SIX THINGS

Part 1: SIX DECADES

I had plans.

For a while, there seemed to be a lot of talk about tattoos. I was spending time with young artists then so maybe the heightened discussion was more about proximity than time. Occasionally, I would be asked if I had a tattoo or would I ever get one. Maybe; if I could think of something worthy of the pain and permanence. One day I decided, that if I were to get one (which I haven’t) it would be this, a simple sentence in maybe Courier or Helvetica: “BEST BY SUMMER OF 69”. Yes, a “best buy” date like on a carton of milk. I wrote a post about this back in October 2018.

Why the “summer of 69”? I graduated from high school in 1969, and still find that summer memorable and good. I’m sure I’m guilty of ignoring the counsel of Ecclesiastes (7:10):

“Do not say, “’Why were the old days better than these?’” For it is not wise to ask such questions.”

But as Bryan Adams sang in his song, “Summer of 69”:

Oh, when I look back now
That summer seemed to last forever
And if I had the choice
Yeah, I'd always wanna be there
Those were the best days of my life

Oh, yeah Back in the summer of '69, oh

Here we are in 2020 and I’m in the middle of the summer of my 69th year, speeding toward the completion of my 6th decade. I had plans to celebrate this summer. I actually designed a t-shirt for my grandkids for the “Summer Of Pops!”

Remember the “Summer of George” on Seinfeld? It was kind of like that.

And just as the Summer of George didn’t go as planned, the Summer of Pops was doomed by mid-March. Maybe all of this is punishment for my arrogance in declaring a summer of big ideas, fun and adventure for myself.

While my 69th summer has not gone as planned at all, in many ways it is shaping up to be one of the most memorable. I’ll admit to a heightened awareness of almost everything—the bad, the ugly and THE GOOD. I savor each rare time that we get to be with our kids and grandkids; friends and family.

Just the other day we got to spend time with Jeremiah who is in his first summer—truly a summer of firsts for him. He is beautiful, bright-eyed and curious. There were times I was sure he was going to give himself whiplash trying to keep his eyes on his big brother who was bouncing around the room like a pinball. Maybe that’s what I mean by heightened awareness—for all of us in some ways. We are seeing life through a lens we’ve never seen before, and feeling life as if all our nerve endings were on high alert—whether it’s our 69th summer or the 1st.

Jeremiah and Malachi

Part 2: SIX FEET

That’s the definition of “social distancing”. I can live with that. I am an introvert—confirmed by testing and analysis. So, all is well.

Probably the first store I will visit when and if I ever leave my house again will be a bookstore. I love bookstores. I love the quiet isolation. I don’t like it when someone comes down the same aisle I’m on. Virus or not, I don’t want to be within six feet of another person on a bookstore aisle. But that’s really more like physical distancing isn’t it; at least for me. Whatever it is, it creates a challenge to relationships that calls for a creative response.

For example, my mentor Doug Manning decided to offer a grief counseling group using Zoom, the online video meeting tools. Word spread and now he has a problem. People have raised their hands all across the land and even in Canada and Australia wanting to join in. How do you do a meeting across time zones? Apparently, Barbara Striesand was right: “People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.”

The social distancing I can deal with, even appreciate, but the relational distancing is weighing heavy. Let me explain. Maslow says one of the key psychological needs of us humans is BELONGING. I agree. Belonging is more than a membership card or knowing the secret handshake. Heck, I have an American Express card that says, “Member since 1989” which makes it one of the groups I’ve belonged to the longest, but I don’t know anyone there. I don’t know if us AMEX members have a team song or club meetings. It just doesn’t feel very relational.

I want to mention a couple of other groups I belong to in one fashion or another just to explore relationships and belonging a little more deeply. Let’s start with the family of my Amazing-Missus. Even before we dated I felt welcomed from the start. I was invited to eat meals around their table (which was an offer only a fool would pass up). Once I began to date their daughter/sister the welcome warmed into something else, a sort of acceptance, but not yet what I would call belonging.

We married young. I was afraid if I didn’t “put a ring on it” right away, she would see the light and send me packing. On our wedding day she was 18 years and 3 days old; I was 21. I’m pretty sure there were some in the community that were surprised that our 9-month anniversary came and went without news. “Why would E.J. and Betty’s baby daughter Arlene marry him, unless…”, must have been whispered among a few of the church-lady circles. Just to throw them off we waited eight years to have our first bouncing baby boy.

