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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.

Put A Pocket On It!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment


“Well, now. That’s as handy as a pocket on a shirt!” My friend was looking at some gadget which promised to make his life simpler, as well as establishing him as the brightest and the best in his peer group. I listened in amusement and thought, as I saw the object of his comparison, “No, it isn’t.” I have come to the conclusion that not much in life is as handy as the shirt pocket.
Have a cough, but still need to speak in public? Drop a lozenge or two in the pocket and you’re set. Need to write a paragraph or two; or even just to sign a credit card receipt? The handy ball-point pen fits cozily along the edge, still allowing plenty of room for the lozenges. Or, like E.T., I might need to call home sometime, so the cell phone slides into the remaining space, just as niftily as one could wish. We won’t discuss the profusion of necessities already swelling my pants pockets to the point of overflowing, since they are not at issue in this discussion.
Why do I praise the shirt pocket and acclaim its handiness tonight? To answer that question, you would need to go back a week or so. The Lovely Lady had acquired a coupon which was going to save a significant percentage off of a purchase she needed to make at the local dry goods store. I’m confident that no one has called this particular shop that in its existence, but I like the sound of it. When you shop in a dry goods store, you may be confident that no one will be shouting over the intercom, “Clean up in Aisle Six, please.” But once again, I have lost the thread that was holding us to the path. Where was I? Oh, yes. The Lovely Lady was at the dry goods store, curiously enough, to buy a smaller purse, intended to replace the suitcase she had been lugging around. While there, she purchased a few new shirts for me. “So I could save more money,” was the reasoning, but since I needed the shirts, I wasn’t going to argue.
The first two shirts I tried on fit well, so they all went into the closet. After wearing those two shirts in the first week after her shopping trip, I picked up the third one morning before church. “’Modern fit’…What’s that mean, ‘modern fit’?” She yelled back up the stairs, “I wondered when I bought it, but it was on sale, so I bought it anyway. Try it on.” I did. The label said “large”. It wasn’t. Well, at least, it didn’t fit me the way the other large shirts do. I put it back on the hanger and into the closet. Until yesterday.
I decided that I would give the shirt another chance. Realizing that the “modern fit” didn’t conform perfectly to my definitively non-modern body shape, I sucked in my stomach a bit and determined to tough it out. As I finished dressing, I stuffed my pants pockets with keys and wallet and handkerchief, leaving the slim items mentioned above until last to slip into the shirt pocket. Imagine my surprise when I found that there was none! No shirt pocket? How in the world does one go anywhere without a shirt pocket? I didn’t have time to change before leaving the house, so I determined that I would live with the inconvenience. What a frustrating day! Suffice it to say that I won’t be wearing that shirt again anytime soon. Modern fit! No shirt pocket! Phooey!
Can we talk for just a moment about the philosophy of functionality? Okay, perhaps just about this one thought. I am a firm believer in the idea which surfaced in the nineteenth century, especially in the field of design. It’s a simply idea. “Form follows function.” Make the design fit the use. In architecture, it meant that you didn’t build huge airy spaces with columns and gingerbread when what you wanted was an effective workplace. You designed the space which would make it simple to do the job you had in mind. Well, that’s also my theory about clothes. Don’t take pockets off, simply because they interrupt the line of the garment. The line of my body is not exactly sleek to start with, so an extra bump here and a little sag there won’t be out of place. Put the pocket on the shirt!
You are expecting me to illustrate some bigger point, are you not? There is one, you know. It has nothing to do with clothes. Well, not in the sense I have expanded, tongue-in-cheek, upon today. I have a new shirt sitting in my closet, which I will not wear. Well, not often anyway. I wonder sometimes, if we are not more like that new designer shirt than the old comfortable one I have on today. We believe that we have better things to do, and a better way of doing it, deciding that there are other functions to be fulfilled besides the primary one for which we were intended. Like the branches the Teacher told of, we decide that our purpose is to grow full and beautiful, covered lushly with leaves, but we produce no fruit whatsoever to benefit the grower. Just like my shirt, those branches will be cast aside to make room for ones which will fulfill their purpose, which will produce fruit.
I will never, I fear, be a clothes horse, a dandy—dressing to impress. Give me a comfortable shirt (with a pocket), and a pair of comfortable pants, with some sensible shoes on my feet. My clothes do not make me; they are not the focus of attention. Rather, they serve a purpose, which is to enable me to work and live effectively and modestly. I hope that my life, and yours, like our clothes, will show the same results.
Somehow, I knew that whole modern fit thing wasn’t going to work out. I’m really not that disappointed.
“Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”
(Matthew 7:19—NIV)
“Once I planned to write a book of poems entirely about the things in my pocket. But, I found it would be too long; and the age of the great epics is past.”
(G.K.Chesterson—English born novelist and poet—1874-1936)

