I wasn’t shot

(written on September 16, 2010)

 

A knock on the door.

The man says they have come to

put our windows in.

When we moved into our apartment

back in early May

they said all our windows would be

replaced in about three weeks.

We've learned that three weeks means

three or four months.

A couple of months ago

they came and put in four windows,

but didn't have the other three.

They said it would be about three weeks

until the other three came in.

That was two months ago.

But there they were this morning—

with our windows.

They said it would take about

two hours.

When I left this morning they were

starting their work.

I had decided to get the heck out

of there

away from the noise and all

so I could work on my blog book.

I decided to go to Panera and get

some coffee and a pastry

and write on my netbook.

When I got to Panera I mistakenly

pulled into a parking space at Starbucks

(which would mean that I would have to

walk a ways to get back to

Panera).

As I realized what I had done

I sat there for a moment

before backing out.

I waited a second too long.

A car stopped right behind me

and I couldn't get out.

It looked like an older model car,

maybe an '88 or a '95 (I know nothing

about car models anymore; when I

was a kid I could look at any car

going down the street and tell you

the model and the year; but now I don't

study cars or keep up with them; there are

just too many kinds).

This car was a pale yellow sedan.

A man jumped out of it,

and immediately I saw the badge

and the gun; he was a detective.

He pointed my way,

and suddenly a police car pulled up

beside him

and three more police cars came from

every direction, closing off exits.

Policemen got out of their cars and

began walking toward my car.

I've seen this sort of thing in movies

and TV shows hundreds of times,

but I had never been in the middle of it

before.

I froze.

I put my hands up on the steering wheel

in full sight.

The law men came to the passenger side

of my Saturn.

That's when I realized that they were

after car next to mine.

A man and woman, about 25 years old each,

were sitting in the car to my right.

The police asked them for their ID and told them

to get out of the car.

I noticed that in one of the police cars

there was a woman hand-cuffed in the back seat.

Maybe she snitched on these two.

Anyway, I was prepared to duck down in my

seat if anyone started shooting.

Luckily no one did.

A friendly police officer noticed that I was

blocked in and moved his car so I could leave.

There are truly nice people in this world.

I got out of there

and parked in the Panera lot,

went in and got a nutritious pastry

and some coffee.

When I got home late in the afternoon,

I saw that the men had put two new windows

in our kitchen.

But the one bathroom window had not

been replaced.

I guess two hours means two days?

Anyway, I'm home safe and sound.

I wasn't shot; I have no pain.

Just a few panes short.

 

The Arrow

You walk into a field.

In the distance you see something

leaning against a tree.

On closer inspection you see

a target leaning against an old oak tree.

And in the target is an arrow,

not in the bull's eye,

but close--one circle outward.

A hawk circles in the blue sky

above the trees behind

the concentric red designs.

You look all around; no one

in sight.

The arrow has brown feathers

on the end,

the color of sparrows that fight

for seeds in your feeder at home.

You think about pulling the arrow out

to inspect its point--

to see if it is like the ancient Cherokee

flint ones that you used to find

on your grandfather's farm

in Kentucky.

But you let it go.

What's the point?

It's hard for you to believe

in the existence of bows,

though you guess it's possible.

But definitely not the Archer.

The breeze feels good on your face

under the scorching sun.

No rain clouds in sight.

The weather man has broadcast

an error again.

Computer models aren't perfect.

You turn to leave and notice a doe

at the edge of the tree line.

She is staring at you with

big eyes.

She has just come up out of

the creek, mouth still dripping with water.

She has satisfied her panting.

A shared dream

During our recent vacation, Pat dreamed one night that she had given me a large check to deposit, but that it hadn't been deposited.

The same night I dreamed that I was at the credit union trying to

deposit a check, but kept messing up the procedure.

Isn't that weird? It's like the plot of her dream jumped from her head

over to mine, and I continued the story.

That's spooky. But we were celebrating our 40th anniversary.

Perhaps our lives have become so enmeshed that our subconsciences overlap. It's not uncommon for both of us to say the same thing simultaneously, or to discover that we had been thinking about the same thing simultaneously.

Maybe there is some psychic net that connects us all, but is only turned on when people get psychically intimate.

In this world there are levels of sharing. The relationship of marriage must be the deepest level of what the New Testament calls koinonia (fellowship, partnership, sharing).

Last Sunday the preacher gave the Trinitarian benediction from the last verse of 2 Cor. 13, but instead of ending with "the fellowship of the Holy Spirit," she said, "the radical bonding of the Holy Spirit."

Martin Luther King, Jr. said he had a dream. God has a dream too. Perhaps the closer we get to God, the more we can share in God's dream for the world.

(I took the photo at Lake Susan, at the Presbyterian Conference Center in Montreat, NC)

40 years!

Pat and I are back from several days in the mountains of Ashville, NC. to celebrate
our 40th wedding anniversary.
Forty Years is a significant number in the Bible.
The Jews were in the wilderness 40 years as they traveled toward
the Promised Land.
Marriage is a journey.
In fact, we don't 'get married,' we 'become married.'
It takes time to really get wed together.
The two shall become one, the Bible says.
But not on the day of the wedding.
The oneness of marriage
comes only after years of testing and growth.


Pat and I are fortunate.
A long and healthy marriage takes both work and luck.
In so many ways we are different; we hardly have any
hobbies or interests in common.
But we have found ways to support each other's interests,
and to allow each other the space to pursue
our own thing.
At the same time we have tried to cultivate
some common activities and pursuits.


It's all about give-and-take.
Compromise contains promise.
As Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 13, "Love seeks not its own."
Another translation puts it: "Love does not insist on its own way."
The acceptance of the other as different,
and the acceptance of their uniqueness
is part of the process of a successful relationship.


We drove up the Blue Ridge Mountain Parkway
and had a picnic at 5000 feet,
keeping a lookout for bears.
But what we noticed more than anything
was the silence.
Almost complete quietness.
We took it in.


But you can't remain above it all for long.
We have to come back down to the nitty gritty
and keep working amidst the noise of ego and desire.


The next forty years promises even more intimacy,
weddedness, and delight.

(photo taken at Montreat Conference Center)

blue flower

At the Botanical Gardens in Birmingham.

archi-presby-movie

We met with architects again on Friday. Made some changes. Things are moving along.

The Presbytery of Sheppards and Lapsley examined me on Thursday. Only one 'no' vote; so, I'm transferred into this presbytery.

I watched the movie "The Road" last night (based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy). Very dark and intense. But I recommend it for its message.

gregorian sighs

FAT CHANTS

narrow notes
will never do--
sing full rounded ones
full-throated prayers
without airs
rise to vaulted skies
anorexic choirs
never acquire
plump praise
but acquiesce to
thin-skinned sinful singing
the cardinal feels lucky
chirps church
all sunday long
until the fat lady sings