Why I Read

I do not read only to learn.  I do not read to gather facts and information – to hold them and at earliest opportunity, regurgitate.  I do not read or study to capture the world in my mind and define it.  It would be a perverse limitation and I am infinitely limited for the task.

Burn Barrel

His rescuer dragged 

blackened remnants

of last ditch effort 

to the barrel

and stood

with a charred stick

gripped absently.

She pushed down

and down again

into the heat

staring blank

and dry eyed

waiting

for the fire

to rebuild.

Cold Feet

feet on floor

Ah yes, I think I woke up.  At the very least, I can tell that the bottoms of my feet are colder than they should be if they are still ensconced under the covers.  Probably means they are resting on the concrete floor by my bed and I haven’t found my fluffy slippers yet.  I’m not sure this really qualifies as woke up, but it is a great comparison.  I spend so much time upright and moving without being attentive.  I notice this lack of awareness when I’m gently jolted into interest.  I’m embarrassed that I spend so much time like a zombie.  Just moving forward, concerned only with what I will consume next, unaware that what I consume does not nourish.  Why live as a zombie if I’m not dead?

What I'm doing

To friends, family, neighbors & people wondering why I spend so much time in coffee shops but still have calluses on my hands,

I recently accepted the role of Partnership Developer with Go Connect.  I am more excited about this opportunity than any other for many years.  It seems like much of my life has led me to and prepared me for this assignment. 

I am working with another local missionary, David Bilby, on a project called Neighbor LinkUp.  It is an interactive, Internet database that connects volunteers with the people and projects that need them.  Our mission is to fight against all forms of isolation, illness and poverty by connecting generations relationally to meet practical needs. 

Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Love your Neighbor, Drink Coffee!

If you like coffee and you love your neighbor - this is a great opportunity to combine the two!  Even if you don't like your neighbor you should buy the coffee just for yourself or for a Christmas present.  If you don't like coffee but you like your neighbor, buy the coffee for them.  If you don't like your neighbor or coffee... I don't know what to tell you.  You lead a very sad life.  Let's meet for coffee somewhere near your neighborhood and talk about it.

Fresh picked Guatemala coffee cherries

Engedi Café at US Digital is offering a unique and wonderful fundraising opportunity.  All the proceeds for the coffee they sell next week support Go Connect.  This is good because Go Connect does great things in the community.  It’s a really good deal –

If you buy one bean for $11.00 you get a whole pound for free!

All the proceeds from each bean you buy support Go Connect efforts like Compassion Vancouver and Neighbor LinkUp.  You can buy as many beans as you like, so stock up for the holidays!  There are several different roasts from BJ’s available.  Let’s see if we can sell 300 beans before the November 17^th deadline. 

Text or call me at 360-798-9989, comment or send me an email and I’ll make the arrangements. 

You can also come to my open house on Thursday the 17^th from 8 to 8.  Buy some beans, drink some coffee and find out more about Neighbor LinkUp. 

Not So Little Details

I am so thankful every once in a while.

It should be more often, but when I am, I do not worry about that.

Because I am busy being thankful.

I am lost in the ideas before

And after the thankful comes.

Details are generous interrupters,

Reminders and awakers of my imagination.

I trip over their slow toes

As they dance in measured steps

In time with a loud heartbeat.

The smell of an old car that has served well and been appreciated.

Kisses softly on my wife’s throat while she waits.

Giggling children who are old too fast reminding.

The neighborhood hawk watching still on the wire for breakfast.

Last few beans bumping through the grinder by my hand.

That Brandon and Lulu at Golden Tusk know my 35a with six stars.

Heat finally under the dash and up my pant legs on a cold morning.

Freshly cleaned spectacles, warm and clear on my crooked nose.

That’s eight.

Good Things for a Bad Person?

It is a scary place, this spinning speck of dirt caught between the tide of heaven and hell.  When my imagination brings some meaning to the information my brain is collecting, I am so relieved to know I am saved from the terror.  It’s scary to know I am so close and it is so easy, so regular to end up drifting in ignorance, rebellion and abject stupidity into the abyss. 

I am at odds with my base desires when I soften to the strong, quiet affections of Jesus.  But, oh, it is a worthy effort to let go and rest in them.

Top 5 things that make you a legit "runner" (besides running)

Running Alone - better or worse?