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

New Lamps For Old

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

When they were finished, the Maugrabin paid him their price, even that which he sought, and taking the lamps, carried them to the khan, where he laid them in a basket and fell to going round about in the markets and thoroughfares of the city and crying out, “Ho! who will barter an old lamp for a new lamp?” When the folk heard him crying this, they laughed at him and said, “Certes, this man is mad, since he goeth about, bartering new lamps for old.” 
We’ve all heard the story in one form or another. It is one of the classic middle-eastern tales which are related in dramatic fashion in “One Thousand and One Arabian Nights.” The story is a favorite because it recounts the rags to riches adventures of a young man named Aladdin, who finds a magic lamp, wins the beautiful princess, and lives happily ever after. As a young boy, I loved the story and wished desperately that there really was a magic lamp and a genie who could grant wishes. Who hasn’t wished that? I’m fairly confident that such a lamp does not exist and also pretty sure that we wouldn’t really want it to. Well, it would be okay if I were the one to discover it, but not if anyone else did. I certainly don’t want to live in someone else’s fantasy world.
But, what I’m really thinking of tonight is damaged goods. You know, I bought a guitar from a young man the other day. He had taken the instrument to a pawnshop in our town, hoping that the proprietor would offer him a reasonable amount for the old battered guitar he had. The man behind the counter took one look at the guitar and sneered. “Did you dig that piece of junk out of a dumpster?  I’ll give you five dollars and that’s being generous.” The guitar did look a little the worse for the wear.It has scratches over most of the body, especially near the sound hole. There are pits on the fingerboard and, at one point, a sticker was applied to the top. Now removed, you can still see the round spot where the finish around the sticker faded with light exposure, but that spot remains dark. Forty years of dirt and oils have discolored the finish and it will never be described as good-looking.  I examined the guitar and determined that it had value to me in spite of its worn condition, so I offered the young man twenty times what the pawn shop owner had. In spite of its outward appearance, I’m positive that I made a good deal because I can see the potential of that old guitar to make beautiful music. Come to think of it, I might actually keep the aged beauty for myself, simply because it’s a wonderful instrument that feels like an old friend already. 
“New lamps for old”? What kind of madness is this? In short, the villain in the story of the magic lamp understood that the value of that lump of copper or bronze which Aladdin possessed wasn’t in its beauty. The value was in what was contained inside the lamp and he was willing to pay a great price to possess it himself. He may have traded away many lamps before he got the one he wanted. But, he was willing to pay the price. Of course, we all know that he came to no good in the end. But then, we’re really not talking about that old villain here, are we?

The longer I live, the more I realize that we…and not one of us is excluded…we are damaged goods.Some of us show it more than others.While I see a number of folks who wear their brokenness out in the open, a lot of us are really good at hiding it, too.We disguise it with our successes and achievements, with our braggadocio, and our arrogance. We even conceal it beneath our philanthropy, our benevolence. But deep down under the surface we understand, to our chagrin and lasting embarrassment, that we are broken and not a little ugly. I’m pretty sure that what we really long for, despite our childlike dream of a magic lamp and a genie, is someone to come along actually calling out, “New lamps for old.” We need someone to realize the value of what is contained inside, despite our worn and tattered exterior. 
Many of you who read this have heard that call already. Grace is an unbelievable thing, almost, it would seem, a mad thing, like the villain of Aladdin’s day.(What kind of crazy God would make such an offer?) But, moving past the spiritual aspect, I’m wondering how many of us understand how important it is for us to respond to our own undeserved redemption with a down-to-earth, physical concern for other broken people. We don’t get to say, “I got mine, now you get yours.” I’m not talking about giving money to poor people or sending boxes of clothes to faceless children across the sea (not that we shouldn’t do that, too). Right now, I’m speaking of caring for people, our neighbors, where they are…broken by life, by disappointment, by depression, by loss. Who better to care for broken people but broken people? We know where it hurts, and what it takes to make it better.
Some of the finest, most valuable musical instruments I have found have been the most abused, ugliest things you would ever want to see. Neglected and devalued by ignorant people, they sit in dusty corners and hot attics, awaiting the touch of a caring and loving hand. The results have been astonishing, again and again. And, so it is often with our fellow human beings, neglected and devalued by the world about them. All it takes is just a touch…
I’m going to try to look for the value in the worn and tired folks I interact with today. A word of encouragement (and possibly a smile) may be all that is required. It’s a place to start anyway. After that? 
Well, we’ll just have to play it by ear…
“Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.”
(“Rescue the Perishing” by Fanny Crosby~American hymn writer~1820-1915)
“…Many a man with his life out of tune, battered and scarred with sin, he’s auctioned cheap to a thankless world…”
(from “The Touch of the Master’s Hand”~anonymous)
Originally published on 11/7/2011
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved. 

