The Husband Trap

By R. Burton, Riverbend wRiters

Shazam! A new plastic bottle of something appears like magic on the shower shelf. What can this be? How the hell did this get into the shower stall?

As the water streams over me, I reach out and pick up the newly appearing plastic bottle. It reads: “New, cleaner, soothing!” Where is the soap? Is this soap?

The ability to search the internet for this intruder, while in the shower, is not a great idea. Perhaps a test will assuage my confusion.  The top unscrews easily. The creamy substance is poured into my hand. 

As I begin to cover my aging body with this new substance, hope continues that this creamy solution is ‘new, cleaner, soothing’.

Well, in any case, the new soap does its job. With vigorous application of the bath towel, I am now ready to face the day.

Dressed, heading for the kitchen to devour a bowl of cereal and fruit, my bride asks, “how did you enjoy the new shampoo?”  With quick thinking, my response is somewhat vague, “it works like a charm.” 

This discussion starts the thinking process as new bottles of stuff continually appear like magic on the shower shelf, on the ridge of the bathtub, in the bathroom cabinets, or on the shelves.

Every once in a while, my dear wife tests a new personal use product. Once she determines that it does not meet her high standards for quality nor does it do the job as marketed, it is left where my bathroom stuff resides. 

As days go by, my usual bath soap, shampoo, moisturizer, shaving lotion, et al, disappears only to be replaced with the discarded debris that is unable to satisfy her needs.

Like clockwork, I quickly peruse the ingredients and mindlessly assume that it is something that my wife has tried and liked. She wants me to share in her discovery of a great new product. 

Au contraire… this is yet another failed test, a product reject foisted upon an unsuspecting and naive husband who for a moment believes that the product appears where his stuff resides because it works. 

Oh no, I fall for it yet again. Has this ever happened to you?

I cannot wait for Christmas when new, better cleaner, longer lasting, less expensive marketing has done its job.

By New Year’s Eve I will certainly be inundated with new items in my miniscule part of the bathroom cabinet.

Perhaps one day I will be able to investigate and identify where my stuff is hidden. But undoubtedly it will again appear before Easter. Then it will all begin again. 

Beyond the Flame

By Caren Upshaw, Riverbend wRiters

Candlelight is intimate

light in small doses

takes us to a primitive time of less

In this 2020 winter of less

we see more

in hearts of flesh,

that love deep

hear angel’s wings,

remember more, 

than what’s seen.

dimensions of heaven

in a star

or a candle flame.

Divine Fruit for Advent

By Jessica Cannon, Riverbend wRiters

The weeks are passing by so quickly. This is the first year I have been passionately curious about the meaning behind Advent. It has become an evolved theme in my life – which began as I learned to love who I am as one of God’s children. I see His creations and marvel at them in complete astonishment and awe. How did He know the complexity of His creation, what we would need to survive, and more importantly – when we would need it through the seasons.

More bewilderment came to me this morning as I began to cut into a Pomegranate. Growing up on Puerto Rican cuisine, we were not aware of this fruit. Many of you may know about pomegranates because of the juice or health buzz, but did you know it is considered one of the greatest super foods on earth? As I learned the benefits of clean eating, I stopped buying processed Pomegranates and decided to cut into the fruit itself for a new experience. 

Before I sliced into it, my curiosity of what I would receive from this fruit was like a child anticipating Santa. I was amazed to learn that this super fruit is referred to as Divine because it is the most mentioned fruit in theological books. Beyond this, pomegranates are rich with antioxidants, anti-viral and anti-tumor properties. The antioxidants are three times greater than what we find in red wine and green tea. I could also expect a complement of vitamins A, C, E, and folic acid. All this means this Divine super fruit will help strengthen my immunity, fight type 2 diabetes, lower my blood pressure, smooth my digestion, and make my skin glow! Now it is time to taste what the Big Guy created for us. 

As I sliced into the Pomegranate it began to bleed onto my plate. Immediately, I thought it represented the blood of Christ. I do not think I would have made this connection before choosing clean eating or reading the Advent story. Of course, I knew of the Advent story, but honestly the way I grew up it was not much more than the story of Bethlehem, the star, Jesus’s birth, and different colored candles lit on Sunday at church. And then I made the second slice. The honeycomb-like skin protecting the seeds reminded me of adding local honey to my tea, cereal, and smoothies which has helped alleviate my seasonal allergies. Yet another one of His great creations from work of the honeybee. 