1.  Tell Injury Stories: 

a.  Find logical places runners congregate.  This can be nearly anywhere except buffet restaurants. 

b.  Look for shoes and race shirts.  

c.  Meander over and stand around in your running gear looking nonchalant.  If running gear is unavailable, try to look like you have a low heart rate and a high VO2 max. 

d.  When congregating occurs, blend in with group and nod sympathetically when they start telling training injury stories.  Don’t worry; you won’t have to wait long for this. 

e.  Now this is a critical move that requires preparation.  It may be best to practice in front of a mirror while recording on your iPod.  When a break comes, chuckle knowingly and launch into your injury story.  Word of caution, you must tell the story as if happened in the distant past.  Whether you say so or not, you must leave story-telling buddies with the impression that you healed and learned from your training mistakes and everything is now back to normal.  In fact you are stronger.  Do not expose current weakness – they are like jackals!  You will be de-legitimized faster than you can open a tube of Gu.

7 Great Sayings?

Consider well...

Just joking.  What I really think is that these are seven common sayings that could use a bit more consideration. 

It can be observed that, sometimes, these statements are not true.  In the great and wonderful created world we live in, someone set up some rules.  They are always true.  According to this logic, if something is true in part, it will be true as a whole.  If it is false in part, it is probably false as a whole.

Most of these statements are not rules, they are assumptions made regularly with less consideration than warranted.  Rather than ranting on my soapbox and incurring wrath for my overly dramatic treatments, I have a question to follow each.  Just consider them a bit.  Maybe they aren’t that obvious. 

Words R Drugs

Bendy Straw

In the midst of scintillating conversation with Mark and Brant at Compass Coffee this morning, the artistry demonstrated by Bryan as he poured life and caffeine into an Orange Ginger Americano captivated our active minds and shut our mouths.  Watching his delivery of said coffee craftsmanship into the not yet twitchy hands of a definitely not hipstery hippie type of patron.  Mark paused mid sentence and breathed with a subconscious sideways nod, “that guy’s a drug dealer.”

I responded as I watched, “Too bad he went into business.” 

Is FB Like Coffee?

My two favorite non-eternally significant arguments are over coffee and running.  People say to me, “I don’t like coffee,”  or they say, “I don’t like running.”My initial, knee jerk (emphasis on jerk although I think the phrase is really punny in context) is to say, “well, fine, I don’t like you.”  I realize this is just my insecurity showing itself and I can usually find other reasons to like people even with such glaring character flaws. 

Non-Profit?

My daughter asked me yesterday what to tell people when they ask, “what does your dad do?”  It’s not the first time she’s asked that.  It was an easy question for most of her life.  He’s a contractor… slot filled, box checked, identity neatly secured.  If I trained her right, and I did, her answer might even produce a lead for a job. 

For the last few years, no one really knows what I do.  Including me.  I have been busy enough.  I think I’ve avoided apathy entirely and hope I’ve dodged lazy and good-for-nothing.  It’s just that my answer to, “what do you want to be when you grow up,” has been inconveniently interrupted by the growing. 

Is FB Like Porn?

I’m having a change of mind.  I may be having a change of heart but it takes a bit longer.  This change of mind is in testing phase and my heart rarely gets totally involved with my mind unmade.  For all recent history, skepticism dominated my perspective on social media.  I’ve agreed with many that it fosters shallow, disconnected, voyeuristic communication.  It’s lazy.  Too easy to sit glassy eyed, surfing and commenting to be funny or interesting.  Too possible to replace real and risky with safe and anonymous, even secret.  I can watch the offerings of another supposed life and never be noticed by them, somehow, mysteriously included but never drawn in. 

It’s like porn. 

I Ran a Marathon

I ran a marathon.  Rather, it ran over me.  Why people volunteer for such torture, is difficult to explain.  I speak as one of the crazy people who did volunteer.  Though it produced some of the greatest physical discomfort I have ever endured, I would do it again.  I think I will do it again.  Maybe soon.  It hasn’t been that long (3 days) – I’m not ready to make any declarations.  I will do it again for many reasons.  It changed my life.  I will never again be a non-marathoner.  I will never wish I’d run a marathon.  I can stand in a group of skinny, tightly clothed people and nod knowingly.  I have a t-shirt.  Supposedly, we are the 1% (there were signs along the route that said “99% of the population can’t do this, you are the 1%).  I have my own stories of cramps, hills, other runners and murderous preparations.

Interestingly, and I heard this from runners around me on the course also, I don’t agree with the sign.

Shoe Armor

 It’s all about the shoes.  At least for me, this time, the shoes were the critical factor. 

