RICK’S BLOG

January 2026
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I was a small boy who could barely read when my mother began instilling in my little brain the idea of memorizing things: phone numbers, addresses, scripture, poems. She was an advocate of memorizing long passages of prose; speeches and monologues, a passion she got from her mother, the teacher.

Also, my grandmother (who passed before I was born) was, as someone who lived through the wars, convinced the scripture would someday be taken out of the hands of the faithful and should be memorized as much as possible. She herself could recite at least 4 books of the Bible, in scorching King James English (so mom said.)

As was often the case, being the child of the “Church script writer”, I was “cast” as the child with the longest (and I’m sure, the most dramatic) monologues and Bible verses to recite. I was at my hometown church one day when mom and dad were there doing something else, and I decided to go to the sanctuary and see how scary it was to stand up on the platform and deliver to the rows of empty, blonde wood, pews. I started the walk up to the front from the back when someone popped their head up from below one of the pews. It was Mr. Reiboldt, the father of some of my friends at church, he was fixing something in one of the pews…he smiled and said “Hi”. He then asked what I was doing and I told him I was going to practice my “monologue”. He then asked me a question that confused me because I had never heard the term before.

“Do you know it by heart?”

It’s funny how some things stick with you. I couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old and yet, I can see the pews, see his 40-year-old face, hear his voice and see the surprise on his face when learning I had never heard that term before. He explained that having something memorized was often referred to as, “knowing it by heart.” That could refer to things like what I was learning and delivering…but also to things, truths, that need to be “kept in our heart.”

“Do you know that your mom and dad love you?”
“Yes.”
“THAT is something you know by heart.”
“Do you know that we all love you?”
“Yes.”
“Keep that in your heart.”
“Do you know that God loves you?”
“Yes.”
“Then, there are the most important things you can know…by heart.”

Again, if an angel had broken through the walls, stood beside Mr. Reiboldt with a flaming sword held high I couldn’t have been more impressed (for more than 50 years or so) with that moment in time than I was…it has stayed with me.

The term comes from the Greeks, who had no separation, in their culture and philosophy, between logic and emotion, considering the organ of the heart to be the seat of knowledge. To “know something by heart” was to remember in the deepest part of you, and COMMIT to remember it.

Currently, I am performing some Shakespeare. I don’t have a large role, but it IS significant: I’m one of the storytellers. I have 3 monologues. They are stunningly beautiful and crafted as only a brilliant writer can craft: using language as a painter uses brushes and oil, and as a sculptor uses chisels, hammers, and polishing cloths. They are also difficult for a 61-year-old mind to remember…but I am DRIVEN to remember them because they also contain “truth”…and I want to commit them “to heart.”

What do YOU know by heart?

Jesus is constantly reminding us that there are some things we know by heart that we shouldn’t: worry, past indiscretions He has forgiven, the times someone else hurt us, as examples. We may not WANT to commit those things to our hearts, but we do, and we memorize every hurt and say it, play it, over and over again. Jesus reminds us that the things we keep in our hearts tell everyone (including Himself) what we truly “treasure”. (MATTHEW 6:21)

YET, as humans we are prone to forget the GOOD things, the beautiful things, the true things…and the writer, Paul, reminds us to actually to commit those things to heart. (PHILIPPIANS 4:8). God asks that we remember what He has done for us, so as to STRENGTHEN us. Psychologists teach that training the mind to remember good events, strong events, actually CHANGES the way our mind works (as the opposite does, as well). People who learn by heart to say the bad things in their lives over and over again will change…you and I have seen it happen, and experience those kind of people every day. Those that remember when God delivered, when God loved, when God provided, also change…you and I see a few of them every day as well.

What do YOU know by heart?

Choose carefully what you learn, what you memorize, and what you know by heart. It will change you…change isn’t bad, change is life. But whether you change for the better or worse is up to you.

“Go to your bosom; knock there and ask your heart what it doth know.” SHAKESPEARE

“Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may discern what is the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God.” ROMANS 12:2

(reprinted from June 2019)

During my college years, in Seattle, I played the piano and sang – somewhat frequently – to try and make a living while going to class. I had some “regular gigs” (playing for some ballet classes and playing in the Executive Dining Room of the Rainier Tower every week) AND every-once-in-a-while a special party or wedding. As payment for one event I did at the historic Olympic Four Seasons in downtown Seattle I went a little “above and beyond” and did some extra playing for the hotel itself on a night when I was there to play for a party – the hotel gave me a dinner for two at their famed Georgian Room.

Now keep in mind that I was barely 21, had only really experienced anything as elegant and elite as The Georgian Room because I was a sometime performer in places like that, meaning: I entered through the back door or kitchen, did my gig and left the same way – not mingling with the guests NOR eating the food NOR drinking the wine. So this free dinner was not only going to be a new adventure, but also something that otherwise would’ve cost me the monetary equivalent of tuition for one semester at my school; a little out of my range.