Then it dawned on me: the time of year I started to fall in love with some of His creations – like the fig tree and now the Pomegranate – were not coincidental. As I shopped more from farmer’s markets, I was able to buy fresh figs instead of dried or jarred figs from the grocery store. The taste and texture were unlike anything I had experienced before. Trying new things to experience better health was functional and exciting at the same time, and now I was hooked! 

As I hold the Pomegranate and flex the skin to expose the seeds, I see what appear to be ruby red jewels. The ‘kid at heart’ in me was so excited to gently dig into the flesh to release the seeds when they started to gush all over me, the counter, and backsplash. I was making a mess but knew it was going to be worth it, and I was having so much fun! And the flavor! A new taste and connection to Advent for me with the added health benefits. My faith strengthened as I marveled at how He knew exactly what He was doing with us and for us. 

If your holiday tradition is to bake and decorate cookies as a family then may I suggest you consider adding Pomegranates! As an adult, I appreciate the health benefits, and even more so when something so simple can make quite a difference in feeling closer to Him. Merry Christmas to all! 

In the Spirit of New Traditions

By Jessica Cannon, Riverbend wRiters

After many years of cooking the same recipes for Thanksgiving dinner or traveling to see relatives for the same meal, two years ago we decided to change things up a bit. We packed our bags and went in the opposite direction of family to San Antonio to be tourists for a week. It was our first time to purposely venture out with the intent of breaking tradition while also enjoying our time together as a family.

There is something to be said for tradition and old memories to reminisce about. There is also something to say about being stuck in our ways, wherein we may miss out on making new memories. I felt nervous about breaking tradition but was so happy once we did. I certainly did not miss cleaning the house in preparation of having family and friends over, nor did I miss cleaning the day after – especially the turkey fryer. 

When the opportunity presented itself to explore the streets of San Antonio, I embraced a new tradition. I (almost) felt like a rebellious child. Touring the Alamo, Ripley’s Believe it or Not, taking the riverboat tour while dinning along the Riverwalk, then topping it off with a holiday meal in the Tower of the America’s, all helped me focus on the family before me, and be thankful for them in the moment.  The gift of time with the ones I love gave me a part of my younger self with a feeling of normalcy.

While we were in downtown San Antonio, I had the opportunity to ride my first scooter. It is not for the feint-hearted and requires your full attention with both hands on the handlebars, eyes focused straight ahead. I know this now because my first time on it I bounced off a storefront window, like a fool, as I had my right hand on the accelerator and the left hand gripping a Starbucks mocha latte instead of the braking gear handle. Picking myself up, “no charge for the show, folks,” was a live-and-learn moment, right? Once I got the hang of it, we had a blast. I felt like a kid again. I felt freed of the mental chains of keeping old traditions for the sake of keeping the peace. 

It really is the little things that can bring happiness. A thankful heart is a grateful heart. I thank God for allowing us the time together in a new holiday setting. Our conversation over Thanksgiving dinner seemed more meaningful when I realized it took me letting go of the old to embrace the new. I may have wandered for distraction, but I found fulfilment in the travel by embracing new traditions. 

I hope you consider stepping out of your comfort zone. I never knew what God had been trying to show me until I embraced a new tradition.  Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Football Faux Pas

By Shavanna Pinder

Growing up in the Bahamas, I knew of Thanksgiving, but it was not a holiday we celebrated. I did not understand how important of a holiday it was until my first semester of college in Chicago. The campus cleared out for the weekend, leaving only the international students. For my first two years, my friends and I improvised Thanksgiving dinners in dorms and academic buildings with cultural flair. My first “traditional” Thanksgiving came third year when my best friend, Chelz invited me to spend the weekend with her family.

Thanksgiving night was special with everyone gathered around the table. Each one of us said what we were grateful for and started passing around the food. Everything was delicious, people were laughing, and conversations were flowing. I was getting to know the family and tracking along the various discussions. Then someone mentions this guy named Brett and that he’s going to make waves. So, I asked “Who is Brett Favre?” It was like a scene from a movie. All talking stops. Forks halt mid-bite. Chelz who is just as confused as I am echoes “Yeah who’s Brett Favre?” All eyes turn to us. We were about to learn.

Chelz and I did not follow football, so the name didn’t ring any bells. Did I forget to mention that it was 2006 and we were in Green Bay, Wisconsin? (And if football is not your thing either, know that Brett Favre was one of THE stars of the Green Bay Packers from 1992 – 2007.) I’ll never forget what happened next. The oldest son declares this wrong must be righted. He goes upstairs and comes back down proudly wearing a Packers jersey and holding a documentary on the life of Brett Favre. I will NEVER ask who Brett Favre is ever again lol.