I am a runner.  I am not a fair weather runner.  I am not a competitive runner.  I run to be outside, to pray, to live well, to think clearly and to know that I can run.  I catch myself, sometimes, watching my feet change places rhythmically - hypnotic forward momentum.  It’s amazing to watch my body adapt to longer faster distances.  I love country roads and the frogs croaking, crickets chirping while the trees turn dark against the wide color changing sky.  It makes me chuckle and holler with unbridled, happy energy. 

A while ago, I got a new pair of wrong shoes.

Internal Combustion 2

This is a grave and dangerous game I’m playing.  Trying again, taking on a project with hope that it will be more than it appears on the surface.  I am playing with gas – the risk of excess and failure – while smoking a fat cigar.  I’ve done things like this before and gone too far.  I’ve done them wrong and gotten carried away.  It is my adopted nature to receive a vision and run too fast with it.  Take it outside the bounds of its original intention.  To make it more risky, I’m involving other people, their hearts and healing.  But I know it can be done well.  I keep getting visions.  I can see fleeting pictures of transformation in my head.  I am reckless with my hope. 

Internal Combustion

My heart is damaged.  It is scarred by loss and disappointment.  The scars offer evidence of their presence with every beat in a complicated rhythmic pattern I have yet to keep time with.  I voluntarily gave some of what I’ve lost.  Some, less willingly, I either accepted or still resist.  I expect my off-beat tapping will improve with further acceptance.  My disappointment withers with the realization that what is replacing my losses is far more valuable to me, far more powerful and life giving than what I’ve given up.  This does not eliminate the scars or their pain, it makes them important, gives them a place of significance and hints to poetic lyrics being crafted into music.

Letter To Old Men

Dear Older Men,

We respectfully request the honor of your presence on the battlefield for our lives.  The tactics of the enemy are overwhelmingly successful.  It is evident that there is no longer hope for an immediate solution.  The enemy’s attack requires weaponry we are not sufficiently able to operate.  We are loosing this battle and many more will, according to the score of casualties, be lost by us.  It is now incumbent, upon those who are able and willing, to inspire the survivors and train the untested.  While this must be done with vigor and urgency, we believe it can only be done over time.  Please confirm.

Score Matters?

Monday Columbian sports page headline reads, “Score Is All That Matters.”  I call BS.  Since I have a BS degree, I can do this.  In the online version a less dramatic title headlined the article.  I like the print version better; it’s controversial, not just informative.  I think it comes from the journalistic confluence of art and fact.  The sports editor also wrote a commentative article entitled “Chance to Win Not Same As Ability To.”  I agree with these titles… in context.  But that’s important.  Truth spoken and agreed to out of context does more damage to faith and hope than any circumstance. 

Beginning Earl

A couple 40-something guys...

Earl

Yesterday, I began a partnership with a 38-year-old truck.  My daughter says he is an Earl.  It’s nearly as old as me.  My friend Brant discovered him after someone else found him languishing namelessly in a field, starved of fuel and rusting in the rain.  After working hard to be a benefit for his owner, who recently passed away, Earl found himself on the sidelines with muddy, flat feet and no where to go… Poor Earl.

Tastes Great, Less Filling

I used to work too much.  I still do every chance I get but I try to spread the chances out a bit more.  It’s an opportunity I’m taking advantage of since my 1.7 decade contracting business augured into the ground like a giant run-a-way drill bit drilling holes for pole building posts.  Why work hard when you can live off the benefits of investing your life in the system of entrepreneurial business ownership?  I’m not sure a question mark is appropriate at the end of a rhetorical, sarcastic comment. 

Head Too Small?

God never does the same thing over and over.  He tolerates us doing it, but I can’t find where he does it.  Maybe in some really macro galaxy way, but that doesn’t count.  He invents really weird things to.  And people.  I know some weird people.  It’s quite likely that someone else somewhere is saying that right now and in their head is a picture of me.  That’s ok.  I’m making a point and if that is happening, it helps me.  Here is my point:

We can’t figure anything out apart from God. 

There Will Always Be a Duck

My grandpa used to ask me, “What’s the difference between a duck?”  His bushy eyebrows would wiggle and his face would light up with the joy and mirth of this wonderfully terrible, incomprehensible joke.  I would say, “a duck and what?” with consternation and a hesitant contempt for this question.  I was never quite sure if I was missing something.  He always repeated the questions until I sighed, rolled my eyes and said, “I don’t know, what’s the difference between a duck?”  With fluent glee, he would nearly clap his hands and say,

A Moment Finally Came

A moment finally came, ending the anticipation and cleaving my old life away in a violent chop.  For months, dread grew within me, eating at my soul and generating an insatiable hunger.  The odor of this coming moment had stunk up the air around me as I struggled against the inevitable.  I kept busy producing checkmarks for the mundane.  I expended myself with heroic efforts to ward it off.  Sometimes it enveloped me at my desk or in my truck.  Even outside, slinging words through the phone in the clear fall air, it cascaded over me like a deluge of wet, sticky sludge and pooled in a chunky, rank pile of demise causing goo.  It immobilized me.

