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The Blame Game

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Not a single dime more!” I said it one more time for emphasis and slammed down the telephone. Looking up, I saw the Lovely Lady gazing back at me with a look of sympathy on her face, but no…it wasn’t sympathy; it was more like worry. “Your blood pressure…” she said quietly. She was right. My heart was pounding, my palms sweaty, and I could feel the vein in my neck pulsing forcefully. As soon as I had a chance, I found a place to sit for a few moments and calm my screaming spirit. My body functions soon followed suit, but the anger took a little longer to subside.
I guess you probably need a little more of the story to sate your curiosity, don’t you? It’s not everyday that this guy talks to strangers with such force and emotion. Oh, I’ve had my share of these little talks with “customer service representatives”, but I work to keep the angry words to a minimum. Those kind of words don’t pay off, either for me, or for helping to sweet talk the person on the other end of the line.
The Lovely Lady had placed the invoice in front of me purposefully, earlier in the day. “Did you order this?” she inquired innocently. I looked at the item and immediately answered, “No, I did not!” Then I remembered. The suave young man had called, letting me know that he worked for the company from which I normally purchased some of our print advertising. We chatted for awhile and then he asked me if I wanted to renew my ad. I did. Except, it turns out that he meant renew it in a different media. I never caught on to what I was buying until it was too late; the verbal contract was recorded, and the grace period of three days (during which I could have backed out) was past. Now, the Lovely Lady was looking at me and holding a bill for $900.
Nine hundred dollars! I don’t have that amount of spare cash to waste on Internet advertising! I immediately called the company, begging and cajoling anyone who would talk with me. They were adamant. The grace period was past; there was no backing out. I grew more and more angry, although I did control my temper outwardly. There was no shouting, I didn’t say any words that I would be embarrassed to say in front of my mother. But I verbally unloaded on the hapless supervisor to whom I had eventually been handed off. It was to no avail. I fumed for the rest of the evening. The Lovely Lady stayed out of my way.
Late last night, as I sat, my imagination toying with different scenarios for a) getting out of the contract, and b)paying back those stubborn imbeciles, I realized something. I wasn’t really angry at the advertising company. I wasn’t really angry at their customer service rep, nor even at her supervisor. Oh, I’m still convinced that their business model is fatally flawed, but that’s not the point anymore. I was angry at ME!
I didn’t pay attention to the words the salesman said. I didn’t look at the written contract when it was delivered. On both occasions, I believed that I was fully aware of what I had done. There was no reason to second guess myself, no reason to suspect that I was in error at all. Why? Well, as anyone can tell you, I never make mistakes! I am infallible, knowing all, and seeing every attempt made to fool me. Well, that’s frequently my attitude anyway. Despite my numerous failures, and clumsiness at this game of life, I constantly imagine myself to be bulletproof. But it seems that each time I think I am standing firm, the ground beneath my feet begins to quiver anew, with today’s earthquake reminding me, sometimes in the most devastating of ways, that I am merely a man after all.
I was angry at me. But, I took it out on a convenient secondary target. I could rationalize that. It was they, after all who wouldn’t grant me a pardon, wouldn’t reduce the sentence for my stupidity. It was all their fault. My finger, instead of pointing to the idiot who actually messed up, pointed straight and accusingly at the ones who wouldn’t release me from the wages of my error.
You do see where this is headed, don’t you? Oh, we could beat around the bush and talk about different generations who blame their troubles on the one prior. We could waste time castigating classes of people who blame others more well off than they for their poverty. But, that would be missing the point, wouldn’t it?
Until we take responsibility for our own failures, our own shortcomings, our own sins, we are simply making noises into the wind, wasting our time and breath, accomplishing nothing. Until we are ready to say the words, and mean them, we will stay, frozen in place at the point of our error. My fault…I confess…I repent…I was wrong. They are not words of weakness, but of strength. They are not words that impair, but that heal. There is One who stands ready to release us from the prison of our sin. His “grace period” never expires. But, as long as we blame races, and classes, and powers, and Him, we make the choice to stay in a prison of our own making.
Do you remember the little game we played when we were kids? We called it “Who Stole The Cookie”, but it could have been called “The Blame Game”. (Accuser)“Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar? Johnny stole the cookie from the cookie jar.” (Johnny) “Who me” (Accuser) “Yes, you!” (Johnny) “Couldn’t be!” (Accuser) “Then who?” At this point, Johnny becomes the accuser and inserts someone else’s name in the little line of doggerel and the game goes on, and on, and on, and….Well, you get the picture. Did you ever stop to think about this? If one person–just one, were to say in reply, “Yes, It was me,” the game would be over instantly.
Do you think it’s time to break out of the pattern? Time to open up the prison doors? Time to stop the blame game? Confession is good for the soul. And, it hurts a lot less than you might think.
On a related thought, I’ll be paying for my stupidity for a few months to come. I’m going to remember who was responsible every time that check is written. Some of us learn more slowly than others…
Mea Culpa.
“Therefore, make it your habit to confess your sins to one another and to pray for one another, so that you may be healed.”
(James 5:16a~ISV)
“No one ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.”
(Alfred Montapert~American motivational speaker)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Wrong Number?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