I asked a girl friend (as opposed to a girlfriend) to join me. She eagerly agreed. She was a performer/student herself and shared the same world as I; dining mostly on ramen noodles, pizza, popcorn, etc. This was going to be spectacular…we didn’t eat for two days, in preparation.

I picked her up and, being a girl, she looked perfect for the occasion; chic, but not TOO dressy. I wore my best white button-down, nice linen khakis, freshly-shined brown oxfords…plus (did I say I was younger) I didn’t need AS MUCH HELP looking good as I do now. I imagined we would turn heads as we, much like Eliza Doolittle at the ball, walked into the Georgian Room.

I admit, I had some expectations (based mostly on the movies and television shows I watched) about what I would experience in such a fancy place; snooty staff, food names I couldn’t pronounce, a lot of “raw” things I wouldn’t want in my stomach…etc. But the one thing I wasn’t expecting happened at the door to the restaurant when I said we had reservations.

The Maitre d’, (and he really was THE perfect definition of a gentleman) smiled and asked if I had a jacket, since jackets were required in the room. I had never heard of such a thing. Shocked, embarrassed and thinking of some extravagant story I could tell about my jacket being stolen right outside as I saved myself and my date from certain death just before entering the restaurant…mostly I remember no response, except “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

The Maitre ‘d gave me a sincere and truly reassuring smile and said not to worry, several gentleman who dined there regularly kept jackets in the cloak room just off the Maitre d’s station. He sized me up and brought out a green jacket which he helped me slip on. First, it was perhaps the most comfortable jacket I’d ever worn…perfect fit, and whatever the cut and fabric were I now judge every jacket I’ve worn since by that one. Second, from that time on we never were treated by him or the staff as if we didn’t belong in that place and time.

Although the jacket wasn’t mine, it fit better than anything I one at the time, and I felt oddly comfortable as we were seated by a large beautiful window, under a chandelier. Our server couldn’t have been more engaging, welcoming and helpful…pointing out some things we would really like and encouraging us to try some new things…since our dinner was “on the house”. It was that “night of the green jacket” that I found out crudité just means “raw veggies” and vichyssoise is just cold potato soup…among other things.

By the end of the evening we were laughing, comfortable, surprised, satisfied, …and filled with memories that I still have some 40 years later…I’m assuming it was probably less memorable for my “date”, but who knows?

When we left, the Maitre d, after asking how our evening was, removed my jacket and asked my name. I told him, he took out a form and found a number on the page that corresponded with a discreetly-placed number sewn in the inside of the jacket, and wrote my name beside it – under the other few names beside that number.

“There”, he said, “when you return, your jacket will be here.”

I learned some things that night, as my Father (in His undeniably supernatural AND natural way) taught me not to make assumptions about anyone or anything, that trying new things (like new foods and new destinations) stretches and invigorates the mind and body. He taught me that some people have a gift of making others feel good about themselves, and I wanted to find out how to cultivate that gift.

But most of what I learned had to do with “putting on” something I didn’t think of as “mine” and learning that most often, we don’t see ourselves as others see us, we don’t imagine that some experiences, gifts, blessings, are for us…when, in fact, they fit us perfectly.

I know that’s true with Gifts of the Spirit. I know that it is much easier to see another person’s giftedness than our own. That’s why I’ve always thought “Spiritual Gift Assessment” tests should not be taken by the person trying to discover their own gifts but by someone else, who knows them well. I know that some people would never see themselves in a certain “jacket” because it is so out of their usual or out of their self-defined comfort zone…only then to have a friend, mentor, or someone they love, tell them the “jacket” truly fits…they should wear it, even if only for a short time and place.

The lessons of THE GREEN JACKET have stayed with me. There are times I’ve found myself in a place or time where I’m sure I don’t fit…then, remarkably, comfortingly, someone speaks with the inspiration of the Spirit and says, “Why don’t you just try it on.”

The “green jacket” may represent a change in life, a place in your congregation or family, or what some call a “special anointing” for a specific time or place. Whatever your jacket is, I say to you: “Why don’t you just try it on.”

You may be surprised what God has tailored for you.

I love to travel, as you all know, and am travelling as I write this BLOG today: this ASH WEDNESDAY. I love seeing our beautiful world and the people in it. In fact, as wonderful as all the scenery and cultures are, it’s the people that are most fascinating to me.

I’m an introvert at heart, and when I’m “not in charge or on stage” I like to sit in the back and see the whole picture. When travelling, my favorite thing to do is find a quiet table, a bench, or a palm tree…and sit to watch people.

