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.

Exchanging Words

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment


“Use your words, honey.” The little girl in her mama’s arms is crying and frustrated. She quite clearly has something she wants her mom to know, but Mama can’t make head or tails of the sounds coming from the little tyke’s mouth. As I listen sympathetically, I am carried back to a time when I wish some words had been exchanged.
I parked my old 1955 Chevy in one of the empty parking spaces on the side street and walked around the corner to the music store, half a block away. I was pleased with myself, since I had remembered to park over here, where not many people left their cars. The time was over thirty years ago, when the music store was located in the downtown area of our little municipality. The angled parking spaces on the major road in front of the store were at a premium; especially so, since the Post Office was directly across the street from the business. That was in the days when the Post Office was the number one destination in town, but that may be a subject for another time…
A day or two before, my boss, who had recently also become my father-in-law, had asked me if I could find a place to park which wouldn’t take up one of the spots where the customers needed to park. Even though I wasn’t happy about it, I could see his point and resolved to do better. And, for a few days, it seemed that I had found a good solution. The side street wasn’t convenient for most customers, so they didn’t use those spaces. Then, a few days later, I noticed something a little odd.
It took awhile to observe it, but I started to see the same car parked, all day, right in front of the music store. I wondered who it belonged to, but thought little of it until one morning, when I was leaning into the front display window as the car pulled in.  It came to a stop in the same spot it had been all day for several days before. I watched the man get out and as he slammed his door, he turned to glare into the music store, directly at me. I recognized him as the owner of a business on the corner up the street. Now, why would he be parking up here? And, why was he mad at me?
Slowly, the light began to flicker and glow. Moments later, I had it! He was angry because the parking space I was occupying on the side street was beside his building. Not in front, but beside. I wasn’t taking a customer’s space, but I was parked in hisspace! I thought about it for a moment. I even considered continuing to park where I was and letting him stay mad, but my Mama had taught me to “do unto others”, so I went and moved my car. There were three empty spaces beside it, but I made sure to move to a different side street, this time, in front of a vacant lot. By lunchtime, the car in front of the music store was gone and sitting in exactly the space my car had occupied early that morning. He never parked in front of the music store again. Come to think of it, I never parked in his place again, either.
Did I get the message? Eventually. Was I happy with the man? Not at all. I still find myself wondering, even after all these years…What if he had just asked me to move my car?Why didn’t he? I’m pretty sure that I would have stopped parking there the first day, if he had just walked into the store and said, “I’d rather you not park there.” Communication goes better if someone says words. What if my Mama hadn’t taught me to “do unto others”? What if I had just continued to park where I was and he had done the same?
I’m pretty sure that this is how feuds get started. Two people are equally intransigent as they struggle to get even with each other. Soon, a situation, that a few quiet words would have settled in moments, stretches out into a lifelong disdain and dislike for each other. Friends and family are dragged into it as the communication which should have been spent on the other person is wasted in telling a one-sided tale. Does this sound familiar? It happens again and again…in families, in churches, in workplaces.
Words. With them, we build, we create, we maintain. And, once in awhile, we say the wrong thing and we destroy. The key is to keep talking. If destruction has taken place, the worst thing that can ensue is for silence to fall. I’ve said before that hurtful words can’t be unsaid, that they can never be taken back, and it’s true. But, if the hurtful words are the last thing spoken between two people, healing will never occur. Dialogue has to continue for any chance of reconciliation.
I love words. I love to use them. I’m assuming that right about now, you’re laughing as you say, “Tell us something we don’t know.” So, I will. I worry about the words I use. I’m almost obsessive, as I go back and read the words I have written over the last two years here. You see, I have a purpose. I want to influence those of you who read these words—to be wiser, and kinder, and to avoid the errors I have made. If I fail in that, the words have not accomplished what I arranged them to do.
Am I preaching to the choir? I hope not. If all I have done is to simply have you nod your heads in agreement, again, I’ve completely missed the mark. As the old saying goes, “If we agree on everything, only one of us is necessary.” You don’t need me to say, over and over, the same things that you have heard all your life.
I’m reminded that God once used a donkey to get His message through to His prophet. And, there have been too many times in my own past when He has had to use inanimate objects, or animals, or babies, or shopkeepers who refuse to talk, to get the message through my hard head. I’d like to communicate the message with a little more clarity and a little less drama than many of those events entailed.  I have words to spend and I hope to invest them wisely.
We’ll see if I can do as well as the donkey. I’ll keep braying anyway. You can let me know if the message is getting through.
Use your words, please.
“Even lifeless instruments like the flute or the harp must play the notes clearly, or no one will recognize the melody.”
(I Corinthians 14:7~NLT)
“Preach the Gospel always; if necessary, use words.”
(Anonymous)
© 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.

