Another Day, Same Boulder

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

My band director friend told me of his conversation with the school janitor.  The band director was working in his office one afternoon, long after all the children had gone home.  He had plans for a great halftime show and was hard at work making the charts for the positions on the field.  The door to the band hall opened and the hardworking janitor pushed his cart inside; beginning his preliminary canvass of the room by arranging the chairs into neat semi-circles.  There was trash everywhere, even though there was a large receptacle a few feet away near the door.  As the custodian worked, my friend could hear him muttering under his breath.  Not all of the words could be repeated here, but suffice it to say that he was unhappy.

“What’s wrong, John?” asked the director.  “Oh, these stupid kids!  They’re so lazy, they can’t even get their trash to the can.  How inconsiderate can you get?  All it does is make my job harder!”  The janitor unloaded on his questioner.  I can just see my friend, as the thought struck him in the midst of the unhappy worker’s tirade.  The corners of his mouth began to twitch and his eyes to twinkle.  Before the man was finished with his outburst, the director was laughing.  “What’s so funny?  Day after day they do this!  I’m tired of it!”  The frustrated man had expected sympathy, but never laughter.  The band director then said, as kindly as he could manage, “You don’t seem to understand, John.  Your job depends on these kids behaving badly.  If they start straightening out their chairs and disposing of their trash neatly, you won’t have any work to do and will have to find a different job.”  The janitor sputtered for a moment as he ran his hands through his hair a time or two.  “I suppose you’re right,” he said sheepishly.  “Well, I can’t stand around gabbing all day.  They do this in all the rooms, you know.”

I would guess that the janitor’s job is safe, but the words uttered by my friend were true nonetheless.  They still ring in my head every time I find myself complaining about the load of work under which I find myself.  If it weren’t for those pesky (and I use the term affectionately) customers who make demands on my time, I know that I wouldn’t have a business, wouldn’t have any income at all. 

All the same, I do sometimes feel like that Greek demi-god I learned about many years ago as we studied Greek Mythology in high school literature. This particular fellow’s name was Sisyphus (pronounced “sissy-fuss”). He had angered Zeus by claiming to be more clever than the chief deity on Mount Olympus himself. As punishment, Zeus had doomed Sisyphus to an unending task for all of eternity in Hades. He had to roll a huge boulder up a hillside, whereupon it would tumble back down to the bottom and the poor creature would have to begin the task anew, with exactly the same result every single time. Encouraging job, huh?
I would guess that we are all burdened with what could be described as Sisyphean tasks for much of our lives. The advantage we have is that we can choose the manner in which we approach the task. I have known many factory workers who have performed the same task innumerable times a day for many years and continue to do so with pride and enjoyment. That’s also what I see when our cleaning service crew comes to work at the music store. Like the kids in the band hall, we are not neat, nor even considerate. Yet these folks come week after week and straighten up after us. While they are here, they sing and joke. If I happen to be working at my desk, they stop and talk about what’s going on in my life, laughing with me about the amusing moments, and sympathizing with me about the sad events. Before they leave, they make sure to leave one or two pieces of candy on the counter for us to enjoy when we come back in the next day. They come in with joy and leave it behind them when they are gone. Never mind the horrendous mess they have to contend with in between.
No, I don’t think that either the factory workers or the custodians enjoy the interminable repetition of the single task they do day in and day out. But, they are able to look beyond that, to realize that their work serves a purpose in a bigger scheme. They are able to enjoy the company around them as they work. They are able to see the benefit their work is to their employers, their family, and to their community. In short, they don’t focus on the task, but on the reward. I’m not just thinking about the paycheck when I use the word “reward”, either. There is more to life than what we realize in a monetary way from our work. If all we work for is a paycheck, I’m thinking that the task becomes once more, a Sisyphean one. We have pushed the rock up the hill, achieving the goal of a salary, only to need it again tomorrow, and next week, and next year. There is no end in sight to the colossal monotony.
How do you view your work? Do you hate what you do? Try focusing instead, on who you are doing the work for. The Apostle suggests that we work for God. I’m pretty sure that as we work for Him, we will lose sight of the hardship and the boredom and can focus on the service. In the end, we are always happier when we serve those around us than when we are self-serving and completely focused on our own comfort (or lack thereof). 
Sure, you pushed the rock to the top of the hill today and when you come in tomorrow, it will be at the bottom again. That’s a good thing. You’ve got another day to learn, and to serve, and to grow. You might even be able to enjoy and encourage the people around you, all of them pushing their own rocks up the hill too. I’m pretty sure that we’re all better off as we find ways to help make the tasks and the days pass joyfully instead of in drudgery.
And now, I’m beginning to think that possibly my rock has reached the apex of its path for today. I’m headed for home and bed. Somewhere out there, some kid has broken a key on his clarinet…again. That and any number of tasks will be mine for tomorrow.
Around here, we call that job security.
“Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people.”
(Colossians 3:23~NLT)
“To generous souls, every task is noble”
(Euripides~Ancient Greek playwright~480-406 BC)
© 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.