When the stock order arrived at the music store yesterday, the Lovely Lady assigned me a task, explaining that she didn’t speak Spanish. While my mastery of “Spanglish”, (or what we used to call “Tex-Mex”) hardly qualifies me as bilingual, I was game to make the phone call she wanted to dodge. The gentleman had asked us to acquire a guiro (an ethnic rhythm instrument) for him, and she was remembering the difficulty he had with our language. After a moment or two of teasing her about being such a “Gringo”, I acquiesced (as she knew I would) and made the call.
The first voice on the telephone was that of a child, who spoke English without any hesitation. I asked to speak with “Ronald” and was told to wait, which I did. I could hear questions being asked in the background and even a little shouting, but I assumed that the family was trying to get the man’s attention. Then the phone went dead. I waited, wondering what was going on, and suddenly I heard ambient noise again, indicating that we still had a connection. In a moment, there was a man’s voice saying, “Bueno”, the customary telephone greeting among many Spanish speaking folks. Again, I asked for “Ronald” and was told in broken English that he was at work. Disappointed, I explained who I was and the name of my company, hoping to leave a message. Immediately, the man laughed and said, “Is me, Ronald.” Relieved, I delivered the news that his order had arrived, said goodby and hung up.
I have to wonder…What would make a person claim to not be who they are? Why would you tell someone that you are “gone to work”? The imaginative brain springs into action quickly, with an amazing array of possibilities. I won’t insist on any of them, but you may pick your own favorite. I’m trying to imagine a life where you are afraid to speak to someone on the telephone without first making them believe that you are someone else. Is the man hiding from someone? Has he been threatened? Maybe he’s on the most-wanted list and just wants to keep a step ahead of the FBI. Perhaps, it is nothing more than a fear of bill-collectors catching up to him. Regardless, “Ronald” feels the need to hide who he is from people he doesn’t know.
I do know one man who has his wife tell pesky salespeople that he is busy with customers, but that’s not quite the same thing. Come to think of it, that same man hangs up when he realizes that a call he has just answered is from a so-called robot caller, the call initiated by a computer, but quickly assumed by a salesperson when the phone is picked up. He says that he won’t talk to robots (or to their salespeople). If you call this guy, you need to speak quickly, or he may hang up on you, too! Again, not quite the same thing as telling someone that you are not the person you really are.
I am exaggerating the importance of the event, no doubt. It does lead to speculation though, as well as application. You knew the application would come, did you not? I cannot think of this poor man and his need to hide without also considering my own perceived need to hide. You may also realize that you have a propensity to hide from people, too. It is, after all, a time honored practice. Adam and his own Lovely Lady, in the garden, couldn’t stand the thought of their Creator knowing who they really were after their disobedience. They tried to hide from the One who had made them with flimsy coverings and empty excuses.
In my place of business the other day, a friend asked me if there was anything he could pray about for me. Realizing that he meant to pray right then and there, I quickly let him know that I was doing just fine. I wasn’t. I’m not. But if you ask me, I’ll tell you that the needy Paul, the sick Paul, is somewhere else. 
With bravado and swagger, we stand tall on the outside, all the while, wilting on the inside. I am terrified to let you know who I really am, to admit that the real me needs your prayer, your support. And, I will lie to you to keep the facade in place. “Paul’s doing just fine. Nothing to see here. Move on.”
Perhaps it’s time for us to let down our guard. We may find that a few people are shocked by who we really are, having been fooled by our act for a very long time. So be it. We may even find that some we think are friends will desert us. That would be sad. But, it will be sadder still if we never open up and admit who we have become. If we cannot be honest with the ones we know and love, how will we ever be honest with the world we seek to serve? Our deception not only acts as a shield to keep prying eyes from seeing in, it keeps us from seeing out, from understanding when others are in dire straits and needing our aid.
And, once again, I have preached my way through a weighty subject I never expected to broach. My apologies. You come for the stories and instead find a sermon. It’s funny, but life actually works that way too, doesn’t it? The events we encounter often lead us to truths we cannot avoid. Maybe, it’s time for me to shut up and let them lead instead.
I will make you a promise, though. If you give me a call sometime, I’ll let you talk to the real me. Unless, of course, you don’t start talking right away when I answer. 
I don’t talk to robots.
“Integrity is telling myself the truth. And honesty is telling the truth to other people.”
(Spencer Johnson~American author & motivational speaker)
“So stop telling lies. Let us tell our neighbors the truth, for we are all parts of the same body.”
(Ephesians 4:25~NLT)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Nail-Down Model

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The loquacious businessman is full of stories.  Some of them are just that–stories.  I mean the kind of stories we would call fibs or, if you prefer, lies.  He has a lifetime supply of these stories and doesn’t need an invitation to begin one at any time.  I know.  I’ve endured the tedium of any number of them over the years.  That said, some of his stories are worth remembering.  One in particular comes to mind tonight.  At least, a phrase from the story comes to my mind.  The details themselves are lost in the mist of the years that have passed since he first told me the story. 

The man sold appliances for a national chain of stores at one time.  He tells of learning the ropes in selling from a master, and it is obvious from his success as a businessman later in life that he learned his lessons well.  Now, regarding the phrase I recall, it seems that frequently, the chain of stores for which he worked would run advertised specials on their appliances.  When they did, the word would come down from management that a certain model of washing machine, or stove, or refrigerator was their “nail-down model”.  At first, I assumed that it meant that they would nail down the sale with this model which was priced very attractively, but that was not the case.  “Nail-down model” meant, very simply, that this model was never to move from the showroom floor.  It was not, under any circumstances, to be sold to a customer.  Any customer who came in waving the ad and desiring to buy this bargain was to be upsold to a better model.  He claimed that the sales people were threatened with losing their job if they actually allowed a customer to buy the “nail-down model” during the sale.  We know this tactic today, as “bait & switch”.  It is understood to be illegal, and theoretically, a thing of the past.  I wonder.

I realized the other day, that I have a nail-down item in my store.  A few weeks ago, a gentleman came in with a very small, vintage-looking case under his arm.  He wanted to know if I could tell him anything about the instrument contained therein.  I could and did, but not before I became very interested myself in the instrument.  It was an old ukulele which had been made in the 1960s.  As it happens, the instrument was identical to the one on which I learned to play the uke.  Mrs. Jones, our grade school music teacher, had offered to teach any student who would come a couple of days a week, before the school day began, how to play the instrument.  It was a popular instrument back in the sixties and my brother and I convinced our parents that this was an essential purchase.  I don’t remember learning anything except three chords, but the memory of acquiring that instrument and carrying it to school for special lessons with Mrs. Jones is one of those that I treasure, all these years later. As I examined the man’s vintage instrument, I had to have it!  He reluctantly gave me a number that was well above the going price for these old instruments, but I wasn’t in the mood to let it walk out the door. I paid his price.  The instrument is in a display case in my music store now.