I Wish Tinker Bell was Real

I wish Tinker Bell was real. I wish I could squint my eyes really hard and clap my hands with joyful exuberance and she would wake up. I believe Tink, I believe! I’m doing it right now just to see what it feels like. The exuberance is a little muted because everyone else is asleep and I don’t want the dogs to start barking. This blog gets me in enough trouble already.

But wouldn’t that be nifty... if we could make things real and alive just by believing in them?

God Makes Me Suspicious

I am suspicious. I have morphed over the last few years into a bit of a cynic. Maybe even a skeptic. Those who have known me for a long time may still chuckle at this claim but I swear it’s true. I really don’t think everything will work out anymore.
But, that’s not how I’m using the word suspicious. I have found it to be useful in describing the way I relate to the cosmos swirling around me and the involvement of God causing certain of its elements to collide with my trajectory in seemingly intentional ways… quite often.

Quitter

Quitting.

Adequate if not ideal fodder for Monday morning considerations before stumbling from bed. Quitting that is. Quit the demanding and uncomfortable exercise program since it means I have to get up RIGHT NOW. Quit shaving, showering and perhaps brushing my teeth in the morning for the same reason. Quitting my job so I have more time for exercise and Facebook and then it doesn’t matter when I shower or what my breath smells like. For me, it’s not an issue of cavities – I’m genetically resistant and I eat a lot of spicy food. I’m safe. Its just halitosis I’m concerned with. If I stay in bed long enough, everyone leaves except the dogs and the smelly breath playing field is pretty level.

Mind vs. Heart

A little morning sonnet -

Dreary in morning, my mind is bothered
My good heart waits for clearing in the fog
And remembers strength of who I’m fathered
Thinking right barely drags me from the bog

Facing the day, behind unopened doors
Waiting to try and knowing I’m artless
Alone I live safely, inside and bored
What is the key to avoiding darkness?

Surrender must come to life that’s given
Efforts to win are lost without substance
Giving up offers the soul that is riven
The hope on the road that’s laden with chance

Broken heart healed is the only promise
Myself solved in mind is only heart-less



Some explanation -

This is a consideration of where the energy, drive and capacity for full life really come from.

Loosing Things

I’d like to introduce you to my duck. You may kick him if you like. You can step on, poke or yell at him. You can even pick him up and throw him against the wall. Don’t be surprised if he flies. I expect he will probably quack. In some cases he may bite you. If you pet him, you may become friends.
In any case, he’s my duck. See if you can make him quack.

People don’t loose things for “sharing their faith.” Christians loose things because we are like Christ.

Crappy World

I used to wake up late almost every morning. I would slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed and moan quietly but with vengeance at the cruel world, “crap.” Every day while I pulled strands of my mullet out of the crusty drool on my cheek I would complain about my sad life that was just starting that day.

Getting Up to Pee

I wake up earlier than I used to. It’s not because I’ve finally become disciplined, it’s because I have to pee, one of the joyful failings of middle age. My older friends smile condescendingly and say, “just wait” like I do to whiny teenagers. But everyone has a pain they must endure that seems a heavier burden than they can bear. Mine is undesirable pressure to rise early.

Carpentry with an Empty Head

I think I may be starting to feel better. Here and there, I find myself building things, small things with nothing in my head. Well, not nothing, just things bouncing around in there that should be in my head when I’m building something. Like where the mark (*crows foot) was in relationship to the mark on the tape, the line and where the inside edge of the carbide tip on the saw blade should hit.

Kingdom of Heaven - Matthew

Timeline:

Preaches repent
Invites disciples
Explains the kingdom of heaven
Speaks of cost to follow
Compares world to kingdom
Demonstrates justice, mercy & humility
Dies
Resurrects
Installs Holy Spirit
Opens eyes
Instigates church
Commissions us…


The Kingdom of Heaven is real. Jesus has invited us to it for now and later, not just later. It requires a complete change of approach to existence. This internal alteration with external evidence is possible only through trusting and relying on Jesus. It’s why so many people come to Christ or see their relationship with him redefined through impossibly tragic circumstances they cannot handle. The change effects every aspect of life: relationships, money, possessions, defining success, interpretation of all circumstances, what gets celebrated, how and where we live, everything.