We are a fascinating species; all types, all personalities, and yet similar. I, jokingly, like to say that God only has a few “molds” He uses in building us; and so He uses some over and over. For instance, I ALWAYS see people “I know” in the most unique places. They aren’t really the people I know back home, but they sure look and act like them. In these few short days, while in another country, I’ve already seen David Priest, Diana Huntoon, and Jacqueline Sokol. Now, it’s not them, but they all look like someone made from the same mold.

Of course that’s ridiculous, we are as different as individual snowflake crystals or individual sands on the beach…but it’s a fun game. In truth, we humans are as diverse as we are similar. I watch young parents with children. Children seem to be the same throughout the world. I watch older couples, helping each other navigate the tours, the shops, and the uneven the walkways. And then there are the wealthy, the elegant, the plain, and the boisterous. I see the friendly, and the not-so-friendly, the grumpy, and the funny. It’s always a wonderful collection of sameness & difference.

On this day, ASH WEDNESDAY, I am thinking of the ashes, Palm Sunday, people, and the journey each of us together. Our bodies move toward an end, while our souls grow and finally break through. Where our souls travel, when free of these bodies, is taken on faith according to what each of us believe. We all have an idea as to what will happen when the soul breaks free, and we argue with each other about it…wasting time that could be used to connect to each other, as Jesus asked.

But, as for our bodies, we should all KNOW what is going to happen. And not just bodies, but our lands, our homes, our countries, and our kingdoms. It’s not just faith and religion that teach us about this cycle of beginnings and endings…it’s history itself. All human things end, whether individual humans or communities of humans, large and small. And hardly anything symbolizes that truth than ASH WEDNESDAY.

Where do our ashes come from? The ashes we at Central use for Ash Wednesday are the ashes of the palms used the prior Palm Sunday; mixed with olive oil which is infused with frankincense and myrrh. Once the palms are burned, ground down and mixed, they are preserved. In fact, at Central, the ashes I’ve used for thirteen years, predate me by three ministers at least. I have only added some ashes, but they are combined with ashes from Palm Sundays past. The alabaster jar that holds Central’s ashes holds the representation of at least two decades of parishioners, pastors, elders, deacons, and stories here in the heart of the heartland…and now, it’s all ash.

The palms that symbolize the crowds in Jerusalem wishing for and welcoming what they imagined was an “earthly” kingdom, are now dust…reminding us that the “earthly” kingdom is not what our King came to inaugurate…HIS Kingdom is “not from, or of, this world”. HIS Kingdom doesn’t turn to ash. But our kingdoms, our countries, our homes, and our bodies…do.

We are all headed in that direction. No matter our diversity, no matter our likeness, we all travel to that location. That knowledge alone should cause us to be kinder, more loving, more patient, and more helpful, to each other. It should cause us to live every moment on this earth, in this body, with intention. Does it?

All this isn’t really bad news, it’s the way of life as physical life was created to be…but “Life” (with a capital L) isn’t defined by things that turn to ash. “Life”, according to what I believe and teach, transcends nations, communities, and human bodies. I believe our souls will land in new bodies that don’t turn to ash, in a land that always remains green, lush, diverse and colorful…like the immortal souls that will inhabit it with our King, Jesus.

My time at Central, in Anderson, and on this earth will one day be represented in the palms I have burned and mixed with ashes from times before, and pastors who have served and moved on, along with their parishioners…but my soul has already started packing for another trip. The Kingdom of MY King has already been created.

So take the ashes and remember: we are all on the same physical journey, and it might be your responsibility to show (without words, but with action) someone else the way to “the lifeboat.” On the way, offer your hand, your smile, your love because Jesus asks you to do that…and because, as different as we all may be, and no matter where we started…we’re all in the same boat.

I used to be a percussionist, in Middle School/High School, and played a multitude of percussion instruments in both orchestra and band. Percussion is fascinating, and for anyone with a background in piano, has a relatively smooth learning-curve. The one thing I didn’t do too much, as a percussionist, was march in a band. In fact, I have really only one memory of marching with my High School band in one of the local rodeo parades (where I grew up, rodeos were popular) and I played what’s called “triples”; three larger drums worn, by strap around the neck and shoulders, in the front. Because of the size and where the drums were, one cannot see the ground while marching…and we were behind several horses…enough said. I didn’t march again.

I made many percussion friends along the way and a few have gone on to greater things as percussionists. One friend of mine continues to play in studios in Los Angeles and has been heard in the soundtracks of many well-known films. Another has become a Percussion Professor back east. One of my friends received a scholarship, out of High School, to attend school in the Midwest, where marching bands are king!

