March 14 – “The Galveston Time Stamp”

 

 

Since the time change I have been waking up around 6:15 or 6:30.  No news there.  That's when I usually got up before the time change.  It struck me this morning around 4:30 (when I woke up the first time, but just for a quick pit stop) how interesting it was how the time stamp resets itself in an area after some significant event.  In Galveston that time stamp is most often affected by hurricanes.  The 1900 Storm, for sure.  To a lesser degree perhaps, Hurricane Carla or Hurricane Alicia.  And most recently, of course, Hurricane Ike. 

 

Everything around here is referenced as "before the Storm" or "since Ike," and it's a tribute to your "Galveston-ness" if you immediately know what they are talking about.    Hurricane Ike was back in 2008.  That means it's been nearly four years ago.  New folks are coming to Galveston now – folks who have never been through a storm.  They have that fresh start mentality, like nothing can stop them in their pursuit of a peaceful, happy retirement, or at least a "getting away from the stress of the big city, fishing, playing at the beach with the kids in my spare time" world view.  They greet the guarded, knowing nods of Islanders who have "been there" either with a wave of the hand in brash dismissal or a concerned, "teach me what I need to know to really survive here" air that seems to border on humility.  Many of the new folks are from over in Texas, though, so humility may not be the right description to use.  Maybe it's closer to a sociological fascination with this strange culture that has developed.  And it takes at least a little bit of "strange" to voluntarily choose to live on a sand bar just off the coast of Texas – a windbreak that keeps the swamps from totally overwhelming Houston when a real rain comes in from the Gulf. 

 

Of course for those born here a totally different dynamic must be factored into the equation.  There is just something gripping about being Born On Island with sand already between your toes that tends to tug from within, calling you home.  Even having lived through those difficult years around high school when the prevailing feeling around here is usually more closely akin to hopelessness than to pride, the sand is still there.  That one memory that pops into your conscience.  Looking for sand dollars on the beach.  Playing Little League baseball or fast-pitch softball.  A safe and profitable Halloween in Gulf Village.  Sweeping gutters to make enough money to buy a pack of baseball cards. 

 

Guess I could go on and on with that list.  And it would certainly be different for everyone.  My brothers would have to add surfing.  I never did any of that.  I was too busy playing pickup baseball in over at Zion Lutheran Church or trading baseball cards with my buddies in the neighborhood.  My sons weren't born here, but they would add soccer, I'm sure. 

 

I wonder how long this "new" time stamp will stick around?  I guess the duration depends on the severity of the storm.  If that's the case, we'll be in Post-Hurricane Ike mode for quite some time to come.  Or at least until the next hurricane.  I'd sure choose the former.  But then we don't get to choose, do we?

 

Matthew 8:24-27 says, "Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We're going to drown!'

He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.

The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!'"

 

Father, thank you for walking with us through Hurricane Ike and throughout these Post-Hurricane Ike years.  It's so good to know you, Time Stamper.  Amen.

March 13 – “A new girlfriend”

 

I got me a new girlfriend yesterday.  I got a call from an old friend yesterday asking for a good place for twelve people to eat breakfast in Galveston.  They had just gotten off one of the cruise ships and their kids were hungry.  That would be their eight kids.  Desiree's Mom and Dad were with them as well.  I thought through my repertoire of breakfast sites.  The Diner on 61^st would have been good, but they were nowhere near there.  The home of the Bronco burrito on Broadway wouldn't have had room for eight kids.  I figured they would want something more than Shipley's or Home Cut donuts.  I finally recommended IHOP, but someone in the crowd said they really didn't want to go there.  That left the only other place I could think of.  Denny's.  That one met with everyone's approval, and I gave them instructions.

 

They invited us to join them and catch up.  And when I arrived the place was more packed than I have ever seen it.  You sure can tell it's Spring Break in Galveston.  We haven't seen Desiree since I was her high school basketball coach in Denver.  That's been at least seventeen years ago.  We did reconnect through FaceBook a while back, so I have seen pictures and was aware of her big family.  They live near Beeville, Texas on a farm or ranch or something big enough for the kids to raise hogs and ducks for 4-H.  Speaking of the kids, I don't know their ages, but the oldest one can't be much more than ten, so they have a real handful.  And the youngest one is a little girl.  She still counts her age in the months, but she is definitely a cutie.  In fact she flirted with me all through the time we were there, and I was smitten.  That definitely gave me the best seat in the house. 

