Another Year Older

Well, it happened again!  Another year snuck up on me and made me a year older . . . which means I broke my personal record for longevity one more time.  I guess I should worry if this every stops happening because it will probably mean that I am probably six feet under.  But not today . . . today I celebrate another birthday.

Way back in the dark ages when I was in college a bunch of us were sitting around, sipping a few (more or less) beers, and talking about how long we thought we would live.  Surprisingly most of us thought that we would live at least to our mid-fifties—I thought I would make it to 55.  Back then the fifties seemed soooooooooooooo far away . . . today, not so much.  In fact, I am hoping that my prediction is way off because next year will be the big 55!  It is funny how a couple of beers can make one so stupid in such things as longevity. 

So, here I celebrate another birthday . . . for the 54^th time.  Not much feels different than the past twenty.  I have pretty much hit a plateau in the past year and not aged too badly.  Didn’t lose too much hair on top of the noggin, but then again, there wasn’t that much too lose to begin with.  Didn’t really turn any grayer either.  Wrinkles . . . no more than I had before.  About the only difference between last year and this year is that I have probably put on a little more weight.  This means that there is that much more of me to love.  True, there are a few more aches and pains, but nothing that a few beers couldn’t take care.  Physically I am hanging in there pretty well, but that is my opinion.  Ask someone else and he or she might say otherwise.

Mentally I am hanging in there even though there are moments I wonder . . . but that is one of the nice things about getting older . . . I can blame it on age.  Shoot, I am learning that at my age I can blame a lot of things on age.  Forgetful . . . blame it on age even though I just probably didn’t think it was something important to remember in the first place.  Hard labor . . . nope, too old.  Getting old does have its advantages when it comes to stuff one doesn’t want to do.

On this 54^th birthday I really have nothing to complain about.  I am still alive.  I still enjoy the work I do at the university and church.  My family is healthy and have all wished me the best on this special day, despite the children already dreaming what nursing home they are going to place me in a few years.  I still have friends.  The dogs still love me.  I can go on hikes, but taking the walker up and down the trail is getting more and more difficult.  Beer is still one of my favorite beverages and I have noticed that the longer I live the more choices I have in that department.  More people call me “sir” and I like that even though I usually have to look around to see who they are talking to.  I am considered wise, and the majority of the time the “ass” part is left off.  And, I say this again, I am alive.

The only drawback to today is the birthday cake.  It is a total loss.  It couldn’t take the heat once the candles were all lit—it melted.  As it sat there on the table flaming away, the house alarm went off, and we were able to roast marshmallows.  In a way we knocked off two tasks with my birthday—we celebrate another year in my life and had our first bonfire of the summer.

Since the only way to avoid birthdays is by dying, I can’t complain.  I just try to make the best of it.  Besides, the older I get the better I was . . . and I seem to get better every year.  That is the way I see it . . . a legend in my own mind.  My record has been broken, let the celebrating begin!

Doing Whatcha Gotta Do

McMullen Hall is the administrative building on the campus of Montana State University Billings.  It is where all the major and important decisions about the university are made, thus there are a lot of people in and out of the building.  Lots of “human” traffic as it is a busy place.  With the arrival of spring the campus usually picks up some new inhabitants that are not usually here during the regular school year—wood ducks.  The wood ducks replace the wild turkeys that wander around the campus during the school year.  This year was no different, with the warmer weather the turkeys went into hiding and the ducks replaced them.

I am not sure where the turkeys wander off to, but for a while the ducks have the run of the campus.  They like the irrigation canal that runs through the campus, plus they like the water sprinklers.  Either way, I like the wild life that inhabits the campus and I especially like the ducks . . . especially when they have hatched their ducklings.  They are a blast to watch.

Now I do not know the pregnancy cycle of the wood duck and nor do I really want to learn.  What I do know is that they hatch their young in’s from eggs—they lay on top of the eggs until the little boogers are ready to come out and meet the world.  I do not know whether or not the female duck carries the egg around until it is ready to drop—sort of like a woman carries a baby and it is ready to come.  If that is the case, then I imagine that whenever that egg is ready to drop that the mother duck drops it wherever it might be.  For example, like in a flower bed next to the busiest building on campus.  Sort of like the one I have pictured below.