It’s not for sale.  There may be those who will accuse me of a bait and switch scheme of my own, since customers are more likely to see this instrument first upon entering the store, before seeing the ukes that are for sale hanging on the wall further back.  I have directed several of them to the ones hanging on the wall, after they have inquired about this one.  Since there is no advertising campaign which has brought them in to see the old uke, there will be no claim of a scam, but a number of them have complained that it is not fair for me to display an instrument which they cannot buy.  It’s still not for sale.

It would seem that there are different reasons for having items of which we cannot turn loose.  Perhaps, like the low-priced appliance, we would not make enough profit if we did.  Maybe, like my ukulele, there are memories tied up in it.  It could even be that we have acquired things which are so much a part of us that we wouldn’t even think of letting them go, but we really don’t know why.  There is nothing wrong with placing value in things, but I wonder sometimes, if we’re actually too attached to them.

I’m curious to know if you have any nail-down things in your personal life.  You know…that jacket that you’ve had since you were a teenager, perhaps that heirloom that Aunt Susie left to you; maybe your nail-down is even something in your mind which you can’t let go of.  Someone was unkind and you’ll never forget (or forgive) them.  You were bullied as a child and you hold onto the memory of that as an excuse for all the bad things that have happened since then.  The possibilities are endless.  There may be some things we would even describe as good, but which we hold onto tightly, lest they slip out of our grip.

I remember a few years ago, after my Grandma died…my father gave me something to keep as a memory of her.  The old sugar jar has no monetary value; it could never be sold to pay the mortgage.  It has however, been in my family for four generations now.  My great-grandmother used it to keep her sugar in, my grandmother did the same, and my father also did for a short time.  Now it sits in our kitchen, easily holding the bags of sugar, greatly reduced in size since the huge ones of the early and mid-twentieth century.  My father left me with one instruction, which I will never forget, regarding this family “heirloom”.  “If you ever get to thinking that this is something important and start to place too much value on it because of your family history, I want you to promise me something.”  Of course, I wondered what he was getting at, and told him so.  He continued, “I want you to take a hammer and hit it as hard as you can, right on the side, about here…”  These last words were said as he indicated a spot in the center of the huge glass jar.  I got the message.  This is not a nail-down model.  There is no reason to get my heart set on this piece of glass, with its metal lid and ancient homemade handle.

So, what do you say?  Are you ready to get rid of some of those nail-down items that have taken over your life?  Find the hammer and do it!  It won’t be easy.  It might even seem like saying goodbye to some old friends.  But, when our lives are ruled by things, and memories, and habits, we are indeed prisoners.  It’s time to break down some bars!

The ukulele will probably move some day, too.  Now, if only I can figure out a way to sell it for as much as the greatly inflated price I actually paid for it!

“Set your affection on things above, not on things on this earth.”
(Colossians 3:2)

“One who cannot cast aside a treasure at need is in fetters.”
(From “Lord Of The Rings” by J.R.R.Tolkien~English Author~1892-1973)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Strings Attached

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The note on the outside of the envelope informed anyone who cared to pay attention that, “Tampering is prohibited, under penalty of Federal Law.” I looked at the advertising piece, definitely not something I had requested, and started to toss it away without even giving it a perfunctory perusal. Hesitating, I considered the blurb promising severe penalties ranging from a huge fine to ten years in jail and decided that perhaps I should see what was contained in this piece of mail that these folks were so intent on protecting.

Interesting. The instructions for opening the mail piece appeared to the same as many checks which I have received from various sources. “Tear along each side. Then remove the top tab.” The corners of my mouth twitch as I am taken (momentarily) back to my childhood and once again am hearing the voice of Mr. Olsen telling of the two ants running at breakneck speed along the top of the cracker package. As the story-teller begins to giggle, he informs us that one of the ants asks the other why they are hurrying so and the breathless reply comes, “Well, it says to tear along the dotted line!” As I return to the here-and-now, I suppress a little giggle myself and check to be sure there are no ants on the envelope before following the directions. In no time at all, I am reading the words that tell me that, due to my diligence in keeping my nose clean, I have been approved to receive a small business loan of up to two hundred thousand dollars! I was nearly successful with the giggle, but couldn’t suppress the guffaw that escaped my open mouth at reading this.

Again my hand made a motion toward the circular file nearby and again, something stopped me. I lifted the page which explained the stellar reputation my business has earned that made me eligible for such an offer. Under the first page, as if to give a pledge of good faith, I saw it–a check for forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and eighty-five dollars! It appeared to be a legal tender check, right down to the endorsement section on the back. I could take this check to the bank! Nearly fifty thousand dollars could be mine today! With just a stroke of the pen (and believe you me, that’s how my messy signature would appear to your eyes), I could have all that money in my bank account, ready to use for whatever purpose I desired!

You do know, of course, what I promptly did with the check, do you not? Yes, that’s exactly what I did. I tore it into little bits and dropped it into the trash can. It is virtually the same thing I did with the perky young thing who called me the other day offering an “extremely low-interest loan”. I returned a polite “no thank you”, but she insisted on asking how I could refuse such a good deal. I asked the young lady if they would expect me to pay the money back. She replied that they would indeed. As I hung up, I told her that I had no intention of paying back such a loan and consequently would not be accepting her kind offer. With the click of the phone, the tatters of her sales pitch floated into the imaginary trash can, much as the very real ones had done in front of me as I tore up the check..