 

It was great to get to know the family.  The kids were very well-behaved.  Quite an impressive accomplishment for them and their parents.  I enjoyed hearing the story of how they got together, and they were patient enough to listen to a story or two of my own.  I guess I must have seemed like some kind of weird legend-come-to-life to the kids.  One of them looked up at me with just a hint of awe or fear or wonder or, more probably, incredulity (That's a big word that means "I can't figure out for sure what you are"), and asked, "Did you really used to coach her?"  It's always hard for a kid to grasp Mommy and Daddy being younger.  They get that we are getting older and will continue getting older and will always be older.  But younger?  Not so much.  After my assurances that it was indeed true, the youngster walked quietly away with that small head slowly wagging back and forth, obviously still struggling with the images of Mom in a basketball uniform. 

 

Hebrews 7:23-25 says, "Now there have been many of those priests, since death prevented them from continuing in office; but because Jesus lives forever, he has a permanent priesthood. Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them."

 

Father, thank you for chances to reconnect with friends as well as opportunities to connect with new ones.  Amen.

March 12 – “Eureka”

 

 

I did it.  Finally.  It took 5 days.  One full work week.  A bit more actually, if you count the fact that I was not alone.  The man-hours of others were included in the search.  We combed through the whole house at least three times.  Me.  Chris.  Nathan.  April.  Cailyn.  Even Mom called out suggestions and assurances.  All to no avail.  Then yesterday I was endowed with renewed vigor.  Once again I was determined to be successful in completing this task that was rapidly approaching designation as a hopeless case.  But no.  It was not impossible.  There had to be attainment somewhere. 

 

Grabbing a small flashlight (For I have seen many episodes of CSI.  All the officers carry one, I assume to force their eyes to look only in one place at a time, to focus), I started in the hall closet, a favorite hiding place for bodies as well as valuables.  Nothing.  I then moved into the Yellow Room and systematically dismantled and restored.  I went through every single crack and crevice, though admittedly there are not nearly as many as there were before our Hurricane Ike restoration project.  Nothing.  Next I went into the Blue room and did the same.  Much dust.  Some small bits of discarded candy wrappers.  Nothing more.  Next was the Green Room.  At least I think that is the color designation.  I confess color is not my strong suit.  Still nothing.  Another closet.  Nothing.  And the large wlk-in.  Nothing. Nothing.  Nothing.  Waves of discouragement swept over me, threatening to destroy any remnants of shattered hope that might remain intact in my psyche.  Why not give up now?  Why not forget the whole thing?  Why not move on to more profitable ventures?  But no.  I could not.  I dared not.  I must complete the mission.  I must.

 

So I decided to return to the scene of the crime again – for about the sixth time.  Into the office.  Last known location had been the bookcase near the desk.  The waves of despair began to well up once again, but once again I fought back, struggling to maintain focus.  Think positively.  Eyes on the goal.  Fighting back an urge to argue with myself for searching even in places that would have been impossible to access, I began at the top shelf, pulling out book after book and returning them to their designated spot.  Shelf one.  Old Testament commentaries.  Nothing.  Shelf two.  Transition to New Testament commentaries.  Nothing.  Shelf three.  By this time I was losing concentration a bit.  More commentaries.  2 Corinthians.  Galatians.  Fruit of the Spirit.  Wonder what information might be in that one I could use?  By that time I was about eye level to a three year old.  That Fruit of the Spirit book continued to intrigue me, so losing all focus, I reached in to remove it.  Couldn't get a very good grip on it, though.  Kept slipping from my fingers.  So I knelt down to get a better grip.  And … there they were.  Neatly compacted and tucked in tightly just above the Fruit of the Spirit and in between Galatians and Ephesians.  The missing keys.  Eureka.  I had found it. 

 

Perhaps I could speak of an overwhelming sense of euphoria.  Perhaps I could say I leapt to my feet and danced a jig in utter joy at the accomplishment.  Perhaps.  But instead I repeat only what actually occurred.  I sighed a long, slow exhale.  I spoke in a voice just above normal range, "Chris, I found them."  And it was enough.  She heard and asked where and agreed that we should have seen them sooner, for after all, they were at just the right height.  No bells and whistles.  Just a sigh.  A quiet sense of satisfaction.  Of relief.  Well, I did text Nathan and April right away.  And maybe when Cailyn gets here I'll pick her up and swing her around and dance down the hallway to music neither of us will be able to hear.  Sounds like a plan.

 

Hebrews 5:11-14 says, "We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God's word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil."

 

Father, thanks for guiding me to those keys.  A silly thing, I know, but small successes have always inspired me to try greater things.  Amen.

