Jacket

My father was a veteran of the Korean conflict.

I grew up seeing his army jacket in the closet of our home...

I loved all of the patches, awards, recognitions affixed to it.

All of that made him even bigger to me than I thought he was.  More superhuman...

At some point in my early adulthood he gave me that jacket.  It meant more to me than any gift he could have given...

I wore it everywhere.  I explained to people that it was not mine but my fathers... There were even people who admonished me for wearing it.

Some time later, my daughter decided to wear it herself.  Out of love for the man she loved...

I received a call from mom.

"Why can't you give this jacket to her cousin"  ... a boy.

"She's a girl.  It might mean more to him."

Toilet paper

Am I the only one who remembers what it used to be like to buy toilet paper?  You went to the store and you bought the brand you preferred.

End of story.

To be fair, I can remember that we used to be able to select a favorite (or decor matching) color...  There were solids as well as colored roses printed on ubiquitous white if you were so inclined...

Not so much these days.

Now it seems as though we wade through an endless sea of choices... even without color.

Big roll, double roll, mega roll, super soft, triple ply, 8 pack, 12 pack, extra strong, now with stretch (really?), quilted, embossed...

The television commercials are maybe the worst part...   "Enjoy the go."  Really?  I can assure you it isn't the high point of my day.

I won't even get into the price aspect.  It's flushed!  May as well just burn money.

Yes, it was easier to buy such a mundane yet private commodity back in the day.

All I really want is a reliable product that does what it was intended to do...

Without me having to endure a daily self rectal exam.

Shoes

Something I hear often and from a variety of places is, "What is wrong with people?"

I have asked that many times myself.

I have spent the better part of this morning pondering that question and I keep coming back to the same answer...

Shoes.

Our own shoes.

The ones we look for diligently and  that show our own sense of style and taste.

Shoes in which we are so comfortable we would never consider changing  them...

And because we love our shoes so much, we try to force everyone else into them ignoring the ill fit, the pinching and the resulting blisters.

Perhaps we should try to stand in shoes that belong to another before we try to get them into ours.

To walk with the gait of their challenges... if they are able to walk at all.

To try on toe shoes when we know that we are more like a clydesdale than a ballerina...

Maybe we ought not say what should be done to achieve their dreams when ours may have been achieved right out of the gate...

Or how to parent if we have no children...

Or what it's like to be hungry when we've lived a lifetime of gluttonous excess...

To say how to forgive when it's been seventy times seven for them...

To say where love is to be found when we haven't looked in nearly as many beds...

Maybe, just maybe, we ought to give up the idea that we are the appointed cobblers to the world.

The thinking that we know how it feels to go to bed each night praying that God would allow us to wake up and be anybody else than who we went to bed as...

Or how to change a heart that can never feel anything other than what it was born to feel...

It should also be mentioned that there will be people who actually TRY to fit into shoes that are not the right size.  I keep picturing Cinderella's stepsisters...  poor dears.

I don't think we ought to be encouraging or enabling that.

Sometimes people do outgrow their shoes and instead of seeing people wearing what we believe to be the wrong shoes, maybe we could help them find the new pair that they want... love... need.  The ones that will send them running swiftly in the direction of their calling...

Yes, I believe I know what is wrong with people...

Shoes.   

Food

Where do I begin?

Perhaps with bread.  The staff of life.  Gluten intolerance would be a sentence to Hell.

I began my love affair with food as far back as I can remember...

I can see that monstrosity of a gas stove like it was yesterday.  I needed a stool to reach the burners. 

As long as I wasn't harming myself  I was allowed to play there.  I was somewhere between the ages of 5 and 6.

And the games did begin!  And I found joy.   

Scrambled eggs...  the first thing I can ever remember making.  They became my father's preference and later in life, my wife's.

Later there were braised meats and vegetables and beurre blanc and pastas (yes, I can make fresh) and  Alfredo and cassoulet and soups and salads and enchiladas and sushi and stroganoff and and and...