This friend, Chris, ended his freshman year as first chair in the percussion and drum section of the school and was in high demand throughout the state, even at his young age. On one occasion, another university (one of their rivals) called him with a request. It seems they wanted him to perform with them during a televised half-time show coming up in the next month. Here was the deal: he would learn the music on his own and in “seated” rehearsals with the band. However, because of the secretive nature of the program, and the intense rivalry between marching bands at the time, they wanted to keep him out of “marching practice” and simply give him his marching “formula” to learn on his own and with a “coach” – another drummer who marched beside him. He would, then, learn and memorize his steps without any concept of the rest of the band and where THEY were marching, so that the configuration could remain a secret…all he knew was HIS part, but not how it fit with the rest.

The day came, he was given a uniform and met one final time with the band. He was instructed to remain on his course. He played, he performed, his family watched on television…the half-time production was remarkable. He was also asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement, good for 10 years…because the university was a bit embarrassed for needing to ask him to play…considering he was from their rival school. Only his family knew, and he told the story years later.

He said that he amazingly learned a valuable lesson about doing what needed to be done, even when the whole picture wasn’t available to him. He knew he was an integral part of the whole but was not aware of what the rest of the body of players were doing. He said that in later years, when HE became a teacher, he used that technique to teach the importance of group dynamics, organization, the power of many, and the responsibility of concise leadership.

We talk about the BODY OF CHRIST in the church community, and we speak of our own and others’ Spiritual gifts and talents. But our human side really isn’t happy without knowing exactly HOW WE fit in and WHAT EVERYONE ELSE is doing…we not only want to see the final production, we not only want to know the outcome, we believe we have the right to know because, after all, isn’t it about us?

This story is just about a marching band, not about the Kingdom, or is it? Could we say any more to our King than what Mary said to Gabriel, “Let it be…according to His word.” or “Whatever the King asks, I’ll do.” or like Isaiah, “Here I am, send me.”

Maybe it’s just because we are Americans. Maybe it is because logic has replaced mystery. Or maybe it’s because we just don’t trust that God knows what He’s doing.

BELIEVING & FOLLOWING Jesus is a heart & mind choice each person makes individually, but once the decision is made, it is action (not academic), it is practice (not theory), and it is communal (not individual). We are the DRUMLINE in an entire band of others who march in the same direction and play the same song. It only works well if every does what the Drum Major/Director asks…without worrying what everyone else is doing.

Upon the rare occasion of “organizing” in my home, I ran across a photo album from my one and only trip to ITALY. As is often the case, the organization play was replaced by a trip down memory lane and very little was organized. This small photo album is filled with photos from the trip I took with family and friends. It was a vacation by which all vacations since are measured, because the destination and company were stellar.

I travelled in memory, through the photos, and once again felt the warm sun, listened to the music, tasted the wine, and remembered things I had forgotten in the few short years since that trip. It was a great diversion from “organizing”.

As I looked and remembered, however, I thought of a specific moment in time during the trip, when I stood on a rise looking out over Tuscan fields (much LIKE the photo posted here), a village and church on the horizon, vineyards and orchards between. It was sunset, and I said to myself: “No photo, painting or story does justice to this place, no matter how beautiful they may be. None of those things can match the moment of actually seeing this with one’s own eyes.”

There is a difference between “knowing about” something and “knowing” something.

It’s the same with people. It’s the same with God. We are taught, and I believe, the scripture tells us about God. That is truth, or at least one side of it. The Scripture tells us about God, and so does His creation and His children. His Spirit in us, is also a witness to the personality of God. But all of those things share ABOUT God, none of those things are a substitute for KNOWING God.

To know ABOUT God is not the same as KNOWING God. After all, lots of people know about God, and it doesn’t seem to change them in the least. The people who have been changed, who live a full life, who walk with peace inside and out, who seem to pour out “springs of living water” are people who don’t just know about God, but who know God.

The process of getting to know God is like getting to know anyone else. We find out about our family and friends by spending time with them, getting to understand their likes and dislikes, catering to them, supporting them, and staying in contact with them. We don’t maintain relationships with our loved ones by reading about them.

There is a difference between “knowing about” something and “knowing” something.

Jesus’ wish is that we know Him, not just know about Him. He wants us to spend time talking and listening to Him. He wants us to love Him by loving each other. He wants us to look for Him everywhere, to turn to Him all the time, to be with Him forever. That’s going to take more than just reading the scripture and calling it good. We’re going to have to trust the Spirit of God to lead us into places that we wouldn’t ordinarily go. We’re going to need to trust in our own God-given common sense and ability to trust His Spirit in us when it comes to situations that are not mentioned in the scripture. We are going to have to KNOW that God is real, despite the fact that His personhood is not defined by OUR understanding of what a “person” should be, in fact it’s just the opposite: our personhood is defined by the fact that we are created in HIS image and not visa versa.

There is a difference between “knowing about” something and “knowing” something.