That was one of many memorable Thanksgivings. It is a holiday I’ve grown to appreciate. Lots of delicious food and quality time spent with loved ones (and hopefully the last football documentary).

Remember to Be Thankful

By Scott Cannon, Riverbend wRiters

At first glance, one might think the row of pre-teens to teenagers in the front pew to be a group of highly devout Christians that could not get close enough to the front to be sure to hear the preacher.  But as the last “Amen” comes from the pulpit and they bolt for the side door it becomes clear they are sitting there because it is the fastest way out when the service is over.

We were not bad kids.  Just sitting still and staying quiet that long for us back then was a bit of a struggle. We were used to running with reckless abandon through the streets and woods of our small little town.

Most Sunday’s after service we would find ourselves at Grandma’s house. My mother was one of eight kids so the house was full of the adults, having each prepared and brought a dish, making final preparations for lunch while us kids played Hide-And-Go-Seek or diving off the ditch holding on for dear life to the rope swing we had “engineered” onto a low hanging branch.  There was more than one occasion where either the rope or the branch gave way.  

Looking back, I see how I took all that for granted. It was just how things were and to have it any different would have been just strange. Now, I would not let my kids run through the street because in the news almost daily you hear of someone being abducted. Back when I was a kid in that small town (280 people) everyone knew everyone and what everyone was up to. There are good and bad sides to that coin, I know. 

Scott’s Grandma preparing a meal…

But as Thanksgiving draws near, I am reminded of those Sunday lunches at Grandma’s.  She has since passed and our family that was once concentrated in that small town has scattered to all parts of this great country. I am reminded of my Uncles that would bring the fish they had caught or the deer they had hunted, cleaned, and prepared.  I remember my aunts working tirelessly in the kitchen to make many a wonderful dish. I recall the time with my cousins as we ran through the fields and dirt roads playing G. I. Joe or riding our bikes off make-shift ramps. I remember the love.

And while Thanksgiving at my house may be a little smaller these days, the love is still there. I use some of those same recipes that my Aunts and Uncles used and share them with my kids. We gather and laugh and play and enjoy each other’s company – each one of us giving our time to the other, the time that we give of ourselves. Giving that time to our loved ones is a selfish act because we receive the benefit of that time with them. It is a selfish act that benefits not only us, but those that we choose to give it to. 

My hope is that years from now, my children will look back on those moments and remember to be grateful for the times that were easier. Remember the time with family. Remember the love. Remember to be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving

While the World Caught Its Breath

By Lauren Kinzie, Riverbend wRiters

Heroes keep us fed, safe, and alive

They’re our families when we die, 

Their souls are on the outside. 

Not a microbe do they hide.

They’re tired and scared 

And don’t know who to trust

and we love them

because they’re us.

While the earth catches its breath

Wondering what we’ll do next

Living isn’t vibrantly alive. 

we have to live

With our souls on the outside. 

Venice canals glittering clear, 

In China, stars reappear. 

cool breeze returns spring to us

And we have the time to focus 

on love and that it can be enough.

Nature’s wearing its soul 

On the outside,

Asking nothing, but that we see

This is how things could be

If we change ‘me’ to ‘we’

Occasionally. 

We’re in TV stars’

Living rooms

and kitchens

and yards

Now we’re not so far 

apart.

There’s no place to hide

Tho all living inside,

Our souls are on the outside. 

Ignite

Why Should I Read the Bible?–A Personal Testimony

By John Harrell, Riverbend wRiters

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world” -C. S. Lewis.

We live in a “look at me” culture. People go to great lengths to draw attention to themselves. But why? Are we looking for external validation to resolve something inside of us? Perhaps. There are literally millions of self-help books designed to motivate us or help us find the inner peace we crave. Advertisers tell us that if we wear a certain brand of clothing, drink a certain beer or drive the right car, we will be forever happy and not have a care in the world. All our problems will simply melt away. With so many resources available which promise to give us “the answer we are looking for,” why haven’t we been able to fix ourselves? It’s very simple. We are looking in the wrong place. 

A Book was crafted over a period of 2,000 years by 40 different authors. The Book is weaved together perfectly and precisely, which is a remarkable feat considering most of the authors did not know each other and lived several generations apart. What we are searching for, from inspiration to peace of mind are in this Book. Every word is true. This is the Word of God. Again, the answer to every situation in life we face, from our relationships, our finances, physical health and yes, our inner peace, are found in The Bible.

