And Then Some

I remember as an eighth grader preparing my science project for the school science fair.  The summer before, my dad, my mom, my little brother and I had visited Yellowstone National Park and of course, Old Faithful.  So, I brought back that interest back with me, and my dad and I worked together on building a reasonable facsimile for my project.  I had to do all the research and my dad and I came up with a percolating coffee pot that would serve as the geyser.  It was housed in a wooden case he and I built together.  On top of the case in order to simulate the geyser, we used a putty concoction.  From a picture of the real geyser, we molded it and shaped it and eventually, I painted it.  It was pretty cool.  I won second place and I was one of three students to take their projects to the Marquette University Science Fair for display.

My dad had always told me to do my best.  Settling for something was never an option.  Never!  Okay wasn’t good enough.  All right wasn’t good enough.  I had to do my best.  Each time, every time.  It was something that has been ingrained in me since the time I was born.  For me, there isn’t any other option.  No way!

This week, our school district had an Excellence Awards Reception for various employees.  The Assistant Superintendent, a friend of mine, congratulated each of the honorees and in the course of her speech, talked about “And Then Some.”

It was in relation to not only doing their job, but in going above and beyond what was expected of them.  Hence the idea of, And Then Some.

The custodian who not only cleans the building and fixes the AC or the leaky faucet, but befriends a boy who looks up to him.  The teacher who buys stickers for her kids or candy for awards out of her own money, on her own, out of the goodness of her heart.  The nurse who counsels a parent who is worried about her young daughter’s choices after her work day is done.

I think of the volunteers in the aftermath of the Boston Marathon Bombing who helped those in need.  I think of the special education para who, in the Sandy Hook Elementary School, comforted a little boy as they both died in that horrific shooting.  I think of the passing motorist who stopped his car and ran to help children in a car, while their mother tried to drown them and her.

All examples of And Then Some.

Because it is a daily, sometimes an hourly, choice to do one’s best, to not let things slide, to not settle for just getting it done, getting it over with.  To rise above average, to rise above mediocrity, to give it your very, very best.

And sometimes, it just isn’t easy to do.  Sometimes one gets tired, angry.  Sometimes, one gets one more task on a plate that is already overloaded.  Sometimes, one gets asked to do something by someone that is disagreeable, nasty, bossy, and who is recognized as a slacker.  No, it isn’t easy.

But . . .

We can’t shy away from doing our best, from giving our best effort.  And sometimes, that involves And Then Some.  Because there is the satisfaction of knowing deep down in the recesses of our being, our soul, that we can look at a task, a job, a person- perhaps a child- and believe that we can and will make a difference by doing our best, going above And Then Some.  And by our effort, our action, and the example of who we are and what we’ve done, we might create that same belief and action and effort in others. And if that happens, look out world.  Our world.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

A Blinking Red Light

I’ve talked about my morning ritual upon rising from my bed each morning in previous posts.  My first stop is to look out the window.  Every now and then, if I’m lucky, I might spot a deer grazing, sometimes two.  Kim and I put bird feeders in our backyard, so now I look to see what type and color of bird we might be feeding.  Being fairly new to Virginia, I’m not that familiar with some species other than a sparrow, a robin, a cardinal or a bluebird.  

 

Overlooking the trees in our backyard, way up the hill and off in the distance, there is a radio tower.  The light blinks on, then off, then on, then off, over and over and over, nonstop and presumably forever. 

 

Then it’s shower time.  I hate it when the water starts out hot, goes to warm and then runs cold.  I mean, come on!  Tough way to begin a morning, right?

 

A Blinking Red Light.  Hot water to warm water to cold water.

 

Kind of like relationships and the stages we might go through in those relationships, and sometimes – sadly – what happens with those relationships.

 

A Blinking Red Light is a warning.  It warns low flying aircraft that if they go too low, they might be in danger of hitting it.  A Blinking Red Light is sort of like a beacon that says, “Hey!  I’m here!  Do you see me?”  Or perhaps more aptly stated, kind of like an “I need you now!” and then an “Everything’s okay, no need for you now!”  Over and over in a pattern that again, presumably lasts forever.

 

Whereas water turning from hot, to warm, to cold is like the beginning to the end.  The warmth is gradually, sometimes suddenly, gone.  Perhaps sort of like passion.  Perhaps sort of like friendship.  Perhaps sort of like love.

 

I sometimes think of my relationship with God as a blinking light.  At times, things are going so very well, so nicely, that I forget.  Sometimes I don’t feel “the need.”  I don’t read, or think of, or meditate, or pray as I should, as I ought, as I “need” to.  But when things don’t go well, when things are rocky, when there is doubt and fear, I most definitely feel “the need.”  I’m literally driven to my knees.

 

How sad is that?

 

Perhaps you can’t “picture” that, but think about it in terms of a relationship you might have . . . or had.  Like the water turning from hot to warm to cold, did that relationship grow in the same direction?