 

There is quite a debate on campus about the mental health of the duck pictured above.  It seems that about two weeks ago it decided that the flower bed in front of McMullen Hall was the place to hatch its brood.  So imagine it was just walking around, felt those “birth” pangs coming on, and looked around for a convenient place to deposit her eggs.  From what I understand there are approximately four eggs that she is incubating among the flowers.  She is pretty oblivious to the world around her as she nestles there among the flowers.  She doesn’t bother anyone, and no bothers her.  I imagine that if anyone did bother her or her nest they deserve everything that they get.

Typically ducks do not lay their eggs right out there in public for the whole world to see.  Why this particular duck chose to do this . . . well, that is the debate.  Some folks believe the duck is losing it—going quackers in a way.  I don’t agree with that theory.  I think this little duck did what it had to do.  I think that those little boogers just showed up, demanded a place in the world, and she did what she had to do . . . she plopped them out . . . right there in the flower garden where she happened to be at the time.  What else could she do?  When Mother Nature calls we all do well to heed her call.

I admire that little duck as she covers her nest.  I admire that she did the only thing that she could do and that was to complete the job that she was given.  Thus she sits there as the world wanders by, gawking, pointing, and laughing at the absurdity (at least in their minds) of this little duck’s situation.  The bottom line, though, is that the duck is doing what she needed to do.  I have yet to hear a complaint escape her bill lamenting her situation.  I have watched as she tirelessly and patiently awaits the hatching of her brood.  And, I have anticipated the day when those little quackers show up.  It won’t be long . . . in the meantime, she does what she has to do.

I guess deep down I admire her because she is doing what most of us never do, and that is to deal with our lives and the cards that we are dealt . . . that we just don’t always do what we have to do.  Instead of complaining and lamenting  . . . she patiently awaits and does her job.  I guess she has a lot to teach us all.

Willing

Willing . . . the mind is willing, but the rest of the body is not too sure.  That is how it is every year about this time.  The warm weather reappears and the clothes begin to disappear.  After a long winter of staying inside and not doing a whole bunch of exercising my body takes on a new shape as it shifts towards the south and stops above the belt line.  In the picture above, one can see the development of the infamous “pot belly” or “beer belly”.  After the previous winter I am in stage 2.5 of the “belly syndrome”—I am between the second and the third guy when viewed from the side.   I am slowly transforming into the Pillsbury Doughboy!

Now the logical thing to do about this dilemma is to exercise and watch one’s diet.  This is where the willingness comes in . . . the mind is willing, but the body is not too sure!  Exercise and dieting are work . . . . usually hard work.  Exercise means putting the body through various activities that have a tendency to make the muscles tired and sore.  There are aches and pains that come with exercising.  It involves sweat.  The mind seems to think that this is no big deal; the body doesn’t like the mind’s attitude.  The body gets to feel all of the aches and pain, the mind feels nothing.  The two do not agree on this matter one iota . . . so I am at a standstill at this point.  Nothing is happening.

But isn’t that the way it always goes.  The mind comes up with all of these wonderful ideas and then expects the body to come through with the effort to achieve them.  This is what irritates the body . . . it always gets to pay for whatever the mind dreams up.  This time, though the body does not want to have anything to do with it.  The body is refusing to participate.  In the meantime the mind is heavily contemplating the idea and doesn’t hear a word that the body is saying.  Despite the best efforts of the body to remind the mind of the previous experience of exercising and dieting, the mind is not having anything to do with the arguments.  The body thinks that the mind is a nincompoop.   They aren’t talking to each other right now.