For a long time, I resisted reading The Bible. I thought it was boring, full of “thees, thous and begets,” and I was going to be lectured and full of guilt after I read it. But I was wrong. Dead wrong. The Bible is full of rich stories of fighters and war, murder, adultery, wisdom, miracles, and the redemption of the human race. There’s even a talking donkey! It is the ultimate guidebook on how to live a fulfilling life. And this will not ruin it for you: the good guys win in the end. 

The Bible can be intimidating if you have never read it. I encourage you to invest in a study Bible written in plain English. Personally, I use the Tony Evans Study Bible along with Evans’ Bible Commentary. The Commentary explains and contextualizes what you read in the Study Bible. Start with the Book of John. Study the life of Jesus, the Messiah the Jews had been promised and the Savior of the world (“God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him”-John 3:17).

Read a little every day (full disclosure – I skip over the ‘beget’ stuff. I am not a pastor, so I don’t need to know the chronology). Let the words seep into the depths of your mind. As this happens, your life will be transformed in ways unimaginable, a little at a time. Your life will become richer and more fulfilling. Reading the Bible and following Jesus will not make you weird and you won’t start dressing funny. I doubt you will feel compelled to go stand on a street corner with a big sign that says “repent!” No. You will still be you, but you will become a better version of yourself. 

Life is a journey, and never a destination. Our final destination is the world C. S. Lewis wrote about. Until then, we have a guidebook to help us through this difficult, challenging life we live in this world.

CORONA 19 VIRUS

By R. Burton, Riverbend wRiters

[As part of an ongoing series to illustrate the impact and experiences of our wRiters during the era of COVID-19, we offer another installment – Ed.]

Summer/Fall 2020

“All I want to do is hug my Dad”. Those are the words of my nephew as we speak softly about the long downward health slide of his father. 

He is: a veteran of World War II – a Naval Engineering Officer; faithful Husband; loving Father; awesome Grandfather; prodigious inventor; the retired President of a technology company; an airplane pilot; a devout Christian; and my brother-in-law.

He co-invented the launching system employed to abruptly gain powerful momentum of a jet fighter plane taking off upon the deck of an aircraft carrier. As such, he was challenged and agreed to sit in a two-seated jet, launch on a carrier and prove that his design worked.

It reminded me of the Roman bridge builders who were conscripted after building the bridge. They were forced to stand with their family under it as the horses and chariots thundered over.

Now, he is “locked down” at home with my sister. She is, as usual, cagey about their health. Like many of her generation, my sister believes that their personal lives should be kept securely from the eyes of relatives and friends. 

My sister is the accomplished manager of an antiques establishment, the mother of two wonderful adults, the grandmother of two beautiful and accomplished young women, the great grandmother of a lovely baby girl and the leader of a Spanish Club.

When I was a despondent teen, she interrupted what could have been the self-destruction of my existence. Then, when I required monies for the next term in college, she emptied her bank account to accommodate the need for cash.  She is my Guardian Angel.

Now, she lives with her husband in isolation. Food, toiletries, paper items, pharmacy drugs, facemasks and latex disposable gloves are left at the door. Other than an occasional car drive into the city, to look at the new building in this fast growing area, they have been locked at home for three months.

Their adult son and daughter stop by with essential items they need, speaking with them through the glass sliding doors in the family room. 

They can see that their Dad is failing in health. He stumbles with his words and occasionally looses track of the conversation. My sister, his caregiver as well as his wife of sixty-two years, holds his hand as they look through the window at their adult children.

My brother, living in the ‘orange state’ with his bride of sixty-four years, continues to be her caregiver. For the past nine years her mental state has been slowly, inexorably deteriorating. 

He, a retired Wall Street executive, who without complaint feeds, bathes, dresses, brushes her hair and assists in her bathroom needs. 

This is a man, who, as a titan of industry, led one of the largest insurance operations and brokerage firms in the country.  

A doting father to four successful young men; a compassionate grandfather of ten grandchildren and young adults; a loving and giving husband to a diminishing wife; a confidant to other industry leaders.

Yet now, they exist as a couple locked into their home for the past several months. With part time care givers and available medical staff they manage to live primarily in isolation. Their ‘Golden Years’ are somewhat tarnished by this virus from China.

Adult children, grandchildren, friends, or relatives are not permitted to visit with them or stay in their home. Again, the virus is touted as an enemy that can be transmitted to the elderly. 

She was in her nineties. An accomplished woman who, with her formerly NFL coach husband, oversaw the lives of young men playing college and then professional football. Together they raised three successful adults giving them advice, love and total support.

At her funeral, the attendees had to stay six feet apart, wear a mask, be sure to not touch their faces and then wash their hands when they returned to their cars.

