I feel the doors of heaven open

Very exciting interview: Tavis Smiley talks with Gustavo Dudamel, "Conducting a life."

The Dude, as he is fondly known in Los Angeles,  Gustavo Dudamel cares about kids and music.  He brings the two together in life-changing, life-affirming action. 

Tavis says, "Kids have a lot in common with those old Polaroids.  Just as that process needed exposure to the air, to develop into fully articulated photographs, kids need to be exposed to the best in this world to develop into fully realized human beings.  And music without doubt should be part of that."

A 12-year old tympanist explains what classical music does for him, "When I play I feel like the doors of heaven just opened up for me."

If you enjoy classical music, or maybe more importantly if you haven't discovered that joy as part of your life yet, you might be interested in this interview. 

Tavis Smiley interviews Gustav Dudamel

Jesus loved little children too.  Perhaps he knew they were in sync with a higher music, that of the Kingdom of Heaven which, he said, is within each of us.

A time to walk

Cuddle time

Chevy is a hopeless cuddler.  He cannot grasp that he's too big.  An equal opportunity pal, he is sure any lap will do, especially if it's on the couch.

Feeling secure is comforting.  I can remember as a child, falling asleep in the family car on the way home from one place or another.  My dad's strong arms would gather me up, carry me into the house, and plunk me gently on my bed.  Mom would tuck me in.  I felt so safe. 

How disappointing to reach a size when instead of carrying me into the house, my parents would wake me up to groggily walk in with them -- on my own two feet.  Probably there was a guiding hand on my shoulder to keep me from bumping into anything.

I was no less safe -- just assuming a little responsibility which took a little more effort.

I think our relationship with God is like that.  Sometimes She carries us tenderly, strongly, in Her arms (as it were).  As we grow in our ability to serve, She sets us on our feet, to discover we can walk on our own.  

Spiritual strength, spiritual listening, a desire to give meaning to our lives helps us find that security and comfort in unselfish service.  At least I haven't found any other way.

Chevy may never outgrow his need for being embraced.  Yet you and I can find some degree of spiritual cuddling (hmm, interesting phrase) as we remember to let our Maker guide us in tangible and meaningful ways, for the sole purpose of helping others find safety and peace in their own relationships to their Maker.

The spirit of Christmas

If you're especially fortunate, there's an event in your life that defines the spirit of Christmas. This story revives every year about this time, and it's one worthy of circulating. Even though it's considerably longer than my usual post, you may agree that you're glad you read it.

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.

We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight."

I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy.

When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me."

The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" "

You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked.

The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.

We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked.

"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"

"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children---sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."

I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will."

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

A community of support

2006.  One of the biggest moment's in Jason's life.  And well deserved.  After carrying water and wiping sweat off the other players, Jason gets his opportunity.

Jason is terrific, but it isn't just Jason.  It is his coach, his team, his school.  They form a community of support.  This is unity at its best.  When Jason succeeds, everybody wins.

Morning's promise

Sunrise approaching the winter solstice, especially in the city, feels really late.  Yesterday and today the sun perched over the garage roofs around 8 am.  

The cats have little tolerance for late breakfast.  Buster tromps across my stomach at summer sunrise time demanding sustenance.  Crystal, with gentle persistence, purrs in my face.  They get their breakfast, and I'm glad to be up.

I love the promise of dawn at all times of the year.  Mary Baker Eddy describes this promise succinctly,

"Morning.  Light; symbol of Truth; revelation and progress."

Here's a summer sunrise photo taken at the foot of the Rockies.  Morning with all its promise cascades a palate of pinks across an blue-sky canvas.

Christmas and outward symbols

Kids naturally want to help others.  Little things count.

 

We loved to open mysterious and brightly wrapped packages as youngsters.  Yet Christmas becomes more, or less, to us as our years advance.  Less as the gift-receiving is no longer a big deal.  It becomes more as we discover the joys of giving.  As we celebrate Christ in our hearts.

Some who have understood this, have also been able to articulate it.  This poem is one of my favorites.  It reminds us that withdrawing from the hubbub is possible.  It sets a quiet standard for feeling that deep peace and love in our hearts, so that it finds expression in our lives.

John Greenleaf Whittier, American poet, wrote of Christmas:

Let every creature hail the morn On which the holy child was born And know, through God's exceeding grace, Release from things of time and place.

I listen, from no mortal tongue, To hear the song the angels sung, And wait within myself to know The Christmas lilies bud and blow.

The outward symbols disappear From him whose inward sight is clear, And small must be the choice of days To him who fills them all with praise.

Keep while ye need it, brothers mine, With honest zeal your Christmas sign, But judge not him who every morn Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born.

These words are in the Christian Science hymnal of 1937, hymn #170.

That old classic, Amazing Grace

Grace. There's something about God's unconditional love and approval that's hard for the human mind to grasp.   She puts it into our hearts to be expressed towards one another.

So here is a rendition, just because Andre Rieu does it so well:

Christmas challenge

You have to love that somebody has the courage to challenge the status quo, to question just doing the same old, same old. 

What if we spent less on presents and more on presence?  
What would change?

Think about it

“We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.”
~ George Bernard Shaw

Or, to paraphrase, “We don’t stop learning because we grow old; we grow old because we stop learning.”
 