The mind seems to do this to the body all of the time.  Often the mind forgets the age of the body.  The mind thinks it is ageless, but it never confers with the body that knows it is a heck of a lot older than the mind gives it credit for.  The mind seems to think it is an eternal twenty-one years of age and not the mid-fifties it really is.  The body gets to pay for it and it is getting sick and tired of it. 

 

In the meantime, well . . . nothing is happening.  There is no exercising taking place.  There is no dieting taking place.  There is just this verbal loop playing up there in the rock garden I call my mind that is trying to convince the body to give it the ol’ college try.  The body ain’t listening.  The result?  At this rate, I figure I will be in stage 3 or 4 by the end of the summer.  I guess there will just be more of me to love!  That is, if anyone is willing!

Grace

"When we fail we cut the string.  Then God ties it up again,

making a knot and thereby bringing us a little closer to Him.

Again and again our failures cut the string, and with each

additional knot God keeps drawing us closer and closer."

(Sharon A. Hersh)

I appreciate having the opportunity to read my daughter's blog (Hippie at Heart at http://candacephippieatheart.wordpress.com/?blogsub=confirming#subscribe-blog) as it gives me a little insight into the person she is growing into in her adulthood.  I especially appreciated her last blog on Blogger before she switched over to Word Press.  It was about her frustrations with her older brother who lives in Colorado and we affectionately refer to as the "Prodigal"--as in Prodigal Son.  Once you have heard his story you understand the moniker.  To say he has tested the patience and love of his parents and family is probably an understatement . . . but we still love him.  That is where our daughter is having difficulties . . . it is difficult to love someone who seems to compile hurt after hurt on others who love him or her.

The daughter is amazed at the fact that her parents--the wife and I--keep welcoming him back and helping him out whenever he gets himself into a bind.  Now I want everyone to understand that for the most part we do not rescue our oldest child--no, he gets to face the consequences of his actions all on his own and own up to them whether they are good or bad.  We do not have a co-dependent relationship with our son.  At the same time we do care about him very much and because we do we attempt to help him whenever we can when he is in a bind.  Long ago I swore that I would never let any of my children go hungry or have to sleep out on the streets.  Because of that the wife and I have sent him money from time to time to keep him fed and to enable him to have a roof over his head.  We do this no matter how many times he has hurt us.  The daughter cannot understand this and I can understand how and why she feels that way.

To say that the Prodigal has hurt us in the past few years is an understatement and he would tell you the same.  He has missed countless family gatherings--missed being in his sister's wedding (a major sin) while having been in countless friends' weddings--missed holiday gatherings--missed his little brother's graduation.  Each and every time he had an excuse or a reason as to why--and for the most part they were legitimate reasons.  Mostly it had to do with poor choices he made and the consequences he had to face.  Surprisingly, or not, he has been contrite each and every time--apologized--and went on his merry way.  His has not been an easy life, but when offered the choice it was the choice that he made--no one to blame except himself.  And, this infuriates his sister to no end.  Because it does, she does not understand how her parents can keep letting him back in and loving him unconditionally.

"How we fall into grace.  You can't work or earn

your way into it.  You just fall.  It lies below, 

it lies beyond.  It comes to you, unbidden."

(Rick Bass)

 

 

I can't  say that I understand grace.  As a minister I speak about grace a lot--it is a cornerstone in the theological dialogue for those of us who proclaim ourselves to be followers of Jesus Christ; but . . . it doesn't mean I understand grace.  Grace means so many things: "elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion, or action; a pleasing or attractive quality or endowment; favor or goodwill; a manifestation of favor, especially by a superior; and, mercy; clemency; pardon."  But for this conversation the grace I refer to is that which is undeserving and given freely--that is the sort of grace that is difficult to understand.  That is the sort of grace that Jesus bestowed upon humanity.  That is the sort of grace that the wife and I attempt to give to our oldest child.  He never expects it . . . he never deserves it . . . but we give it to him time after time, after time.  The daughter does not understand how this is possible . . . 