Another Chance to Shine

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Can you give me an odd job or two? We had to evacuate from New Orleans for the hurricane and we’re stuck up here until I can get some money.” I watched his eyes as he spoke and they shifted rapidly from mine to look at the front door. “Liar!” I thought, as I deferred, thinking about all the extra work it would make for me to find him something that I could trust him to do. Making an excuse, I sent him on his way with a cursory “be warm and be fed”, realizing as he went out the door that I had failed miserably in my commission.
For a few moments, I was barely remorseful, having completed, just moments before, a conversation with a former social worker who blamed all of us rich folks for the problems in the country. His words still stung, despite the fact that many of them were spoken out of his ignorance. Many of mine were also.
This has been a week for opportunities. Tuesday evening, we had just completed our weekly pizza party with the grandchildren when the phone rang, with a friend in distress. She needed some help starting her car. Tired out from a busy day and an hour or two with kids, I was ready for a snooze in my easy chair. Reluctantly, at least internally, I agreed to the mission of mercy. The jump-start I had agreed to turned into a late evening trip to the mega-store for a new battery and then an installation in the dark. Because, I am jealous of my relaxation time, I was frustrated.
Today, a departing customer couldn’t start his truck outside my store and needed the same aid. This time, I used the hammer to make a better connection between his battery and the wire. It felt good. Hitting the battery with the hammer, I mean. I had other tasks that needed to be done…more important things than starting pickups. Then, soon after that came my conversation with the social worker and my mood was primed for the next person who approached me with a need. Enter the man described in the first paragraph above.
I said that I was barely remorseful. That changed as the car pulled out of the parking spot and I saw the Louisiana license plate, corroborating at least that much of his story. I can only say that I was stricken with guilt, assuming that my opportunity had passed without any possibility of recall. I don’t expect to ever see the man again.
The ways of God are not our ways, though. When I mention the old story many of you have heard, called “The Christmas Guest”, you may understand. An adaptation from an old Leo Tolstoy short story, the tale is of one who awaits a promised visit from the Savior, only to be visited by several needy people who are offered, and consume, the treasured items the central character has been saving for the special visit. At the end of the day, the Savior has not come, only more transients. The obvious conclusion comes in the form of the words, spoken centuries ago by Jesus, when He said, “As much as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.” This story goes through my head tonight, as I think about my regret at not helping the man and the fact that, once again, second chances are given.
No, I didn’t see that particular man again, but just as I was ready to lock up for the night, a different young man walked in and said, “Do you know of any place I could get something to eat? I’ve walked over thirty miles today and I’m hungry.” I could have hugged him! And, you can bet, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice in one day! I immediately called a friend who owns a restaurant nearby and made arrangements for the man to have a good meal.
Can I talk with you for just a moment about greed? I have come to realize that greed doesn’t work the way the politicians say it does. It’s not about some fabulously wealthy people, who sit in their multimillion dollar mansions and feast on caviar and foie gras, while shunning anyone worse off then they. Oh, that’s greed, all right. But, it’s not the kind of greed that afflicts, or even affects, me. I am guilty of the kind of greed that demands my own personal space; the kind that protects my time out; the kind that says, “This is mine, you can’t have it.”
Especially in the cruelly charged climate we are experiencing this year, I hope that you won’t act as I did today and react to a few wrong assumptions by a misinformed man. If we allow bitter people to change who we are, soon the bitter person we become can’t be distinguished from them at all.
I don’t ever want to be Aesop’s dog, sitting on the hay and barking at every cow who comes to eat, simply because I lay claim to the bed I have been given.
Once again tonight, I am grateful for second chances. While it doesn’t take away the regret of missed opportunities, there is almost a sense of redemption that comes as better choices are made the second time around.
I hope they keep coming my way. I am a slow learner, you know…
 “What sorrow awaits you…hypocrites! For you shut the door of the Kingdom of Heaven in people’s faces. You won’t go in yourselves, and you don’t let others enter either.”
(Matthew 23:13~NLT)
“There are many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that others would pick them up.”
(Oscar Wilde~American poet/novelist~1854-1900)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Good To The Last Drop

