nearly choked on his food. I never went back to Quincy’s after that because I imagine they might have met me at the door to turn me away.

I was always amazed how when I drove outside Bowling Green into the countryside. Yes, there were cattle and farmland there, but there were also small oil derricks. It seems that section of Kentucky had oil underneath the ground in certain locations, so a few folks could have been considered Kentucky oil barons.

Later that calendar year, the company that employed me made drastic changes breaking promises they made to a number of us who worked there. It became time to move on for me. So, I packed back up and moved back to Georgia for a time.

That road from Bowling Green south then back north to Bowling Green was one I traveled frequently for a time years ago. On either side of Nashville, the drive was smooth and free from the congestion of Tennessee’s capital city. I have driven enough to think I could do it with my eyes closed.

Recently, we spent a few days in Kentucky. Jennifer has an aunt and uncle who live about an hour east of Bowling Green. We have been there through the years to spend part of the Thanksgiving holiday with many of her family. On this trip we ventured closer to Bowling Green but still stayed east of the town. One day we did drive to a dairy farm in Barren County. Getting that close to some old haunts made me a bit reminiscent of the time I spent there.

It made me remember one trip I made when I lived in Bowling Green. I stopped at a gas station in Nashville to fill up the tank. Inside, I spotted this giant black and gold mug with the WKDF logo on it. WKDF was one of the hotter radio stations in Nashville at the time. I bought that mug and still have it to this day. It is one of the few things that have survived the years from my short time in Bowling Green. That mug reminds me of my time in Kentucky. I no longer drink out of that mug. Instead, it holds dozens of pennies. Still, I can’t quite part with it as it seems connected to a time and place that remains a special time in my life, even if it was for a very short time.

Road Trip: Bowling Green playlist:
Kentucky Headhunters “Walk Softly On This Heart Of Mine”
John Prine (with Marty Stuart) “Paradise”
Vince Gill “When I Call Your Name”
Loretta Lynn “Blue Kentucky Girl”
The Allman Brother Band “Good Clean Fun”
Bill Monroe “Blue Moon of Kentucky”
MC Hammer “U Can’t Touch This”
The Black Crowes “Jealous Again”
ZZ Top “Doubleback”
Patty Loveless and Ricky Skaggs “Close By”
Kentucky Headhunters “Dumas Walker”
The Everly Brothers “Bowling Green”

Some Call Me Timmy

Ever notice how many names you are known by? I have thought some about this from time to time. When you become a parent, you get a new identity. Hannah knows me as “Daddy”. Of all the names I am known by, it is my favorite name by far. Now to Hannah’s friends I am “Hannah’s daddy”. That one is okay, too. As I become older, I sometimes hear some younger folks refer to me as “Mr. Dills”. While I may feel that title should refer to my late grandfather or to my father, I try to temper that urge so that in some way I acknowledge younger people who have been raised with some respect for those older than they are.

For the most part though, most everyone I know calls me ‘Tim”. It is a shortened version of my given name, “Timothy”. The name means “honoring God”. So many of our names reach back to some meaning tied to God.

Some have varied my name throughout my life in some way. You know “Tiny Tim” was one. I have long been confused with that one since it could be Tiny Tim from A Christmas Carol from Charles Dickens, but it could also mean the person calling me that really liked the falsetto-singing, ukulele-playing pop culture star Tiny Tim best known in the 1960s and 1970s. A few called me “Timbo” from time to time although that one never stuck for long.

During the earliest part of my life, I was known as “Timmy”. I have no idea who first called me that or why. I then was known by “Timmy” by family and friends. At some point, I suppose I thought “Timmy” sounded too much like a little kid’s name, so I worked hard to let folks know I preferred to be called “Tim”. I don’t really recall any specific event that made me determine this is how I should be identified but it caught on. Now most all who know me call me by that shortened version of my given first name.

Except some still call me “Timmy”. I noticed this when I was in college. I was home one summer and attended a family reunion. I saw aunts, uncles, and cousins I had not seen in years. For some of them, the last time they had seen me was when I was called “Timmy”. I noted then how some called me by that name on that day especially when some who used that name followed it by saying how they had not seen me since I was “little”. When I returned to school in the fall, I joked with some of my friends about being called “Timmy”. When I hosted a radio show on the college radio station, I then began calling myself “Little Timmy”.

At some point, my nieces and nephews, and maybe even a few cousins, caught on to it all. They started calling me “Timmy” as well. They relished this since they thought it got under my skin some. And, maybe, for a time, it did. Even now when we are together at some point, one of them will purposely, or otherwise, call me “Timmy”.

