From the Rev

From the Rev, March 11, 2015

Posted on Mar 11 2015

Dear Friends,

rev photo I usually try to take Monday’s off for a bit of Sabbath time. All too often something comes up that I need to attend to and I don’t get the benefit of enjoying a full day of relaxation. Admittedly, some days it’s because of my personal control issues (or lack thereof); other times it’s legitimate things that are just part of ministry.

This past Monday was one of those wonderful days of complete joy and relaxation with lots of family: Our daughter, Brittany, is in town for a few days; our son, Marshall, lives with us while he finishes at FSU; and Beth’s old brother, Denis, (sorry, Denis, I mean ‘oldest’ brother) and his wife Thelma are in town. We slept in late (except for our neighbor’s dog who gives us a wake-up bark at 6:30AM EVERY SINGLE MORNING!!), had a light brunch, and went for a nice long walk on an absolutely beautiful day on the Lafayette trail.

Monday was one of the warmest days we’ve had here in Tallahassee in a long time. As we hiked along the trail the sun was shining, there was a light breeze blowing, and everywhere you looked you saw the beauty of Spring starting to burst in to bloom. It was one of those days you can only describe as ‘Glorious’!

rev_photo 2 About halfway into our hike, a young couple came walking by from the other direction. The young man said something like “I hope you see more than we saw…there’s nothing over there.”

WHAT?? On this magnificent, sun-shiny day, there was nothing you saw?? We could hardly pass a tree without seeing something beautiful. I guess it’s true you only see what you’re looking for. Wayne Dyer said it like this: “Change the way you look at things and the things you look at change.”

Isn’t that true? Each one of us construct how we will choose to see the world…indeed see the day…see the moment. In other words, we see what we expect to see.

An oft-quoted story about Pablo Picasso is about the time he was hanging around an exhibition of his paintings in Paris. He was approached by a man who asked Picasso why he didn’t paint people the way they look. “Well, how do they look?” asked Picasso. The man took a photograph of his wife from his wallet and handed it over. Picasso looked at the picture; then handing it back, said, “She is awfully small isn’t she. And flat too.” We have to accept the fact that much of what seems real to us is governed by our own perceptions.

rev photo 3 A new day is ahead for you…what are you going to see? Look for the good (it’s all around you)…and praise it!

On this page are a few of the beautiful things I saw on Monday.

You are loved,

Wayne

From the Rev, Feb. 18, 2015

Posted on Feb 18 2015

Dear Friends,

I was talking with a friend last week who has been out of work for almost a year. He has sent out dozens of resumes and had a number of interviews but nothing has come through for him. As you might imagine, he is extremely frustrated. Others I have talked to who are in this situation tell me that it’s not just the loss of income but the loss of identity. Self-esteem often takes a hit.

But perhaps the worst part of their situation is the wholesale absence of courtesy or kindness they experience in their efforts to find a job. They send out endless resumes, check out every possible website and make hundreds of phone calls. They go to an interview full of hope and expectation. ..and they wait…and wait. They follow up with a carefully thought out “thank you” email or a gracious phone call and more often than not they hear back little or nothing. Days, weeks, sometimes months pass. When the interview ended they were promised “We’ll get back to you” but that promise is often forgotten. It seems like their interview has fallen into a black hole of corporate mystery.

Talk to anyone who is out of work and they’ll likely tell you this: basic human courtesy is pretty rare when you’re searching for a job. Unfortunately, it’s too often true in the rest of daily life as well.

It feels at times like our world is awfully rude these days. Politicians rip apart their political enemies in public, civility be damned. A youth on a bus in Chicago beats the living daylights out of a man who just asked him to put out his cigarette. It’s the small things too. Standing in line at a Starbucks while someone around you yaps away on their cell phone, oblivious to the fact of the public space they share with others around them. Or walking around a WalMart, lost among all that stuff and hoping and praying that just one employee might actually come up to you and ask “May I help you?”

Fortunately, courtesy does happen sometimes and when it does it feels wonderful, doesn’t it? A driver lets us pull into the next lane in heavy traffic. A famous football player takes the time to say hello to a little kid who has waited hours for an autograph. We receive a handwritten “thank you” note from someone. A stranger holds the elevator door for us as we hurry to make an appointment. Basic human courtesy…it’s so very simple.

