Merry-Go-Rounds and Roller Coasters

When I was a kid, I loved going to fairs and amusement parks.  I’d buy a bunch of tickets and go on the rides all day or all night.  I think night was the best.  The lights.  The sounds.  The smells.  The faster, the better. 

I never liked the Ferris Wheel because I don’t do heights very well.  It seemed like most of the ride was either loading or unloading passengers.  I hated getting stuck on the top.  And, was that one little bar across your lap really supposed to prevent you from falling out?  Yeah, right!

Merry-Go-Rounds were okay if you were little.  When my kids were little, they’d try to find the fastest horse to ride and we’d race.  Of course, my kids always won.  Funny how that happens.  But as I, and they, got older, Merry-Go-Rounds got stale.  I mean, all they did was go around, and around, and . . .

I prefer Roller Coasters.  The slow, steady climb up the hill.  The building of excitement.  The heart pounds, beats faster.  As you near the top, you hold your breathe.  As you go over the pinnacle, you throw your hands up in the air and scream.  Okay, maybe you don’t scream, but I do.  Sometimes just in my head because I don’t want to look like a wuss to my kids.  We race around turns, through loops and corkscrews.  It doesn’t last but a minute or two, but it’s fun.  It’s exciting.  And, you find yourself climbing on board again, and again, and . . .

I know people who never seem to get off the Merry-Go-Round.  They spend their day going around, and around, and . . .  They get up in the morning, put on their “uniform” symbolizing they are ready for “work”, climb on a wooden horse and go around, and around, and . . .  Each day.  Every day.  Same routine.

Pretty boring really.  No thrills.  No excitement.  Same sights.  Same music.  Same, well, everything.

I prefer to live my life like it was a Roller Coaster.  Twists and turns.  Ups and downs.  Sometimes slow.  Sometimes fast.  Climbing towards the top, and then plunging down over the pinnacle only to level out and climb another hill, then plunge down once again.  At times I want to hold my breath.  At other times, I want to scream out of fear, sometimes out of joy.  At times I have enough and want to get off, but I find myself climbing back on board.  I near the top and throw my hands in the air and just go with it.

Merry-Go-Rounds or Roller Coasters.

It’s really a choice. Your choice.  My choice.  Rather than the Merry-Go-Round where you go around, and around, and . . . in a never-ending circle, choose the Roller Coaster.  It’s more exciting.  Slow.  Fast.  Up.  Down.  Twists.  Turns.  Your choice.  Hang on and enjoy the ride.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

 

Hell On Earth

I think we’ve all heard the term or have a concept of Hell On Earth.  Do we really understand it?  Perhaps our own perceptions and experiences and backgrounds color the meaning for us.  I think some common ground lies before us, though.

The shooting in an elementary school in Connecticut.  The hurricane that hit the Northeast.  The tornadoes in Oklahoma.  9-11. Watching a loved one slowly, progressively succumb to death. Losing a child to death or abduction.

Losing a job and not being able to provide for one’s family.  A loved one suffering through alcoholism or other substance.  A marriage or relationship dissolving.

I think all of those might qualify as Hell On Earth.  I’m willing to bet there are others I haven’t thought of.

But our experiences and backgrounds color and influence our thinking, our understanding when it comes to Hell On Earth.

Children mention their parents fighting.  Children talk about being bullied, excluded, made fun of. 

Is their “Hell” any less than an adult’s view of “Hell”?

I think not. 

It is just as painful.  Just as hurtful.  Just as isolating.  Their “Hell” causes self-doubt, causes a lack of self-worth, causes a lack of value as a human being, as a person.

I remember a sermon recently about Eternity and what that might ‘feel’ like.  It was described like this:  There is a mountain off in the distance.  It is high and hard and seemingly insurmountable.  A bird fills its beak with a bit of dirt from that mountain, flies off, and deposits that bit of dirt on the ground a distance away.  The bird makes trip after trip, day after day, week and month and year after day, and week and month filling its beak with a bit of dirt and depositing it in the same spot.  Eventually, after a long, long time – Eternity – the mountain disappears and a new mountain is formed.  Eternity.  At the very least, a very long time.

As a counselor and teacher and coach, I watched kids who hurt and suffer on a daily basis.  My heart breaks as I remember their names, picture their faces.  I know adults who live day after day suffering, worrying.  Their Hell On Earth.  Their Eternity.