An Essay Test

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“I hope you people have been paying attention to this. We’re going to have a test tomorrow. Be prepared for it!” Mr. Heston knew, before he said the words, that the reaction would be a collective groan and he was not disappointed. I think it was a little louder than even he had anticipated. It made no difference. The subject was torture for most of the students seated behind the tables spread horizontally across the room. Every student in the state of Texas had to have at least one semester of Civics and most of them were in this class only because they wanted to graduate. Not I.
I loved the class. The study of our government and political structure, along with the judicial system, was one of the few subjects that I really loved. The purpose for the class, of course, was to help us to understand where we as individuals fit into the whole puzzle. It was exciting to learn that the entire system depended on participation by each of us as citizens. It seems that we may have lost sight of that concept as the years have passed, but to this fresh young teenager, the realization of power was nothing short of inspirational. I was in! And, I was all ears, taking in the original concepts and the history, as well as the theory. I couldn’t get enough, taking copious notes daily as Mr. Heston, a short, compactly built man, looked at us over the top of his half-lens reading glasses to be sure that we were drinking deeply at the well of his knowledge. There weren’t many who did.
If the groans seemed loud as he announced the test, you should have heard them when he told us calmly the next day that the test consisted of one question. An essay question. “I don’t want to know if you studied the terminology in the text book; I want to know if you’ve been listening,” the quiet man explained. I read the question and set to work, writing line after line to elucidate the subject at hand. After a few moments, I realized that I was the only one still writing. A quick glance around told me that everyone else had written a sentence or two and then quit. I kept writing. This was good stuff! I understood this material and was in my element as I completed most of a full page in my messy handwriting in answer to the single question Mr. Heston had asked.
I was to hear the groans related to that test just one more time. The next week, as the short man walked around the classroom, depositing the papers in front of us with a flick of his wrist, the groans arose, this time just one by one, as each student saw the grade on his or her paper. I was almost embarrassed as I received my paper back in the same manner, but the teacher had a grin on his face as he flipped it in front of me. While most in the class had received a failing grade, the “A” marked across the top of my paper made me the odd man out. I didn’t care. The extra note scrawled across the bottom couple of lines was even better than the grade. “This is exactly what I’m looking for!” the man with the red pencil had written. It was a proud moment for me, even though I hid the note from prying eyes. I had few enough of these proud moments academically in high school and it felt good.
You remember your favorite type of test, don’t you? Multiple choice? Those were easiest, especially when the teacher used the exact wording from the textbook. Next came the true/false variety. Well, you had a fifty/fifty chance on those, so the odds of receiving a passing grade were still good. How about the fill-in-the-blank type? Not so easy, especially for someone like me, who sometimes has a hard time remembering the exact terminology. But last in the ranking for most? Most of my friends disliked, no…despised…the essay test. It was just them and the blank paper. The words had to come out of their brain, hopefully a brain that comprehended the subject. Frequently, they drew a blank and so, the essay was mostly white space. Teachers don’t like white space.
For me, the essay test is my top choice for any subject of which I have a basic grasp. Ideas can be formed with words, arguments tested, and conclusions drawn–all in front of the readers’ eyes and hopefully with the correct outcome. With the standardized tests, there was no room for discussion; you either knew the answer or you didn’t. My guess is that no one is surprised to learn that I found the test which required using more words to be desirable. Some things never change.
But, speaking of that, it seems to me that even the pattern of our lives is actually just one long essay test. Oh, I know that along the way, a true/false quiz creeps in momentarily. We need to know right from wrong and have an quick response. Sometimes we don’t know the answer and we guess and get the wrong one, paying the price for a period of time. Other times, we have a number of choices facing us and we decide which is appropriate, as the multiple choice tests in life come to pass. Again, the right answer can be elusive, but hopefully, we learn before the next of these comes along. And sometimes, we just look ahead and realize that we have to do something, to plan a course of action, and we fill-in-the-blank. But through it all, day in and day out, we live our lives, each moment writing some part of the essay. There is no stopping point, no juncture at which we lay down the pen and say, “I’m done.” From the day we arrive on this earth, until the day we stop breathing, we are writing. The progression of thought and action can be seen in one long, unbroken stream.
There are parts of this essay test upon which I would not want to be graded. They are there, none the less. It is of interest to understand that the very word “essay” is actually based upon a French word and originally meant: “A trial; an attempt.” And, isn’t that what all of life really is, after all? We try and fail, or we try and succeed; moving on to other trials, other attempts. All through life, we test, we push, we struggle. And in vying to do, to accomplish, we leave a record for others to heed, perhaps even to emulate. I’m not sure if my accomplishments warrant that yet. Eventually though, I hope that there is enough of the legible record which will be worth following. Like the Apostle, I’d like to be able to encourage others to “imitate me, as I imitate Christ.” I’m not there yet. The errant words still blot the lines, but I’m moving on. Every day is an essay, an attempt, to do better.
Maybe you’d like to be in my study group. I could sure use the help.
Then, what I’d really like, one day, is to turn in the completed essay to The Teacher and to be able to read at the bottom of it:  
“This is exactly what I was looking for!”  