Why is courtesy so rare? Many of us use busyness as an excuse. ..too busy to return a phone call…too busy to slow down for a stranger in need…too busy at work to follow up on something promised. Some will even say that courtesy is a sign of weakness in this increasingly hard world and only those who are tough will get ahead and win the game.

I guess it all comes down to just one choice: are we going to see the world as “I” centered or as “we” centered; is it all about “me” or all about “us? Friends, we share this world with a bunch of other people. If we are going to get along together simple acts of human kindness are all we need. It’s what your mother called “Manners” Courtesy is like a cool drink on a hot day. It refreshes. Or like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day like today. It warms us. It makes us smile. It reminds us we need to be kind too.

So why don’t you make someone’s day today by being polite. Smile and say, “Thank you.” Go out of your way to be helpful. Slow down and recognize a stranger as a fellow human being…someone who is just as worthy of respect and care as you are. God made us not merely for ourselves alone but for each other. Being courteous affirms this basic spiritual truth.

The poet Henry Burton said it this way:

“Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on;
‘Twas not given for thee alone, Pass it on;
Let it travel down the years, Let it wipe another’s tears,
‘Til in Heaven the deed appears -Pass it on.”

Be courteous….be polite….mind your manners…make your Mother proud!

You are loved,

Wayne

From the Rev, Feb. 11, 2015

Posted on Feb 11 2015

Dear Friends,

A friend was telling me about an exciting adventure they had over the holidays. They had made detailed travel plans for a trip to New York City. After a week spent visiting family and friends, the plan was to get to the airport with lots of time to spare, find the gate, settle in, board the plane and fly straight home to Tallahassee. What could go wrong? They had a plan!

But when they got to the airport, they went to the wrong gate and didn’t realize it until the last moment. They made a mad dash to the correct one but the plane had already started backing out of the gate. Oh, they got on another flight…but they had to fly to Chicago, then to Atlanta, and then finally to Tallahassee. Twelve hours later they finally made it home.

But they had made a plan, right?

As detailed as we might make our plans, nothing can predict the unexpected real-life situations that occasionally take us on a detour. This happens not just when traveling but in life as well. We set our sights on a goal. We make all the necessary arrangements so that we are completely prepared as we set out on the most direct route toward whatever it is that we have our hearts fixed on achieving. And then, without any warning, life hits us with a detour. And some of those detours are jolting, jarring, coming completely out of left field.We plan to stay with our love for all of life and then divorce happens. We plan our children’s lives to a ‘T’ so they will be happy and then they struggle or fail or get into trouble. We come to work one day and get a pink slip. We go to the doctor for a routine check-up and receive bad news.

Of course, some detours can be a gift. Sometimes there is an upside to life’s side trips. A young woman who was told she’ll never get pregnant finds she is with child. We find an old friend on Facebook and this chance encounter leads to a new career. We take a pair of jeans out of the dryer and find that fifty-dollar bill we thought we had lost.

Detours. Always there is the human plan…and then there’s life: mysterious, complicated, and wondrous with all its twists and turns. Remember the old proverb: “Man plans. God laughs.”

Now this doesn’t mean that God plays dice with the universe or does things just to upset our best laid plans. That’s not the God I believe in. It does mean that one of the best lessons of life is to plan on our plan changing. Plan that the road we are presently on will most certainly include some detours. Expect the unexpected and remember that so much of life is not about perfection but improvisation.

Just do your best each day with whatever life might toss your way. Trust that God will give you the tools to get through whatever comes, especially when your plan falls apart. So go ahead. Make your plans. But use a pencil with a big eraser at the end so that when the detours come (and they will!) you can change the plan.

Remember detour means “detour,” not “road ends here.” If you’re determined to get somewhere, then an unexpected bypass shouldn’t stop you. Sure, it may make your journey more challenging, but it also might make it more rewarding and exciting…it might even take you to a much better destination than you originally planned for!