Or, “We don’t stop caring because we grow old; we grow old because we stop caring.”
 

Or, “We don’t lose our sense of wonder because we grow old; we grow old because we lose our sense of wonder.”

Something to think about.

A winter bush full of birds - awesome sight

Finding Christmas purity

Christmas makes me feel pure.  True, I’ve backed away from nearly all gift exchanges, i.e. commercialism, and that helps immensely.

It begins, perhaps, with Mary’s purity.  Pregnant outside marriage -- a sin worthy of stoning in her culture.  She was comforted only by the angel, Gabriel,  bringing a message of hope and promise.  And dear Joseph.  What’s a fiance to do?  He must have been terribly troubled with unanswered questions -- who has Mary been fooling around with?  Why?  How can I prevent her being put to death by the village? -- until the same angel, Gabriel, brought him in on “the plan.”

So the unwed couple understood at least something of the larger picture as they lived and worked under the accusing eyes of their families and neighbors.

I think of the purity of that night when Mary gave birth in the cave-stable among the warm and gentle animals -- secluded from the hustle and bustle of the Roman census crowds.  It was Rome’s counting of its populace which had brought Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem.

I think of the purity of the shepherds who were tending their sleeping herds on that chill night.  They didn’t argue with their angel messenger that something wondrous was taking place in a cave-stable in the nearby town.  They ran to see.

Then there were the kings, or wise men, riding their camels for weeks or months.  They had to have a purity of focus to stay the course, following a star -- of all things!

And all this purity came together, in due time, to celebrate Christ here and present.

May the spiritual innocence and joy of genuine Christmas be yours -- all year.

Tradition has Mary riding a little donkey like this one.

Sometimes you don't know the rest of the story

It was a cold December afternoon as Mom and I drove home from an errand run.  Both northbound lanes were stopping and starting erratically.   Suddenly the cars in front of us sped away revealing the cause of the slowdown -- a medium-sized, brown dog stood bewildered in the gutter on our side of the highway.

She was stockily built and wore a chain collar dragging a leather leash.  You could see at a glance that she had recently had puppies.  She had apparently been wandering in the road and the drivers had stopped while she tried to figure out where to go. 

“We need to stop,” Mom and I said almost together, pulling into a handy forest preserve parking area.  “Father, what is your plan?”  I asked, getting out of the car.  That quick prayer set the tone for the next five minutes. 

I ran along the grassy shoulder after the dog who was already headed south, fortunately still on the side of the highway.  “Here Girl!”  I called louder and louder till she heard and turned around.  She waited.  I kept talking to her.

“Thank you, Father, she’s waiting!”  I said.  She let me pick up the end of her leash, and agreed to step on the grassy shoulder.  But she didn’t want to walk in the direction of my car.  She felt she needed to go the other way.  My mom approached and talked to her.  She came with us a few steps and stopped.  This girl was too heavy to pick up and carry.

“Father?” I quietly asked.  Just then a woman pulled up and rolled down her window.  Amazingly, there was almost no traffic behind her, so we could have this conversation.
“Do you need help?” she asked.  “I saw the dog in the road and turned around and came back.”  I said I wasn’t sure, that the dog didn’t want to come.

Checking for traffic in her rearview mirror, the woman swept clutter off the front passenger seat and said, “See if she’ll get into the car.”   This was someone who was familiar with dogs.

I opened the door, patted the seat, and the dog jumped in.  “Good girl!”  the woman said as I flipped her the leash and closed the door.  “Sit,” she said.  The dog sat.  I waved as she rolled up the window and drove off with the dog on the front seat.

Part of our job was done.  The dog out of traffic.  This next stranger had appeared and was taking the her on the next part of her journey.  The woman could ask any vet to see whether the dog had an identification chip, in which case they could try to contact the owner.

Cynics could offer criticism at this point.  But Mom and I had to trust our initial prayer, “Father, what is your plan?”  And this was the second part of our job: to continue our prayers for the dog, and to expand them to including all who were homeless, to find their right home.  That was perhaps the most important part of the episode.

Staying focused amid distractions

A couple of weeks ago I met a new friend, Jolinda Wade, who is not your typical served-time-in-prison former drug addict.  She turned her life around and is now co-Pastor of an active church that includes running a community soup kitchen.

In the prison segregation unit, for 18 months she wrote a daily letter of gratitude to God which, she said, kept her sane.  Her letters, now published in a book, Divine Grace behind the walls, show her acceptance of His unconditional love, her instant obedience to everything God asked her to share -- with inmates, guards and administration.

One thing that comes across is that life in segregation is free of distractions.  You're in one room 23 hours a day.  No laundry, no grocery shopping, no TV, no phone calls, no emails.  Just, if you so choose, you and God.  You pray and you listen and you do.  She startled herself by thanking God for segregation where she learned to give Him her every moment.

My goal too is to give my every moment, my every thought, to God to be purified.  But I have to ask myself, how well do I deal with distractions?  It takes great discipline of thought to say focused in a gratitude-prayer walk, not to become angry, annoyed, or disappointed. Sometimes it's a struggle.

Gratitude isn’t denial of the injustices all around, so much as commitment to recognizing the good, however small it may seem, as evidence of God present and active.  I can do better!

Thank you, Jolinda, for setting such a high standard.