I have some wonderful memories and photos of Tuscany, but none of them ARE Tuscany. The images are representations of a small portion of that place. The Scripture tells us some of who God is. The Spirit shares with us knowledge as we need it, nature is a portion of what God has created. Our own hearts and minds contain a touch of His personality. But to know God requires regarding Him as the friend He wishes to be. It requires spending time with Him in the everyday things, trusting the Spirit in us to believe Him when we hear Him and see Him where others may not.

It is a lifelong task, and we have eternity to make it happen.

On this day in 2017 we, at Central, lost our friend and sister, Cheryl Calder – as she passed into her new, eternal, and fabulous life. I wrote this a day or two following, and it bears repeating, because…you never know.

In the late ’70s and early ’80s I was a student at CORNISH COLLEGE OF THE ARTS in Seattle. I spent my time studying, performing and being a “college student”. I loved Seattle, and still do. As a child of the “east side” of Washington State, where the flat, dusty, earth is scattered with with sage brush or field upon field of wheat, I enjoyed the change: mountains, water and huge trees. The drizzle, and the sometimes grey skies, didn’t bother me in the least.

Part of what I loved was the culture. It seemed that every corner had a cafe, a store, a gallery, a theatre. I lived for at least 2 and almost 3 years as an actor, with that as my primary job; there were so many theatres to work in. It was in Seattle that I first started working in the church. I walked in to the church I attended and asked if there was anything I could volunteer to do during the day, since most of my work was at night.

“Sure,” the Pastor said, “aren’t you a designer? Could you take over our Newsletter design and layout?”

“Of course.” I said

“Watch out though,” he said, “once you start working at a church it sucks you in and you could end up working full time.”

You never know.

There were days that I would take a bit of a long walk from my apartment on Capital Hill and go to the Market, up from the harbor of Puget Sound. You’ve seen pictures of the Market, called PIKE PLACE, (where they “throw the fish”) it was a great place at the “heart” of the city. There happened to be a little coffee shop there. When I first visited, they only sold whole bean coffee that they roasted right there, and you took it home to brew. Eventually this little shop started selling cups of their roasted coffee and espresso that you could drink right there. I remember the day my friend, who worked there, said they were opening a new store on the east side of town, across the lake. I was really surprised. Is this kind of thing really so popular that you’d risk opening another store? I hoped it would do well. The shop was called, STARBUCKS.

You never know.

Another place I used to haunt was a classic bookstore, several blocks south of my school and apartment, but not downtown. This was not only heaven-on-earth for readers like me, but they also sold coffee and soup, home-made breads and such…you could both EAT and READ – WOW! Sitting and reading was encouraged as much as purchasing. I would travel to the ELLIOTT BAY BOOKSTORE often enough that I started seeing familiar faces: another college student there, an older man here…pretty soon we are greeting each other and having anonymous small talk.

Jump ahead some 15 years and I’m in Anderson, Indiana. Once again I’ve sought out a little coffee shop where they didn’t mind if you sat and drank coffee while working, in the early morning. It was a small shop close to the University. Pretty soon the same thing happened and I started seeing the same faces, becoming familiar, as we all happened to stop by at the same time.

An older lady and one I assumed was her daughter came by, and as I looked up at them seated across the room, I realized I had seen the younger woman before. It took me awhile, but then she laughed and I realized, remarkably, that she was one of the “regulars” at THE ELLIOTT BAY BOOKSTORE. I walked over, apoligized and asked if she was from Seattle. She said she HAD been there when her husband was taking classes – some of them at the CORNISH COLLEGE, had I heard of it? I told her that I recognized here and her animatedly-shocked face immediately lit up and she said she recognized me also. We started chattering away about all things Seattle. We saw each other time and again and said “hi” there at BIXBY’S.

Several years later I was a manager at the same coffee shop: a new owner, and a new name: BRANDON’S. I had also started attending a new church, Central Christian where, lo-and-behold, this woman attended…her name was Cheryl Calder. We became, and remained, fast friends. She had A lifetime of history in Anderson, and at Central Christian. She had gone through the good and bad of life with her blood family and church family there. When I became the Pastor I hired her to be our Secretary, partially because she knew everyone and knew everything that was happening all over town…but mostly because she was dedicated to God, and totally loyal to me and the church.

She was, and is, a part of the very stone that defines the building, the laughter and love that breathes through the halls there…the rest is history.

Small things become big things. A smile can turn a day. A voice can change the world…or at least your world.

Every moment has its time.
Every person has their place.
Do not brush away either.
In doing so, you may brush away God’s wish for you
To either enjoy, or be the miracle…

…you never know.

He walked in through the doors from the narthex of the church, where I had just started working as Music Director, and he looked grumpier than usual.

“Oh, good.” I thought, sarcastically.

I looked up from the piano where I was arranging my pages of music before the service that day. I had not been with this congregation very long and was just beginning to put names with faces, and dispositions. This man’s disposition, face and name was a combination I learned quickly. He was never happy about anything. From the building’s roof to sugar cream pie, he had a opinion, and it wasn’t a good one.