So the next time you’re faced with one of life’s unexpected detours, just do what the lovely voice on my GPS tells me to do when I make a wrong turn…”Recalculate“!

You are loved,

Wayne

From the Rev, Feb. 4, 2015

Posted on Feb 04 2015

Dear Friends,

So…did your team win in the Super Bowl on Sunday? This may put my manhood into question but I really didn’t care who won. One of the reasons Beth married me 27 years ago is because I’m not a football fanatic. Oh, I enjoy a good game but my spirit is not crushed when my favorite team loses.

I remember going to a Super Bowl party with a bunch of junior high kids some years ago. One of the boys was so upset when his team lost that he broke into tears. This was his first sports fan heartbreak, maybe even his first significant life defeat, the first time he found out what it was like to really wish for something and then to lose. In spite of your best effort, best energy, even your best prayers…the game is over and you are on the wrong end of the score.

That’s the truth about life, isn’t it? Whether in sports or in any meaningful life endeavor, in order for someone to win, someone has to lose. If someone is chosen, someone is passed over. You try out for a great job but never get the next interview. You pursue a love relationship and your heart is broken. You train for months but you come in second.

“Loss Happens.” Maybe the most important question to consider…not just in the loss of a mere football game but for all the losses we experience…is how do we respond to the inevitability of failure? Loss is just a part of life. If you care enough about something, if you find something or someone to be passionate about, if you try your best and take the risk to jump in, some days you will just lose. You will be beaten. You will fail. There is no way around this reality.

In our culture losers are easily dismissed. But I wonder…is it always so bad to lose? To be defeated? To compete fair and square but still come up on the short end of the score? Questions such as those sound almost heretical when everything these days feels like a never-ending competition. I kept listening for the Seahawks fans to start chanting “We’re number 2! We’re number 2!” after their defeat on Sunday but I never heard it.

So here’s a shout out to all the losers in this life…the ones who don’t make the front page or win the gold medal…the ones who compete and fall short but do not cheat or cut corners in that effort. They lose well. The ones in second place who congratulate their victorious opponents with grace and then walk off the field with their heads held high. They know defeat but they aren’t crushed. To the courageous folks who get out there every day and try their best to raise a family, to work a job, and to make this world a better place.

To lose and lose well and yet not be defeated. Theodore Roosevelt experienced great loss in his life. In one day his mother and his wife both died. He faced bitter political loss: after having triumphantly served as President, he was trounced in an independent bid for the Presidency. He suffered all of his life with terrible eye problems and chronic asthma. And yet, he showed up every day to play and to fight and to compete. As he declared:

“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”

Yes, sometimes we lose. The question is: will we be defeated?

You are loved,

Wayne

From The Rev, Jan. 28, 2015

Posted on Jan 28 2015

Dear Friends,

Have you noticed that when I miss a week of writing to you….(in case you didn’t realize it yet, I didn’t send “From the Rev” last Wednesday)…the next Wednesday I tend to drone on and on. I feel it coming today.

I’ve been a bit nostalgic recently. I’m not sure why, maybe it’s the ending of one year and a new year beginning. Maybe I’m just getting old. Probably both. “Nostalgia” is defined as “a bittersweet longing for things, persons, or situations of the past.”

Perhaps you already knew this, but I just read the other day that Encyclopedia Brittanica died in 2012. It was in an article talking about the “good old days” old technology, the printed encyclopedia, which at one time represented the penultimate way to organize knowledge. Until its demise the Encyclopedia Brittanica was the oldest continually print edition encyclopedia in the world. Its volumes graced the bookshelves of scholars, school children and libraries for 244 years.

When I was growing up, my family’s encyclopedia was The World Book. It is still being published, all 22 volumes, 14,000-plus pages, for $949. I have wonderful memories of those encyclopedia’s in my childhood home. We didn’t have a lot of money, but my parents thought they were important enough to buy the whole set for my sisters and me. So if we needed to write a school report on Africa or human sight or wondered what the smallest country in the world was or just wanted to lose ourselves on a rainy afternoon in Volume “W” (warthogs, weather, Washington D.C.), the book was there, waiting to be opened and explored.