I cannot hope to make this change without healing of my brokenness (instantly or over time). In fact, the healing and the change are the same process. This is not a matter of perspective, of figuring things out and thinking rightly. That is again sacrifice and burnt offering, rather than true mercy (Hosea 6:6) (loving God, others and myself), which can only come from the only pure source – He who created love. The healing is a death. As I let go of that which is damaged in me, my spirit comes alive by the entrance of the Spirit into those places I had been protecting. The new me comes more alive, the old me gets deader. I cannot follow a formula to make this happen. I cannot speed it up or control it in any way. Jesus alone is in charge of this process and he uses it for his kingdom as he sees fit. This is what my life on earth is for; for him, for coming fully alive. Becoming a full realization of his artwork in me. Reflecting the glory of God and taking unimaginable joy in knowing his love for me. Participating in the story he has written in the critical role he has made me for.

Jesus says, just as John did before him (Matt 3:2): “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.” (Matt 4:17) In essence, change the way you have been living your life because there is a new way, and this one works. He goes on to describe, illustrate, allegorize, exemplify and discuss this new Way with and for everyone who has eyes to see and ears to hear, including me and you. He in fact is The Way (John 14:6). He says the new way is not about what you do any more, but about what you are. This refers to statements made by prophets and is one of the themes Christ returns to repeatedly. He wants mercy and not sacrifice, acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings (Hosea 6:6). If we knew what that meant, we would understand what God wants for us and from us (Matt 9:13, 12:7,). For example, “You have heard it said, do not murder and do not commit adultery, but what really matters is that you do not hate or lust in your heart (Matt 5: 21-30). This is either a lot harder or a lot easier. As the story of the Old Testament illustrates well, if one could not successfully fulfill the law and thereby receive personal connection to God and eternal reward, then how is one supposed to not only fulfill the law but keep our heart and mind pure as well? This can only be possible if the new way is made possible by the Way. Jesus does it. He fulfills the law (Matt 5: 17).

After beginning to preach repentance and Kingdom of Heaven dynamics, he invited men to follow him (Matt 4: 19-22) and have the focus of their lives changed from seeking gain from the world to seeking gain for the kingdom. He says he will change them from fishermen to fishers of men. They follow and listen as he explains the new kind of kingdom to anyone who will listen.

5: 1 – 12 The Kingdom of Heaven is for the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek and those who yearn for righteousness. I suspect he spoke of those who not only wanted to be righteous but who wanted to see righteousness in the world. The kingdom of God is for the merciful, the pure in heart and the peacemakers and for those persecuted for being righteous. He, conspicuously, does not mention those who have big houses, triple humped camels, positions of authority, college degrees, successful businesses, lots of resources, chiseled and tanned features, obedient children and great marriages, ministries with large numbers, titles, or significant influence on important people. He speaks of the unnoticed and non-glorious. He does not say rich, successful, powerful, attractive people are bad (more on that later), he just does not use them as examples of the beneficiaries of his kingdom. The blessing belongs to those who do not receive blessing from this world. Even further, if I am one of the blessed in the Kingdom of Heaven and the world treats me bad, I should rejoice and be glad because my reward is even greater! So – bad in the world, is good in heaven, and the worse it is here, the better it is there.

13 – 16 Along with this paradigm shift comes Jesus’ specific instruction to be what he has made us to be. We are salt – so be flavorful. We are the light of the world – so we need to position ourselves where we can eliminate as much darkness as possible. This is not some great effort on our part, it is just being what God has made us to be by his design. There really is no room for twisting this into a suggestion to be applied in unusual or infrequent circumstances. He is saying that the difference between the world and us IS so significant that it is impossible not to notice. The only way it can be hidden is by our own intention. We actually have to try to be bland. We have to hold back our light. Unfortunately, the ingenious, insidious nature of fallen man, with great effort and much help from the enemy, has succeeded in this undertaking with enormous and tragic results. Even those of us who are the light mostly walk in darkness.