. . . and neither do I.  In all honesty 

What I do understand is that our oldest child--the Prodigal--is our flesh and blood.  He is the combined effort of the wife and I.  Within him is a part of each of us and because of that there is a connection that can never be severed no matter how hard any of us tries.  We are bound to one another.  Because of that it is difficult to sit back and watch a child of your own go forth and make poor choices, to get in trouble, and to dig a hole that is almost too much to climb out of.  It is difficult to watch someone throw one's life away.  Difficult to see someone you love suffer and go hungry.  Difficult to listen to them cry.  Difficult to know that they hurt.  True, it may be because of his own choices, but it is still difficult.

He makes no excuses and accepts responsibility for his actions--even though it often takes him a little while to step up to the plate and clean up his messes.  He just doesn't always take responsibility as quickly as we hope, nor does he always clean the messes up as fast as we think they should be.  But he tries.  Through his tears we often hear his remorse for the hurt he has caused, but more importantly we hear his amazement in that his parents keep welcoming him back time after time.  He knows that he does not deserve it, but we keep opening the door and inviting him in.  The question becomes, how many times do you play with matches, get burned, and learn your lesson that you should quit playing with matches?  Apparently, with grace, it is a million times a million.  That is what makes grace so hard to understand.  The Prodigal does not deserve it, but he gets it because we love him.

"I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kind of things.

Also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace's

arrival.  But no, it's clog and slog and scootch, on the floor,

in the silence, in the dark."

(Anne Lamott)

 

 

I have known grace and each time I encountered it I stood in awe of it.  I think we all have.  And, because we have I think we have all tried to understand the presence of grace in our lives because none of us felt we were worthy of it.  Yet there it was . . . slapping us in the face . . . and saving us.  Why?  Who knows?  In this day and age, grace is not valued highly and is often replaced with vengeance and judgment.  Second chances are begrudgingly given and heaven help the person who screws up more than once.  So it is when grace enters our lives--we are shocked, surprised, and amazed that such love can be showered upon any of us because we know we did not deserve it.  The Prodigal probably doesn't deserve it, but too bad--he is getting it anyways.  He is getting it because we love him and love desires the best for the object that is loved.  Even when the object is a "prodigal".  

 

I don't understand it, but it sure seems like there has been a lot of grace floating around lately in my life and the lives of those I love.  As Anne Lamott says, it sure would be nice if grace let us know when it was coming.  But, then it wouldn't be grace would it? 

Out of the Chaos--Sacredness

Sometimes life gets a little chaotic . . . such were the past couple of weeks in the life of the Keeners.  The story begins with the Prodigal--our oldest son in Fort Collins, Colorado.  Not all stories have perfect beginnings, middles, and endings, but his ends with a perfect ending.  On April 17th he did his part to expand the family--not by one, but by several.  That was the date that our granddaughter was born--a whopping seven pounds, nine ounces, and 19.5 inches.  She has fair skin, blonde hair, blue eyes and, a beautiful name . . . Emily.  With her comes her sisters--Lily, and the twins, Hannah and Kaitlyn--plus their mother, Sarah,  After months of prayer and anticipation the family welcomes the newest members, but more importantly we look forward to the new relationships that will form to make us family.

Emily

 Father and Daughter

Though it would seem that awaiting the birth of a baby is a work in anxiety--trust me, after four children I know, but it was not the only iron in the fire.  Another iron in the fire was the approaching graduation of the youngest child from Montana State University Billings on April 28th.  As the scriptures state: "The last shall be first and the first shall be last."  I don't think they were talking about graduations, but it fits in this situation.  After five years of hard work the youngest pulled it off and got his degree . . . we couldn't be prouder.  We just weren't expecting him to be the first, but the others will happen eventually too and with each of them we will be just as proud.  Now, if we could only get him to get a job and move out of the house!

The college graduate

As great as a graduation is the youngest could not leave well enough alone . . . he added his own drama to the mix.  Two nights before his graduation he popped the "question" to his long-time girl friend.  He proposed in the mountains--the mountains that they both love-- at Wild Bill Lake near Red Lodge.  Thankfully for both--him because she said yes, and her because she said yes and did not have to walk the thirty miles back to the house.  To say the least the family made another expansion as this young lady will be a welcome addition to the family--plus the rest of her family who are wonderful people too.  We look forward to the wedding that will take place next summer.