This is the point where you might expect me to start writing nostalgically about the death of the Encyclopedia Britannica and launch into a speech about “the good old days.” Then I would decry how cold the internet is, how a Kindle or an IPad can’t compare to the heft of a volume of World Book. And then we could sing together “Those were the days, my friends, we thought they’d never end….”

But the mistake of nostalgia is that we have this human tendency to remember and worship the past as the “good days” as compared to the supposed “bad days” of now. Understand, nostalgia is not always bad. When I write about my Father, as I did a few weeks ago, I re-visit him through the wonderful gift of human memory even though he is no longer alive. I take a step into my past, and I’m comforted by those memories. That is good nostalgia.

But these days I hear so much bad nostalgia: lamenting about what we’ve lost or how we got lost and how we must return to the past. I hear politicians speak about returning America to “what it was,” to its “greatness”…as if to turn the nation back is as easy as making a syrupy speech. I do sympathize with the nostalgic among us. We live in a time of radical cultural and technological change which can feel as if we are being thrown much too fast into the future. What is not changing these days? Not much!

Bad nostalgia commits one unavoidable sin. The past remembered is really not true…not objectively. It’s a past we remember selectively, sometimes narrowly, often sugar-coated, certainly romantic. The “bad stuff” inevitably gets edited out. Author John Steinbeck wrote:

Even while I protest the assembly-line production of our food, our songs, our language, and eventually our souls, I know that it was a rare home that baked good bread in the old days. Mother’s cooking was with rare exceptions poor, that good unpasteurized milk touched only by flies and bits of manure crawled with bacteria, the healthy old-time life was riddled with aches, sudden death from unknown causes, and that sweet local speech I mourn was the child of illiteracy and ignorance. It is the nature of a man as he grows older, a small bridge in time, to protest against change…

Bad nostalgia doesn’t allow the room to remember times of great change when everything shifted for the better: Yesterday, polio…today a vaccine; Yesterday intolerance of “the other” for their religion, skin color, or sexual orientation…today, a more civil nation; today, cancer…tomorrow (perhaps) a medical breakthrough. But for this to happen we can’t get stuck in a past that never really existed, nor fear a future yet to be born.

Life is finally change. Yes, we can sweetly remember the past. Yes, we can be grateful for it. Yes, we can learn from it. But finally, we can never, ever go back.

So farewell Encyclopedia Brittanica. You did a great job but you had to die to make way for the awesome information wave that is transforming our world in ways we could never have dreamed.

As a person of faith I finally rely on the advice of the psalmist: “This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Yes, those were the days, my friends. Yes, these are the days, my friends. But imagine what is yet to come!

You are loved,
Wayne

From The Rev, Jan. 14, 2015

Posted on Jan 14 2015

Dear Friends,

We had a Memorial Service this past Sunday for a remarkable woman, Carolyn Bridger, who was well known and dearly loved within the music community here in Tallahassee, particularly at FSU, and many other places around the world. Carolyn was killed in a tragic car accident back in November. She lived such a rich and meaningful life and the testimony of family and friends gave evidence of that life so well lived. During the service I sat in the choir loft as about 50 singers, all FSU music alumni, sang two magnificent numbers. Surely this must be what heaven sounds like!

As I listened to the testimony of family, friends and colleagues. I thought of how Carolyn used her life and God-given talent to the fullest….every moment of her life. I don’t think she wasted a second of it and the world is a more beautiful, melodious place because of her.

Today I came across these words:

“One day consists of 86,400 seconds, each one containing countless options, possibilities and decisions of which only one can emerge. 86,400 seconds. This is one of them.

One week consists of 604,800 seconds.

One month 2,629,646 seconds.

One year 31,556,926 seconds.

One lifetime 2,366,820,000 seconds.

Each one contains countless options, possibilities and decisions of which only one can emerge.

Each have the ability to create one life and erase another.

One day consists of 86,400 seconds. This is one of them.”

So, my friends, what are you doing with the seconds of your life? We’re 14 days into a new year. I pray that we all will make the most of the seconds we are given.

Frederick Buechner tells about a great theologian who, when he was speaking on the subject of miracles, was asked to give a specific example of one. “There is only one miracle,” he answered. “It is life.” And then Buechner asked some relevant questions…good ones for us to ask ourselves at the beginning of this new year:

Have you wept at anything during the past year?