I don’t hear the name “Timmy” often these days. At a recent family funeral though I heard it a few times. With so many years behind me now, I don’t always recognize the name when I hear it. Maybe it is just so much a part of me now that it skips by me when someone uses that name. On this day though prior to the funeral service, a few family members had told me one of my cousins that I had not seen in years was there. I had not run across him though. As the family gathered to walk into the funeral home chapel, I saw my cousin across the room. I broke the line, walked to him, grabbed his hand then looked him in the eyes. Sure enough, he gripped my hand back, looked me in the eyes and without hesitation said, “Timmy.”

For me, that is enough reason to always answer to that name.

Not Always Easy

A part of life that never changes is how life is always changing. Since much of this type of change is gradual, most of us live with some understanding that we live in the time between we realize such changes. Some change takes place, we realize the change and react.

When I think about my life, I seem to end up measuring the way life is now with how it was when I first can recall. This takes me back to my childhood. At this time, I began putting the puzzle pieces together of who I was, and who was in my family. God blessed me with a wonderful immediate family. Beyond that He also blessed me with amazing aunts, uncles, and cousins.

As life moved on, changes came about. Family members moved away. Some drifted away. Some died.

I was one of those who moved away. Granted, it is just a few hours away but still the distance and time is great enough to make it difficult to get there easily at times.

Still, there are days when I wish I could go back to the way it was when I first understood how those pieces of the puzzle fit together so that all the family I have ever known would still be together. Of course, such wishing can never make such a thing happen. This leads to another part of life, when change happens we react in some way. Hopefully, we all adapt, you know, change, in some way and move forward.

Recently, a couple of those extended family members died. Under normal circumstances, juggling work and family schedules here would determine how I could pay my respects. After all, being part of such a close and large family taught me to honor and respect those of us who pass away when that time comes. With the added weight of global pandemic, that decision became harder.

As I waited to hear details of visitation and service, the inclusion of the virus added to the equation of attending. When the details became available, it became clear I would not be able to attend. Work and family matters here would not bend enough to allow me to be present.

Living away from most of my family means this happens at times. Each time I grapple with this, I end up feeling guilty. I feel as if I am not properly remembering and honoring what these family members have meant, still mean and will forever mean to me.

To some who read this, what I say here may not mean much. To some family does not matter very much for various reasons. To some stopping to reflect when someone dies is a waste of time, after all, life goes on for the living. For me, I cannot understand that type of thinking. I was raised differently I suppose.

Part of life is also about making hard choices then living with the consequences of those decisions. When I moved here over twenty-five years ago, I knew then how losing family members to death would be something that would bother me. Knowing I could not always be on hand to share tears, laughs and memories of loved ones with those family members who will always be a part of who I am is something I knew I had to accept at some level. I am not sure I have been successful at finding that place. I am not sure I really want to ever find that place. I know now when it happens, it is never an easy thing to go through. That is one thing that does not seem to change.

A Little Understanding

There are a lot of things that I do not understand. At eye-level, there are mathematical problems and scientific concerns, that, well, lose me rather quickly. From a wide, big picture look, I shake my head how we, as a society, allow politicians, the media, social media, and celebrities so much influence on our lives, even down to how we perceive people we do not agree with on issues. I do not understand why some do not value the miracle of new life. I do not understand why some do not value the years those who are older have lived.

There are plenty of other things I could add to such a list. As you read this, you probably have a shortlist of things that have popped into your head. I know if I had the time and the inclination I could do something about my struggles with math and science. My deficiencies with them are all on me. The bigger ticket items, well, that is more challenging, isn’t it?

Then, there are these other things that shuffle my papers in the wrong way. You know, I just don’t get the hysteria over pumpkin spice. Some people like to decorate their homes for Christmas sometime after Labor Day, while others like to enjoy the day-to-day journey between September and December.

Long before any virus called for us to hibernate, stunt the curve, put on a mask, and wring, er, wash our hands endlessly, social distancing was something practiced already in certain places. Take the men’s public restrooms for instance.

No, not every restroom is the same. Some are small, others quite large. Most have urinals and toilets. The large ones are great. You can find a urinal away from others in use and take care of business. Even in smaller ones, sometimes you will wait your turn so that you are not closing in on someone else’s private space. Still, I have been in large restrooms, with numerous urinals not in use only to have someone walk in and decide to use the urinal right next to me. Really? Of the seven, eight, nine, however many are not in use, you decide to pick the one right next to someone? After finishing what I went there to do then washing my hands, I have left the restroom shaking my head at what just happened.

I know not everyone can relate to the previous example. That is okay, I have another than many may relate to easier.