 

Or . . .

 

Think about your relationships with others. 

 

Do you sometimes take that person for granted?  Things going well, at least from your point of view, so there isn’t the need to reach out, to talk with, to be with, to give comfort to?  Then you recognize the distance, the “coldness” and the “lack of light” and suddenly there is the need to reach out, to close that distance, to make amends?

 

Like A Blinking Red Light, we have times in our life when there is light and when there is darkness.  And like the water that starts out hot, and then goes warm and then goes cold . . . well, I would hate for anyone to have a relationship like that.  Real friends, true friends, are hard to come by.  I think we need to do all we can to nurture friendships, to grow relationships and grow friendships, rather than watch them . . . feel them . . . grow cold.  We need to take care of them before they grow cold, before the Blinking Red Light goes dark.  I know it happens from time to time.  I get that.  But I’d rather have one or two close, loving friendships, true giving and supportive relationships, than any that are like insipid lukewarm or cold water.  Something to think about . . .

 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Be That One! (reposted)

Just for a moment, I’d like you to read this and then shut your eyes and answer it.  Ready?  Here we go . . .

Think back to a time when someone said or did something hurtful to you . . .  Shut your eyes and think about that for a moment.

Chances are, you thought of the person who said or did it, the time and place where it occurred, and the exact or nearly the exact words or actions that were used.  Some of you might even picture the time of day and what the weather was like.

For some of you, this took place years ago, but you remember as if it were yesterday.

How powerful words and actions are!

For me, it was early in the sixth grade.  We were on the playground and a group of my friends were standing around talking and as I approached them, one or two drifted away.  Three turned to me and one said, “I’m having some friends over and you’re not invited.”  He and the other two friends turned and walked away . . . laughing.  Yes, they laughed.

For the life of me, I can’t tell you why.  I can’t tell you what I had done or said.  I can’t even tell you what I didn’t do or didn’t say.  I was stunned.  These were my friends.  Guys I hung out with.  I had always done things with them.  Always.  I was one of them.  But now, I was excluded.  I didn’t know why and to this day, still don’t know why.  But I can tell you that I was hurt deeply. 

Now, I want you to read the next statement and then shut your eyes and answer it.  Ready?  Here we go . . .

Think back to a time when someone said or did something to you that made you feel so good . . . Shut your eyes and think about that for a moment.

Once again, chances are you thought of the person who said or did it, the time and place where it occurred, and the exact or nearly the exact words or actions that were used.  Some of you might even picture the time of day and what the weather was like.

And like the hurtful words or actions, perhaps, it occurred years ago, but you remember as if it were yesterday.

There were so many kind words and actions given to me over the years, that I’m having trouble choosing just one.  In fact, it was far easier to remember the hurtful words and actions than the more pleasant memory.

Interesting how that happens, isn’t it?

We might remember the negative far easier, and perhaps far longer, than we recall the positive. 

I think we need to remember, especially those in positions of authority, that our words and our actions mean something.  They have an impact- either positive or negative.  And sometimes the negative outlasts the positive.

Scary, really.

So my charge to you this day . . . my charge to you every day . . . is to choose your words and actions carefully and wisely.  We might not ever know what impact we might have on whom.  Further, I ask that you Be That One that makes a positive impact in what you say and in what you do.  Life is so short.  We need to help and not hurt.  We need to build up and not tear down.  Please, Be That One!  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Endings And Beginnings

This past Monday, my family buried my mom.  It was tough, hard, and sad.  All of it, but even those words don’t come close to explaining what I felt, what I feel.  And I have to admit, I’m not sure how I feel even now as I sit down and write this.

 

The service was beautiful, meaningful, and moving.  Those who were able had a part in it and I think mom liked it.  Mom had requested that the four boys sing together on “How Great Thou Art” so my brother, Jack, asked us to be at the church early to practice with the church musical director.  It was the first time in a long time we sang together and it was a special moment for me.

 

I had the feeling, honestly, that when we had practiced, Mom was there in the first row smiling and nodding her head like she would.  She loved music.  All kinds.  And, she loved her family and especially liked it when we all got together.

 

I think the best part of the day was the visitation where family and friends gathered to tell stories, reminisce, and kid one another.  We did the same at the luncheon.  There was a lot of laughter.  A lot of laughter.  Got to see a few family members I hadn’t seen or talk to in a long, long time.  That happens in families, both big and small.  Too often, I think.

 

And just as we did at my nephew’s funeral in October, we promised to get together more often, to keep in touch, to talk or write more often.  Difficult to do with busy lives, our own lives, the lives of our own kids and grandkids.  Difficult to do as we work at our jobs, as we take care of our business.

 

A day becomes two days.  Two days become a week, then a month, then a year.  Even more years.

 

Funny thing about families.

 

There is an unspoken bond, a love, that unites and surpasses time and distance.  Though members of a family might not see one another as often as they want, as often as they would like, there is a closeness of mind and heart and soul, of blood, that unites and binds and ties.  Always.  Forever.  Our family is no different.