Has your heart beat faster at the sight of young beauty?

Have you thought seriously about the fact that someday you are going to die?

More often than not do you really listen when people are speaking to you instead of just waiting for your turn to speak?

Is there anybody you know in whose place, if one of you had to suffer great pain, you would volunteer yourself?

If your answer to all or most of these questions is No, the chances are that you’re dead.

Thanks for sharing some of the seconds of your life to ponder some of my ponderings today. Have a joy-filled day!

You are loved,

Wayne

From The Rev, Jan. 7, 2015

Posted on Jan 07 2015

Dear Friends,

As I have listened to the news regarding the tragedy of AirAsia Flight 8501 over the past couple of weeks, I have heard many experts in the field of aviation share their thoughts and opinions on what may have caused the plane to go down. One gentleman who I was glad to see interviewed was Chesley Sullinberger, better known as “Captain Sully.”

I’m sure you remember the story. Back in January of 2009, Captain Sully, due to his excellent flying skills, landed the airplane he was piloting in the Hudson Bay. Apparently a flock of geese shut down both engines of the plane. All 155 passengers made it out safely.

Seeing Captain Sulley interviewed, and remembering this remarkable event, I reflected on some of the life lessons we can learn, especially as we begin a new year:

First, there is no way to engineer life so that nothing bad happens. Sometimes geese fly into your engine. Things will not always go your way. Folks are going to disappoint you and tragedy will happen. Geese happens.

Second, a strong person calmly does their best to navigate the situation to safe waters. Was Captain Sully a bad pilot? Certainly not! Too often we think that if we have problems, there is something wrong with us. Problems are a part of life. They are opportunities waiting to happen. The very definition of excellence has to do with what we do when bad things happen.

And third, understand that the point of life is the journey, not the destination. I remember some of the survivors being interviewed, and guess what? Not one of them complained because they didn’t reach their destination. They were just thankful to be alive.

My friends, we, too, are on a journey together and the trip is what’s important in life. Life is not about achievement, success, and getting everything you want. It’s about the path.

May you be blessed on all the paths you take in this new year.

You are loved,

Wayne

From The Rev, Dec. 31, 2014

Posted on Dec 31 2014

Dear Friends,

Like many of you, I’m not much for New Year resolutions. However, I have found that the beginning of a new calendar year does afford an opportunity to reflect on practices in my life that need to be adjusted, renewed or stopped. Such reflection can set a tone for a new chapter in my life.

What do you hope this New Year will bring? Here are a few of my hopes:

I hope there will be more peace in this world, and people will change their ways and stop killing each other, and people would value each others’ lives.

I hope things will change and more people will come through the doors of our church and fill up the pews.

I hope people will stop giving excuses about how their lives are so busy and they don’t have time for God and the church unless it involves Christmas, Easter, weddings and funerals.

I hope people will give more and do more.

My list goes on and on. Hope is great, but if you put your hope only in what “other” people do, you end up hopeless, worn-out, frustrated and wanting to throw in the towel. The negative emotions will prevail if we focus on what “other” people do instead of taking into account our own actions and attitudes. We can’t fully control what other people do. We only have control over our responses and those many times are tempered by the actions of other people.

A few days before Christmas I was at the Walmart on Mahan. It was a miserable, cold and windy day. As I was walking down the row in the parking lot, a lady had just finished emptying her shopping cart and was pushing it out into the row toward the cart corral. I offered to push it the rest of the way since I was going that way and the wind was biting. I thought I would be a gentleman and let her return to her car and put the cart in the corral for her. She said thank you and told me how sweet that was of me to do that for her. I said, “You’re welcome and Merry Christmas,” and pushed the cart forward.

As I got close to the corral some idiot and I mean idiot (and I know you’re not supposed to call someone that especially if you’re a preacher…but in this case this guy was one totally and completely) walked up behind me and said, “What a lazy a$$ni&&@r! She can’t even push her own cart.”