It is in the true meaning of all the known commandments; in a new understanding of them that this kingdom is described. It is a kingdom that is established in our hearts and has no boundaries except those we set up by holding back from God. Our participation in this kingdom changes the way we think of others and how we act in relationship to them. It no longer matters what is fair and just according to the world. We relate according to what is fair and just according to God. Since he is just, he asks that we trust him for fairness rather than seeking it out for ourselves. We are to make ourselves vulnerable to pain from this world, emulating his example. The sacrifice of ourselves, by the power of his love, according to true justice, is what draws the world to Jesus. Those whose hearts are soft towards God will recognize him in us and their desire for him will be unquenchable. The opportunity to participate in the process of drawing people into the kingdom is a fundamental reason for our existence. It is in the mundane, daily encounters, repeated over and over to make relationships, that this glory reveals itself. It cannot be reduced or packaged into a system or a strategy with time lines and boundaries. It comes from and is empowered and completed by God

Apparently, the kingdom he is ruling is not visible to the eyes in our head, audible to our ears, or noticeable to our noses, our tongues or the tips of our fingers. It is an invitation extended to that part of us which is eternal, our spirit, the most authentic and holy part of ourselves. He is inviting us to allow him to separate us from that which separates us from God, our flesh. All that has been ruined and broken is to be left behind.
It’s what he quotes from Isaiah 61 the first time he speaks in the temple (Luke 4: 18), “The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion- to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”
He sits down. Everyone is staring at him, expectantly… “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”
Do we suppose that he only meant the people in that room? Was he not speaking to all creation; time and space irrelevant?
He sends his disciples out with the same message “The kingdom of heaven is near” (Matt 10:7).
He preaches it in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:3-12). It is as if we have finally been given a chance, an opportunity we can take hold of. Since the departure from the Garden of Eden, there has been no way to come close to God, no way to return to where we were before the error of distrust and self-reliance.

The greatest commandment – Mark 12:28 – 34s

The kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of God are interchangeable. He allowed us our effort. He let us try it our own way. We followed the liar and lived in his kingdom, foolishly. We trusted in ourselves because the enemy told us we could. He neglected to tell us that just because we could didn’t mean we should. We have destroyed the creation, ruined it beyond our capacity to fix – including ourselves. God grew weary of our pain and our separateness from him because he wanted us as his bride. So he brought us back to his love by humbling himself and paying the just price (Micah 6:8) with his own pure, glorious, eternal life. He has now established his rule in our hearts. We can receive all that he has for us and be all he wants us to be by resisting no more. Giving up the fruit of this world, the rotten fruit, we can now pick up the ripe, satisfying, jewel like fruit of heaven.