Don’t Follow the Money

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“I’m sorry. I only have a debit card.” The elderly woman is purchasing a guitar string, the price–one dollar and ten cents. Plus tax. She has no cash, but her trusty plastic card is readily accessible and is in her wrinkled hand in a flash. It is only one of a multitude of such cashless transactions which will be handled through my cash register today. I smile at the lady and tell her not to worry. “We like plastic!” It is, in fact, the mode of payment for the great majority of our sales these days.
I mention this mundane event, truly an everyday occurrence for us, only because of the deeper thoughts that I can’t stop from racing through my head. I chuckle every time someone apologizes for not handing me what they think is real cash, as I consider the progression of this thing we call currency. I laugh because I have recently heard many people bemoaning the lack of the stamped coins and folding printed bills with which to pay their tabs in my store. They’d rather pay with cash, but they only carry the plastic cards now, and they miss the way their wealth used to feel in their pockets and hands. And, as I hear them complain, I am taken back a few years to the time when the printed money was changed in appearance. “It looks like someone spilled coffee on it!” I heard, as one man held up the then-new ten dollar bill. “They’re just like Monopoly money,” was heard again and again, as the new bills appeared in wallets and cash registers. Back then, I found myself recalling a time a few years before, when President Nixon had effectively taken us off of the so-called Gold Standard. It was almost like heresy to many, who wanted to believe that their cash had something tangible to back it up. Before that, under President Johnson, silver coins were devalued when new silver-clad ones were issued, much cheaper copper making up the bulk of the coin hidden inside. We sarcastically called them sandwich coins, intimating that they were worthless, although in appearance, they were quite similar.
Do you see a pattern here? If all you have done as I’ve written about the changes in our currency in recent years is to agree that we have greatly devalued our money by these changes, you are missing the point. Back up just a bit more and take in the entire scene. Go back a few more years. See the gold being confiscated by President Roosevelt. Think about the hundreds of thousands of dollars in paper money issued during the Civil War, without any backing whatsoever. Almost a century before that, when the Continental Congress issued the first money for our new nation, it was called Continental currency. Within months, it was worthless, backed by no assets whatsoever. Many refused to take the Continentals in exchange for their goods or labor, giving rise to the phrase, “Not worth a Continental.”
Have you backed up far enough to see it? Sometimes we are so spellbound by the magician’s hands that we don’t see what the rest of his body is doing. Yep. It’s all just an illusion. I’m talking about currency again. We focus so much on what we have worked all of our lives to earn and save, that we don’t realize that the dollars, or pesos, or yen, are nothing more than simple tools which have been elevated in our collective minds to be the finished product. We believe the cash itself is the goal, when in actuality, its only purpose is to help form a common evaluation which can be used to acquire goods and services.
The value is not the dollars. It is what those dollars will accomplish. Yet whole civilizations have risen and fallen based on worthless currencies. Kingdoms have been built out of trashy pieces of paper and shiny pieces of metal. Countless generations have sold their souls for those same baubles and knick-knacks. Even our generation is right now sacrificing our children and our grandchildren on the altar of cash–that cash, without argument, just as much an idol as any wooden or stone image ever formed with human hands.
I have a proposition to make. Maybe we could agree to recognize money for what it is—simply a tool to perform a function. Perhaps, in this election year, we could even agree not to be offensive to each other as we discuss how this tool is wielded by our representative government. Perhaps we could talk rationally and cooperate with those around us, as we help to open as many eyes as we can to the folly of trusting in the paper and coins cranked out daily by our printing presses and mints. We say that we trust in God. Let’s prove it by not arguing about money. There are more important things about which to go to battle. When we fight over the false gods of the world, we guarantee that the world will ignore any other warnings we may voice about the real dangers all of us face.
Cash, or credit. It matters not. I’m finally beginning to see through the illusion.I think I’ll be putting my trust in something just a little more dependable.
“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil…Command those who are rich in this world not to be arrogant, nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain; but to put their trust in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.”
(I Timothy 6:10a,17~NIV) 
“Money is the worst currency that ever grew among mankind.  This sacks cities, this drives men from their homes, this teaches and corrupts the worthiest minds to turn base deeds.”
(Sophocles~Ancient Greek playwright~Fifth century BC)