My bad habit of labeling a person (and in some cases then writing them off as someone not worthy of my time…forgive me, Father) had quickly labeled this guy as someone to avoid, someone whose opinion I guessed with every decision I made, whether he was present or not. And so, he crippled me. For every fifty or so people who thought I was wonderful, there would always be him. It was his review, imagined or otherwise, that judged me.

And here he walked, down the aisle, quite possibly to let me know of another disappointment he had in me.

In a moment of weakness, and displaying a rare attribute of “agape” (love actions, despite how one feels), I said: “Hey, how’s it going?”

“The day could’ve started better.” Was his succinct, grim, reply.

OK, here we go.

“I have two identical-looking tubes in the medicine cabinet,” he continued, as my thoughts tried to imagine where he was going with this, “one of them is hemorrhoid cream, the other is Polygrip…I’ll leave the story right there.”

At this point I had an epiphany: this guy was funny (which meant he was intelligent), and suddenly I saw him in a different light. It happened in a millisecond, but it happened.

He passed me, on his way to take care of something (it turned out to be a leaky baptistery) and as he passed he said one more thing.

“You’re doin’ good…don’t let the b*&%+ds get you down.” (as it says in the Scripture…somewhere, I’m sure)

That was one of three compliments (assuming THAT was a compliment) he ever directed toward me, always in private. I have remembered it all these years. He and I also shared some memorably irreverent moments during board meetings, when we sat in the back, side-by-side.

He taught me that I cannot judge the moment or my choices based on one-out-of-one-hundred people. I cannot base my choices on the reaction it will have on someone who wouldn’t like ANYTHING I do. He also taught me that irritating people aren’t what they seem…

…they are often “lonely porcupines”, afraid to get close and determined to keep you away.

Every moment has its time.
Every person has their place.
Do not brush away either.
In doing so, you may brush away God’s wish for you
To either enjoy, or be the miracle.

THIS is PATIENCE.

First, I really didn’t want to be there: in line at JC PENNYS exchanging and purchasing during the Christmas holidays…ugh (throws head back and rolls eyes). Even in the best of times I need to “gear myself up” to be in a place with lots of people – I truly am an introvert at heart. But there I was, along with millions who had thronged there to purchase last-minute gifts, etc. The cashiers were shockingly patient and gracious, the line was long, and the store was packed (The Chipmunks singing over the speakers only added to my intense desire to be back in my car.)

And then she started talking. The woman in front of me. Did I know her? I didn’t think so. I looked up, she was looking at me. Now, there are many people who know or think they know me – and I haven’t the foggiest sometimes as to whom they might be, but I act as though I know them. It dawned on me I wasn’t listening to her, and so I smiled and paid attention.

“…I don’t know if Linda would like that or not.” Pointing to the hair-removal thing hanging on the “impulse purchase” stand next to us in line. “I know she said she wanted one, can you hand me that, please?”

I did.

“No, she wants the one for facial hair.”

I am creating a picture of Linda, whom I’ve never met, at this very moment and thinking of the circus.

“Is there one there for faces? Oh yes, there’s just the one, can you put this back and grab it for me?”

I did.

“You know since she took the boys and moved, I don’t see her OR them often enough to know what they really like, so I have to hang on every word they DO say to have any hint as to what to get them.”

I smiled and said something affirming. She went on.

“Christmas is hard, especially when the family doesn’t talk to each other like they used to. I certainly hope I can get a gift card up there, do you know if they sell those at the register?”

I assured her they did, as I saw Hanukkah, Holiday, and Christmas themed gift cards from where I was standing. We moved forward 8 inches.

“I don’t know what I’ll do for Christmas dinner…last year I went to Cracker Barrel, it was nice and I didn’t really have to do anything but eat. I miss cooking for them all, but what are you going to do?”

At this rhetorical question the Spirit stepped in, tapped me on the shoulder, and told me to pay attention.

“No one really prepares you to go from a large family to being alone you know. Oooo…look at that! Godiva Chocolates…do you really think those are Godiva? I can’t really afford those, but…”

“Can I get some for you? I heard my mouth say.

“What? Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she sputtered, embarrassed now.

“I am going to get some for myself anyway.” I lied, “Let me get you some.”

I picked up the package and held it with my stuff as she continued to talk about “Linda and the boys” until the next register was available.

Then mine was up, next to hers, I paid for the chocolate and all and handed her a package of dark chocolate and carmel. She reached over, and then she patted (actually patted) my hand and smiled at me…and left.

I stood at the register, paid, and went out of the store.

“What was that about?” I said to myself and the Spirit.

“It was a Christmas miracle.” I heard back.