There is more. There is and will always be, so much more…

Penny Rescue

Fuzzy black edges of his field of vision switched places back and forth. The diminutive, darting winged critters flew too fast through confusing scenes of toys, tools and topiary, blending and blurring past reflections of trees and vertical lines of window frames.
“Damn bird,” said he, “find a branch and sit.”
Muttering and sighing absently, Arthur moved uselessly to another window and pushed between the curtains. The yellow rumped warbler is a little rare in town but bayberry bushes in the thin soil of the park drew these adventurous few from the woods outside town. Hoping that fleeting glances would turn into a moment of study, he watched to see if a tiny twerp would just-sit-still on his bitty little butter butt. Losing it again for the umpteenth time, he scanned the sidewalk in front of the drug store on Main Street. From his third floor apartment windows, he could see every storefront, shrub, bench, tree and crack in the sidewalk from Fourth to Sixth Avenue and through the park to First Street.
Distracted scratching and odors of oldness marked dreary days endlessly repeating themselves while he watched out the window for… birds. Not rare necessarily but real, alive and out rather than in. Notes and sketches in bent cornered hardbound journals marked the adventures of his birds. Songs he whistled while he waited minded the musings he kept shallow, avoiding too much contemplation.
Through the ovalized view from his bird watching Bushnell’s, an unfolding scene on the street below distracted him from his aviary pursuit. On the sidewalk bench in front of Jersey’s Drug Store sat a sweet and scruffy little girl in a wrinkled yellow cotton dress and a left-footed cast. All of five years old, she watched intently as a slightly larger red headed boy in jean cut offs and a dirty white tee shirt scrabbled around the sewer grate by the curb. What was he doing?
The red-headed boy focused intently on his mission. So intent, he did not notice the fire truck that parked in the street a mere two blocks East. The little lame girl watched with a matching but hopeful intensity; not talking, just watching with a slight forward lean – trusting, worried, hoping.
Hopping around on all fours, he looked like a little monkey; quick, urgent movements and searching un-expectant glances at passers by. Even the cacophony of the siren blast from up the street could not deter his efforts for more than a glance. He flopped down on his front side in the street over the grill and reached between the steel bars of the grating in the curb. His feet stretched and twitched and his arm and shoulder disappeared into the hole.
Captivated and warbler rump fully forgotten, Arthur’s breathing slowed while he watched. Much more alive than birds, this boy and his mission deserved some attention. Why was he wallowing in the street? The girl called out something, a question, but the boy’s answer was lost in the dark. Finally, he squeezed out and propped himself on skinny knees. He then fell to vigorously scratching his head with both hands. Hands clasped behind his head, chin on his chest, he stilled in a prayer like posture.
He raised his head, looked at the girl and began to slowly lift his shoulders and arms in defeat. In mid shrug, he suddenly jumped up and scampered across the sidewalk, nearly crashing with a brisk woman in a matching plum colored skirt, jacket and hat. Fashion lady reached out and steadied her tippy high-heeled ensemble but continued on, just like all the other adults, oblivious through their drama. Waving arms animatedly, the boy gestured back toward the sewer grate while he explained a new strategy. She watched him, spoke quietly and reached up to untie the ribbon in her hair. Next she leaned forward and spit her gum into his outstretched, grimy hand. Jittery on his feet, he took both and turned back to his battlefield. He froze mid turn as he saw and realized the catastrophe happing up the street.
Arthur swung his binoculars and took in the impending disaster. A fire cadet held up traffic as a slow holder while his partners opened the fire hydrant in front of the consignment shop. Surrounding kids hopped up and down in anticipation of cold water as relief on a hot August day. A look of terror transformed the boy’s freckled face into wide eyes and clenched teeth. He rushed to the grate and bent to his task. Knotting the end of the ribbon, he stuck the sticky gum to it and tested its adherence by bouncing it a bit, away from the sewer grate. It stuck tight.
Fireman wrestled with the hydrant while Arthur wrestled with his hesitation. Finally, consumed by curiosity and compassion, he hustled determinedly to the hall closet, grabbed an armload of towels and headed out the door. Down two flights of stairs on wobbly joints, he emerged on the scene from across the street.
Walking gingerly to the boys side, he asked, “Did you lose something important down there?”
Intensely focused, the boy said without looking up, “Ain’t lost, just dropped.”
“What’s dropped?” Arthur asked.
“Penny” said the boy.
“A penny?” Arthur repeated with a hint of incredulity.
“Mhmm.” Says the boy with his forehead pressed against the steel bars.
“Hmm.” Says Arthur standing there with an armload of towels.
Not knowing quite what to do, Arthur turns toward the firemen and jerks like he’d been shocked. Just at that moment, they had successfully uncorked the hydrant. Water and children were streaming into the street accompanied by spraying mist and gleeful screams. In moments, water would be rushing down the street to the site of the dropped penny.
“Hurry up boy!” Arthur bellowed too loudly, “hurry up, it’s comin’!
“I got it, I got it!” Chirped the boy as he started to push himself up with one hand.
The messy haired girl in the cast clapped and squealed, “Yay Jimmy, yay, yay, yay! Jimmy’s the best bruver in the worl…”
Cut off, mid-sentence, Arthur saw her crestfallen face and turned to a horrified Jimmy holding the end of a ribbon attached to a dirty piece of gum and no penny.
“It fell off.” Jimmy said in a flat, clenched voice.
He turned and looked up the street. Water was cresting at the outskirts of the gushing, splashing torrent and moving toward the edges of the road. He looked up at Arthur and his towels and dove back to the sewer grate with his ribbon.
The girl bounced on her bench and Arthur bent to the task of dam building. He stacked the towels against the curb a few feet from the sewer grate, right behind Jimmy’s feet. A tenuous blockade against hundreds of gallons; the towels alone would not provide enough resistance to the weight of rushing water.
“This’ll never work,” he muttered with his hands on his hips.
Arthur watched it come. He stared it down as it gained on the helpless situation. The girl leaned forward and Jimmy was silent with concentration as his effort took on a strained panic.
Standing on the sidewalk, Arthur knew his towels would be swept away. The water was less than fifty feet. Jimmy was still face down with his cheek pressed to the grate and his right hand repeating a careful, methodical raising, then lowering of his gum and ribbon crane. Looking back and forth, Arthur sat down in the street on the other side of the towels with his back against the curb. He looked at the wide-eyed girl. They stared meaningfully at each other. He stared at Jimmy. Jimmy paused and turned his head just a little to see Arthur and his towels in defensive positions. A grim look of determination crept quickly into his eyes as he turned them again to his task.
Time slowed. Noise quieted. An intense stillness overtook Arthur and the girl as they watch Jimmy. He stiffened and paused imperceptibly, ribbon slack. He wiggled it gently and then lifted. His whole body tensed with controlled effort as, slowly, slowly he drew the ribbon up through the steel grate. A low wall of water crashed against Arthur’s hips and outstretched legs. He bent to hold the outermost towels down against the asphalt while water surrounded him. The torrent splashed against, over and around him, instantly saturating the towels. Drops and spray hung suspended in the hot air. Only moments and the resistance would be overcome. The ribbon grew longer as it emerged from the sewer. At the confluence of hydrant water and storm sewer, Jimmy stilled for just a minute, eternal moment, then, right arm extended up over his head, he grabbed gum and penny with his left hand and rolled away from the grate. Water erupted around Jimmy and Arthur, both laying in the street, thrashing about in four legged, four armed exuberance.
“Yeeehoooo,” Jimmy yelled shrilly at the top of his lungs, “I got it, I got it, I got it!”
“Yay Jimmy, yippee, yay, yay, yay!” Squealed the girl again and again, waving her arms and wriggling on her bench.
Arthur laughed and sputtered mirthfully, “Good work Jimmy. Well done, very well done!”
Jimmy and Arthur hauled themselves out of the street. Authur retrieved his sodden towels before they were swept down the drain. Jimmy clutched the rescued penny and gave the ribbon back to the girl. For a moment, they stood in shocked, happy disbelief.
Jimmy looked up at Arthur, “Thanks mister,” he said. Then he turned and walked into the drug store.
Arthur, dripping heavily, walked slowly and stiffly over to the bench and looked down at the little happy girl. “Hi, I’m Arthur, what’s your name?”
“Claudia,” said the girl with a shy smile while she twisted the ribbon.
“What happened to your leg, Claudia?” Arthur asked.
“I hurt it trying to ride Jimmy’s bike,” said Claudia with a pouty frown and an adorably impertinent drop of her chin to her chest.
“What was so important about that penny?” Arthur asked.
Before she could answer, Jimmy emerged from the store with a YooHoo and two straws in his hand. “Claud loves YooHoos,” he said proudly, “and we didn’t have enough without that penny.”
Arthur smiled with his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Every little bit counts,” he said.