Pay the piper. Strings attached. Quid pro quo. These are all terms we use that indicate an obligation incurred because of something received. The offer of easy money is always followed by the demand for hard payment. All too often, I have fallen for the gimmick instantly, only to repent over time. It is likely that you are nodding your head contemplatively, as you read this. You too, have succumbed to the siren call of easy credit, of fast cash, or of instant gratification. The problem with all of them is that the day comes when the piper who played the beautiful music that lulled you into acquiescence demands to be paid for the dance.

In this season of political rhetoric, I know that some could wish that I would draw the parallels to our government (and there are parallels), but for tonight, I have loftier goals.

I want to draw your attention to an anomaly in the law of quid pro quo (literally, “this for that”). I want to remind you of the one Piper who has no demands to make for the dance. To my knowledge, only once in human history has such an offer been made (and meant). The music of Grace is sweet and beautiful. It calls to us with no strings attached, no demand of payment to be made at a future date. There is a price for this music, terribly high, but it was paid long ago, by the very One who now plays the tune for us.

Many will refuse to dance, entranced by the music to which they are already marching, all the while knowing that one day they will be dunned for the pleasure at a cost far beyond what they can afford. Once in awhile, they listen momentarily to the Piper’s music, acknowledging its beauty but, believing that the cost is more than they can pay, they march on. The day of reckoning will be a sad one, but make no mistake; it will come.

As we walk through life, I trust that you will have the wisdom to avoid the pitfalls of shady offers and easy money. How much simpler it is to toss the worthless paper into the trash now than it would be to obligate yourself for years to come.

But, when it comes to the choice of marching to the drum beat of the world’s taskmasters, or dancing to the music of Grace…

I hope you’ll dance.

“Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance.
And when you get the choice to sit it out, or dance
I hope you dance.
I hope you dance.”
(“I Hope You Dance”~American Country song written by Mark Sanders & Tia Sillers)

“Ho! every one that is thirsty in spirit,
Ho! every one that is weary and sad;
Come to the fountain, there’s fullness in Jesus,
All that you’re longing for: come and be glad!”
(Lucy J Meyer~American educator/songwriter~1849-1922)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Cooling My Heels

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Well, you can just sit there and cool your heels for a little while!”  My brother and I had been caught in some misdemeanor again, so Mom pulled out another of her little obscure phrases and tried it on us.  “Cool your heels?  What does that mean?”  The words were spoken as an aside to my brother, so as not to poke the already buzzing hornet’s nest again.  The intent failed.  “You just sit there and keep still!”  thundered the weary lady, already well past the limit of her patience for the day.  We kept still.

I really hadn’t thought about that phrase again until the other day as I walked out to the back yard where a couple of my grandchildren were sitting on the park bench.  I approached from the rear, so they were unaware of my presence.  I heard their little voices talking with each other about some mundane subject which I don’t remember.  What I do remember is the four little feet swinging in the air.  As they sat, unworried by the passing of time, they “cooled their heels” and enjoyed life.  Hey!  This is one of those AHA! moments, isn’t it?  Almost fifty years later, I finally get it!  But, these kids have a much better way to wait than my brother and I.  We sat angrily, awaiting the words that would set us free from our prison.  There was no carefree, happy-go-lucky air to our countenance.  We couldn’t wait to get up off the seats we were on and back into trouble again.  I think that I like their waiting better than mine.  Now that I consider it, I still wait with a case of the grumpies.  Rather than taking advantage of the momentary respite to consider the joys of life and to count my blessings, I tend to count the passing seconds as wasted time, never to be recaptured, muttering under my breath the whole time.

Many of us are not good at filling the “in between” times, the periods in our lives when we don’t have a clear directive.  We call it “marking time”, “passing time”, or even “treading water”.  They’re not encouraging descriptions, the last even implying that we’re in the throes of a drowning incident.  It all reminds me of the British sit-com entitled “Waiting For God”, which the Lovely Lady and I watch periodically.  As you might expect, the story is about old people, no longer of any use to society, who are just passing time, waiting to die.  What an empty and sad concept!  I have to admit that the idea is not entirely foreign to us in this country either.  Many of our aged parents and grandparents sit in wheel chairs at nursing homes, with nothing at all to fill the time except to stare at television screens and wait for mealtimes.

I do know one lady who is the exception to that rule.  The Lovely Lady’s mother is now in her eighties, having suffered from crippling rheumatoid arthritis for close to forty years of her adult life.  But this is one lady who is not passing time.  Even with her misshapen, contorted hands, she plays the piano daily.  Frequently, she plays for song services in the lobby of the home where she resides.  She writes letters to friends and family; her scrawled missives, although becoming harder to read, a testament to her devotion to others.  An avid reader all of her life, she continues that practice daily.  Most evenings find her with one or more family members in her room playing a couple games of Scrabble, at which she remains quite formidable (I won’t even attempt a match!).  She’s ready for God, but she’s certainly not waiting for Him.

I’m reminded of playing music many times over the years with different bands and ensembles, mostly in the classical genre.  Frequently, the director of the group will call our attention to the last note in a piece, reminding us that it’s a grave mistake to just play the note passively or to let it die out.  “It’s as much a part of the music as is the first note!  Give it life!  Make it exciting!”  We never just hold a final note.  It’s either building or softening, moving and still full of life.  The piece is not yet ended and we keep communicating that until the very last beat.

Are you thinking that you’re done?  You’ve played your part and moved off the stage, so you’re waiting for who knows what?  I want you to know that you’re not finished until the last breath is drawn, the last word spoken.  You may be waiting right now, but you can do so joyfully, and with anticipation for the next act, whenever that may commence.

Why don’t you just pull off your shoes and socks and cool your heels a little while?  It seems to work for the kids.  I’m going to try it too, the next time I have to sit and wait.  My guess is that their method sure beats my normal case of the grumpies.  Maybe we’ll find out together.

“You usually have to wait for that which is worth waiting for.”
(Craig Bruce~Canadian software developer)

“But those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength.  They shall mount up on wings as eagles.  They shall run and not grow weary.  They shall walk and not faint.”
(Isaiah 40:31)

Originally published 9/7/11.