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

The Sweet Life

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“If you can count to ten, you can play this instrument.” I heard the words many times, as my father-in-law attempted to sell the wooden four-stringed box. They were indeed, true. The mountain dulcimer, with its single melody string and a trio of relatively-tuned drone strings beside it, was an extremely easy instrument to master. Well, perhaps not to master. There are many talented instrumentalists who take years to become virtuosi of the dulcimer.
How odd, you might say. I thought your father-in-law said that it was as easy as counting to ten. Ah! You see, there is a slight difference of opinion regarding this ancient folk instrument. In its original form, the frets, which determine the intonation (tuning) when the string is depressed to the fingerboard, only extended below the one melody string. Since that time, the design has changed in this one respect; the frets extend across the entire fingerboard under all the strings. While the old-time dulcimer players insist that only the one melody string is to be fretted and the others left open to be strummed as drone accompaniments, many players see the frets under all the strings and assume that they all must be depressed, as with a guitar or banjo. When the original method is employed, it is just as easy as counting to ten. It takes a bit more practice and knowledge of the instrument to use the other method.
I will do nothing to settle the argument tonight. I will, however, tell you of a customer who carried one of these beautiful folk instruments into my store the other day. She is a musician herself, a trained pianist and a vocalist. When she and her husband purchased the pricey instrument a couple of years ago, she had the best intentions. She bought books, and videos, and accessories, fully expecting that she would be able to play this fine walnut instrument. On this more recent day, she was declaring failure. She will never play the dulcimer. I mentioned the sentiments I had heard vocalized by my late father-in-law over the years. She scoffed at the idea, even as I, completely untrained, began to strum the first strains of “Amazing Grace”, fretting the melody and strumming the drone strings. “Well, sure! I could do that! That’s not playing.” She went on to talk about the various tunings and the random chord patterns, as she bemoaned her inability to play the beautiful thing.
The very name of this simple instrument tells a story in itself. From the Latin “dulce” (sweet) and “melos” (song), meaning “sweet music”, the dulcimer can be a remarkably versatile accompaniment to other instruments and to voices. Even in its simplest usage, the music it produces is haunting and lies sweetly on the ears. I would expect nothing but sweetness from this fine example of the luthier’s art. Alas, its former owner would dispute the wisdom of that expectation. She is left with a bitter taste in her mouth from the wasted hours of practice and the frustration of her perceived failure.
I will spend but a moment on my thoughts regarding the truth to be learned here. I wonder often if we don’t make life much too difficult. Before us, we all have days with the same number of hours. There are tasks set before each of us which must be accomplished. In my experience, we are almost always equal to the task, but we often handicap ourselves with a poor attitude, and by procrastination. I have also noted that we frequently make the job before us harder than it needs to be, decrying those who would give valuable help and despising wise advice. Sometimes, the simplest answer to our problems is the last solution we will consider. I don’t claim to have learned the lesson myself, simply to have observed the situation again and again. I am, after all, a slow learner, requiring repetition to grasp the simple concepts many others adopt the first time they are presented with them.
I sat with the dulcimer for a moment tonight and strummed out the haunting melody of the ancient plainsong carol “Of The Father’s Love Begotten”. It wasn’t a masterful performance, neither was it fit for consumption by any other ears but my own. That said, I have a differing feeling toward this dulcimer than its former owner does. To my mind, it is indeed a source of sweet music and a joy to play.
And, I only needed to count to ten to be able to play it.
“All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom; justice; honor; duty; mercy; hope.”
(Winston Churchill~English orator and Prime Minister~1874-1965)
“It is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones, after all.”
(Laura Ingalls Wilder~American author~1867-1957)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved. 

Ugly People

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Wally World!  The one day off I get in three months and I end up at Wally World.  I detest the place.  You know the place I mean.  That mega-store that tells you the lie that the way you’ll live better is if you save money.  What they really mean is that they’ll live better if you’ll spend more money there…but wait…If I go off on that tangent this early in the discussion, I’ll never talk about anything important.  Come to think of it, what I write may not be so important anyway, but I’m at least going to give it a shot.

The Lovely Lady and I had attempted to visit a new antique store, but today being a holiday, were met with locked doors and darkened windows.  Since we were already close and knew we needed dog food for the little monsters in the back yard, the evil-empire seemed a reasonable secondary destination.  It wasn’t.  It seems that thinking about how much money we need to save to live better makes all of us more than a little self-centered.  I lost count of the times people pushed their way from the end of a side aisle into the main one, without ever looking and never even muttering an “excuse me” or “sorry” as I had to stop for them or be run over.  Hands reached in front of my face as I waited for the Lovely Lady to find a grocery item and other carts bumped mine in the narrow aisles, but there was no sign of concern, not even a head nod to indicate a mea culpa from any of the guilty parties.  We all ignored everyone else as, for the duration, our focus narrowed in on our own needs and desires.

