Pools

Pools

Hot July days take me back to childhood when we had a pool in our back yard. Not sure what possessed my father to have it built. Maybe it was my mother who had to entertain eight children during the summer months. Whatever the reason, that decision has left an indelible mark on me.

In the beginning it was great to run out the back door and jump in. A large, kidney shaped pool with a diving board at the deep end and plenty of room at the other end for smaller siblings. Aqua blue water with a faint smell of chlorine invited to one throw off the cares of the world and dive in.

The flip side of the backyard resort was work. My brother and I were delegated to  pool boys. Between daily vacuuming, skimming the surface for bugs, leaves, salamanders, frogs, checking the chemical level of the water, and changing the filter there wasn’t much time to splash in the sun.

Two memories of the pool stand out: the day we found our younger brother at the bottom of the pool (he survived the drowning) and the day my brother and I dropped a gallon of choline poolside; our jeans, tennis shoes and tee shirts bleached white.

Here’s an ode to the swimming pool:

Swimming pools, oh swimming pools, what even to say? The way I anticipate your cooling embrace all through the day. It gives me chills to think of you and you light a certain spark. Especially when I jump in and see your inflatable shark. My affinity for swimming pools runs deeper than an in-ground. Especially when I noticed all the bugs you’ve nearly drowned. Though our time together is brief, I cherish your blue waters. The only thing you could improve, is if you were filled with otters. For the joy you bring me, swimming pool, I will always yearn, even when I must leave you, because your owners have returned.

An Ode to Swimming Pools by Kathy Hancock used without permission because the author didn’t ask permission either!

Steady

Steady

Ever wake up feeling a little out of sorts, unsteady on your feet, wondering what happened to a good night’s sleep? It’s only human to start some days off kilter. Add that we are living in a season when life itself seems out of whack. What happened to the good old days?

Reading an article written by a chaplain of a large metro hospital, I was reminded  how easily life can switch from normal to tragedy. The author compared our cultural meltdown to what happens in a hospital emergency room. When a patient is brought in the first thing the doctor focuses on is stopping the bleeding and controlling the pain.

Spending time as an ER chaplain I witnessed firsthand the shouting of orders and  beeping of monitors. For an outsider the whole process looks like mass confusion in search of a cure. People are trained to work under these conditions so a life can be saved. The need is focus and steady in the midst of turmoil.

People are struggling. Just when you get a grip on the new normal it changes and  there is another new normal . There is an ever changing reality that wants to push us to the brink. How do I find solid ground to stand? What is left to keep me steady?

Some years ago, Henri Nouwen, one of my heroes of the faith, penned these words speaking of holding fast in difficult times:

“The more I think about human suffering in our world and my desire to offer a healing response, the more I realize how critical it is not to allow myself to become paralyzed by feelings of helplessness and guilt. More important than ever is to be very faithful to my vocation, to do well the few things I am called to do and hold on to the joy and peace they bring to me. I must resist the temptation to let the forces of darkness pull me into despair and make me one of their many victims.”

Steady words indeed!

Wellness

Wellness

I just got a call from my primary physician’s office. It’s time for my annual wellness checkup. Before the Affordable Care Act, it was called an annual physical. At least I got to keep my primary physician which used to be called my regular doctor. In setting up the appointment the nurse told me I would receive an envelope in the mail with instructions and a questionnaire.

Since I had gone through this procedure before, I kept an eye on the incoming snail mail. Excited to open and read the instructions, I was told when, where and how to appear for a lab test: no eating, no drinking and no smiling (only kidding). In past years they took enough blood to start a blood bank. Never quite sure why they need that much.

My favorite document is the “Health Risk Assessment.” This is a three page questionnaire that inquiries about my drinking, smoking and drug habits as well as some tricky questions about feeling bad about myself, thoughts about being better off dead and do I have trouble concentrating while watching television. Usually I don’t have trouble answering these questions but after seven months of a pandemic, social distancing, wearing a mask and overdosing on social media I had to lie and say I was fine.

By the time I get to the doctor’s office I am pretty hyped. I figure at my age, they could find almost anything wrong. Nice thing about the visit is that I don’t have to take my clothes off and have the doctor check out all the orifices. A blood pressure check and some “how have you been doing” and “see you again next year” is the conversation. My truck gets a better going over when I bring it in for an oil change.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate my doctor and the care provided me. At this stage of life as long as I can fill out all the forms and smile when he tells me I am good to go for another ten thousand miles or one year (whichever comes first), I am a happy camper.

I thank the Lord for good health.

Coffee Mate

Coffee Mate

Nope! Not the flavored creamer added to a cup of coffee. I never use the stuff. I like my coffee straight from the pot nothing added. The coffee mate I refer to is the person you call up for a visit and a cup of coffee. With the abundance of coffee shops in town, it’s a shame not to take advantage of a “cuppa” and a friendly conversation.

Over the years I’ve had quite a few coffee mates. As I age, I seem to be losing them one by one. Recently a pastor friend died. It was less than two weeks we last got together. He was in good health and passed away napping in his chair at home. For the past sixteen years we would touch base periodically by meeting for coffee. Since we both pastored a long time, we could reminisce about our journey of caring for the flock. Much of our conversation reminded me of that auto insurance ad on TV “we’ve seen a lot, so we know a lot.”

Pastoring can be a lonely business. Having a friend to share the ups and downs of church attendance, offerings, and uninspired sermon topics helps morale. Two aging pastors sitting at a table in a café surrounded by college students only accentuated the fact that we were clerical dinosaurs.

I am missing my friend John. I know he is with the Lord. Not sure that they serve coffee and pastries there though. I remember my dad in his later years mention the fact that one of the down sides of getting old is losing friends. I guess I am beginning to feel my age in that way.

Some time ago I ran across this thought. In parting I leave it with you:

“Sometimes having coffee with your best friend is all the therapy you need.”

Rest in peace John.