Why I Like to Make Good Coffee - Mutterings about Art and the Journey

On occasion, I have been called a coffee snob. I expect, I would be snubbed by most “true” coffee snobs, but I cannot deny the appropriateness of teasing me about my persnickitiness. I don’t mind the moniker, true or not. Honestly, those who opinionatedly believe that putting time and effort into the minute details of a warm, dark and aromatic cup of coffee is kooky, are just missing a bit of perspective. A slight tilt of the head and things look much different. You may not like the kind of coffee I like but to say that trying to make good coffee is too much work just can’t be an absolute truth.
Preparing great coffee is like art or music, woodworking, quilting, fishing, flying, four wheeling or gardening. Anything that produces and end result considered worth the effort begs attention to the process. So the first real question is, is it worth the effort? And that is a totally subjective question. For example, if your only measurement is Taco Bell, don’t tell me you don’t like tacos. It would be a mistake to make a unilateral decision about the enjoyment of flying if all you ever tried was flapping your arms. You can’t appreciate the full impact of art by going to a pre-school open house. To judge something, you have to experience it in a way that honors the intention behind it.
It’s been often said, though rarely followed that, it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts. Perhaps both matter equally, even if you don’t know what the end is or exactly where you are in the journey. Limited as broken people without a clear view of the future, how can we expect to fully understand the implications of any of our circumstances or what is coming? What remains is the security of trusting that there is hope for both the past and the future. We are to live in the present in the most authentic way possible, as creatures who owe the glory we have. We owe it to the farmers, harvesters, mucilage strippers and roasters who came before and the fellow aficionados who will come after (metaphorically speaking).
If the journey and the end both matter and we are not in control of either, then it follows that the fullest enjoyment of every moment is really, really important. It is each moment that the rest are built on. This, in the back of my mind, is why the art and ritual of coffee making brings so much satisfaction. It is why a successful attempt introduced happily to lips, tongue and throat makes me want to share. I have, for a moment, connected with beauty, power, joy…even, eternity.
Taking an extra couple of minutes to put forth a prize deserving effort really isn’t much compared to the years Michelangelo spent on his back in chapel or covered with David’s dust. But it is a little, tiny bit like it. I wish it were more. I wish I could see the significance of each action of my life as the part of eternity that it actually is. Until then, I will try with all that I imagine to be as much of what I was made to be for every moment. Forgive me for my failure. Grace to all of us. Glory is coming.