After the wedding, I felt officially like I belonged. The Cox clan are generous, grace-giving folks. Her siblings are my friends and I cherish their company, their wisdom and their sister. But even in family, belonging extends only so far. Although she has been a part of the family she and I have made for 48 years and was a member of her nuclear family for 18, that is still HER family. There is a bond there, it is beautiful and it is as it should be. I belong and am a part of the story until they start telling stories about their childhood days, then I step to the margins with the other brother-in-law and sisters-in-law. We’re okay with that. We’ve heard the stories so many times we feel like they are our stories too.

As I’ve said, I’m okay with the current definition of social distancing and some physical distancing. I could not bear relational distancing.

Part 3: SIX MILES

The other group where I BELONGED for a time was a community, an actual little town. You could draw a six-mile circle and pretty well include everyone with maybe the exception of a farmer here or there. There were some who said of this proud little community, “If you’re not born there, your not from there, and you’re never going to belong there.” That’s probably been said or felt about many tight-knit communities. If you can drive through the town cemetary and see only about six family names, you’re likely to live in the margins there.

A little more than a year ago, we drove to Dubach, Louisiana, to spread some of the ashes of my dad who passed. It was his hometown. We wanted to leave the ashes at the graves of his parents and some of his siblings. As is the case with many small towns, there were more headstones in the cemetary than actual living residents of the town. And in this one 90% of them seemed to be named “Fuller”. There were an equal number of Colvins, Hamiltons, and Smiths. (I’m using a new math here.)

Back to Hinton. We moved to the town of Hinton in 1991. I would be working at the bank, in a non-banking role, thankfully. But mainly I would be the youth minister at the Baptist church. A role I loved. Despite the conventional wisdom about not being able to BELONG if you came in as an outsider, we always felt more than welcome. It had little to do with me. My Amazing-Missus and our two sons put down roots there and added to the beauty of this community.

We now live beyond the six-mile circle, but a part of us will always belong there. That’s the way it is with relationships. They can withstand some geographical distancing as long is there is some tie that binds.

As I said, I can endure a six-plus-mile geographical distancing. I cannot bear the relational distancing. I need to be a better friend. To all those I’ve offended and hurt; I am sincerely sorry and in need of forgiveness.

Part 4: SIX DEGREES

You’ve probably heard about the theory of six degrees of seperation? Check this out from The Guardian:

In a world of 6.6 billion people, it does seem hard to believe. The theory of six degrees of separation contends that, because we are all linked by chains of acquaintance, you are just six introductions away from any other person on the planet. Recently researchers announced the theory was right - nearly. By studying billions of electronic messages, they worked out that any two strangers are, on average, distanced by precisely 6.6 degrees of separation. In other words, putting fractions to one side, you are linked by a string of seven or fewer acquaintances to Madonna, the Dalai Lama and the Queen.

You have probably said more than once: it’s a small world. You know when you’re talking to someone and you find out they know someone who went to school with your mom and…

Recently, I received a message from a girl I knew back in high school days. We went to different high schools but the same church. I haven’t seen her since those days. She messaged to ask about a relative of mine. I asked how she knew this person. Turns out she used to live next door to my uncle and knew him well. It’s a small world.

For all of our distancing, for all of our closing ourselves off and dividing into tribes, in all of the shrinking of our six-mile circles. It’s still a small world after all. It is still true that God SO loved the WORLD (whether we like them or not) that he became flesh and dwelt among us.

Part 5: SIX STEPS

Unless there’s a 12-Step program for pandemic gluttony, I’m going to strive for a Six-Step program of my own making. Surely I can manage that; one step at a time. Actually the first three of these come from Micah 6:8 in The Message.

Step 1.) Do what is fair and just to your neighbor.

Step 2.) Be compassionate and loyal in your love.

Step 3.) Don’t take yourself too seriously—take God seriously.

Step 4.) Listen.

Step 5.) Consider the lillies.

Step 6.) Remember the story of the Sixpence.

Part 6: SIXPENCE: The Story

“Every faculty you have, your power of thinking or of moving your limbs from moment to moment, is given you by God. If you devoted every moment of your whole life exclusively to His service you could not give Him anything that was not in a sense His own already. So that when we talk of a man doing anything for God or giving anything to God, I will tell you what that is really like.

“It is like a small child going to it’s father and saying, ‘Daddy, give me sixpence to buy you a birthday present.’ Of course, the father does, and he is pleased with the child’s present. It is all very nice and proper, but only an idiot would think that the father is sixpence to the good on the transaction. When a man has made these two discoveries God can really get to work. It is after this that real life begins. The man is awake now.”