“The master said, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities.  Let’s celebrate together!'”
(Matthew 25:23~NLT)

“The difference between school and life? In school, you’re taught a lesson and then given a test. In life, you’re given a test that teaches you a lesson.”
(Tom Bodett~American humorist and author)

© 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.

Barking Up A Tree

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They’re at it again. I had no intention of writing about them tonight, but they will not be denied. I have spent the last hour torn between attending to the upheaval in their little world and attempting to accomplish at least one or two tasks which are clamoring for attention in my own little world. It seems that the upheaval has won out again as the outlandish caterwauling begins anew in the back yard.
With an exasperated sigh, I lay aside my tools and head for the door, picking up a flashlight on the way. As soon as they hear the customary creak of the hinges, they fall silent, but immediately, they have a new objective. In a flash, I am surrounded, if you can call it that when there are only two assailants. Both of the black bodies are flung at my trunk and about my legs in disarray, as they jump and paw, each attempting to gain the advantage of the other in their bid for my attention. Presently, the huge male disengages uncharacteristically, to lope around the corner of the building, only to appear seconds later from behind the tool shed. I get the message and move that direction myself. Obviously, they have something they want me to see and I will get no rest until I see whatever it is.
No amount of shining the light at the grass will turn up anything, so I focus the light instead on my jet-black antagonists. They are no longer paying any attention to me, but are standing, looking expectantly up into the big mulberry tree towering above us. I shine the light up and see nothing…at first. Then, as I run the beam up along the biggest branch, I see it staring down at me. Yuck! I have never liked those scavengers—those overgrown rats—those opossums! They are not attractive in any way at the best of times, and to see one staring down at me from ten feet above my head, teeth bared like a ghoulish Cheshire Cat…I am immediately repulsed. The monsters at my feet are re-energized by the sight of their prey in my lantern’s beam and bellow out their disdain of the marsupial. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it a rodent, but that could just be my prejudice showing. I half-heartedly toss a rock or two at the beast, realizing that the only thing I will accomplish is to move him further up the tree. It does. So I do the only thing I can do in this situation.
I walk back around the corner of the building and find the dogs’ favorite possession. They cannot resist the squishy rubber chew toy and, within moments, are chasing it across the yard in the dark. Well, to be accurate, the male is chasing it. The female, either too lazy or too wise to chase it, awaits his return each time and then attempts to remove the toy from his mouth as he brings it back. Satisfied that I have distracted them adequately, I return inside to see if anything can be salvaged of my evening. I can’t stop thinking though, about the conundrum of the silly dogs and the wise opossum.
You see, the opossum is a survivor. These creatures can exist; even thrive, in most any environment. They bear huge litters, with as many as thirteen babies able to survive in each one. They carry their tiny young, called “joeys” in a pouch, just as their distant cousins, the kangaroos, do. Because of this portable nursery and ready source of food, the survival rate is fairly high. The species is resistant to disease, so they don’t tend to die out from rampant epidemics, as many other species do periodically. They are also what the experts call “opportunistic omnivores”, meaning that they will eat anything. Many of you know this firsthand, after seeing your pet food disappear, or finding your garbage containers upset and the contents strewn about your patio or yard. Most other feral species thin out when urban sprawl occurs. These hardy beasts thrive, with many more opportunities for ready-to-eat meals, as well as more hiding places in the form of various structures.
