Loose Birds . . . I Understand

 

Mind you . . . I am not a fan of the president of our nation.  Not even close.  As far as I am concerned the man is an immoral, corrupt, nasty, lying individual who relishes the chaos and trauma he inflicts upon others—especially the citizens of the United States of America.  He is a buffoon . . . a clown with no admirable qualities.  I cannot stand the man. 

Knowing my own disdain for this individual I catch myself in a shockingly ironic position of understanding his recent “flipping” behavior with a heckler at a Dearborn, Michigan, Ford Plant.  We all saw it on the news, on social media, and across the Internet.  As tRump was touring the auto plant one of the laborers yelled at him, “Pedophile protector!”  Of course, we all know this is a reference to the Epstein files dealing with the sex trafficking scandal that just won’t go away for tRump.  Files that the president himself ordered to be fully released to the public back on December 19^th, 2025.  A date that has come and gone with little to show.  Nearly a month later less than ten percent of the files have been released.  Needless to say, the nation’s citizens are not happy.  They feel scammed . . . gaslighted . . . played for dupes.

 

It is a “touchy” subject for tRump.  A real irritation.  A rash that won’t go away.  It is no wonder that the laborer’s heckle got under the president’s skin.  Frustrated and angry the leader of the United States reacted like one of us . . . like a common person . . . he pointed at the guy and gave him the “finger” . . . flipped him off . . . gave him the “bird”.  In America there is no greater retort to express contempt and displeasure towards another than letting the “bird” fly.

 

I understand tRump’s behavior.  I understand where he is coming from.  It is a totally “American” reaction.  According to the White House Director of Communication, Steven Cheung, “. . . the president gave an appropriate and unambiguous response.”  Americans throw the “your number one” sign a million times a day.  So, why not the president of the United States of America?  If we are honest with ourselves, we must admit that we understand.  The insult has been around for generations, and we’ve even used it ourselves.

 

This is the frustrating part . . . we’ve all done it.  We have all “flipped” someone off.  Given someone the “finger” or the “bird”.  Declared them “number one”.  I know I have.  Probably more times than I would ever want to admit . . . especially when driving.  It’s a universal sign of displeasure and irritation with another person or group.  Get cut off—the “finger” is exposed.  The message is sent.

 

A couple of years ago I got disgusted with the frequency of my profane signaling while driving.  Tired of “flipping” people off.  That’s when I started to use sarcasm.  Everyone appreciates sarcasm.  Instead of giving other drivers the “finger”, I started to give them the “thumbs up” sign.  For a while I felt good about it . . . even thought it was humorous, but it didn’t feel the same.  Still did not reflect my frustration and anger towards that errant driver.  I’m human after all and the “bird” came back.  Sadly, I now use both hand signals saving the “finger” for those I perceive as the most offensive.

 

That’s the kicker.  The “finger” that the president flashed at his heckler is offensive.  It has always been offensive.  We all know what it means.  It is as old as the Pantheon . . . the ancient Greeks used it to express displeasure towards others.  In ancient Rome it was a physical threat.  One story explaining the origin is the Agincourt myth.  According to the story it was 1415 during a battle between the English and French at Agincourt.  The English used longbows which were a powerful weapon.  The French feared the weapons and when they would capture these English soldiers, they would cut off their middle finger.  Without this finger, the bow couldn’t be used effectively.  They thought this would keep the English from fighting in the future battles.

 

Well, the English won the battle, they mocked the French by showing that they still had their middle fingers.  English longbows were made from yew trees.  Pulling back the bowstring was called “plucking the yew”.  Taunting the French, the English waved their middle fingers while proclaiming, “See, we can still pluck you!”  It eventually evolves into the gesture we know today . . . “pluck yew!”  I think you got the picture.

 

Okay . . . it was inappropriate for the president to “flip” off the factory disgruntled factory worker no matter how infuriating the statement was.  Also, it was inappropriate for the laborer to say what he said no matter how truthful it might be.  This was not hospitality . . . not the way to treat a guest no matter how vile that person might be.  As for the president . . . well, it’s not the behavior we expect from the greatest leader of the free world.  We expect much more from our president.  Yet . . . come on!  We would have done the same thing had we been being hassled and heckled.  We would have “flipped” the guy off too.

