Flashbacks and Tail Fins

 Ahhhh, the 1960s....a decade in contrasts. Lines of sleek modernity marked the period as much as animated accessories worn by both people and automobiles. Easter Sunday frocks with layers of crinoline and what we called 'net' swish under hats and gloves in front of Plymouth's finest fins.


 On this first day of summer 2014 I'm thinking back a few years to the school days of our youth as I share the following thoughts:

See.....look.....go.

Such simple verbs, but they set the stage offering fundamentals to tackle a world of problems. Commencement speakers annually take the stand this time of year and fill the air with advice to graduates about looking forward and looking back: We distil life's essence and dispense it in measured doses at graduation. 

 Looking back, what early impressions linger from our school days? 

As first graders in 1961, our generation perched at the apex of the language peak shaped by Dick, Jane and Sally. We Look and See and We Come and Go: these basic readers paved the way for us.

 80% of first graders who were learning to read were reading Fun with Dick and Jane. We knew Spot, Puff, Tim, Mother, Father, even Zeke the gardener. But all things must change, and the series suffered a precipitous decline in sales in the late 1960s. Having insufficient defense to charges of representing middle class, white America, Dick, Jane and Sally were g-o-n-e. 

We come and go alright; Dick and Jane were casualties of a cultural war.

After falling out of favor for content and caught in the cross-fire of cultural hostility through the 60s and 70s, there was a surge in popularity of the little books that taught Americans to read since the 1930s. Dick and Jane were hot again in the late 1990s, but only as memorabilia. They were mere artifacts of a bygone era, devalued to souvenir status.

 Leaving the debate of language instruction methods to reading specialists, most of us can still remember two things after all these years: the name of our first grade teacher and Dick, Jane and Sally.  

Some relationships matter. 

No one likely remembers who won the chemistry award or class favorite. But that teacher—dare I say a woman—who greeted the class each day of first grade in sensible shoes and who walked with purpose in every step, we remember her. She held sway over our class of 30 six year olds with not one assistant in sight. And she did it handily.

Elementary school pictures back then showed girls in dresses, boys in pants, and blackboards or green chalk boards on the wall topped by illustrated alphabet handwriting posters. Dusting erasers was a necessary task for the chosen few who got to beat the chalk dust out of those felt pads against a brick wall.

Back then kids played on the now-banned merry go ’round and lived to tell about it. Recess meant playing jump rope, dodge ball and hopscotch not texting and sending photos via iphone. The Princess phone had not even been invented yet, so forgive me for not understanding why first graders need a cell phone today. 

Pantsuits—but neither pants nor jeans—became an option about 1971 for many across the state.  Yes, polyester was rising to its zenith, but fashion was only the tip of the iceberg.

Students in the late 60s in Mississippi saw changes in school desegregation and social structures leading to sweeping curriculum revision—every action creating an equal and opposite reaction. This pressure on all sides combined to cause the ultimate demise of the little books that taught us how to read. The verdict: Too white, too suburban, too post-war America, “See Spot run,” had run its course. 

Life is a lot like maps: it all depends upon where you draw the lines. And somebody is always drawing the lines. For this reason, we need to apply our hearts unto wisdom. My first grade teacher was among those who taught us that—back when you still could, that is.

She also taught us to recite each morning the 23rd Psalm and the 100th Psalm along with the Pledge. Repetition is not the highest form of learning, but there is something about impressing words upon a heart that offers a wellspring of consolation when drawing from it later. Mrs. Howard was not merely teaching us to read, she saw her job as teaching young people how to live in a world that would change more rapidly than the one she had already experienced.

The day will surely come when others will declare our methods faulty and our materials flawed.

Some future generation may dismiss us as irrelevant on account of age alone. 

Our lives, if they are to matter, must represent more than a relic of by-gone days, more than shiny chrome bumpers and tail fins. As we pass along insights to those who come behind us packed into the little verbs that first taught us go, look and see, may we leave in our wake a legacy of loving relationships and faithful commitment in our pursuits. 

"Be careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise—making the most of every opportunity..."

 Ephesians 5:15,16

Happy Mother's Day and Happy 81st Birthday, Daddy

One generation commends your works to another; they tell of your mighty acts. Psalm 145:4

I am thankful today for two parents who began a long road together in December 1952. Armed with all the energy and innocence of youth, fueled by love and unflagging determination to a shared purpose, fortified by their families who stood behind and beside them cheering on these two barely-20 year olds, they charted a course together. 

And then there were three....then four....five, six, seven and so on, each one coming in due time until there were nine of us piled in that Ford van or that Mercury wagon. Now we do not fit in any vehicle. Numbering 37 strong, we await the arrival of three more this month to swaddle the same way she taught us how many years ago. 

One generation teaches the ways of wisdom to the next, and if we are wise, we take it to heart. 

They say it started over  mom's homemade white cake with white icing and a first date to First Baptist Church of Hattiesburg's revival. It only takes a spark to ignite a fire, but much more is needed to sustain and manage the blaze over the long haul. The time will come when each of us is road-tested and battle weary. When we run out of steam. When it's not fun anymore. What do we do then?