March 11 – “Time change”

 

 

Time change.  Makes for a restless night of almost-sleep around here.  I always wonder if my internal clock will get the message.  Will I wake up on my own as usual?  Or will I stay asleep until the backup alarm goes off that's designed to make sure Chris is awake?  In situations like this is usually wake up every hour on the hour just to check the clock.  At least I didn't do that.  I know I tossed and turned a lot, but I only remembering waking up one extra time, at 4:44.  Just a bit too early, even for my taste, to stay up.  I did manage to fall back to sleep and woke up again at 6:15. Much more like it.  Of course to my body that was 5:15, so it still felt early.  And then on top of everything else, Chris chose last night to start feeling lousy.  She had been sneezing all evening.  I've never said "Bless you" so many times to one person in my whole life.  Felt like a real purveyor of God's goodness.   The when we finally settled into bed, she said she was freezing.  Never a good sign.  She groaned off and on all night, so I'm not sure if she will make it to church this morning or not.  I have no idea how Mom will handle the time change.  I snuck in and changed the clock in her room before she went to bed, so at least that won't confuse her.  So all that being said … good morning, world. 

 

I don't think the newspaper deliverer got the message about the time change.  The only delivery that had been made when I went out this morning was the ads and comics of the Houston paper.  They bring that section before midnight anyway.  I'll have to keep checking to make sure we get something before I leave for church, or I have to call.  Quite the inconvenience.  I'm sure it's not all that fun for him, either, though.  The bad thing is, if you call because of a late delivery, it automatically goes down as a complaint against them.  I don't especially want that to happen unless it happens all the time.  I just want the paper we paid for. 

 

Guess I'll go over the teaching and the Visual Verse again.  We have a group of junior high mission trippers who are supposed to be joining us this morning (if, of course, their leaders remember the time change).  I'd like to be on my toes for that and see if I can keep them awake.

 

Hebrews 4:14-16 says, "Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens,  Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are — yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."

 

Father, thank you for creative people like Ben Franklin, even when they think up things like giving up an hour's sleep to have an extra hour of fun in the sun.  Works for Galveston.  Amen.

March 10 – “Cold or hot”

 

 

Another cold front blew in yesterday.  Blustery winds and cold rain.  Just a miserable kind of day.  Chris did get Mom to Libbie's Place, though.  I'm not sure how difficult it was this time.  I had a breakfast meeting with my good friend Clay.  When we picked her up in the afternoon Mom was complaining about how hot she was.  Now that was the first time in a very long time that she has even considered herself comfortable when she wasn't bundled up in bed under three or four blankets.  An unusual occurrence, so Chris asked why she was so hot.  She answered, "Because they made me put on all that stuff." 

Chris: "What stuff is that?"

Mom: (pointing to her sweater and then her gloves that she always wears) "This and these."

 

When we got home and got her settled on the couch, Chris helped her out of the excess clothing.  At which point she began moaning and groaning again.  She has also added a new twist.  She now alternates between moans and just-audible prayers, asking God to help her.  Last night she watched it rain for a while, then started praying, "God, make the rain stop."  Not sure why on that request.  It's kind of eerie to hear the prayers, but I'm glad she feels that she can pray and get comfort. 

 

So after a few rounds of groan-prayers, Chris asked her, "What's wrong?  You sure are moaning and groaning a lot."

She answered, "I'm just so cold."

Chris: "But you just told me you were hot."

Mom thought about that for a long minute before replying, "I was wrong."

That's my Mom.  Gotta love her.

 

Hebrews 4:12-13 says, "For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.  Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account."

 

Father, keep my Mom warm.  And cold.  And warm.  I guess she's a lot like me in the "can't seem to be able to figure out what I need from one minute to the next" department.  Give us what we need.  And we'll trust you to decide what that is.  Amen.

March 9 – “Rotate glass to relamp”

 

 

Rotate glass to relamp.  Just thought I'd lead off today with that bit of profound philosophy I was confronted with last night.  Rotate glass to relamp.  What glass?  Rotate to where?  Which direction?  If you're relamping, how did you lamp in the first place?  And what, or who, was the recipient of said lamping?  Is there another way to relamp than rotation?  Why should I relamp?  What's in it for me?  What is relamping, anyway?  Questions, questions, questions.  The sad commentary on life as we know it today. 

 

The instructions seem simple enough.  Just four words. Yet I come up with nine questions without even trying.  And what about the questions that arise from the answers to those questions?  Which is in itself yet another question.  And if philosophy indeed mirrors life, then I will not even begin making an effort to act on the command until I have satisfactorily answered all of the questions.  Thus I have effectively become paralyzed, afraid to act, or determined not to. 

 

And so I remain in the dark, fumbling about, trying to carry out my life tasks under less than ideal conditions, which in turn creates more questions.  Why is it always so dark?  Why doesn't someone make it brighter?  Whose fault is this darkness, anyway?  Frustrations rise, giving way to anger.  And when no outlet for anger is in sight, it bubbles over into lashing out at ones I love, or becoming inordinately engrossed in my job or a hobby or politics or a relationship or … depression.  In desperation I look for escape from the darkness through professionals or drugs.  Or perhaps I turn to voices that promise light without rotation.  Send money here.  Breathe this way.  Look for light within.  Turn this way.  Angle that way.  Yet in the end they all say the same thing: Embrace the darkness. 