The number of guests at the grave was limited to twenty. We all stayed apart from each other while attempting to speak through a mask in observance of the loss of a lovely, strong lady.

Another fine man, someone we met each week at church, was unable to defeat cancer. After he passed away, his family was unable to have a memorial service. 

So, this accomplished, retired ship builder left this life with no friends or distant relatives able to gather and mourn.

And what of the world outside? From my vantage point, I see:

• Media outlets shout that the virus is about to kill us all. Schools are closed. Local progressive government forces kids to cocoon in their homes. Limited on-line learning is offered by few schools able to provide this service. 

• Kids living in areas of each city that are in financial peril, have no on-line resources available to access their education.

• Parents dealing with closed schools are unable to return to work. There is no educator at home to school the kids. When available, on-line classes are failing.

• With no educational stimulation or social interaction, kids locked at home are becoming depressed. Suicide is rising. 

• Family discord has become more prominent in already strained and sometimes dysfunctional families due to restricted travel, being out of work, forced to wear masks, unable to socially interact, living with small children, which incessantly adds to daily stress.

• Due to the closing of businesses, the unemployment population explodes.  In addition, ranks of the homeless continue to swell. Again, city and state officials allow homeless persons to erect tents to live on public sidewalks as well as in once pristine parks.

• The idea of a free and open society, within a limited, constitutionally guaranteed government whose continued existence is based upon the will and informed voting of the people, is under siege.  

Lord help us.

Life’s Detour is God’s Intercession

By John Harrell, Riverbend wRiters

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths” –Proverbs 3:5-6.

How many times in my life have I decided my way is the better way? In my head I’m saying, “God, I got this. I have it all figured out.” Then, inevitably my plans go awry (keeping it clean, here) and I am asking, pleading with God for guidance.

Saul of Tarsus was on a mission. Saul knew what he had to do. He was headed to Damascus to arrest fallen Jews who were followers of “The Way,” thereby threatening Judaism. The High Priest had given Saul authority to bring the Jesus-worshipping Jews, both men and women, back to Jerusalem in chains for trial. Many could end up being put to death. But an unusual, supernatural event caused Saul, the “Hebrew of Hebrews”, to be put on the path to his destiny.

As Saul neared Damascus, a brilliant light from Heaven knocked him off his horse. Saul heard a voice say, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” The voice went on to identify himself as Jesus, the One Saul thought was a fraud who was interfering with the people’s relationship with God and Jewish law. While Saul was doing what he believedGod would want him to do, God’s plan was bigger, better, different, and there is no way Saul (or any of us) could have foreseen his role in history. Because Saul willingly surrendered to God’s plan in lieu of his own, we now know him as Paul, author of most of The New Testament.

My friend Darrell Scott experienced a detour none of us would ever want to have. Darrell’s daughter, Rachel, was the first child killed at Columbine High School. Darrell will tell you that when he got the call telling him there were active shooters on the high school campus, his first thought was, “this is a spiritual event.” I find this remarkable. As the day turned into night, and there was no word on Rachel, Darrell never wavered in his belief. During the weeks after Columbine, events fell into place supernaturally and Darrell and Sandy (Rachel’s step-mom) founded Rachel’s Challenge, the largest in-school program in the world which focuses on kindness and compassion. Rachel’s story is shared with 2 million students every year using live speakers and multimedia. People’s lives are transformed after experiencing Rachel’s story. She reached out to students who were special needs, being bullied, or were new to school and lacked friends. Rachel’s funeral was the largest viewing in CNN history. Want to know how big God is? Sadly, 17 year olds die every day. This young girl’s story has been experienced by over 30 million people worldwide since the founding of Rachel’s Challenge.

If we are willing to admit it, most of us want to experience our own “road to Damascus” moment where God appears to us. Although possible, most of us will not have that opportunity. Admittedly, it’s difficult to believe in and trust a Spiritual being we have never seen. So I say to myself, if I could see God my belief would never be shaken. But consider this: the disciples were with Jesus for three years and witnessed countless miracles. If they didn’t believe in Him at His arrest, what chance do I (we) really have? Yet, when Jesus appeared to the disciples after His resurrection, they developed unshakeable faith. Most of the disciples died horrible deaths. They didn’t die because they believed in a lie.

Life is never predictable. When challenges come, and they will, let’s remember we are down, not out. We serve a God who is bigger than our most pressing problems. He can turn a Jesus hater into a follower of Jesus. He can take a young girls horrible, untimely death and use it to alter and save the lives of other children. He sees everything from beginning to end, so let’s lean on Him when we are detoured. He will put us on the right road…

 

Too Much Down Time?