There's got to be more than cake and preachin' to see us through.

I look upon the example of dear friends and family God has allowed in my path whose faithfulness is marked by forgiveness in good measure, grace to give space when needed, courage to face an uncertain future, perseverance when we see more road blocks than road ahead, and love whose limit has yet to be found.

Someone asked me 30 years ago, "How can your parents divide their love by all those children? I know how much I love my children, and I could never divide it up that way." 

I found the question odd, but answered it the only way I could. "They don't divide."

"They don't divide. It's not a pie where there is a fixed amount of love and each one gets a smaller share. Love multiplies."

Love grows when shared. Love--with all it attendant joys and heartaches--expands. That's the nature of love; We simply cannot contain it or limit it if we tried. Knowledge will fail us. Understanding will fall short. We need something beyond our math operations and management skills to help us navigate this life. I find that being rooted and grounded in love is essential.

 For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love,  may have power, together with all the Lord’s people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,  and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3:14-19

Thank you for hanging in there with all of this crazy bunch all these years. We love you dearly!

The living, the living--they praise you, as I am doing today; parents tell their children about your faithfulness. Isaiah 38:19

Lest We Forget

"How do you predict the future?"

This question from my teacher in the 11th grade was our only homework on the first day of class: "Tell me how to predict the future."

"He's crazy," we said. "You can't predict the future. What a ridiculous assignment," we muttered with all the smugness of 16 year-olds. 

"You can predict the future, and I want you to tell me how tomorrow."

Turns out, Pete Aycock was right.

He was teaching a unit required for juniors in high school in Mississippi: Respect for the Flag.  My hunch is that they don't teach it anymore. When we arrived empty-handed in class the next morning, he revealed the answer to our conundrum: By studying the past. 

That's it? Was he kidding, I remember thinking.

But now it comes back from time to time. Like today with the Russian saber-rattling in the Ukraine and troops moving into Poland. Like Easter Sunday when reports leaked out about Jews who had leaflets thrust into their hands while leaving Passover services, leaflets telling them they had to register their whereabouts and their property with the government. 

And the beat goes on.

"If we don't learn from the past, we are doomed to repeat it." Haven't we heard that somewhere before?
Memory allows us to create from the past a sense of meaning which we bring into the present.

A visit to the World War II Museum last week was timely for me. I got a lump in my throat upon entering and standing upon the train platform surrounded by 1940s memorabilia. The lump never went away. There were visitors in uniform, others touring in VFW hats and wheelchairs, volunteers warmly greeting all who entered.  The only thing that surprised me there was the large number of really young people who came to see what all of the fuss was about. I am thankful for them--and for us--for those not yet born in 1944 who continue to hear the story and want to understand the seminal event of the last century that changed the world as we know it. Bold statement, yes, but it is not original with me. 

Failure to study this part of our past may lead the young to believe that drive-through burgers, cell phones, Snapchat, and facebook are really important things. Grand themes of liberty, service and sacrifice don't have skin on them...yet. We don't know what we have until we've lost it comes to mind.

For generations never deprived of religious liberty, for example, it's easy to turn up our noses at religion in general. And they have--we have--as a nation. Our protection of religious freedom among essential individual liberties is changing downgrading it into a tepid side dish on the American buffet.

But on the heels of that WWII Museum visit, I witnessed a flagpole on the beach. Written beneath it in the sand was VFW 4139. "What's VFW?" the 24 year- old beside me asked. Mental note: they don't teach that anymore.

It took me back. I had limited personal contact with the VFW. As a young teen in the late 60s and early 70s I answered the call from Mattie Lou Jolly to sell poppies for the VFW. My friends including Mattie Lou's niece and I collected money for veterans and pinned a red crepe paper poppy onto the lapel of the always-generous donors in Monticello. But a younger generation may have no contact with the VFW and would not know what a veteran of foreign wars is if they don't study the past. A younger generation also did not have Mrs. Isaac Newton for English who had her students learn "In Flanders Field where the poppies grow beneath the crosses, row on row...". Who knows: maybe the Gettysburg Address and the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution have all gone the way of the Pledge to the Flag--mere relics of history no one says anymore? 

I understand the need to equip a populace for a changing world in 2014. Some things must fall by the wayside to make room for each new generation's desire for change and freedom from the old ways. But calling it change and freedom does not make it so; someone must pay a price. Always.

Memory gives a perspective which informs our decision-making that comes only from history and experience.

With each passing day our nation's leaders are distancing themselves from WWII and its hard-fought lessons. Presently our commander-in-chief and the vice president have no military experience, and fewer than 20% of congressional members are veterans. Military experience was once practically a requirement for election. When fewer than 7% of Americans are veterans now, it changes the shape of things to be sure.

The drumbeats of war and the sights of planes invading airspace continue this week in 2014. Had we only bought a little time with all that bloodshed in WWII? Or must we learn our own lessons--one generation at a time--and repeat the same mistakes to our detriment?