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I broke a habit yesterday. It is a habit which I have had for over thirty-five years. When I say “broke”, I don’t mean that I did it purposely, just that it happened, sort of like breaking your arm. Come to think of it, why do we say that we “break” habits?
A quick look at the dictionary reinforces what I have always envisioned when considering the verb form of the word…BREAK: (v.) to separate into parts with suddenness or violence… And, as much as that is the way I feel about the habit which has been cast aside today, it is not quite the meaning we assume when we “break a habit”. I read on further down the list until I reach the seventh definition (there are quite a few more than that)…BREAK: (v.) to stop or bring to an end suddenly… But, as much as I enjoyed this little trip to the dictionary, I suppose you would like for me to move along, wouldn’t you? You also probably hope that I will divulge to you the long-standing habit which I broke. Okay, I will.
I quit drinking coffee yesterday. If it had been done with intent, I might be proud. It wasn’t. I just didn’t think to make a pot of the dark liquid energy, as I normally do. Events and frenetic activity conspired to keep me from it. Even just the slight period of time which has elapsed since I last imbibed has brought evident changes in me. Tonight, I pay the price, as the headache has taken hold and pounds at my temples. Truly, the first part of the definition, the part with suddenness and violence, seems to be apropos. I am however, as I write this, mending the lapse. The caffeine laced nectar is even now, making its way to my nerve receptors and reassuring my body that the break was merely temporary, a brief oversight and not a long term cessation of the habit.
We acquire habits in different ways; some unintentionally, as with my caffeine addiction; others, with purpose, as with our work habits. Mr. Covey, that self-help maven of book-writing fame, tells us that highly effective individuals have no less than seven intentional habits. You will probably be aware that I don’t practice those seven habits. What you may not know is that I abhor self-help books and have made a habit of staying as far away from them as I possibly can. Ah! Another unintentional habit—one, by the way, which I intend to keep. Nonetheless, we develop many habits over our lifetimes, some good, some bad, but all of them becoming a part of who we are and the person we have grown into.
I realized this week that one habit, which I picked up some time ago, was actually enjoying an anniversary this week. In fact, today marks exactly two years that I have been writing this blog. On this date in 2010, I began to bombard you with my thoughts and memories, as I determined that I would write on a regular basis. It is a habit which I had considered for a long time before developing it. As I went back today and read that first post, I realized that I actually threatened my readers with the habit, warning of the chaos which was coming and even suggesting that a straight-jacket might be called for. I am, as they say, still crazy after all these years. The straight-jacket may still be necessary.
Writing has been a habit which I have wanted to break on several occasions during the last two years and over four hundred posts. It is hard work, with periods of frustration which cannot be described. It has also been amazingly rewarding, as I have heard from readers who were touched by the words, or even inspired by them. Just the process of putting my thoughts down in black and white has been beneficial to me, as I’ve come to realize some of the good things (and bad) which I have lived through and from which I have learned. I think it is a habit I will keep, although, like the coffee drinking, there may be an unintentional hiatus from time to time.
I’d like to suggest to you that in spite of the bad reputation which habits have received, there are many which we should keep and nurture.  Some of them come naturally; some require hard work to acquire and maintain. Caring for folks in need, teaching our children right from wrong, spending time with our spouses—these are just a few of the life patterns which should be habitually practiced. You will, no doubt, be thinking of countless ways in which we should live in integrity and love for each other. These habits are to be embraced, and enhanced, and exalted.
And then, there are the habits which should be eschewed (possibly alliteration is one?). I have many. You do too. I will not name a single one here, because if your personal peccadillo isn’t listed, you may believe that you have reason to gloat. There is not one of us who doesn’t have some habitual action which needs to be amended. The problem is that these habits are nearly impossible to break. The cessation of these actions requires a small miracle, not just the decision to stop doing them. And, unlike my coffee habit, the headaches from these habits come when we practice them, not when we stop them.
If I may preach on for a moment more, I have one suggestion for breaking the undesirable habits which may be helpful. Why don’t you try developing a better one in its place? I’m thinking of a man I know, who quit smoking many years ago. Every day, he still puts back the price of the pack of the cigarettes he would have purchased and, when he gets enough saved up; he buys a guitar or some other piece of musical equipment which he wants or needs. Over the last twenty-some years, he has even made money on those items purchased and then sold, so he is many hundreds of dollars ahead. Not only that; he has lived many years more than would be expected had he continued the unhealthy habit. Cigarettes given up for music—that sounds like a lop-sided trade any day!
Well, the coffee is gone. I think some quiet time is overdue. Enjoy it while you may. I’ll be back to practice my habit soon. 
I’m hoping that you’ll retain the habit of reading the result.
“Habit is either the best of servants, or the worst of masters.”
(Nathaniel Emmons-American theologian-1745-1840)
“The essential thing in heaven and earth is that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living.”
(Frederich Nietzsche~German philosopher~1844-1900)