A few weeks back, I went to pick up our daughter from school. I left work then drove to her school. I pulled into a section of the parking lot that has I guess about thirty parking spaces. School had dismissed over an hour earlier and now the children with after-school activities or late-working parents were the ones still on hand. This was a number much less than the overall school population. As I pulled in, I noticed there were maybe twelve to fifteen cars in the parking spaces in this specific lot. This meant I had my choice of plenty of parking spaces. I located one then pulled into it. It was a thing of beauty. No cars in the two spaces to my left. No cars in the two spaces to my right. When I got out of my car to walk to the building, I noticed other empty parking spaces available. As I neared the building, I heard a truck pull into the parking lot. I looked over my shoulder to see the driver backing (don’t get me started on that either) his vehicle into the parking space to my car’s right. Mind you, plenty of spaces all over the lot, but he chose one of the spaces right next to my car. I could only shake my head.

I know things like this make others shake their heads. That is okay. Generally, these things do not ruin a day for me. Such things though do make me wonder. These things make me think what oddballs people are at times, myself included. When I step back to think on these things with enough distance and quiet, I can see how seeing differences can be something valuable even if you don’t fully agree with those differences.

Well, except for that urinal thing. I will never understand that.

Oh! Christmas Tree

‘Tis the season again, proving how time flies. It sure seems it was yesterday when I was pondering what to write about the holiday season. Of course, that was a year ago. But, alas, here we are again. In a year that has been upside-down and sideways, one size too large and one size too small at the same time, it is good to know how some things have not changed.

Last year in this season at our house we were in the middle of a renovation. Our dining room and deck were gone then. A skeleton of what they would become was taking form. Still, we forged ahead with our family traditions. We did what we normally did knowing the work ahead on our house would be finished soon.

Almost as soon as the renovation was completed, everything across our country closed. The virus visited our shores. Our leaders told us to wash our hands and put on masks to flatten a curve. Our instincts told us to buy toilet paper.

For me, I went from working from my office in a second-floor brick building a half-hour commute away to working from our dining room table, mere steps from the kitchen. It all happened so suddenly. My work was more challenging in some ways. Life, overall, was a bit more stressful than normal. To add to the workload, Hannah’s school finished the year remotely as well. Her summer camp was then canceled. Fortunately, Jennifer’s work scheduled continued mostly as it had before. We ended up with this different schedule for months. It was busy here every day. It seemed as if every moment was filled.

To add to all this, we could not get away for a break since travel was limited. This has meant we have seen little of my family in the past year. We have seen less of friends also. It is aggravating and disheartening to think about all the time lost in that regard. It is true we can now connect in many amazing and different ways; those ways though will never be the same as a hug from your mom or soaking in advice from your dad.

Hannah’s school opened again in August. I returned to my physical office in September. Jennifer continued her work routine as she had all along. In the new madness we learned to live through, it was good to know her schedule stayed steady as it seemed to provide an anchor so we didn’t drift too far from who we are as a family.

While the uncertainty of this virus caused changes to ripple into every day of our lives, a constant for us was gathering around our dining room table each night. It was good to have this. More than before, this time became more needed, more special. It became a time that allowed us to leave behind worries about viruses, vaccines, work-work, schoolwork, and the other concerns that creep into everyday living. Because of the different nature of this year though I think it caused a different focus at times. The changes came about so fast and so hard it was difficult to appreciate the remodeled surroundings.

This remodel project hit at the heart of who we are as a family. When we initially looked at this house, I am convinced Jennifer’s eyes lit up when we walked into that old dining area. The room featured three walls of huge windows. Our first visit was on a warm October day. The trees in the woods behind the house were changing colors. One of those windows was open allowing a breeze to pass through. It was all like a snapshot in a memory book. I am not saying that was the reason we bought this house, but I am satisfied it helped convince Jennifer that this is where we would settle. So, changing that room was a major thing.

Of course, when you live in a particular house for many years, you learn how some things just do not work out the way you thought they would initially. When we used the dining room on cold days, it was very cold. On summer afternoons, the old air-conditioning unit could not produce enough cool air to make a dent in the heat from the sunshine through the sixteen giant windows and two mostly glass doors. Then the roof leaked. I patched it. I had roofing experts patch it.  Still, heavy rain would fall and invariably leak onto the furniture.  We became fearful the roof would eventually just collapse.

And so, just after Thanksgiving 2019, this remodel started for us. We knew then we would not have the use of part of our house for a few months. That was okay though. We sacrificed that time understanding we would have a more useful house for the years ahead.

With all the craziness this year has brought, it has been hard to appreciate and enjoy these renovations. All the chaos just allowed us to do what we had to do and did not necessarily let us sit back, kick up our heels, and appreciate the changes.