This particular opossum has one more advantage over the silly canines yapping down on the ground. He knows that the trunk of the tree he has selected to climb descends to the ground outside the fence which encircles the dogs. He can come and go with impunity, although their barking obviously disturbs him. Nevertheless, he has visited this particular tree a number of times in the past and he is fairly well assured of living to see another dawn, in spite of the would-be hunters below. You can almost imagine him thumbing his nose, as he sits on his high throne and looks down upon them with contempt.
And, what of the dogs…man’s best friend? One would almost wonder why we don’t make pets of the opossums, instead of these fickle, silly creatures. They have chased their prey through the treetops innumerable times and have yet to nab a single squirrel, or cat, or opossum, once it has gained the shelter of the tree limbs. Still they persist, barking incessantly as they sit and bluster with their empty threats. The squirrels tease them mercilessly, the cats actually stare right at them and sit unafraid, as they voice their ire at full voice through the fence, and this opossum ignores them as he walks the limbs above them night after night. Why do we care about these idiotic creatures so much and spend our fortunes on their care and comfort?
Once again, I’ve taken the long way around to come to a conclusion. You may object to the one I have reached, but, as I look at the parallels, it seems indisputable. We are so very much like those silly creatures that it begs the question: Why would our Creator waste His time on us? We bark and run in circles, chasing, not only our tails, but things that bedevil us which we will never be able to reach, nor affect in any way. We have tasks to do which we can accomplish, but we insist on obsessing about the ones which we are not even called to address. The cacophony is deafening.
Don’t believe it? Turn on the television news shows and listen to the bickering about who did this and who started that. Even now, I am threatening to abandon the social networking world until after November because of the incredible noise and rancor present there. Friends attack friends, or even folks they don’t know at all, simply because of a chance comment someone made. Or worse, assaults are made because a political figure (with whom we will never have personal contact) has said or done something to which we object. We turn on each other in our barking and snarling, but never move one inch closer to our real goal of serving, and healing, and befriending those who need us.
This is not about politics. This is about who we are in our heart of hearts. When it becomes more important for us to love our neighbors than we do ourselves; when we recognize that anyone we can put our arms around, or lend a helping hand to is not our enemy, we will at least have begun the move from the barking, threatening beasts in the backyard, to the human beings our Creator intended for us to be. There are many who will never make the quantum leap, but they don’t know the Master’s voice. I hope for better from those of us who do.
Well, I hear them going again. And since, strange as it may seem, the neighbors are already sleeping (at 1:30 AM, no less), I’ll see if a little distraction will do the trick again.
Silly creatures…the dogs, I mean.
“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.”
(Ephesians 6:12—ESV)
“Man is the most intelligent of the animals – and the most silly.”
(Diogenes~Ancient Greek philosopher~412 BC-323 BC)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.