I was momentarily dumbfounded by this guy’s comment and didn’t know what to say, but I sure had some other reactions pop into my mind as I pushed the cart into the corral and he walked past me and got into his truck. Those reactions that popped into my head probably would have been as inappropriate as his comment. Then I thought to myself how this kind gesture that was graciously appreciated and acknowledged could be so misconstrued. I also determined I would not let that person or his comments ruin an otherwise pleasant and rewarding experience. In hindsight I regretted not being able to confront this bigot and try to correct his misperception of what had happened, but I am somehow certain it would not have made any difference by his prejudicial comments and attitude. You never know. It might have, because we know God works in mysterious ways.

Ultimately, to find peace in our lives we need to place our hope in God and not other people and what they do or don’t do, whatever the case may be. So it is my hope that the hope you have comes from the love of God that is poured into your heart and that it will guard and ground your heart and your mind. I hope that each of us can live out what we profess to believe by reflecting the love of God in everything we think, say, and do!

I hope you have a blessed and happy New Year!

You are loved,
Wayne

From The Rev, Dec. 24, 2014

Posted on Dec 24 2014

Dear Friends,

On this Christmas Eve I simply share with you a story by an unknown author for your pondering:

Many years ago, there was a very wealthy man who shared a passion for art collecting with his son. They had priceless works by Picasso and Van Gogh adorning the walls of their family estate. As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His son had died. Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season had vanished with the death of his son.

On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hands who said, “I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you.”

The soldier mentioned that he was an artist and then gave the old man the package. The paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man’s son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man’s face in striking detail. Overcome with emotion, the man hung the portrait over the fireplace, pushing aside millions of dollars worth of art. His task completed, the old man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces of art for which museums around the world clamored.

The following spring, the old man died. The art world waited with anticipation for the upcoming auction. According to the will of the old man, all the art works would be auctioned on Christmas Day, the day he had received the greatest gift. The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world’s most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled that day.

The auction began with a painting that was not on anyone’s museum list. It was the painting of the man’s son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid, but the room was silent. “Who will open the bidding with $100?” No one spoke. Finally someone said, “Who cares about that painting. It’s just a picture of his son. Let’s move on to the good stuff.”

The auctioneer responded, “No, we have to sell this one first. Now, who will take the son?” Finally, a neighbor of the old man offered $10 dollars. “That’s all I have. I knew the boy, so I’d like to have it.”

The auctioneer said, “Going once, going twice…gone.” The gavel fell.

Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, “Now we can bid on the real treasures!”

The auctioneer looked at the room filled with people and announced that the auction was over. Everyone was stunned. Someone spoke up and said, “What do you mean, it’s over? We didn’t come here for a painting of someone’s son. There are millions of dollars worth of art here! What’s going on?”

The auctioneer replied, “It’s very simple. According to the will of the Father, whoever takes the son…gets it all.”

Puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? The message is the same this Christmas. Because of the Father’s love…whoever takes the Son gets it all. Will you take Him this Christmas?

You’re invited to a birthday party tonight. It’s the birthday of Jesus. It’s His party but He wants to give you a present. He wants to give you the gift of Himself. Will you take Him?

Merry Christmas! Always remember how much…

You are loved,

Wayne

From The Rev, Dec. 17, 2014

Posted on Dec 17 2014

Dear Friends,

Apparently last week’s “From The Rev” resonated with many of you and brought back many of your own personal memories. Perhaps Christmas, more than any other time, is a time when memories flood our hearts and minds. Today I’m going to share with you one more of my journal entries. Last weeks entry was from July 31, 1997; today’s is from August 4, 1997. This will be the last journal entry from this period in my life that I will share with you. If anyone would like a full copy of “My Journal With My Dad’s Dying”, send me an email and I’ll get one to you. This entry is kind of long, so grab a cup of coffee.

8/4/97 From the Rev

Good Friends,

It’s hard for me to fathom that Dad has hung on this long…without food or water for ten days now. I didn’t think that was possible. I was with him for a couple of hours this morning and found myself exhausted from taking each breath with him…*fearful* that this breath would be the last…*hopeful* that this breath would be the last. I pray that it will be over soon…probably for me as much as for Dad…it’s so incredibly hard to watch him die like this.