It's an old story, this human condition and the rise and fall of civilizations. But we must keep telling it. 

The way to predict the future is by studying the past. And some things, I suppose, never change.

Lessons from Summer Camp

The last time I had lived out of a foot locker was at Camp DeSoto in the 1960s; I was not sure I was up to the task in my fifties. But camp teaches us much about simplicity and unplugging from daily life, and given the chance later in life, I took it.

In times of stress we turn to what we know first: cover the basics. In this culture the lines blur too often. How do we learn to simplify in a world of excess? What sustains us, and what siphons our energy drawing us into an outward spiral? Two experiences remind me of the basics.

Five summers ago I lived about five weeks in an unpainted cabin on the edge of the woods. Home was a 10x12 foot space with one twin bed, two 60 watt bare bulbs and an unlocked door. To say woods is stretching it a bit. I was serving a camp of hundreds of girls in North Carolina, yet I lived alone and experienced a joy of simplicity I had forgotten in my adulthood. The windows held a box fan and stayed open offering night noises at dusk and mountain mist in the morning. Perhaps they might have closed; I just never tried. 

No TV. No A.C. No laptop. No kitchen. Spotty phone coverage. Taps at 9:30 p.m. Some have said, “That sounds dreadful. I could never give up all the comforts of home.” 

But how often do adults get to hear a bugle close the day in the pitch dark and drift off to sleep with a distant train whistle riding the air? When do grownups experience having all meals prepared and served—with a side order of girls singing time-honored songs? When can we actually be excused from work and home responsibilities for a job that can only be called camp? I knew the season was a gift and would never come again.

It helped that this job allowed me to spend that summer near three family members who were also on staff. My job was to support the camp directors through daily small tasks as they took seriously the trust of receiving daughters for the summer. In return, I had the chance to recalibrate and gleaned life lessons on simplicity:

        I experienced bounty rather than deprivation. Less really is more.

        I gave priority to prayer and reading. Our priorities always will be a choice, no matter the distractions. Choose wisely.

        I did not miss the harsh nightly TV battles with words masquerading as news, and I determined not to let it encroach upon my life when I returned home. Jettison the media debris that crowds our calendar and clouds our focus.

        There is great value in being a part of a community or a family where we are known and loved. Cherish it.

I must add that one thing that makes embracing simplicity joyful -- palatable even, for the novice that I am -- is having the choice to do so.  I recognize that. Many in this world's population live in  conditions that should not be romantically labeled 'simplicity': abject poverty would be appropriate. That was surely not my experience.

A second experience occurred recently while giving care for a friend at a cancer center. I learned that when we nurture, serve and offer a peaceful setting for renewing a body under physical stress some of that comes back to us as caregivers and convicts that we need to take our own advice. These lessons are embarrassingly elementary to write, but are more challenging to implement. 

Simplify.

Get plenty of rest.

Exercise daily.

Drink lots of water.

          Eat well.

Stay actively engaged in things worthwhile.

Spend time in thoughtful prayer and meditation.

Go to sleep early enough to greet the day well-rested.

Haven't we heard all of that that somewhere before? 

In meeting the needs of others, I found that my own were met abundantly. “For it is in giving that we receive,” comes to mind from the Prayer of St. Francis.

Yet there are those times when the demands placed upon us exceed our personal supply. Our finite resources are inadequate to do the job. We need to know where to turn where there is grace enough and strength enough to keep going when we are out of steam. We need to ask for help. Getting help is one of the basics as well.

We hear the word to the wise resounding through the years: Choose wisely.

"The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."  Deut. 31:8
 

2014 and Counting....

"Be careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise—making the most of every opportunity..."

 Ephesians 5:15,16

Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.

Benjamin Franklin

 

“Time’s a-wastin,’ Loweezy!”

Snuffy Smith comic strip

 



 

     Inspiration abounds from countless sources to nudge us toward accountability for our time. I have as much and as little as anyone else, but have not found time to write and reflect in recent months. I am hoping to pick back up the pen, as it were, and enjoy more time at this journal, unless discernment calls for a different use of time.

2014...New beginnings...and I am keenly treasuring the memories of old friends through the years. That is where I've been lately in remembering and reconnecting. 

Whether you know it or not, you've enriched my life, all of you who have passed through. Some have left an indelible mark, an imprint no one else can make. Faces crowd in even now as though someone turned upside down a box of worn Kodak photos, scattering memories across the table. With a little time, I'll pick them up and remember and smile. My desire is to let you know. 

So I find myself with a bit of solitude where the water meets the sky and am inspired to balance a windy January day with the warmth of a grateful heart. 

 
 The morning began with sand untouched except for the wind: sculpted in soft mounds like snowy seven-minute icing peaks on a birthday cake. 

By day's end, footprints show who's been there. My life is like that, it occurs to me, and yours. Some day I'll have the time to dig deeper here. I hope. But for now, I am content to remember and give thanks.








(Clock from Ann Voskamp's kitchen; originally posted on www.aholyexperience.com, to which I eagerly direct friends for her wisdom and insights that far exceed my own.)