We might not even be aware of who is suffering. We might not know what to do or how we can help someone who is suffering.

Perhaps listen.  Perhaps be present with them, letting them know they aren’t alone.  Supplying a shoulder to lean on.  A welcoming touch.  A smile.  A hug.  A gesture that tells the sufferer that “I understand.”

I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but sometimes just knowing that you’re not alone is enough to help get you through.  And I think we’ve all been in a place where a hug, a smile, a shoulder to cry on or lean on was something we needed.  Something we were thankful for.

Hell On Earth is a very tough, ugly place to find oneself.  To have Hell On Earth for what seems to be Eternity . . .

As fellow human beings, I think we have an obligation to help, to pitch in.  To listen.  To be near. To somehow lessen the load, help bear the pain.  After all, we’re in this together.  And, we never know when we might find ourselves in our own Hell On Earth.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

A Matter Of Faith

There is a story about a woman watching a butterfly struggle out of a cocoon. 

She decided to help it by opening up the cocoon herself, making it easier for the butterfly to break free.  The problem was that the butterfly failed to develop sufficient strength in its wings and legs, so it died.  The woman only tried to help, to ease the struggle of the butterfly, but in the end, the butterfly died.  The butterfly needed the struggle in order to live.  It was in that very struggle that made that butterfly strong enough to survive.

Paraphrasing a statement from the Bible: “. . . if you had Faith the size of a mustard seed, you could move a mountain.” 

Hmmm . . . I’m thinking a front-end loader at the least.

When I was little, my brother’s and my bedroom was at one end of the hallway and my parents’ bedroom at the other.  I remember many, many times peeking into their room and seeing my dad on his knees at the side of the bed.  Eyes shut.  Hands folded.  Silent.  And every night.  I was no more than six or seven years old, but that image was burned into my memory and has stayed with me for over fifty years.

I know my conversations with my dad revealed to me that he was a man of great Faith.  Faith in God.  Faith in humanity.  Faith in his family.  Faith in himself.  Don’t know if that qualifies as a mustard seed or a front-end loader or perhaps a steam shovel, but I believe he had Faith.

There is another story from the Bible that I like.  It’s the story of the sick woman who felt that if she was near enough to the shadow of Jesus, and if His shadow passed over her, she would be healed.

Wow!  That’s what I call a steam shovel!  Now that’s Faith!  Can’t say I have that much Faith.  Can’t say that I have that big of Faith.

There have been many times in my life when my Faith has been shaken.  Tested.  Times in my life when I really questioned my own Faith in God.  In humanity.  In myself.

Haven’t we all? I don’t think I’m unique in this regard, but I could be wrong.

“. . . though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil . . .”

Because?

Certainly not because I’m overly tough.  Certainly not because I’m overly brave.  And honestly, I don’t know how to drive a front-end loader.

Like the butterfly, we struggle.  Each of us.  Sometimes we share that struggle with others.  Sometimes we are silent and go on about our business, our lives as if there is no struggle.  But we do struggle.  Not necessarily all the time.  Not necessarily continuously.  But there are times when . . .

And I contend that in those struggles, we develop Faith.  Weak and small at first.  Tentative.  A wisp of a seedling.  And sometimes we lose Faith as quickly as it comes.  Gone.  No trace of it having existed at all.  We start over once again.  An opportunity presents itself where we, our Faith, takes gentle root.

There are other times, the wisp of a seedling is planted in firm, rich soil.  There are caretakers making sure that wisp is safe, protected.  Taking care that when damaged, it is repaired.  And our Faith grows.  Strong and true and straight.

I wrote in a post that Storms pass.  Night brings day.  Rain stops and gives way to a Rainbow. 

Through our own struggle, we develop the wings to fly and the legs to stand.  In our own struggle, we develop our own Faith.  Whether it is a mustard seed or a front-end loader, it doesn’t matter.  Because Faith can, and will, grow.  And when it does, it is a thing of beauty- for ourselves and for others.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The River

I grew up in the country and a river ran right next to my backyard.  My brothers built a raft using four empty oil drums and some old wooden planks.  Like Tom Sawyer, they used a pole to push and guide it with and against the current, and from one shore across to the other.  Being younger, I never had the opportunity to be the ‘Captain’ of the raft.  No, that was for the older ones.

My little brother and I sailed little boats made of pieces of wood rescued from the trash bin in my dad’s workshop.  We’d run the shore following along as far as we could as the current took the boat on its journey. 