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

A Reluctant Witness

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The language in the official letter from the District Attorney was intractable. “You are hereby ordered to appear in the courtroom of the Honorable…on the 5th day of October, 2004, to give witness in the matter of…” I was not overjoyed. In fact, you might say that I dreaded the ordeal. I would go anyway.
A young woman had sold me a digital piano which was discovered to have been stolen from another music store in a neighboring town. I had surrendered the instrument to the local police and requested that I be named as a victim, so that reimbursement of my costs could be ordered. That had been over a year ago. It was my assumption that I would be asked to describe the transaction and identify the woman and that would be that. It was not.
Photo: brandonrush
The young, inexperienced Assistant DA quietly asked me the appropriate questions and I identified the lady sitting at the defendant’s table as the perpetrator. Then he sat down, apparently relieved to be done with me. The attorney for the defendant wasn’t so inexperienced, nor so gentle in his questioning. As long as he stayed on the matter of my purchase of the piano under discussion, I was in my element and skillfully gave the necessary responses. Then he changed tack. Without warning, he was asking me questions regarding a separate incident of which I had no knowledge. Telling him that I knew nothing of the event in question wasn’t met with a graceful apology, but with another slight shift in direction.
He began to ask me to compare the piano I had purchased with other models which were on a list he produced, evidently the police report regarding other incidents at the music store from which the piano had originally been stolen. I was suddenly, as they say, asea.Having no knowledge of the other keyboards, it became obvious to me that his intent was to confuse the court by having me answer questions that might cast doubt on the fact that any theft had occurred in the first place. When he asked me for the third time if a certain model keyboard, obviously not the one I had purchased, was in fact the same as the one I had, I told him that I had no knowledge of these other keyboards at all. “I can only tell you about the piano I have personal knowledge of. I’m not sure how asking me about these other ones can be helpful to you. They have nothing to do with me.”
Abruptly, he turned to the judge and said, “Your honor, since this witness obviously does not wish to be helpful, I have no further questions for him.” Whew! It was over! Helpful or not, I was relieved to be excused. I stepped down and went back into the room where the other witnesses were waiting. One of the policemen who was also a witness, said, “Boy, he sure thought he was going to get you to make his case for him!” Again, I replied, “I can only give testimony about something of which I have personal knowledge.” We left it at that, but within moments, the judge called us back in for the verdict. The young woman was found guilty and would be sentenced later. I was free to go and was certainly happy to do so.
I have been in any number of informal conversations wherein various events have been discussed. It has been my experience, almost universally, that people who saw an event are forthcoming with their description. They are in their element and almost anxious to tell of the occurrence, because they were there. In those conversations, seldom does anyone who wasn’t present at the event add any details. Oh, there might be a question raised, “I hear that so-and-so did this. Is that right?” That question must be answered by those who saw it happen, since one cannot testify to what he does not know. We cannot give witness to what we did not see. When we do, they call it hearsay, meaning that we have heard an account from someone else and are not qualified ourselves to give testimony.
I wonder if you need for me to ride herd on this roundup much longer. There are obvious applications to be made, the first and most important one being that we can only give witness to events which have happened to us personally. You will certainly have already gathered that concept some while back in this rambling treatise. But, we are called to be free with our testimony, anxiously telling of what we know to be true, leaving out no detail of the event.  Peter, the headstrong apostle, tells us, “Be prepared to give an answer, if anyone asks the reason for the hope which lies within you.” The words are not idle, nor do they leave room for ignoring them. You are a witness to the event; the summons has been delivered; you must appear.
One last observation, which parallels the case I described earlier, and then I’ll quit boring. Stick to the subject! The folks asking the questions will inevitably throw in what could best be described as a “knuckle ball”. This will be the off-speed pitch, designed to move us off our message and to dilute the impact of the truth of our testimony. Don’t be fooled. Give witness to what you know, avoiding the hearsay. When we are drawn to futile arguments, we fall into the trap, guaranteeing failure.
I like the instructions that a good friend of mine used to give to young minds that he was instructing in public speaking. “Tell them what you’re going to say, then say it. After that, tell them what you said. Then, shut-up.”  Good advice.
You’ve been served with your summons. It’s time to take the witness box.
“Any fact is better established by two or three good testimonies, than by a thousand arguments.”
(Marie Dressler~American Actress~1907-1934)
“The way to catch a knuckle ball is to wait until it stops rolling and then pick it up.”
(Bob Uecker~American professional baseball player/comedian)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.