As I was thinking/arguing that it was hardly a “miracle” for her that SHE found a stranger to talk to in line, about people I didn’t know or really care about…or that I bought her some chocolate. Even though, as I listened to her go on about life changes, and family dynamics, I realized how bittersweet the season is for some. As much as I wanted out of that store and away from that crowd, I was thankful for a moment to see a “person” in the “crowd”. She connected with me, with one person, and for that thirty minutes she wasn’t just a face.

In any case, I said again to the Spirit and myself, “I doubt very much she even remembers our conversation at this moment. I doubt that I was much of a miracle for her.”
To which I heard, in reply…

“Who said anything about YOU being HER Christmas miracle?”

It was a tragic story, to begin with. He was a young father, in construction. A high school jock who hadn’t lost his physical peak with age. In his home were his young wife and three small children; girls. He loved his family, his life was full of simple pleasures. I didn’t exactly know him, but his parents were members of my congregation.

He lived each day following a pattern that wasn’t a rut, to him. He rose early, went to work and came home. But there was one feature about him that seemed incongruous to the rest of him. He loved Broadway musicals, especially FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. And so, each day, he would return from a long day of hard labor, greet his kids, kiss his wife, put on the recording of “IF I WERE A RICH MAN” (his favorite of favorites), lay down on the couch and fall asleep till dinner.

One day he did all that, laid down, and never got back up.

Like I said, it was tragic. But even in this case…well.

The church organist and I were the same age, young. We lacked the maturity of experience to let inappropriate moments of humor pass through our minds to be nibbled on later. If the plate was put in front of us, we ate it…or worked hard to not let it tempt us (usually without success). We were the musicians at the church and therefore were asked to be the musicians at the funeral. The service was not at our church, but at a small, older, funeral home out-of-town. This was the type of place where the organ and singer were behind a screen at the back of the platform. We could see out, but no one could see in and see us.

Most of the service requested was standard fare. However, the family insisted on my singing his favorite song. You guessed it: IF I WERE A RICH MAN.

Picture the cast: a minister prone to appreciate the off-kilter humor of human nature, two twenty-somethings who had a difficult time taking anything seriously, a grieving family, an old funeral home…it’s a gold mine.

It was more difficult than I imagined when we practiced. First off, the mood alone was wrong. This was a funeral, not a cabaret. We had to find that musical performance balance between appropriate while still being true to a song THAT WASN’T WRITTEN FOR A FUNERAL. So, the organist and I KNEW we couldn’t perform it “full-boar”, as if at the Schubert Theatre. The logistics alone were impossible. We were tucked in a room large enough for a Hammond B3 and a singer. There wasn’t enough room there (as my dear Aunt Eva would say) to “cuss a cat without getting fur in your mouth”. So my friend, the organist, had to play the familiar, “boom-chuck-chuck, boom-chuck” accompaniment (on a Hammond B3, better known for blues, rock and gospel, than show tunes), and I had to read over her shoulder because there wasn’t room for a music stand. The microphone was fixed to the wall, NOT the wall the organ was on. The organ was to my left, the mic was to my right. The melody I knew, the words…not so much. So I had to look to my left, get as many words in my mind as possible while directing my voice to the mic on my right. All the while, actually looking at (through the screen) the congregation.

The time came. Just on the other side of the screen, a mere two feet in front of us, were the chairs for the minister and anyone else speaking at the service, backs to us. Our Pastor had just finished his remarks, telling the story and meaning of this song to the departed. He sat down. She started playing. I started singing.

It was all going well. And then the surreal moment hit my friend playing the organ. By the movement of her back, I could tell she was beginning to chuckle to herself. Her past history indicated she wouldn’t be able to stop. It got worse. This may not be true for you, but for me (and obviously her) if you have to laugh silently, laugh-tears start up. I was doing fine, but suddenly she was silently laughing and tearing up. She couldn’t see the music, she turned a page too early, I lost the words. Then I started. I couldn’t control it. This was perhaps the most ridiculous thing (at that point in my life) that had ever happened to me. I started to sing and couldn’t. I didn’t know what the words were so I just sang (when I could) “dai-dai-dai…”. My inner Tevye had left the building. In a frantic effort to stop the madness I reached over to point to the END OF THE SONG, and ended up 1) accidentally hitting her in the jaw, and 2) falling over a stack of music.

Our Pastor, true to his nature, had his head bowed the whole time. When we finished in glorious fashion, he rose and gave the longed-for benediction. It was over.

Well, not quite.

In an effort to sneak out as quickly as possible, we entered the side room where the family had gathered, before getting into the coach and ride to the cemetery. In horror, I saw the departed’s mother and wife approach us. They hugged me. They said how moved they both were at my rendition of RICH MAN, and so touched that I “broke down during the last verse”…it meant so much to them that I was moved as well.

Well, of course. They couldn’t SEE what was going on, they could only hear it.