—C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) in Mere Christianity

TODAY IS SATURDAY

THE DAY IN BETWEEN. This is what we do on the in-between days, between the beginning and the end, between the start and finish, in the uncertainty between what we know from experience and what we hope will be. One time; in-between was 40 years in the wilderness between bondage as slaves and the Promised Land. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could send 12 spies down the road of the coronavirus to bring a report back; what’s it like on the other side? Of course, there are tons of speculators now, people who think they can see there, from deniers to doomsdayers. I’m firmly in-between.

Today is Saturday. It’s a day of complete uncertainty, probably some chaos, some despair, short tempers, panicked discussions. That may be somewhat true of this Saturday, April 11, 2020, too. But I’m talking about that Saturday, centuries ago, the actual day between the crucifixation and the resurrection. Sure, now that we know how things turned out we can take a pretty relaxed view of the Saturday in-between. But on that first one—who knew? Now that we know, we can spend today (with a few twists and some ad-libbing) doing normal Easter weekend stuff: dying Easter eggs, making sure we have some stuff to fill Easter baskets…

Many many years ago I was a huge Miami Dolphins football fan. One of the times they would be playing in the Super Bowl, I prepared the VCR to record the game. We were having a Super Bowl party at our house after church activities. Early in the game, the Dolphins were struggling, mightily. I panicked; not that I had a big bet at stake, but my certainty that the Dolphins would prevail was on the line. I snuck back to the bedroom and tuned in to a radio broadcast of the game. They lost! I mourned quietly and returned to the living room with the arrogance of certain knowledge. I KNOW HOW THIS ONE TURNS OUT! I’m not in-between anymore. I know how it started. I know how it ends.

Remember two of those 12 spies came back and reported that moving in to the promised land was achievable and worth it all. The ten naysayers prevailed and the in-between lasted four decades. If you have heard yourself saying over the past few weeks, “For now…” then you are in-between. That’s where we are; not for the next 40 years, but for now.

So, for now… Here are words from Jane Kenyon.

OTHERWISE
Jane Kenyon - 1947-1995

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

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THE GLUE

I DON’T KNOW THESE WOMEN; and yet, I do. I know them well. I was literally raised in church; enrolled in the “Cradle Roll Department” of the Brookside Baptist Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at just a few weeks of age. This picture was posted on Facebook by my friend Phillip Mitchell along with this comment: “These ladies were the glue that held the Ada Church of God In Christ together! Much love to them for all the prayers they sent up for us!”.

I say we are friends but I’ve yet to met Phillip face to face. I know him only by his work, his calling and his obvious commitment to youth and the arts—two of my highest priorities. And in this passion, he and I are kindred spirits.

I have been in many, many churches in my life and in every one of those churches, if it still has a heartbeat, there is a core of women who are THE GLUE. They hold it together through the “prayers they send up for us”, through their discipline, their discipleship and their determination.

My Dad was a Baptist pastor for most of my life. His mother, his wife and his sister, Betty were church glue too. Sometime back, Baptist leadership (men) decided it was time to proclaim a twisted version of the Bible that somehow made the role of women as subservient to men. This took on varying degress of craziness and application. It was an exercise in blindness as far as I could tell. Let me give you an example of what I mean.

One day, not to many years ago, my Aunt Betty Brady was visiting my parents home. We were there too. We were all crowded in the kitchen while the meal was being prepared. Something was said about trends in the Baptist church and the role of women. My Dad made a comment about how he could see where the view came from with a strict reading of Paul’s letters. I don’t remember his exact words, but I remember my Aunt Betty’s: “Oh, Brother, you know better than that!” And he did too. I never remember my Dad, after that day, commenting on the role of women except to maybe acknowledge that: “There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Galations 3:28.

Glue indeed! It seems like we’re geared to think of the pastor’s sermon on Sunday morning as being the pinnacle of the church’s being. Try sustaining a church that only had that. Even Billy Graham needed a choir. If you look deeply into the life of a church you’ll find music, fellowship—being together usually around the table, you’ll find Vacation Bible School, Sunday School, ministries to the shut-in, the poor, the grieving—meals taken to the home, funeral dinners, and just being present. Where would all of that be without the Glue?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that the only thing men are good for is changing the oil on the church bus. Sometimes I think it would be easier to pick new carpet for the sanctuary if the women weren’t in that business meeting, but I would hate to see that carpet.

I’m just saying: Phillip’s post helped me to remember the wonderful, beautiful women who have served and given and prayed, not for notoriety or a title, but because they seemed called to do it somehow. They seemed to understand the need for Glue. Now, more than ever.