By Jessica Cannon, Riverbend wRiters

Is there such a thing as too much down time? Is it like saying “I had too much vacation time this year”? I cannot imagine saying that before retirement – or ever.  The opposite has certainly been true – having too much unused vacation time because work was too crazy busy. And, this year has been an entirely different approach to vacation.

You know where I am going with this… the “Pre-Covid” versus “Post-Covid” world: Going from Human Doing to Human Being; the time when we never seemed to have enough time for household chores, families, or even vacations; the time when life just ran away with meeting someone else’s demands or expectations. The familiar old adage, “time is money”, certainly rings true with these economies.

Now we are living history as time slows down. The coveted down time begins. Streets became somewhat empty with little to no road rage to worry about, yet store shelves ran bare of vital products like toilet paper and Clorox wipes. We experience new times of panic wondering what happens next, or when this down time will end to allow us all to return back to another time other than the present. Ironically, we go from living in the past to preparing for a future, to being forced to accept the present as it is.

At the beginning of our pandemic we had just let our beloved ‘fur baby’ go to the ‘dog park in the sky’. I was hurting and wanting this down time. At the same time, I did not want the loss to linger so I kept finding things to do in and around the house. Running errands was a way to simply to get out of the house and listen to loud music as I drove around, but being mindful enough to consider what lyrics might be imprinting on my disgruntled mind. Either way, music has been the winner when it comes to avoiding the quietness of this down time. I was continuing to practice ‘Human doing’. Distracted. Disconnected. Lost in anxious thoughts.

Then the down time became mandatory stay-at-home/shelter-in-place. Routines shifted, as school for our youngest son became on-line learning from home. At some point, the usual routines stopped, and the days began to run together. It was in this new down time that I relearned what it means to be a Human being. The simple ingredients are: time plus grace.

Huh? Did I lose you? Haven’t we had the time all along? Yes. I have had countless hours where I chose not to be still. I chose to surf the couch while engrossed in Netflix instead of exercising. I chose to clean house rather than sit under my meditation tree. I chose something else in the moment when I could have chosen to be still.

At least the earth was healing from the reduction of cars on the roads all over the world. At least many others were able to rejoin their families for quality time together. At least groceries and meals could be delivered. Thinking positive seemed to be the only way to cope with this changing world in this down time. Somehow, thinking about the ‘at least…’ list of the endless possibilities I could convince myself to feel positive – even though I just wanted to get in somebody’s face in Washington to say, “What the HELL people?” Don’t they know how hard it is to be still, think positive, and remain hopeful as a Human doing so much all the time?

I should not have been surprised when I finally ventured back out to the meditation tree to attempt to enjoy this down time when I began to hear the Spirit speak. The reassurance that everything was going to be okay did not seem to sink in until we turned the news off. The walks on the trail, the time spent under the trees, returning to the yoga mat to hear the Spirit say, “He’s got this” (which means: “Do what you can and know He has the rest. Become a Human Being and stop doing everything to avoid the uncomfortable silence.”)

At first, grace was as simple as setting the alarm a little later in the morning or taking a nap as needed. Being alone with my own thoughts seems to be exhausting, so the restorative sleep was needed. Reading a book seemed to be difficult to do when my thoughts kept intruding. Rather than think about what was wrong with me, I asked what would grace look like if I let those thoughts run free? Once again, I hear the Spirit speak, “Don’t be afraid.” In the midst of the morning meditations following the night of letting my thoughts run, from my conscious into my subconscious dreams, thoughts of family bubble up. Past, present, and a wishful future bubble up with tears. The imaginary obituary begins to roll through my thoughts.

If I did not have so much down time would these thoughts have ever surfaced? By divine design, the COVID down time has not only been the time to relax and reflect it has been the time to bring about much needed change. Family is where that change begins for me. The family which brought me into existence and shaped me has changed. The stories we tell ourselves has taken us in different directions. During this down time, I began to wonder if this were it and I never see them again what would I say if given one last chance? What would I need them to know?

How could I show them grace? I can become my own best friend, but how could I reconnect in such a way it helps them to let go of the past? What is more important than old grudges in a time when the world is burning and raging for all sorts of reasons? If Turkey and Syria could agree on a cease fire during this time, then why couldn’t we come to a better understanding? Now is the time because once we all go back to normal, business as usual, would we have as much understanding or compassion for others?

Of all the conversations I have meditated on and planned on having, the answers come by way of grace. In a raging, changing world trying to cleanse itself, grace simply says I love you. From one Human Being to another – I. LOVE. YOU.