 

That is the whole frustrating part of this scenario . . . as much as I cannot stand this individual or his behavior and actions . . . I understand his knee-jerk response.  Though I don’t agree with what he did, I understand.  And if we are honest with ourselves, we have to admit that we understand too.  It’s kind of an icky feeling wouldn’t you say?  Ironic in that we catch ourselves lowered to and on the same level as someone we despise.

 

At the same time, I am not fooling myself.  The gesture by tRump might come across as an ill-gotten moment of frustration and contempt . . . a slip of the finger . . . a mistake by the president.  But it wasn’t.  No, it was more of a revealing Freudian slip.  An inner thought that expressed what the president really thinks about others . . . about the world and nation . . . about us as the citizens he represents.  A “oops, did I say that out loud” moment.  Most of the time he just expresses them through his daily actions of creating chaos and trauma—not a profane gesture.  This individua—tRump—does not like us or our nation.  He expresses it daily waving his middle finger at us, taunting us . . . proclaiming, “Pluck Yew!” Maybe he will add the symbolic gesture to his verbal repertoire and start being congruent.  Wouldn’t surprise me.

 

As I stated earlier, I am not a fan of tRump.  No, I am far from it.  Much of what this individual represents and does makes me sick and angry.  He is despicable.  Though I do not agree with his recent “flippant” behavior . . . I understand.  As we have witnessed, it will continue to get worse.  The individual knows it.  He doesn’t care.  The emperor’s new clothes are being exposed for what they are . . . nothing!  And he knows it.  He is cracking and his opposition knows it.  Does he care?  Naw, he’s just letting the “bird” fly.

Time Out!

It’s before six o’clock in the morning and I am driving down the highway towards the big city and another day of work at the university . . . it feels like I have been doing this routine for forever.  In my mind I am thinking that this is like the zillionth day in a row that I have either been at work at the university or the church . . . like I haven’t seen a day off for forever.  It has been a long week as I have worked at fifty percent of my job at the university doing all the things associated with professional development for educators that takes a full-time job; and, another fifty percent doing hearing rescreening for students in rural schools spread out all over the kingdom come of the vast state of Montana  . . . nearly six hundred miles in two days in locations like Lavina, Rye Grass, Grass Range, Roy, and Winnett . . . some of the booming metropolises of this great state looking into waxy ears and asking the age old audiological question: “Can you hear me now?”  Or is it a cell phone commercial?  Whatever . . . it has been a long week . . . an even longer six weeks.  I need a “time out”.

At least that is what was going through my mind as driving through the darkness and listening to John Prine sing about Jesus and his missing years . . . a “time out” period in the life of Jesus that happened between the ages of twelve and thirty.  I was also thinking about the fact that in those six weeks we as a family we have endured . . . one stolen car, one run in with a deer that crunched another car, a truck that needed major (and, expense) repairs, the wife going off for nearly ten days on a religious adventure, the stolen car being found, and the wife going off for another week to see and celebrate her mother’s 86^th birthday in Kentucky . . . just a few of the adventures that marked the past month and a half.  It has been stated that “bad stuff” happens in threes . . . well, I guess the darn thing got stuck and kept turning over and over as we easily passed the three level early in this time period.  That is a myth . . . for us Keeners, when it rains it pours.  I need a “time out”.

That’s what I thought as I neared the big city on the way to work this morning . . . I could use a “time out”.

I wanted to stop the truck, jump out, and throw my hands together in the ultimate sign of a “t” notating “time out”.  Of course in the downtown part of the big city that might be construed as a little on the strange side at that time of the morning . . . like maybe I had had a little too much to drink the night before . . . or that my medication had worn off . . . or that I had lost my marbles . . . anything but normal.  I imagine that if I had done that I would have scored a “time out”, but I really do not think that I would have enjoyed the dinner jacket with the extra-long sleeves or the padded room it would have gotten me.  So, despite my strong urge to do exactly that, I remained in my truck.