 

Why do I lose myself in questions and alternatives and reactions?  Why do I make this so hard, when the answer is so easy?  Therein lies the rub.  The alternative to anxiety, to stress, to defeat?  Simple.  Rotate glass to relamp. 

 

OK.  That was an exercise in weirdness.  I'll just go change the light bulb in the bathroom now.  Someone stamped the directions on the fixture cover.  Doesn't sound too hard.  Rotate glass to relamp. 

 

Hebrews 4:1-2 says, "Therefore, since the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us be careful that none of you be found to have fallen short of it.  For we also have had the gospel preached to us, just as they did; but the message they heard was of no value to them, because those who heard did not combine it with faith."

 

Father, you have given us the simple words that lead to life and peace: "Commit to Christ."  Forgive us when we try to make it so hard that we paralyze ourselves.  Amen.    

March 8 – “An unconventional day”

 

 

The other day while Chris was in Bay City Cailyn and I had the enviable task of taking Mom over to Libbie's Place, or as Cailyn likes to put it, "Take MoeMoe to school."  Chris had the car, so we had taken the carseat out and put it in the truck.  I announced our agenda for the morning and Cailyn immediately went to the front door, ready to depart.  But she then realized the car was not there, so she turned with a puzzled expression on her face.  "Where the car is, DadDad?"  Great question.   I told her that her car seat was now in the truck, so we would be taking that means of transportation.  The puzzlement changed to an entirely different expression.  First uncomprhension.  Then disbelief.  Then a look of almost utter joy.  "DadDad," she exclaimed, "You put my car seat in the truck?  Oh, thank you.  I'm so proud."  And so much for this GrandDad's swollen head. 

 

One of her favorite pasttimes when we get in the car is asking for a piece of gum.  She knows we have some stashed near the driver as a staying-awake aid during long trips.  So when we got in the truck her first statement was, "I need some gum."  "Of course you do," I responded, "But the gum is in Nani's car and she is in Bay City."  Now that stumped her.  For about a three count.  She knows the obvious answer to a quandary such as the one we now faced.  "We can go to WalMart and buy some gum for the truck, DadDad."  Now why didn't I think of that?

 

We got Mom settled in at "school," and headed for the next stop on our No-Nani excursion.  Now, don't think we went to WalMart just because this beautiful little vision of loveliness looked at me with those gorgeous brown eyes and flashed one of those "I love you, DadDad, and I know you'd do anything for me" smiles.  I am impervious to such female wiles.  No.  We went to WalMart because, uh, I was sure we needed something there.  It took a few blocks, but I remembered that we were close to needing a refill on our fruit stash.  Yes, that's it.  Grapes and a pineapple.  And if we happen to pass the gum aisle we could pick up a pack.  In fact by the time we parked and found a buggy for Cailyn's doll to ride in, I almost convinced myself that the fruit was the actual reason for the trip.

 

The quick trip to drop Mom off at Libbies Place lasted just a bit longer than I expected.  We had to stop and look at the books.  That's educational, right?  We only chose the one to get, and it was one of those designed to be read by early readers. And it was, after all, about princesses.  We also took the opportunity to check out the greeting card aisle.  That's something I do on occasion myself, so it kind of made me proud that she had the same interests as me.  Of course she wanted to see every single one that had a picture of, well, a princess.  Wouldn't have been my first choice of reading material, but we all make sacrifices in the name of education, right? 

 

We finally made it back out to the truck, but Cailyn was not quite ready to get in her carseat.  I was in no particular hurry, so I decided to see how long it would take for her to decide on her own that it was time to go home.  I stood by the open door and played Words with Friends on my smart phone while she climbed back and forth over the seat, battling pirates and driving "Daddy's fire truck." It was almost like I was hanging out with the guys.  At least until she realized there was a mirror on one of the sun visors.  Then she wanted to know if I had any lipstick.  I don't know exactly how long we were in the parking lot, maybe 45 minutes.  But when she finally began to feel the rising heat, she quietly crawled into her carseat and announced that it was time to go home.

 

Lunch for Cailyn that day was eating one bite of chicken strip, licking the jelly and some of the peanut butter off a pb&j sandwich, followed by a few bites of a honey bun and a handful of peanuts.  All the basic food groups except candy.  What a day.  Proved I could handle it by myself, though.  Somewhat unconventional, maybe, but we did it.

 

Hebrews 3:12-13 says, "See to it, brothers, that none of you has a sinful, unbelieving heart that turns away from the living God. But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness."

 

Father, give me more chances to be unconventional in how I approach the day.  45 minutes in a WalMart parking lot is a small price to pay for the chance to be in the presence of one of your sweet children.  Amen.