P.S. Giving yourself grace is a practice that becomes routine. Until it does, I added my personal reminder.

 

 

 

This is Us

By Bob Burton, Riverbend wRiters

[A friend sent us a note signifying that the older generation will continue to lead in terms of overcoming the impact of the Coronavirus on our people and economy. This is my response. I offer this in response to a request to share our personal written opinions during this time in our journeys.]

Dolores:

When driving to the store, parking and placing a mask over my nose and mouth, my time as a boy was recalled. Growing up during WWII, cars had stickers to alert gas providers how much gasoline a specific car was permitted each month to have pumped into it. We had ration books to allot each family a precise monthly amount of meat, sugar, flour, et al.

While riding to the store, one could not help but notice the number of stores and commercial buildings that were closed. In addition, the roads were virtually empty of passenger cars and trucks.

When entering the store, my hand reached for the bottle of Purel  and paper towels in order to assure that my hands were antiseptically clean. I adjusted my mask to make sure that my mouth and nose were covered.

A limited number of people were permitted in the store at one time. Everyone wore a mask. Many brands of goods were no longer on the shelves.

Again, I thought of my parents and relatives. My father was an air raid warden. He made sure, when the air raid sirens went off, that neighbors closed down their lights and drew their black out shades. We lived near the airport. As the  sirens wailed, search lights would bracket the sky. Anti aircraft guns would be trained above. Dad would place a white helmet on his head, grab a baton, and go out into our neighborhood.

Uncles were killed or maimed by the war. When they came home, they were changed. I will always recall the blank stares, the shaking hands as if a palsy had infected them. Also, I recall the little flags in the windows signifying soldiers killed or injured. The movies showed soldiers running up hills or dropping into the ocean to attack beaches.

Yes, those of us born into global conflict are all now older, somewhat slower but never overwhelmed by something as simple as a virus. As kids we had lived through the fears of WWII, then the killing of our Uncles and Cousins in the Pacific, Europe and then the fields of Korea. As teens we hid under our desks with sirens indicating a Russian Atomic Bomb attack. And then as soldiers we served during the Vietnam War.

We have lived through the 1987, the 2000-2001, the 2008-2009, now the 2020 financial collapse. We are hardier than we look or may feel. Our parents warned us to save, to prepare, to overcome obstacles. They survived the Great Depression.

We are all older now. We may no longer be the future. But, we are not only the past. Our country will survive this. The young will survive and perhaps learn something as well.

In the Midst of Unknowing

By Caren Upshaw, Riverbend wRiters

 

In the midst of Unknowing,

the Human mind

goes back down

an evolutionary

elevator floor to

Animal:

defensive

protective

day-to-day

survival.

Sunrise

Sunset

 

Rise Up.

 

Humans reason,

see a bigger picture

use intellect to problem-solve

and yes, calculate, calibrate,

figure & worry.

 

But somewhere

Above it all

perhaps another dimension

where Knowing

came from.

The assurance that things will be OK

(even when physically not)

that our days are numbered

either way

it will be a blink of the eye

love is the measure

lilies of the field

Divinity.

 

The Trinity

inside each of us

 

permeable membranes,

world without end.

The Shoebox Chronicles: Letter Written During the 1918 Flu Pandemic Offers Advice for Today

By Mark Lehman, Riverbend wRiters

During this time of unprecedented disruption of our lives due to the global pandemic, many human-interest stories we hear are very positive as people try to offer help to others. However, media outlets continue to report disheartening examples of extreme hoarding and blatant greed of people trying to capitalize on this crisis.

Recently, a cousin shared with me a century-old letter written to her great grandmother from her twin sister about how her small Texas community dealt with the horrible flu pandemic of 1918.  The human kindness articulated in this inspiring letter contains many positive messages and examples that will help us get through our own pandemic.

Writers note: I am publishing this letter as written with misspelled words and all. Also, the date on the letter is illegible; however, it appears to be October 25, 1919.  This was amid an influenza plague that killed an estimated 50 to 100 million people worldwide.   

Dear Martha,

God bless us all.  Bobby went to the mail today and I received all three of your sweet letters. We have been in quarantine for almost a month and just yesterday we got word that the plague had lifted. The immediate news is for the most part we were spared.  Just a minor case here.

Everybody is still talking about why our town got hit so hard.  Doc Bradly thinks it started at The Summer Festivel [sic].   The town square was filled with more people than ever before. Less than a week later Lucy Shelton lost her little Annie who was one of my third graders. Before it was over her two other children died and her mother also died.  She had already lost her Elroy in a combine accident two years earlier. Bless her soul.

