Thank You Ryan Woods

Thursday Brotherhood

My friend Ryan Woods took a short cut today.  After spending his rich life generously, graciously and with much humor and honesty - He left.  Too soon for those that knew him even a little.  He raised the bar for the rest of us and kept the angels laughing and scratching their beards.  I will miss him and I am terribly sad for Jess and their kids but God is good and he will love them well.  

Ryan laid it all out.  He risked nearly everything.  I’d just say he risked it all but I don’t know him that well.  It sure seemed like it.  In doing so, he secured all that was important and left behind a whole passel of people who at the very least are curious and at most are following him while he follows Jesus.  

How To Be A Neighbor - Another Coffee Metaphor

Coffee that truly represents the farmer’s intentions goes through a careful, intentional process.  You may have seen stickers about direct trade on bags of beans (they are actually cleaned, dried and roasted cherry pits).  The claims these stickers are making refer mostly to treatment of the laborers that harvest and process coffee.  Most of the coffee growing, harvesting and processing... process takes place in parts of the world where employees are not required to pay good wages or offer working conditions that we here in our comfortable country would tolerate.  These are poor countries full of poor people.  The idea, particularly of direct trade is that the coffee buyers such as Stump Town Coffee work directly with the farmers to ensure both good pay and working conditions for laborers.  This is reflected in the cost of their coffee and absorbed by all the shops who serve it.  When you pay a bit more, you are sharing your wealth with those who worked to provide that hot, delicious cup.

There is however, another element of the harvesting process interesting to discuss as a thought provoking metaphor. 

How To Feel Jesus In Some Not-So-Simple Steps

It’s been a rough summer.  My allergies this year were weird.  I’ve had hay-fever since the summer of my fifteenth year - the year I worked at the Faulkenberg’s, stumbling under a five gallon pack of RoundUp and chopping thistles in the middle of yellow fields of hay.  My hay-fever normally manifests itself with watery, itchy eyes, violent sneezing and unexplainably large portions of uncontrollable mucus that end up spraying with the sneezes and nose blowing.  I’ve developed a skill with this that comes in handy during on runs and bike rides.  Plug a nostril, lean to the side while twisting my head and blow.  Usually snot is deposited where I intend. 

Ain't That Simple

It just ain’t that simple.  Life.  It’s complex.  Seriously, and I’m sorry about this, I know I often find some comfort in this effort, but - there really is no way to break life down into a few easy steps.  It’s not something we can wrap our brains around.  If I’m paying attention, really aware of all the different pieces of any experience, I can’t even wrap my head around one event.  In the end, even in the beginning, this is better.  Infinitely better.  Imagine if we really could understand – boredom would overwhelm us.

To illustrate complexity in a simple event, let’s take pounding a nail. 

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.

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.

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.