Our boats, and we, were at the mercy of the river’s current, sometimes swift, sometimes slow.  But ever moving.  Ever moving.

The Navajo believe that water, rivers, are the life-blood of Mother Earth.  For the traditional Navajo, each time he or she crosses a river, a ceremony involving maze carried in a ceremonial pouch is performed at water’s edge in the river’s, or Mother Earth’s, honor.  So strong is their belief in the importance of water!

Standing on the shore, watching The River run, even dipping your hand in its cool current helps you realize that you never touch that same drop of water again.  Once it passes, it’s gone.  Forever. Can’t get it back.  And, what you don’t touch passes and is gone forever.

Garth Brooks sang a song titled, The River, and in it is a lyric: “. . . Too many times we stand aside and let the waters slip away; ‘Til we put off ‘til tomorrow, Has now become today . . .”

On one hand, that lyric speaks of missed opportunities, of procrastination, of not taking advantage of a given moment. 

Wasteful, that is. 

Lots of lost opportunities, lost moments in our lives. 

With ourselves.  With others.  With our families.  With our loved ones.

But what is so very hopeful to me is that The River keeps running.  The River keeps flowing, keeps moving, so other opportunities present themselves to us. 

I wrote a post titled “Morning” that talked about the opportunity to begin again, to start over, to make right and begin new.  The River is a reminder that while opportunities pass by, other opportunities present themselves to us.  Perhaps we shouldn’t “. . . stand aside and let the waters slip away. . .” but if they do, know that there will be other, perhaps equally important opportunities that will come our way. 

Take hold of them.  Chase the current, run the shoreline, and seize the opportunity that presents itself to us.  We owe that to others and to ourselves.  Something to think about . . .  

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The Prize

Remember way back when, once upon a time . . .

 As kids we’d dive into a box of Cracker Jacks to get The Prize?  It wasn’t much, but we’d put our sometimes grimy fingers into the caramel corn and peanuts (never enough peanuts, right?) and dig around and at last, we’d touch upon it, pull it out to see what it was? Eating the snack seemed like a second thought to The Prize, right?

I don’t know that we ever kept it.  It didn’t last.  We didn’t necessarily save it.  I think the hunt for The Prize was the big deal.

There were prizes in cereal boxes too.  I remember my mom getting really angry at us for opening up the box, sometimes destroying the box altogether, and rooting around until we found it, usually stuffed at the bottom.  My brothers and I would race to the cereal cupboard to get to the cereal first.  After all, first come, first . . . 

Sometimes, we’d have to send away for The Prize.  That wasn’t as much fun, because we knew what we were getting.  And, we had to wait for it.  Waiting was sometimes a killer.  Remember little Ralph and his Decoder Ring?  The anticipation, his excitement?

How things have changed.

McDonald’s Happy Meals gave us a choice: this toy or that toy.  Not as much fun because we knew what we were getting.  Maybe not the color, but we still knew.  The anticipation was gone.  The Prize was secondary to the French Fries.  I mean, is there anything quite as good as French Fries?

And then, we got older.

At some point, we didn’t care about The Prize at the bottom of the box.  Perhaps we thought The Prize was silly.  Worthless.  Junk.  Kid’s stuff.

We changed.  We grew up.  Got older, perhaps wiser.

The Prize never changed.  We did.  The Prize still sits at the bottom of the box, buried under the caramel corn and peanuts.  It’s still hidden deep in the cereal box amongst the Frosted Flakes.

We changed.  The Prize didn’t.

Each of us has a Prize we seek.  What is a Prize to one is junk to another, worthless.

Wouldn’t it be fun to have that innocence once again?  That excitement, that joy, that anticipation ?  Not for what’s in Cracker Jacks or in a box of Captain Crunch.  But in the joy and the anticipation of . . . well, anything?  Anything at all? 

When was the last time you were truly excited, hopeful, joyful?  When was the last time you shared that excitement with someone?  Anyone?  When was the last time you gave someone else the gift of excitement . . . of joy?

It doesn’t have to be a special occasion.  It doesn’t have to be ‘deserved’.  It can be just ‘because’.

Maybe today, just today, to celebrate that gift, go get yourself some Cracker Jacks and dig around in the box for The Prize.  You may experience a gift of your own.  A reminder of way back when, once upon a time.  And then share it.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!