Each nurse and aid who comes into his room when I’m there comment on how much we look alike. If it wasn’t for his bent nose (from the avocado I dropped on his nose!) we’d probably look a lot more alike. Standing there next to him, I placed my hand flat up against his hand. They are exactly the same size. I thought of the different ways Dad used his hands. Dad was a “wannabe” car mechanic…always puttering under the hood of the car but not really knowing what he was doing. He would work on the engine for a few days and then he would end up sending it down to the local garage to fix what he had screwed up. I’ve certainly inherited that quality from him!

Dad worked for the Secret Service for 35 years as the Administrator of the Miami office. When I think of Dad’s hands at work, I recall the old black Royal typewriter he used at work and at home. I offered to buy him an electric typewriter one time but he wasn’t interested. He was the fastest “hunt and peck” typist I have ever known! I also recall Dad’s hands sorting through the counterfeit money that had been confiscated. It’s funny, this morning I was at a store and cashed a fifty dollar bill. The lady ran the bill through some kind of scan to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit. It took me back to the time when I was about ten years old, when he took me to his office downtown, pulled out a briefcase from the vault, opened it up and showed me the contents. I’m sure my little ten year old eyes must have popped out of my head when he showed me that briefcase full of uncut counterfeit twenty dollar bills! They sure looked real to me! I remember asking for a sample.

I remember holding Dad’s hand as we walked downtown (that’s back when it was SAFE to walk in downtown Miami!). I remember how every year we would go downtown to the Orange Bowl Parade. Everybody else had their chairs with them. But my Dad was much smarter than that. We would always carry two 8 foot step ladders, a 2×6 plank-board about ten feet long, set the ladders about eight feet apart and slide the board between the top rungs of the ladders. The Curry family must have been quite a sight carrying our ladders and board to the parade…but we always had the best seats on the parade route!

of all, I remember my Dad’s hands intertwined with my Mom’s. Dad was not an overly affectionate man toward me…was it a generational thing?…but his love for my MOM was without question. They were ALWAYS touching. As a kid I found it a bit nauseating, but as I grew older I came to admire the deep, open love they had for each other…they never hid their affection. They’ve been married for 58 years…what wonderful models they have been!

I have appreciated the opportunities to share some of my stories with you via this email technology. It’s been most therapeutic and healing for me. The wonderful stories that many of you, in turn, have shared with me have helped me to see how we’re all in this together. And when we share with each other, especially from the places where we are hurting the most, we know we’re not alone.

In my devotional reading this morning, I read this piece by Frederick Buechner from his book Telling Secrets. It’s wonderful. I hope you’ll take the time to read it:

“This is all part of the story about what it has been like for the last ten years or so to be me, and before anybody has the chance to ask it, I will ask it myself: Who cares? What in the world could be less important than who I am and who my father and mother were, the mistakes I have made together with the occasional discoveries, the bad times and good times, the moments of grace. If I were a public figure and my story had some impact on the world at large, that might be some justification for telling it, but I am a very private figure indeed, living very much out of the mainstream of things in the hills of Vermont, and my life has had very little impact on anybody except for the people closest to me and the comparative few who have read books I have written and been one way or another touched by them.

But I talk about my life anyway because if, on the one hand, hardly anything could be less important, on the other hand, hardly anything could be more important. My story is important not because it is mine, God knows, but because if I tell it anything like right, the chances are you will recognize that in many ways it is also yours. (underline is mine). Maybe nothing is more important than that we keep track, you and I, of these stories of who we are and where we have come from and the people we have met along the way because it is precisely through these stories in all their particularity, as I have long believed and often said, that God makes himself known to each of us most powerfully and personally. If this is true, it means to lose track of our stories is to be profoundly impoverished not only humanly but spiritually.”

I, for one, am glad we’re in this together. Thanks.

You are loved,

Wayne

Now back to 2014 for a moment. As the pace quickens leading up to Christmas Day, with more preparations to make than time in which to make them, let me urge you to slow down and take some time to linger in the memories of past Christmases. There is enough time to do what is important.

Have a beautiful day!
You are loved,

Wayne