I am not quite sure why none of us is given a certain number of “time outs” that we can use over a lifetime when things feel as if they are getting out of hand.  In sports, teams are given a certain number of “time outs” that can be used for a variety of reasons . . . one of the biggest being when things seem to be getting out of hand and the team needs a “time out” to re-think, regroup, and calm down.  Sports are just a microcosm of life being played out on the field or court.  Each team is given a certain number . . . so, why not life?  Why can’t any of us have the ability to call a “time out” whenever life seems to be getting out of hand . . . when we are tired . . . when we need to regroup and reorganize . . . when we are frustrated . . . when we just need to catch our breath?  I could use one right about now in my life . . . a “time out”?

I imagine that there are those of you out there thinking to yourselves, “Boy, this guy sure whines a lot!” That you are wondering what in the world this guy is complaining about . . . adults get “time outs” all of the time.  Adults get day off from work.  Adult get vacations.  Adults get holidays.  Aren’t those “time outs”?  Yes, they are . . . when you get them.  Remember, I said it has been over six weeks since I have not worked every single day either in my university or church job.  As much as I love them . . . I need a break!

Usually with my “time off” I do a couple of things . . . I go critter creeping . . . I take lots of pictures . . . and, I write.  Anyone who follows me on Facebook or this blog knows that there have been few pictures and even fewer posts on the blog.  I haven’t had time . . . or, when I did have the time, the old easy chair or bed was calling my name . . . I was tired!  A “tired” John is not a pleasant person to be around . . . I get grumpy . . . easily frustrated which leads to more grumpiness . . . and, it has made the wife—more than once—threaten me with a whole different sort of “time out” that I hadn’t experienced since I was in grade school.  The scary thing about it is that I actually considered it.

Yeah, I know . . . why not just bite the bullet, take the “time out” and damn the consequences?  Well, I like being able to make payments on the house’s mortgage.  I enjoy being able to pay the other bills.  I appreciate my benefits at the university.  I like both of my jobs as there are good people at both.  I enjoy the church and the adventures it offers.  Both put money in the bank.  I like to eat.  I like being able to have Internet so I can blog and post pictures.  Without my jobs . . . well, without my jobs, I couldn’t do a whole bunch whether I had the time or not.  So, I bite the bullet and keep on chugging away.

In my chugging away I dream . . . I dream on while driving in the darkness of an early morning in Montana . . . I dream of “time outs”.  I dream of jumping up in the middle of a meeting at the university, yelling, “Time out!” Who cares if my fellow co-workers think I have lost a few marbles . . . it would just affirm what they are already thinking.  I dream of hopping out of my car at the stoplight, doing a quit run around the truck, while yelling, “Time out!  Time out!”  I realize that the other commuters will think that I work for the Post Office.   I dream . . .

Winter has been knocking on the door of autumn lately and we haven’t even “officially” enter into the season of fall.  There are not a whole bunch of days left to pause and enjoy the beauty of this transition of seasons . . . the leaves are turning, snow is tipping the peaks of the mountains, and highway construction crews are hurrying to get what the work done before the first snow flies . . . whatever the signs, there is not a whole bunch of time before winter settles in.  We have been experiencing beautiful weather here in Montana over the past week . . . weather that should be appreciated while it is still here.  It only adds to the need for a “time out”.

Be still and know.

Time out!

If I had known that being an adult would rob me of the adventure of life, I think I would have called a “time out” a long, long time ago.  I would have called “time out”, wandered off, found a tree to lean against, and witness the beauty of life passing me by.  I would have sat next to a creek and listened to the water babbling and rushing by . . . watch a hawk soar in the sky . . . listen to the song birds sing . . . and, wondered . . . wondered at the awesomeness of it all.  I would have skipped rocks across a pond . . . built forts out of blankets in the living room . . . smelled the aroma of fresh baked cookies cooling in the kitchen.  I would have listened to the laughter of children . . . the breeze in the air.  I would have done a lot of things, but adulthood got in the way.

That little kid within me is banging on the door . . . wanting to get out; but, life is drowning out the sound of freedom and adventure and life.  I am not sure how long that little kid will keep knocking on the door.  I can hear it . . . especially in the darkness of an early morning commute.  I think that it is about time . . . before it is too late.

Time out!  A person has got to live if he or she wants to make it to the finish line.  Time out!

Will You Understand?