Looking at Lucy, I know what our daddy meant when he always said tragedies brings out the best in folks. When the plague hit Lucy had already done her winter canning mostly fig and peach preserves.  When word got out lots of people were running out of food, she put them in smaller jars and placed um out by the street for people to take.   With her family gone Lucy said she had no use for them and just wanted to share.

I guess you remember Mr. Jonas down on the corner who always gave us the vegtables [sic].  He is fighting in France but before he left, he got his huge fall garden in.  His wife Cora got the word out for everyone to just come help themselves to whatever they needed.  Bobby and I watched it from the kitchen window and just like at Lucy’s everyone entered the garden one at a time and nobody took more than they needed.  I understand the McShane’s over on Sycamore did the same.

We were ordered to stay in our home with doors and windows shut though we did go out a little.  Most of our news came from Billy Johnson who works for Sherriff Owens.  Every three or four days he would leave a Mason of kerosene or turpentine on the front steps.  We were instructed to wipe everything down with it.  The kitchen counter, the table and the floor.  Doc Bradly said we also needed to constantly wash our hands with soap and hot hot water.  We were good there because I had made my soap at the end of August. When Billy hollered through the door people were running out of soap, I got busy with all the Lye I had left over and just kept the batches coming.  I had to cook it on the stove so I don’t know if we will ever get the smell out. We boxed them up and Billy delivered to folks who was out.  I was just glad we could do something.

I have got to sign off now, but I just wanted to let you know we are blessed and okay.

All my love to you and Roy,

Milly

Shooting the Time Away

By Dan Naden, Riverbend wRiters

I miss sports. It’s not just that all athletic events have been curtailed as we practice social distancing. It’s the men and women who compete, pouring out everything they have into the contest. For the seniors in high school or college, this is probably a bitter end to their athletic competition. A rare few will play beyond college, yet the vast majority will no longer lace up their sneakers for their high school or college.

I know sports is insignificant in the big scheme of things — our safety and security always needs to be our top priority. [A big shout out to the caregivers, doctors and physicians who are caring for those who have the COVID-19 virus.]

Sports is a distraction; a respite from divisions over religion, politics, education, health care. No matter your political or religious views, the shared excitement around your team’s success transcends all which separates us.

As a college basketball junkie, and former play-by-play voice for the Valparaiso Crusaders, I miss all the games. The Cinderellas trying to make history with a colossal upset or the favorites trying to sustain their success from a dominant regular season campaign. The omission of the first weekend of games, which would have tipped off today (uggh!!), is the most painful to endure. Seeing the outmatched and higher seeded teams (Coastal Carolina, East Tennessee State, and UW-Green Bay) scrap and claw against college basketball powers (Duke, Kentucky, Kansas) is high-drama, scinitllating television.

My son, who also desperately longs for the basketball tournament, took matters into his own hands. He printed off a mock bracket; we made our picks and now we are playing out the tourney, game by game, round by round, in our front driveway. Sometimes the game is HORSE; sometimes it’s ‘best out of 10 free throws’; or sometimes it is a timed event to see how many shots from the corner you can make in 30 seconds.

The bad news for me is two fold: my son is a much better shooter than me and he wants to play all the time, making the ‘work from home’ situation especially challenging. The stark reality of my shooting woes has me seeing my bracket the same way it always appears about halfway through the tourney — many of my ‘picks’ are already eliminated, a train wreck of dashed dreams and ill advised prognostication.

This mock tourney has been so one-sided in my son’s favor, I’ve requested a change of venue. It seems he knows the rim in our driveway hoop better than the back of his hand. My change of venue request (Sun Tree Park) was accepted after much consternation. Sun Tree Park did help me squeak out a few games on a rare lucky bounce or two. Wisely, my son redirected the tourney back to our driveway so he could continue the drubbing.

We’ve nearly made it through the entire tourney before the actual competition had even completed a few games. In a huge upset, Louisville (my son’s favorite team) is playing the Texas Longhorns for the National Championship. Imagine the odds on that final pairing coming to fruition. My bet is on whomever my son is playing for in the final.

We’ve already discussed playing out the NIT and the CBI, although I might have multiple repetitive stress injuries by then. If we are lucky, and I am still standing, the winners of those two tourneys will play the winner of the NCAA in some type of round robin athletic extravaganza.

If you are sports-crazed like our family, find some creative outlets to pass the time until the long-awaited competitions begin again in earnest. And stay safe!!