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Filters

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Mr. Phillips, we’re recommending that you change the engine filter, as well as the cabin filter.”  The young man standing in front of me was holding a filthy corrugated affair, made of cardboard and plastic.  As he set it on the service counter at the car dealership, his hand seemed to slip and the nasty thing plummeted to the tile floor.  The explosion of dust was instantaneous and it billowed about his feet and legs.  He lifted his hands in resignation and shrugged, the picture of feigned embarrassment, but exuding an air of satisfaction as well, having proved his point. I remember the act from the last time I was here.  On that occasion, he didn’t drop the filter all the way to the floor, just plopped it clumsily on the counter top, with similar effect.  I purchased the new engine filter that time, too.

I’m intrigued with filters.  In our modern day, we are surrounded by them.  We have filters to strain our coffee, filters on our faucets, in our clothes dryers, on the return air vent of our air conditioners, even on the tips of tobacco cigarettes. You may not recognize them as such, but the screen doors and windows on your house are filters, keeping out the flies and bugs, while allowing the air to flow through and cool the house.  We are surrounded by filters, those devices which allow the desired substance to flow freely through, and yet keep out the undesirable elements, whatever they may be.

I have noticed several things about these filters.  The most important thing that I note is that they need to be kept clean.  Sometimes that is accomplished by washing, sometimes by putting a new one in place.  The effect is the same.  When the same filter is kept in place day after day, week after week, year after year, it becomes less effective in one of two ways; it either clogs up, or it deteriorates, allowing the damaging particles to slip through.  Either option is unacceptable, the one reducing the flow of good things, and the other allowing too much of the bad to mix in with the good.

The other thing I have noticed, and this is almost universal, is that very few people pay any attention to their filters.  I bet most of you don’t change any of the filters you use as often as you should, with the possible exception of the coffee maker, since it is impossible to use with an old one.  Many times, I have been in a home and notice that the air conditioner is roaring loudly, especially near the return air intake.  “Do you change your filter regularly?”  I’ll ask.  The reply is always one of recriminations.  “No, I keep forgetting.”  “I just can’t remember what the size is.”  “I changed it last year!”  Until we can see obvious problems or symptoms thereof, we tend to ignore the filters, assuming that they are doing their job, whatever that is.

There are other kinds of filters, too.  I read a note in an online forum, to which I am subscribed, today.  The person, just slightly older than I, was complaining about some interaction she had had with someone on a popular social website.  There were several replies, all expressing similar opinions as hers.  These folks were bragging that they don’t use the social media, since everyone there is so “self-serving”.  I wondered if they had lost sight of their own place in this world; forgetting that, as older people, we have the responsibility to be in the marketplace, being part of the ebb and flow of information, sharing our wisdom when appropriate.  You see, when our own filters get so clogged up that only a little of the essence of life is getting through, we selfishly want to keep it all for ourselves, not giving of who we are and what we have learned, except with those who agree with us completely.  The filter is not functioning as it should to allow the necessary substance through.  Our only interest is that it stops what we don’t want.  Many of us seem to fit in that category as we get older.  We want to be left alone and to be able to sit in the snug little cocoons which we have constructed for ourselves, comfortable and blissfully ignorant of all that goes on around us.

On the other end of the spectrum are the times when the filters fail completely.  I am remembering an occasion when a salesman came calling on my late father-in-law.  This man had been coming in for years and during that time, had gained a considerable amount of weight, possibly as many as one hundred pounds.  We all saw that.  What we didn’t do is to call it to his attention publicly. My father-in-law, however, as older people often do, was beginning to believe that honesty really was the best policy, and he blurted out as the man came in, “I believe you’re getting fatter every time I see you!” We were as embarrassed as the salesman was, although he laughed it off, knowing that if he got angry, he would not make a sale.  His filter was still in place, even though my father-in-law’s was not.

You see, filters function for many reasons.  Sometimes, we just need for society to get along, so we filter what we say and do to protect the peace.  Our laws are filters, of sorts, helping us to act responsibly in our interaction with each other.  The restraint we use in our language is another, although that filter seems to be damaged, nearly beyond repair, these days.  Every once in awhile, I have to remind customers in my music store that their filters need to be adjusted, as they become offensive in their speech.  It seems to be a new concept to some of them.

If we wish to effect change in our world, we must each care for our own filters, making sure that they are efficient, as well as intact.  Disaster awaits otherwise.

I hope that, as you observe others who have not, you will resolve to maintain the filters in your life, both the tangible and the internal ones.  Your success as an agent for good depends upon it.

Your air conditioner will probably work better, too!

“Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips.”
(Psalm 141:3~NIV)

“Liberty consists in wholesome restraint.”
(Daniel Webster~American statesman and orator~1782-1852)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Not To The Swift