I think one of the most difficult parts of about introversion is in the arena of friendship.  Most introverts do not have many friends . . . probably because we think of ourselves as being our best friends.  We like being by ourselves where we can have intelligent and enlightening conversations . . . with ourselves!  At the same time, most of us are not that far off the spectrum of introversion/extraversion that we do not want to have a few friends . . . it just takes us longer to open ourselves up for those sorts of intimate relationships in our lives.  Remember . . . the kingdom is within the individual for those who are introverts . . . we like that space that we have created for ourselves, and we are very stingy about allowing others into it.

It has been said that most people can count on one hand the number of individuals in their lives that they consider to be their closest friends.  Now, imagine what that says about an introvert . . . one, maybe two, fingers represent their most intimate friends.  I don’t know . . . all I can go with is my own personal experience; but, I can assure you that there won’t be a whole lot of fingers being held up by me when it comes to what my children would call “BBF”.

As an introvert my world might seem small to a lot of folks, but it is a wonderfully rich and beautiful world . . . a world that is lived out in the space between my two ears (my rock garden, as I call it) and in those spaces that I consider mine (like my home).  The problem for introverts is in the reaching out to include others into their domain of comfort . . . to invite them into the kingdom for an intimate relationship of friendship.  That is something that takes time . . . usually lots of time.  The introvert has to feel safe and accepted for who he or she is in order for him or her to open up even the smallest part of their kingdom to others to see and experience.  They want to trust the people that they invite in to be a part of their lives . . . they want to be understood for who they are . . . they don’t want to get burned . . . they don’t want to get hurt.  Yeah, I know that is the risk in any relationship . . . intro- or extraverted . . . there is always the possibility of getting burned or hurt.

As I stated above, I really can’t name a whole bunch of people that I would put into that “BFF’ category in my own life.  Probably the one individual who comes closest to that is my wife . . . and, even then, it sometimes takes me a while to share even the deepest and most intimate thoughts that I have; but, thankfully she is a patient person who loves me.  For the most part, I think that she understands . . . or at least, the longer we are together, she is getting closer to understanding.  Outside of the wife, most everyone else in my life are “friends” of varying degrees . . . they know bits and pieces of me, but I doubt if they really know the “real” me . . . primarily because I have not opened up and invited them in to know the “real” me.  I don’t think they would understand.

Recently I have been perplexed about this idea of friendship.  Perplexed because some things have changed in the relationships I had with some others in my life . . . people who I thought I could trust.  What once was is no longer . . . and, I am not really sure what happened, not really sure what I did . . . if I did anything at all.  For several weeks now I have felt burned and hurt . . . and, why, I do not know.

I do not know because in a span of less than twenty-four hours I went from being a friend—though not “BFF”, but what I would consider to be good friends—to nonexistent.  Outside of an acknowledgement from these individuals when I am in the room, they walk past me as if I don’t exist.  They only speak to me if I speak to them.  Gone is the kidding around, the joking, laughter, and conversation that makes up a friendship.  Gone is the sharing about family and life.  Gone is the friendship . . . and I have no clue as to what happened to kill this small bit of intimacy from my life and theirs.  No clue at all.  It is confusing . . . and, it hurts.

These are folks that I have known for a little over five years.  Over those five years I slowly worked up the courage to open myself up to these individuals . . . to share little bits and pieces of my world and allow them glimpses into that world.  Slowly I began to trust these individuals . . . began to believe that they understood me . . . understood the world of introverts . . . to accept me for who I am.  But, apparently I was wrong . . . and, it hurts.

So, it is in the life of an introvert.

There is a part of me who wants to kick myself for having allowed myself to allow others into the inner-world of my life, only to have it be thrown out so easily when some sort of unknown infraction has been committed on my part.  Kick myself for risking a part of myself to be open and seen . . . for being so foolish for believing.  Now there is discomfort in my little part of the world . . . some hurt, frustration, and a whole lot of confusion.  True, this is not the first time that it has happened to me . . . shoot you don’t get to my age without having had your heart and life stomped upon a few times; but, you would think that I would learn the lesson.  There is risk in any relationship no matter what you are . . . introvert or extravert.  I just think extraverts being extraverts bounce back a whole lot easier because there are always more people to meet and be friends with.  It takes longer with introverts.