 

Each time we get together, even after a lengthy time away, we fall into the same comfortable rhythm, the same comfortable groove that we’ve lived in and grown up in.  As we gather together, we tell the same stories and jokes that were told at each gathering, have been told and retold, and we pass them on to our kids.  The young ones gather around to listen and laugh and soak it all in and eventually, they’ll pass them onto their kids.  It becomes a cycle.  It becomes a story of life.  A story of a family.

 

And just as we did at my nephew’s funeral in October, we gathered together in honor of our Mom to share, to take part, to listen and to laugh.  And, to weep and to mourn and to console.

 

We gathered together for an Ending.   To celebrate a long, long life of 99 years. 

 

And just as there is with any Ending, there is also a Beginning.  Always Beginnings.

 

You see, I believe that life never truly ends.  Life is always about birth, always about newness.  Life isn’t about death, because the spirit lives on.  While there is an Ending, there is and always will be Beginnings. 

 

We might have laid my Mom in the ground next to my Father, but my Mom is not there just as I believe my Dad isn’t there.  His body like her body might be, but his Life, like her Life, and his Spirit, like her Spirit live on in each of us.  And because the Spirit lives on, it is a celebration of Life.  It is not an Ending, but a Beginning.  It isn’t and never will be about death, but about life.  It’s all about life.  It always has been.  It always will be.  Always.  Something to think about . . .

 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Life Really Is A Stage

Ever since the fourth grade, I’ve been on a stage of some sort. In fourth grade, my older brother, Jack, was in the musical “Bye Bye Birdie” in his high school.  They needed a “kid” to play Randolph McAfee, a part that was my brother’s son.  I got to sing two solos and I have to tell you, I was bit hard by the acting thingy.  Loved it.

Singing has always been a big part of my life all the way through the years.  In fifth grade, I was selected to perform with four of my classmates in a barbershop quartet, billed as the “Wee Four Quartet.”  Dressed in our different colored vests, white shirts and bow ties complete with a straw hat, I have to say we were stylin’. Well, stylin’ for fifth graders, anyway.

In sixth grade, I formed my own band.  Yeah, we were pretty not so awfully good.  But, it did get me noticed by a group of older guys who asked me to play drums and sing for them, so I did that for two years.  Mostly a Top Forty cover band, we had a lot of gigs, entered contests, that sort of thing.  Fun times.  Great times.  And great memories.

Continued on into high school.  Plays.  Musicals.  Choirs.  Solo stuff.  Eventually a couple of commercials.  Weddings and funerals.  It didn’t matter to me because I did what I did and loved it. 

One time towards the end of my senior year, I performed as a front act on a benefit show.  Six songs with my accompanist- a great guitarist.  It was towards the end of the first song when I noticed a middle-aged woman in the first row trying to get my attention subtly, quietly, without too many people noticing her.  Had no idea what she was doing or why she was doing it until I took a bow at the end of the song.  Bright spotlight.  One of two guys on stage.  Dark slacks.  And my fly wide open with five more songs to go.  Hmmm . . . yup!

Life Really Is A Stage.  Our Stage.  A stage to make and create as we see fit.  Some of the props are ours, while some props are handed to us, given to us without our asking, without our wanting, without a chance to say, “No thanks!  I’d rather not!”

And while on that stage, while using those props, we build our own one act play.  Our Life.  We live it.  We speak it.  We act it out.  It’s ours and ours alone.  We share it.  We might try to hide it.  Sometimes we recreate the dialogue, the actions and the costumes.  Other times, we borrow or create and craft the dialogue and actions and costumes to fit what we are and do now.

But ultimately, it is our stage and our one act play.  While there might be other characters . . . a wife, a child or two, a boy or girl friend, other family members, friends, acquaintances . . . what we do on that stage is our choice, our life, our one act play.  Through happy times.  Exciting times.  Difficult times.  Sad times.  All times in between.  Some new experiences, some older experiences, but ours nonetheless.  All ours.

Life Really Is A Stage.  And, we hold that stage . . . our stage . . . for as long as we live.  Some, like my mom a long time- 99 years-, while others of us shorter, much shorter, or maybe one or two of us, longer.  We never know when we will step off that stage.  Tragically.  Dramatically.  Sympathetically.  Heroically.  Silently.  Eventually, each of us will step off that stage.

So, it is a matter what we do while we’re on that stage that counts.  Do we perform to the best of our ability, or do we perform with mediocrity?  Do we perform with gusto and enthusiasm, or do we perform lethargically and lackadaisically? Do we write the script, or do we allow others to dictate what we say and how we say it?  Do we act out our own one act play as the actor and director, or do we dance to someone else’s tune and act by someone else’s directorial style? It is a choice how we act, what we say, how we perform.  Our choice.  Ours alone.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!