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment


“Click-click-click-click-click-click,” the light on the dashboard flashed rapidly, in tandem with the relay under the dash. As I headed home tonight, I had turned on the blinker to signal a right turn at the corner when I noticed the odd sound and sight. Usually, when I signal a turn, the light blinks slowly and the sound I hear is more like, “Click—a—click—a—click—a—click—a—click.” As I drove along, I thought that perhaps the people behind me could see my signal better, since it was faster. I was tempted to ignore the anomaly, but logic told me that something was amiss. I would have to check when I got home.
“The sooner, the better,” I’m told as the musical instruments are dropped off to be repaired; “ASAP!” shouts the memo from management; “Urgent!” The assertion is made by the brightly colored sticker attached to the package which was just delivered. We are surrounded by evidence that tells us that to move slowly is to lose out, to fail in life. Everywhere we go, folks are in a hurry, almost as if their lives depended upon it. Don’t believe me? Take a Sunday afternoon drive to admire the fall scenery in the next week or so. Go slightly below the posted speed limit, while you take in the gorgeous vistas that are in store, compliments of our Creator. You’ll likely hear a horn or two, and will quite possibly see a vulgar gesture or hear a rude shout from the vehicles that pass you, their drivers more intent on reaching a destination than looking at dead leaves. They hurry on, oblivious of the amazing display of nature’s beauty. There are recitals, and football games, and church services to get to, and then to be hurried away from.
I am a believer in the “slow and steady wins the race” line of thought, having had my share of disasters while racing along.  Decades ago, when I worked for my friends who owned an electrical contracting business, I found the perfect example; one I have cited more than a time or two in the years since. I was an electrician’s helper, providing a barely passable service in the way of fetching items and helping to install the conduit and then to pull the wire through said conduit. It seems that I excelled in the slow part of the maxim, and not as much in the steady part, but since I play only a cameo role in this story anyway, we can move on.
Normally, I worked with the younger of the two men who were actively engaged in the family business. He was my age, but had skills well beyond mine. Whenever we went to a new work site, we would stand for a few moments and look over the situation. “We need to get from this breaker box here to that wall over there for this new outlet,” the fellow would say. “Let’s take a minute and see what we’re up against.” We would spend five or ten minutes opening up the ceiling tiles or going up in the attic to map out the path. As soon as we had a clear idea of any potential barriers and pitfalls, we would begin to install the materials, finishing the job in good time with a minimum of distress.
It was not always so with the older man. He also was highly skilled, but was more inclined to be in a hurry, perhaps because he was the one who also did the books and understood that time was indeed, money. Whatever the reason for his haste, his approach was certainly different. When I worked with him, we would get to a job and he would point out the starting location, as well as the termination point. “We need to get from here over to there. Let’s get this pipe up.” And, we would start installing the materials. On several occasions, we would get part of the way through our task and have to tear the conduit down. There might be a beam in the way, or a firewall through which we could not bore any hole. We would go back to the starting point and begin anew, speedily installing the pipe for a second time.  You can see the disadvantage, can’t you?
“Haste makes waste.” Benjamin Franklin, writing in “Poor Richard’s Almanac” coined the maxim. We parrot it today and yet, we continue to be wasteful as we hurry on. We waste capital, and resources, even relationships as we speed on our way, anxious to reach the next stopping point, from whence we will speed away to some new destination. Like Alice’s White Rabbit, we know only that we are in a hurry. “I’m late; I’m late, for a very important date…” In our haste, we are immensely inefficient, and not a little reckless.
 I don’t make a claim of having learned this lesson any better than others around me. As I mentioned, I often move slowly, but seldom with any purpose. Little is accomplished by that method, perhaps even less than the hasty tactics. In Mr. Aesop’s story, the tortoise would never have won the race, had he not kept to the task, one plodding foot after the other, while the faster rabbit frittered his time away in other pursuits. There is no moral superiority in simply being lazy.
I have taken my sweet time to get to the conclusion of the matter, too, haven’t I? You know, sometimes when we think we are speeding down life’s highway, covering the miles, we are simply running in place and getting nowhere. Periodically, it may be beneficial to take note of our location by a landmark apart from those we have set out ourselves. Sailors navigate using the North Star, lest they be going in circles as they make record time through the water. We have a different North Star by which to set our course. The maps and atlases of the world use landmarks set by other travelers. There are more than a few which have been placed erroneously, and which will guarantee an adventurer who is hopelessly off course, lost in the confusion of differing opinions and views. Only when reckoning by the true North Star, can we be assured of a straight and steady path to our destination.
But here I am, with my blinker still going “click-click-click”. Do you suppose, after all this, that the blinker was working better as it zipped along at breakneck speed? Could the folks behind me tell my intentions better? No, of course not! In the electrical system of the car, the relay/flasher that controls the blinker requires two bulbs, one front and one back, which complete the circuit momentarily. When the current sustains the light for a second, the flasher clicks off. Then, sensing that there is no draw, it clicks back on again. When only one bulb is in the circuit, the reaction time is much quicker, making the circuit close and open at a rapid rate. It doesn’t mean that it is working better, but simply that something is horribly amiss.
I changed the bulb and was rewarded with the customary “click—a—click—a—click” moving along slowly and steadily, bringing a realization that all is well once more and drivers behind me will be cautioned as they should.
Perhaps it’s time to slow things down a bit in life too, with more attention paid to doing things well, instead of just doing them quickly. I’m ready to give it a shot.
I’ve heard it said (and I’m sure it’s true) that good work takes time.  I know the blinker works better like that anyway…
“Be still and know that I am God…”
(Psalm 46:10—NIV)
“Haste makes Work which Caution prevents.”
(William Penn—Quaker leader and founder of Pennsylvania—1644-1718)
 © Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