I suppose there has always been a sort of spiritual connection between myself and food.  It embodies so many things that move me.  Nurture, love, home, friendship, compassion, warmth, creativity...

As so many of my Facebook friends can attest to, I am most always happiest in the kitchen.

There have been so many good times in my life that have revolved around the table.  Holidays, celebrations, comfort, connection.

I remember fondly one particular night...  

After spending said night out with friends drinking and dancing, the pangs of hunger (both for food and continued fellowship)  found us back home.  Home and hungry people are a siren song to me...

After settling them on the sofa, I began a (different) dance that I know so well...  

The pans clanked... the sizzling began, the smells wafted...

Little by little pasta, sauce and warm bread became breakfast...

Plates full of  love were proffered.  

We ate.  We laughed.  We hugged...  there was music.  And wine.

I have to say at this point that I have the most amazingly patient wife.  Her constant support of me and my desire to take care of others is enviable.  Who else would accept a small band of mostly drunk, goofy guys into our home, at nearly dawn, with no notice?  

She added her own brand of humor that morning (yes, it was well after 4:30 a.m.) and gained some mad respect.

She left for work as we were reveling, leaving laughing men, crude jokes and me to a sink full of dishes.

Dishes I was glad to do after sending people I loved off to their own lives and the day ahead.

When the day comes that I am no longer able to stand before the altar that is a stove, to worship Life in all of its glory and to feed souls as well as bodies, it will be the day I prepare to leave this plane.

It's so much more than food...

It is a little piece of me.

I'll never be a good Christian

I will never, by any stretch, be a 'good' Christian...

I will not involve myself in the hearts of who others love.

I will not burden people with my beliefs whilst I condemn theirs.

I will not call people out in falsehood in order to promote my own self righteousness.

I will not keep to a small group of self congratulatory back slappers.

What I will do is risk...

My heart... my spirit... my reputation...

I will look at my own life before I hold up others to judgement.

Hug the untouchables.

Love the unloveable.  Who are they anyway?

You?

Me?

I will root for the underdog.

I will allow people their mistakes... I will forgive... sometimes to my own detriment.

I will walk in shoes that don't really fit in order to get a better idea...

Offer a holy kiss often.

No, I will never be a good Christian...

I don't stand against enough.

What Mom Said

You are the only one.

No one understands you.

No one else feels like that.

I'll never understand you.

I don't get you.

No one can tell you anything.

People tell you things but you don't believe them.

You need to be positive.

You can't rely on your mind.

You just need Jesus.

You think that you can just do what you want.

Why do you listen to other people?

Maybe other people are right.

No wonder people have a problem with you.

You need to forgive.

You can't forgive on your own.

It's just you.

It's just you.

It's just you.

It's just you.

It's so hard having a child that's disturbed.

It is good

Good...

I have spent quite a bit of time lately thinking about goodness and what it means to me.

The things in my life that are good... the meaning of the word... its importance.

I attempt in my life, both daily and overall, to remember to be aware of, and thankful for, goodness.

In examining the constantly growing and changing list, I have come to know that goodness might depend on where any of us stand.  There are many opinions as to what is good or, of course, "ungood".

I carry a personal belief in every goodness.  Not in simply a positive sounding assessment of something sweet.

Every goodness.

Let me say that again...

Every goodness.

Not just the things that are espoused to make one look good to others or to support any self congratulatory stance.

Every goodness.

Because goodness can be interpreted differently to different people... it is crucial that I embrace all of life's richness.

Not simply good as you accept. Or you, or you, or you... but every goodness.  The good that is missed or overlooked.  The good that goes against the grain of belief systems or religions or political lines or mistrust.

Or doubt.

Or fear.

Every goodness.

In order for me to have and experience goodness means that I must also lay aside my own preconceived attitudes.

Expectations.

Deeply held and accepted beliefs.

Dare I say it?  Judgements.

Goodness exists beyond my own eyes and mind.  Beyond the limited scope of my own humanity.

Every goodness.

At the end of all creation God Himself sat back and declared that, "It is good".

I can't argue with that.