Thank you to all of those women and to the women of the Ada Church of God in Christ. Please send up some prayers for us all.

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P.S.: I asked Phillip’s permission to share this. I wanted you to see his reply because it is rich with truth.

Dave,

Thank you for your very kind words of reassurance and your well wishes for our family. We are indeed well and offer our best wishes to you and yours as well.

One of the reasons that young people of today suffer…is because they don’t have the support system that you and I had. What is a support system? It’s the Glue!

The ladies that you see in that picture never hesitated to open the door to anyone who knocked. Many of them were single women, but you could still count on them to open their door, and extend their love to anyone they encountered. The men too in our neighborhood, never hesitated to show somebody else’s kid how to comb his hair, tie a tie, change his oil, or fix his lawn mower.

This is where I learned the importance of being a godmother or a godfather to kids who are not your own. On February 22nd at the Oklahoma history center, through the organization that you helped to start, P’Light Society Jazz Inc., I had the opportunity to present community awards to several individuals who have shown this magnificent trait!

I would like to send you more information and pictures as well as video of that incredible day. You certainly have our blessings on sharing the pictures from our humble beginnings!

Have a spectacular day my friend!

PMM

Remembering

“Everything changes and nothing remains still. You cannot step twice into the same stream.”

— Heraclitus

LAST AUTUMN, my Amazing-Missus and I attended her high school class reunion. I wrote a bit about it.

While at the reunion I was visiting with a lady who had been married to one of my schoolmates. As we visited I was struck with a spell of melancholy. For some reason I have no connections with anyone that I went to school with. It’s not that I didn’t have friends; maybe I’m just not a good cultivator, which is a little weird to me because a role I truly cherish is that of being a creative catalyst—one who brings creative people together in collaboration.

But then a pop on Facebook, the social media thing. Maybe you’ve heard of it, maybe you’ve been politically manipulated by it. A name I recognized was there on the FB, the name of a girl that I considered to be a friend in grade school, junior high and high school. Not a “girlfriend” though. Her sights were set much higher.

One thing lead to another and a few weeks ago, we met for lunch. Karla, Arlene and me. What a gift it was. She was able to tell me about many of our classmates. I felt reconnected somehow. And at the same time I realized that Heraclitus was right. You cannot step twice into the same stream. 

Karla told us there was a group of Trojan alum having a meet-up at the Methodist church if we wanted to stop by. So we did. We walked into the church and followed the signs to the Fellowship Hall. We could see through the open doors the group gathered. “This isn’t them”, I thought. “This is the church’s senior adult group.” And then it dawned on me. All these people other than me have aged, and come to find out, many are gone.

I dug out my old yearbook, from my junior year 1968, and scanned the pictures of my classmates, pausing on some to recall a memory or two. Some of these, I realized, I had sat in class with year after year and I knew very little about them. Missed opportunities no doubt.

The tradition back then, when the yearbooks were handed out at the end of the school year was to hand your book to others for them to sign. I read the entries in my book through a much older lens. For the most part, we didn’t look to far ahead: “Hope you have a great summer!” Some entries were nostalgic: “Well another year is behind us…” Some prophetic: “Stay just the way you are and you’ll go far,” words I’ve never seen on one of those motivational posters.

We didn’t know it at the time but things were simpler and yet they weren’t. 1968 is notorius for riots, protests, and culture quaking moments. But without the WWW, 24-hour news outlets, a strange innocence prevailed; or at least that’s the way I remember it.

On the 50th anniversary of my senior year, I wonder about the Senior Class of 2019. Are they having a good summer? Are they aware of the crap-storm in Washington D.C.? Do they care? Have the active-shooter drills at their school become as common place as the atomic bomb drills did for us? Is there a thread or two of innocence left? Is there someone writing words of encouragement on the flyleaf of their yearbook? 

If I could write a prelude of sorts in their yearbook, I might say something like this:

Make a new friend this year. Not one of those social media “friends”, but a real one, maybe one that is different from you: race-wise, sex-wise, faith-wise—you know, different. When you get together with your new friend, put away the phones and talk. Talk about the future, your fears, your faith.

Be creative. Make a contribution. Express gratitude. Do something that makes your palms sweaty. Pay attention—not just in class but to what is happening around you. Remember: “Everything changes and nothing remains still. You cannot step twice into the same stream.” — Heraclitus

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Just a note: I attended school at Jenks Public Schools through my Junior year, but transferred and graduated from Will Rogers High School in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

P.S.: Thank you Karla Newman Taber for being a friend.