More Gravy?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’m taking a short break, kind of like a pit stop. The day has been interminable. There is still more to do, but I need some time to make sense of it all in my mind. The work related part of the day started earlier than usual this morning (yesterday morning, by now) and is certainly ending later than the norm, with a guitar repair still lying unfinished on my bench. It’s time will come. Soon.
Did I say that the day was interminable? I think I meant to say that it seems that way. Long experience has taught me that all days have a beginning point and an ending point. But sometimes, in between, I try to cram too much day into what I have left and I don’t come out even. You know, like serving up too much gravy on the roast beef at Sunday dinner. I can’t leave that delicious gravy on the plate, so I get more roast beef; naturally, running out of gravy before the beef is gone this time. The cycle could continue ad infinitum, which of course means, interminably (only spoken in a dead language, which sounds impressive). Well, that has been my schedule today, except that most of it has been not nearly as enjoyable as the Lovely Lady’s roast beef and gravy. The necessary tasks have lasted a lot longer than the normal work day, so I’ll just have to keep going. I’m not sure if the tasks are the meat or the gravy, but whichever, I need to add another helping soon.
I did get a little of the gravy today, as I stuffed a few extra moments into my busy evening and spent them with some wonderful people. The littles, along with their Mama and Daddy, have moved recently and they needed a bit of electrical repair done. Well, to be precise, the parents are the one who wanted a switch replaced, but the kids had the adventure of watching their grandfather remove, first the switch, and then an entire ceiling fan. Who needs television when you’ve got this kind of entertainment? After I had worked for awhile, with them watching and asking lots of questions, Mama’s voice drifted up from downstairs, “Is he making trouble up there?” I knew which one she meant. He is a lot like I was at that age; into everything and curious beyond caution. But, this time he wasn’t…making trouble, that is. I called down the steps, “No. She’s the one making trouble.” I was sorry for my words instantly. The little angel stiffened up and gazed at me, with her upper lip trembling just a little. The look on her face was one of alarm and consternation. I quickly came off the ladder and gave her a hug, yelling down to her mama, “No, I’m just kidding. She’s not being any trouble at all.”
I went on about my task, but every once in awhile, I would glance down to where she stood looking at me pensively. “What’s wrong, honey?” I finally asked. “You really were just kidding; right, Grandpa?” I reassured her again, and a few moments later, yet again. It is possible that she may still be a little young for the advanced Grandpa teasing. I’ll have to remember to handle this one a little more gently than him. Him, I can tease mercilessly and he loves it. “Aw, Grandpa, that electricity won’t really bite me. You’re being silly!” They are so very different. What a wonder it is, as we watch them develop and grow into their own places in the family and in this world.
It was the best time of my day. Well, that little thirty minute nap I squeezed in before supper is in the running too, but for pure refreshment, you can’t beat spending time with people you love (and who love you). It was almost like stopping at the gas station to fill up on fuel (another thing I did earlier today, as I drove the Lovely Lady’s car on an errand). I was ready for the remainder of the day after I left there. Isn’t it funny how that works? I went over there expecting to do just another task in a day filled with more than I could face. I came away refreshed in spirit, if not in body.
You know, just like the children, we are all so very different. Oh, we have some shared needs and traits, but we process things differently, we react in dissimilar ways, we resolve our problems in ways that vary tremendously from each other. Yet, we fit together, we need each other, and we thrive with people with whom we share a common bond. Be it family, or experience, or faith, we look past our differences to our similarities and we find fellowship, and joy, and comfort.  
I am blessed beyond what I deserve. Aren’t we all? Hmmm…now that I think about it, another word we use for something beyond what we have earned is…gravy. I think it fits perfectly tonight. Along with the meat and potatoes of everyday life, both the normal days and the interminable ones, we get some gravy. How could you not like that?
I will have another serving of gravy, please. You?
“I come from a family where gravy is considered a beverage.”
(Erma Bombeck~ American author and humorist~1927-1996)
“Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”
(Luke 6:38~NIV)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

I Will Arise

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

It was past the time when I should have closed up shop.  As I usually do when there are customers in the store at closing time, I had not locked the door, simply because I don’t want to rush folks out.  Not to disillusion you, but it’s not out of concern for their feelings, but simply because I understand what I call the WalMart Principle.  The longer a customer stays, the more they’ll spend.  Why else do you suppose that the items you want most in the store are at the back of the building?  Sorry, but if I get started down that path, we’ll never get back to the subject at hand, so we’ll leave that as an unfinished rabbit trail.  Maybe we can mark it and discuss the philosophies of the business world another day.

Now, where was I?  Oh yes…past closing time.  As the late customers walked out the door, another car pulled up in a parking space right in front of the door.  I have never pulled the shade down in front of an incoming customer and I didn’t start today.  The two ladies exited the car and headed through the front entrance, apologizing as they came in for keeping me.  The mom and daughter are quite familiar to me, having been frequent customers over a number of years and we greeted each other as friends do.  Mom has a sweet personality, usually all smiles and cheerful and her daughter is not far behind.  Good character is definitely something we teach to our children and they learn from us well.  Come to think of it, bad character gets passed down all too frequently as well, but that’s also a rabbit trail for another day.  We found the items they needed and talked jovially of nothing in particular.  As she prepared to leave however, I went and spoiled the atmosphere by asking how they were “coming along.”  The transformation was almost palpable, her cheerful facial features altered in a trice, replaced by a somber expression.  The twinkle I had seen in her eyes a moment prior was replaced almost instantly with the dull look of melancholy.

“Well, we’re making it.”  She forced out the words.  It was a little uncomfortable for a few seconds, as I struggled to recover too, but we batted a few encouraging words back and forth and in another minute the smile was back, whatever memories she was struggling with back under control and replaced in the mental file they had escaped from.  Moments later, the two pretty young ladies headed out the door, murmuring their thanks to me for allowing them to come in so late.  I smiled as I locked the door behind them and immediately kicked myself, feeling stupid for causing my friend pain.  I knew her situation, the horrible accident a few months ago, the hospital stay, the slow physical recovery, but most especially the horror of having watched another human die in the accident.  My simple inquiry about how they were coming along had led to a replay of unhappy memories and emotions, right before my eyes.  I was struck by the thought of how fragile the human spirit is.

Words.  Just a few common words.  A question we ask all the time without thinking was all it took to transport her from the happiness of light banter to the realization, the memory of deep sadness and hurt.  But, even as I contemplated the alleged fragility of our emotions, I was struck again with how resilient the human spirit is in reality.  For the most part, we bend, but we don’t break.  This young lady had experienced a horror beyond that which most of us could ever imagine, but she is functioning.  She is recovering.

Does the memory lurk below the surface, ready to awaken at a moment’s notice?  Sure.  And, once again the spirit sinks, but almost as quickly, it rises to the challenge and rallies.  I do not say that the sadness, the depressed spirit is nothing; it is definitely something very real.  It has to be dealt with and not just pushed down temporarily, to be reckoned with at another crisis down the path of life.  What I am saying is that there is hope.  Along with the Apostle Paul, we admit to being “struck down but not destroyed”.  Bad things happen, but they are only one battle, not the war.  The human spirit was made to fight and again and again we see it do just that…fight its way back from the depths of despair to live and flourish in the light of day.