I don’t know what you can get out of this story, but to me the lesson has always been this one. “all things work together for those, and with those, who love God and are called according to his purposes” or even “the Lord works in mysterious ways”…

…or perhaps, “in our weakness, He is our strength.”

Once again our little winter getaway included some Disney magic. As we travelled to the somewhat warmer climes of Florida, after Christmas, we took a day and grappled with DISNEYWORD.

I’ll say it again: every time I’m there I am so impressed with their passion for ensuring vacationers have the best vacation they’ve ever had. Everything, from the height and color of the buildings to the detail in the streetlamps is designed to attract visitors (and snag some of their cash).

Walt Disney didn’t live to see WALT DISNEYWORLD “in the flesh”, but he saw it before it was built, in his fertile mind. I recently finished a Disney biography, and visiting the park(s) after reading so much about the man (the good and the not-so-good) and his methods, made the trip even more fascinating. Every spot, every shop, street, ride, window, light, character, etc. is designed to specifications that are attractive to the people who visit – of ALL ages. In fact, the way DISNEY goes out of its way to make sure that ADULTS (parents and grandparents) have as much of a good time as the kids is also very impressive.

Mr. Disney had a knack of “getting into the skin” of the people he wanted to serve. He often responded to criticism that he only created a “false escape” from the world by saying that he was not creating an escape, but an ideal world. Much of it was HIS ideal, HIS memory (MAIN STREET USA – Magic Kingdom) is a recreation of his childhood hometown. But why do the rest of us also feel so nostalgic on MAIN STREET in THE MAGIC KINGDOM, or comfortable on HOLLYWOOD BLVD in DISNEY MOVIE STUDIOS park? Part of it is reminiscent design and part of it is design science. For example, many of the buildings are constructed just enough under scale/“smaller than life-size” to make one feel “cozy” and “warm” (that is just exactly what happens on MAIN STREET and HOLLYWOOD BLVD). And things such as CINDERELLA’S CASTLE in the Magic Kingdom are built with “forced perspective” (the scale gets smaller as it grows higher – to make it seem even MORE tall than it is, without the observer feeling overwhelmed).

It is said that Walt oversaw every detail of THE MAGIC KINGDOM in California. One of his methods was to get down on his knees in the middle of the park and look around to see if any thing stood out of place – from a child’s perspective.

This year we saw the new STAR WARS attraction, and although half of the world’s population was there, we saw enough to be impressed once more, by Disney design, concept, and their general knowledge of the “people business”.

Also new this year was a transportation system of “air gondolas” suspended high above the parks, called the SKYLINER. This is a new way to travel from some of the parks to others AND to many of the in-park resorts. What made this ride fascinating is everything you could see from the air that you can’t see from the ground; the perspective of seeing the park through the eyes of the creators, rather than the visitor.

Although the entire WDW park system teaches me about God every time I’m there (because I believe, and teach often, EVERY SPIRITUAL TRUTH HAS A PHYSICAL METAPHOR) what struck me this time was seeing ALL the machinery, buildings, and people working round-the-clock whom we never see in the park while visiting.

Not only does WDW attract every eye and imagination because of the way the creators designed and constructed it, but there are almost as many people “behind the scenes” working to make things happen as there are people visiting the park. If you work at WDW, in any capacity, you are called a CAST MEMBER. Once you walk into a part of the park that is occupied by visitors you are “on stage” and when you walk off that part, you are “off stage”. What is happening backstage is almost more fascinating than the “show” onstage…as is often the case in life itself.

High above the park we saw new construction happening in several places, unseen by the eyes on the ground. We saw parking lot after parking lot filled, not with visitors, but with CAST MEMBERS. We saw roads, walkways, mechanisms, etc. all there to provide for those in the parks who would never see them.

Again, this reminded me of the earth, and life, in general: a place created for us by God. This place was created to be a perfect place for us, with our perspective(s) and needs in mind. I can picture God on his knees looking out at the park he was creating (Eden) to see if there was anything out of place or wrong for us. He even “descended” to us, crawled into our skin, saw through our eyes, heard through our ears, to ensure that we understood/understand everything here is created FOR US. Everything here is for our use, tailored for our pleasure and fulfillment…and to especially show us that HE is accessible to us, as well.

Behind the scenes/backstage He continues to work, to redesign, to remodel, to build – and beside Him, the multitudes of unseen Messengers – doing work we will never see, fighting battles we will never know about, but we DO experience the results – all for His “park” and the children He created to live there.

Of course The DISNEY Corp. is a business, and they aim to make money. But they make money by aiming to understand, to know, and to cater to the client who brings in the money. It is just a small type, or picture, of the single-minded mission of God: to create everything around us to show His love, and to attract us to Him so we will choose to love Him, and walk beside Him – forever.

“Every spiritual truth has a physical metaphor.”

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