 The future bride and groom

Adding to the excitement of all of this was the fact that the daughter--the pregnant daughter living in Alabama--flew up for the youngest's graduation and to see the rest of the family on both sides.  After a day-long flight took her literally from one end of the United States to the other end, she arrived with a waddle at six months pregnant.  Her husband was unable to come home as he was busy with survival training as a part of his pilot training.  With open arms we welcomed our shapely daughter and our future granddaughter home.  It was a joy to hear her laughter, put up with her lame jokes, and get to drink beer in front of her.  I probably missed that part the most, having a beer with the daughter . . . but she survived and so did we.  It was a joy to see her after having not seen her for nearly six months.  Now we are looking forward to the arrival of the second granddaughter in late July.

The pregnant daughter from Alabama

Then throw on top of all of that our state wide regional and conference meeting held in Helena this past weekend.  Meetings rank right up there with yanking wisdom teeth, but I went and survived.  Actually it was not bad at all as the wife and I got to spend some time with friends from around the state, heard a good speaker, and actually got to sleep in until 6:00AM two days in a row.  A person takes victories, no matter how minor, wherever he can get them.

Things have a tendency to catch up with a person at strange times . . . for me it was about mid-way through the big state meeting in Helena.  I kind of felt a tidal wave of the past couple of weeks crashing down . . . not depression so much as a sense of melancholy . . . a kind of grayness to go with the weather we were experiencing on the drive home.  A kind of "blah" feeling and wanting something exciting to happen . . . so we drove home through the Helena National Forest.

For the most part the drive was uneventful.  Dreary skies, little snow showers here and there, and no critters of any sort.  I was hoping for something--a bear or a moose, but nothing . . . until the last two miles of the forest.  Zipping along the wife said, "Moose . . . moose . . . MOOSE!"  Of course my reaction was, "A moose?"  Sure enough, there was a young moose on the side of the road.  A quick turn around and we got to sit there and watch this young moose stare us down.  It made my day.

The MOOSE

 The stare down

One expert on symbolism stated that the moose symbolized "the expression of joy when something has been accomplishment, not in a ‘show-off look at me I want recognition‘ kind of way, but in a true sense of sharing that springs from knowing how infectious joy is."  I think that that moose was just what I needed at that point . . . a symbol.  A symbol of joy for all that had arisen out of the chaos of the past couple of weeks--out of the uncertainty--out of the frustration.  A moose was just what I needed.  But a moose also symbolizes "being headstrong, longevity, wisdom, confidence, self-esteem, primal feminine energy and steadfastness."  For me that says it all at this juncture of my life and the lives of all the Keeners.

Out of the chaos there has come a sacredness.  Our family has grown with the addition of a granddaughter . . . a granddaughter whom I am looking forward to getting to know and love for years to come . . . plus the rest of her family whom we welcome with open arms into our family.  Our family has also grown with the addition of a future daughter-in-law . . . whom we already see as another daughter . . . and we look forward to her presence in our lives.  And, there is the prospect . . . the promise . . . of our second granddaughter to be born in July.  Sometimes I just stand in awe at the expansion of the family and how blessed I really am--how blessed we all are.  The journey has changed course and I will not let anything keep all of us from exploring where it will lead--nothing.  I guess that is where that the symbol of the moose is truly a symbol for the family at this point in our lives . . . to my family I say thank you.  Thank you John Andrew and Sarah.  Thank you Lily, Hannah, Kaitlyn, and Emily.  Thank you Joshua and Megan.  Thank you Candace, Jason, and the soon to be Harper.  Thank you to the wife and other son.  To our extended family in Billings--the Pattees.  To our family soon to be in Salt Lake.  Thank you all for the sacredness you all bestow upon my life . . . and thank God for moose!