Still, we have tried to maintain as many of the routine things as possible, so we don’t lose track of everything we once knew. One of those things is how we decorate for Christmas. We usually do this the Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving. We were able to do this as a family again this year. I stretch out the multi-colored lightbulbs along our porch railing. I hang the strands of twinkling snowflakes from our porch overhang. I locate then connect power strips and extension cords to a timer that somehow magically illuminates the front of our house. While I do this, Jennifer and Hannah decorate the Christmas tree, then place the stockings on the fireplace mantle and add seasonal cheer in the form of various ornaments and charms throughout the house. By the time the day turned dark, our house slowly began to glow with Christmas lights inside and out.

We did vary one Christmas decorating tradition this year. Instead of placing the Christmas tree in our living room, we placed it in the dining room. It made sense. We have a bit more room there. We would not have to rearrange various pieces of furniture in the living room as we do every year.

Looking back I realize I have spent more time in our house this year day-to-day than any other year that we have lived here. Because of this, I now understand how I sometimes fail to see the obvious. For instance, recently we came home from a short adventure. It was raining this day. My first instinct was to walk into the dining room to see if the roof had a new leak. About a step into the room, I realized since the renovation I no longer need to be concerned with that.

More importantly, though, I thought about the changes in the past year late one night. Jennifer and Hannah had both gone to bed. I went through the house making sure doors were locked and lights were turned off. I stepped into the kitchen then looked ahead into the dining room. There, in a silhouette against our new windows between the dining room table and our new green couch, stood our illuminated Christmas tree.

It is the same tree we have had for years. Most of the decorations are ones we have accumulated over the years. The location of the tree was different. The room where it stood had changed from our other years here.

I stopped though for a moment. In the darkness, the tree looked remarkable. The new surroundings gave the tree a fresh backdrop in which to shine. For a moment, I thought about all the changes not just in this room but in life over the past year. I realized how blessed I am in ways I sometimes overlook.

‘Tis the season for sure, a season to reflect on the past but also a time to trust better days are ahead. I hope each of us can find and appreciate the good stuff in life.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Finding Thanks

It is getting so late in the year we can almost stretch out our arms and pull the next year up to us close and tight. What a year this one has been, huh? After all, I never thought I would ever walk into a bank with a mask on but I did several times this year. It’s been one for the books, and one, many of us would just as soon forget. Still, it’s Thanksgiving, and the year ain’t over yet.

It seems as if the year could be encapsulated in a scene from an old Thanksgiving episode of WKRP in Cincinnati. You probably have seen it but I will cut to the chase, turkeys, when tossed out of a helicopter, cannot fly. Here, see for yourselves.

I don’t know but 2020 seems like we all were employees of WKRP. I suppose that is better than being one of the turkeys.

While we near the end of the year, I hope you take some time to laugh. It is good medicine. If you can, spend some time with family. Bonus points if you can share a meal with them. Put down your phone. Facebook can wait. Twitter is a cesspool. Don’t be distracted by the façade social media projects. Take some time to be quiet and just reflect. Breathe in, exhale.

I hope when you take some time that you find people and things for which you are thankful. They are there if you choose to look. By the way, being thankful is something you determine each day. If you cannot find anything to be grateful for, then do something good for someone else, so they can be grateful for you.

Happy Thanksgiving. God bless us all.

And now we thank you, our God, and praise your glorious name. ~1 Chronicles 29:13

Best Part

This morning I brushed my daughter’s hair. It’s blonde and falls below her shoulders. Today, it was a little tangled. The entire time I brushed her hair, she talked or she sang. My wife walked into the room, our eyes met then we talked about the hours and days ahead as the world around us started to wake.

On the way to work, between the chaos of bumper-to-bumper traffic, I looked to the eastern sky. There, the sun struggled to break free from the clouds leaving behind an interesting mix of pink, blue and gray. It was a masterpiece of the tallest order, even if it were through an automobile windshield.

Each day the world expects and demands a lot. It devours time, energy, strength. It always comes back for more. Always. It is never satisfied.

I can spend my time fretting over politics. I can stand up and fight the power of whatever evil a politician says needs fighting. I can divide and conquer and cancel then pat myself on the back with no mercy unaware I might need forgiveness one day. I can absorb myself in this season’s must see television show or movie. I can wrap myself in my work or pursuing more knowledge. I can lose myself in art or travel or status. I can read and surmise and cipher and ponder and hem and haw a way into making myself feel comfortable with who I know, what I know and how much I know.

At the end of the day though...

The three of us sat in our living room. We talked about the sunrise we all three had seen earlier in the day. Then, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something thin and long resting on my shirt sleeve. I zeroed in on it then grabbed at it with my fingers. I caught it, a golden hair. I raised it into the air, looked at my wife and daughter then without words, we laughed together.

That’s life. And, it’s the best part.