One of my favorite songs by the Avett Brothers speaks to this longing that is deeply felt by those of us who find ourselves to be introverted.  The song, The Perfect Space, radiates what most people desire in their lives . . . what most introverts really desire . . . trust and that place where they can feel save and natural for who they are.  The problem is that most people don’t understand.  The song starts out with this longing of the “perfect space” . . . the music is gentle and hopeful . . . before it jumps into a rocker tune of frustration where the singer tells all of those abusing this desire to “get out!”  Once they are all out, it returns to its gentle longing.  I guess the people I thought were my friends beat me to the punch . . . they kicked me out before I could kick them out.

I wanna have friends that I can trust,

that love me for the man I've become not the man I was.

I wanna have friends that will let me be

all alone when being alone is all that I need.

I wanna fit in to the perfect space,

feel natural and safe in a volatile place.

And I wanna grow old without the pain,

give my body back to the earth and not complain.

Will you understand when I am too old of a man?

And will you forget when we have paid our debt

who did we borrow from? Who did we borrow from?

Okay part two now clear the house.

The party's over take the shouting and the people,

get out!

I have some business and a promise that I have to hold to.

I do not care what you assume or what the people told you.

Will you understand, when I am too old of a man?

Will you forget when we have paid our debts,

who did we borrow from? Who did borrow from?

I wanna have pride like my mother has,

And not like the kind in the bible that turns you bad.

And I wanna have friends that I can trust,

that love me for the man I've become and not the man that I was.

I don’t get it . . . but, what I do get is that it will be a long, long time before I put myself out there again.  I don’t like to get burned . . . I don’t like to get hurt.  Like a good introvert I long for that place where I “feel natural and safe in a volatile place”—the world out there.  Will you understand?

Lift Me to Paradise

Good Lord, up above, can't you know I'm pinin'

Tears all in my eyes?

Send down that cloud with a silver linin'

Lift me to Paradise

Show me that river, take me across

And wash all my troubles away

Like that lucky old sun, give me nothin' to do

But roll around Heaven all day

(“That Lucky Old Sun” by Beasley Smith, and Haven Gillespie 1949)

There are days when life is more than any of us can deal with . . . where we are ready to throw the towel in before we even get started.  I had one of those days this past week.  The morning began way too early and with little sleep after our son had spent a night fighting with seizures all night . . . the alarm rang way too soon to announce the start of another day.  Then there was the usual trek to the university through the darkness of the morning with all the other sleep deprived commuters in a winter that just doesn’t want to let go.  Then I was greeted at work by an email telling me that a co-worker in Helena had been killed in an auto accident . . . and, also her son.  Then at lunch in the university cafeteria one of the international students suddenly fell . . . seizures . . . and was hauled off to the nearby hospital by ambulance.  All this and it wasn’t even half-way through the day yet!  I was ready to call it a day.  It is in those moments of being overwhelmed that we roll our eyes to heaven, lift up a prayer, and beg God to “lift us up Paradise.”

Well, here it is . . . five days later . . . and I am still here. I am no closer to ridding my life of all its frustrations, crises, hassles, depressions, mistakes, or hard work and making it to Paradise.  Yet, the prayer is still there.  Now, I know what Mother Teresa said . . . “I know God won’t give me anything I can’t handle.  I just wish he didn’t trust me so much.”  And, I know that the music of the faith is filled with songs and hymns asking God to come and rescue the faithful from a world of woe . . . and, we are still here.  I guess it just feels good to complain whether it is in the words we pray or the songs we sing . . .

Good Lord, up above, can't you know I'm pinin'

Tears all in my eyes?

Send down that cloud with a silver linin'

Lift me to Paradise

Show me that river, take me across

And wash all my troubles away

Like that lucky old sun, give me nothin' to do

But roll around Heaven all day

Like Mother Teresa said, I wish God didn’t trust me so much.  I worry about my son and his battles with Epilepsy . . . it is wearing me out . . . it is wearing us out . . . and, we never seem as if we are ever winning the battle.  It is shocking to receive news about someone you know . . . in their early 40s . . . who you had just communicated with days earlier . . . is suddenly gone because of an accident.  It is scary to witness a stranger fall to the ground, bang their head on a table, and lay motionless while recovering from a seizure before the next one comes.  Pile on top of that the frustrations of work . . . the busyness of life . . . a winter that won’t let go and a spring that won’t fight . . . and, it gets to be a little overwhelming.