I’ve always loved the story of the prodigal son in the Bible.  Perhaps the best line in the story for me is what he says when he has reached rock bottom and has no way to go but up.  Sitting in the filth, in poverty, and in a disconsolate mood, he finally turns his focus from his dire circumstances to his hope of redemption.  “I will arise and go to my father…”  What a great statement!  I’m getting up and getting help.  I’ll stay in this pigsty no more.  A few of you know that I also struggle with the melancholy moods at times, but frequently all it takes to move into the light is the realization that I have to start moving.  I will arise…

Much more could be said on this subject.  Perhaps I’ll speak of it again, perhaps not.  It would be interesting to me if some of you who take a turn into the dark once in awhile commented about your experiences (anonymously, if you prefer).  I’m not sure, but it seems to me that we all share the journey in that direction to different degrees. 

Of course, after all my talk about getting up and moving forward, it may actually turn out that the Possum Lodge motto, from the “Red Green Show” on public television, is the better way to approach the problem anyhow:  “Quando omni flunkus moritati”  Translation?  “When all else fails, play dead.”  You may decide for yourselves.

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast…”
(Alexander Pope~English poet~1688-1744)

Originally posted 9/29/11

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved. 

Not Just Routine Maintenance

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment


Photo: John Zdralek

The old guitar amplifier on the table in front of me was almost as old as I am. You would think that it might be time to retire the old, tattered box of outdated electronics. But, just a day or two before, the owner had pleaded with me, as I tried to prepare him for the worst. “My dad taught me how to play on that amplifier. Can’t you do something?” And I, being a little soft-hearted (and perhaps a bit soft-headed), assured him that I would see what could be done.

So here I was, with glass vacuum tubes spread across the table, plugging first one and then the other into the ancient tube tester to check for problems. Although tube amplifiers have experienced a resurgence in the last few years, there was a time when most serious guitarists wouldn’t have thought of using the old antiquated technology. The transistor rendered the bulky and fragile glass tubes obsolete back in the sixties and most amplifiers since then have utilized the hardy, space-saving semi-conductor transistors that paved the way for today’s computers and smart-phones. I know next to nothing about working on solid state amps, but I do know that the heart of the old tube amp was the tube itself. So it was that I found myself surrounded by the outdated tubes, testing them on an outdated tester.  
Using the test guide, I would set the buttons to run the correct voltage through each tube, allow the tube to warm up a moment, and then push the test button to see if the circuit was complete. A simple process. The only problem was that when I got to the end of the assorted tubes, all of them had tested out at about ninety percent of their original strength. I examined the wiring in the amp chassis, but there were no breaks, no bad solder joints. What was I to do? I was stymied for a moment. Then an idea hit me.
I put each tube back into the tester, but this time, instead of simply testing the circuit, I pushed a little button on my tester marked “life test” while holding down the test buttons. This placed a load on the tube, simulating what would actually happen when an instrument was being played through the amplifier. I went through several of the tubes with no different result than the first time, but just as I was starting to think that I was on a wild goose chase, as I tested one of the very last tubes the meter reading plummeted when I clicked the life test switch. The reading ended up at about thirty percent for the tube, a completely inadequate output for regular function of the circuit. I had located the problem!
The repair was simple, but painful. It would be nice if I could have made a simple adjustment with a screwdriver, or tapped on a loose terminal. After all, it was just a small problem, only one out of many tubes. It worked fine most of the time. Surely, I could just tweak it a little. Alas, it was not to be. The old tube went into the trash and a new one took its place. Reassembling the amplifier, I gingerly flipped the power switch, joking as I did about the “smoke test”, a reference to the possibility that smoke would be rolling out in a second or two, indicating a complete failure of the process. There was no smoke. Attaching a guitar, I strummed the strings and was rewarded by a warm, clear tone coming through the fifty year old box loaded with wires, tubes, and a speaker.  The operation was a complete success!
May I relate one other experience to you quickly? When I was twenty years old, a wonderful horn teacher agreed to give me a few lessons. I was excited, until he told me what was required. He had noticed that I had no stamina in playing high passages, nor did I have a stellar tone.  He also noted that the mouthpiece was sitting on my lips in an odd position for playing the horn. The solution? He wanted me to start over. Yes, start over. I had to learn how to play the horn again, moving the mouthpiece up much higher, so that more of my upper lip was in the cup than before. It hurt. It sounded horrible. I hated it and I desperately wanted to quit. But I kept going, working through the drastic change until one day, I realized that it didn’t hurt anymore. The tone was really good! I could even get through a complete rehearsal without buzzing my lips like a horse to get the feeling back in them. A drastic solution for a serious problem, but the result was worth it.
Have you had a few times when the “life test” button has been flipped and held for awhile? Did you pass the test? Did you hold up as you should have? I’ve had several times recently when I failed that life test miserably. I have said many times that I am not the person I desire to be. I’m realizing that the process of becoming that person will not be a simple one. Like my horn playing, I may need to start over completely with some things which I have been doing most of my life. It would be nice if a couple of minor things could just be tweaked. I’m pretty sure that it won’t be that simple.
I think I’m ready for the replacement parts to be installed, although I’m dreading the actual process. It may hurt. I will probably hate it. But, I’m pretty sure that the end result will more than make up for the discomfort of the procedure. I’m willing to chance it.
How about it? You know where you’ve failed the life test. Are you ready to get back into action again? Old habits, old attitudes, old sins; they’ll all have to go first.
Drastic measures to make drastic improvements. It will be a good trade-off.
I think you’ll love the new you.
“A wrong sum can be put right: but only by going back till you find the error & working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on.”
(C.S. Lewis~Irish educator/author~1898-1963)
“Another flaw in the human character is that everybody wants to build and nobody wants to do maintenance.”
(Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.~ American writer)


© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.