Then, as I was driving to the big university to work one morning this week, I heard Louis Armstrong singing That Lucky Old Sun.  Now there is something about ol’ Louie’s raspy voice that always grabs my attention and listen . . . he is one of my favorites.  There in the darkness he lamented the difficulty of life . . . the hard work to make it . . . the boringness of routine . . . trying to make relationships work.  All the while he is looking up at the sun . . . that lucky old sun that has nothing to do but roll around heaven all day.  He longs for that too . . . no worries . . . no cares . . . just to roll around heaven all day.  He pleads to God, “Lift me to Paradise.”  Kind of peculiar that I was hearing this after I threw up my own cryptic prayer of release after a hard day.  Amen, Brother Louie . . . amen!

I guess it is a pretty common prayer.

As I said, I am still here . . . still in Montana.  Guess God figures that Montana is pretty close to Paradise . . . even in the lingering winter . . . and, who am I to argue with God on that one.  I suppose Brother Louie wasn’t yanked up into Paradise when he released this song in 1949 because he was around for a long, long time after its release.  And, I suppose that the majority of those who have thrown that prayer to God didn’t get any closer to Paradise than when they prayed it.  Yeah, I know what the Bible says about asking God for anything in prayer and God will give it to us . . . but, God must have some unwritten parameters that most of us are unaware of . . . the fine print of theology that most of us do not take the time to read.  And, yeah, I know that God will not give us more than we can handle . . . but, God pushes the limits of that promise pretty close.  Maybe God shouldn’t trust us so much.  Plus I know that maybe God is teaching me a “life” or “faith” lesson . . . but I don’t think that I am that ignorant or thick-skulled that it feels like I am on a roller coaster.  So, to be honest with you, I am not going to buy into the ready-made answers of faith that we, the faithful, like to tell ourselves to ease our disappointment that we are not rolling around in heaven with no worries or cares.

Nope, I’m not going to buy it.  I am not going to buy it because I do not believe that Paradise . . . that heaven . . . that the kingdom of God . . . is some destination way up there in the clouds.  Paradise is here . . . right now.  It is wherever I experience the presence of God and God’s love and grace . . . I do not have to wait until I get to heaven to know that presence . . . to know that love and grace.  I know that this is true because I have experienced it for myself.

The co-worker I had known for several years suddenly and shockingly dying in an accident . . . there were others who spoke words of comfort . . . who offered hugs . . . who joined me in my shock.  In the struggle with my son’s Epilepsy . . . I have my wife and together we continue to support one another and our son . . . who have not given up no matter how tired or worn out we get.  With the international student . . . others join me in coming to her aid . . . others cared for her . . . others let her know that she was not alone.  In brief moments of care and support others let me know that I am not alone in this journey through life.  In those brief moments of care . . . and, I suppose love . . . I was reminded that I was not alone.  In those brief moments a crack split the veneer of reality allowing the light to break through the darkness and expose a little piece of Paradise . . . a sliver of holiness . . . the presence of God.  Because of that it is okay that I am still here . . .

There may be those who want to argue with me about the kingdom of God . . . Paradise . . . heaven . . . being here and not off in some far off place, but I am not going to argue.  I am not going to argue because I believe that God is not going to dangle a holy carrot before our faces and lure us into something as wonderful and beautiful as Paradise.  No, I believe God is going to let us have the gift now.  We just have to be open to seeing it, experiencing it, and working for it right now.  Sometimes we are just too busy, sometimes we are overwhelmed with life . . . but the fact is, we have all experienced it . . . in a simple word of encouragement . . . in a smile . . . in a hug . . .

It is a beautiful world.  Though ol’ Louie was a little depressing with his song That Lucky Old Sun, he also reminded us how close we really are to Paradise when he sang What a Wonderful World.  It truly is a wonderful world . . . Paradise.