Mere moments into our little excursion, I was in much the same condition as most of them, angry and self-absorbed, intent on getting what I came for and getting out.  Then I saw her.  THE Wally World Shopper.  The young lady (she was indeed an adult) was dressed in the consummate costume for shopping in this zoo.  Below her mussed-up mop of brown hair, her obese body was stuffed into a too small spaghetti-strap tank-top covered with vertical stripes and a pair of colorfully clashing shorts (also too small).  From her shoulder hung a huge handbag adorned with brightly colored polka-dots.  Positioned as it was, beside the striped top, the picture was already ridiculous. The brown leather cowboy boots which came up to just below her calves were the last straw.  I was momentarily powerless to stop what happened next.

I took a picture of her with my cell-phone.  She didn’t know it, since I had the phone in my hand already.  It was a good photo, showing the “ugly” shopper in all of her splendor.  As I wandered on down the aisle, I clicked over to my Facebook page and tapped the “photo” button.  The picture was moved to the appropriate screen, ready to be uploaded for all the world to see.  I even typed the words below it, “Can you tell where I am?”  Laughing at my own wit, I reached my index finger over to click on “upload”, but something stopped me. I just couldn’t tap the screen.

I left the post on my phone without uploading it and caught up with the Lovely Lady as we checked out.  Happy to leave the madhouse, we escaped into the triple-digit heat and headed home.  As we drove, I showed her the photo and mentioned that I was going to post it.  She said just one sentence, “She’s somebody’s daughter or niece, you know.”  Nothing more. It was enough.

When I got home, I sat and looked at the picture and at my words.  My thumb touched the “cancel” button.  The question flashed on my screen, “Are you sure you want to cancel this post?”  Almost angrily, I mashed the screen where the “yes” button appeared, again and again.

I remember now why I hate television programs such as “What Not To Wear”, where fashion snobs shame people into becoming what those snobs think is acceptable.  I hate them because they reinforce the idea that we are better than people who are different than we are.  I hate them because they legitimize the laughter at someone else’s expense, simply because we believe that we are smarter, or better looking, or stronger.  I say I hate the programs like this, and yet I do the same thing.  Regardless of whether I made the right decision today, I think that way in my heart, in the depths of my soul. Why else would I have taken the picture, or written the words?

Now who’s ugly?  In my mind, I see the Teacher, sitting and drawing in the dirt with a stick, as the intelligent ones, the arrogant ones, slink away one by one, confronted with their own sin, their own ugliness.  “Let him who is without fault begin the punishment.”  I am one of those accusers, now faced with who I really am.  What will I do about it?

I don’t have the answer.  I know that the journey to any destination starts with just one step in the right direction.  Tonight, I take that step.  Tomorrow…I’ll try to keep going. It won’t be a short journey.

I’d like to have some company as I make the trek.  Do you see any reason you might be going my way?  Two are always better than one alone.

I trust you won’t mind being seen with an ugly person. Hopefully, it will only be a temporary condition.

“When evil men shout ugly words of hatred, good men must commit themselves to the glories of love.”
(Martin Luther King Jr.~American minister and civil rights leader~1929-1968)

“You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things.”
(Romans 2:1~NIV)

“My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said, ‘I want a second opinion.’  He said, ‘Okay, you’re ugly, too.”
(Rodney Dangerfield~American comic~1921-2004)

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

Another Nightmare On Elm Street

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

As we drove up Elm Street, I saw them. Two teenage girls standing in the driveway, deep in conversation. Or, so I thought. The closer we drew, the odder the picture became. The one girl could only be described as animated. Her body language told us that she was engaged with the other person. She waved her hand, first in a dismissive way, then in a question. Her head moved as she spoke. The problem was that the other girl quite obviously wasn’t engaged. She stood slouching, hands stuck in the pockets of her jeans. As our car drew abreast, while the first girl was unaware, this young lady stared at us with a frown on her face. She didn’t look at her friend at all as the conversation continued.
Photo: Ed Yourdon
How rude, I thought! Then I saw it. The ubiquitous cell phone, held to the ear of her energized friend, as she talked to an unseen person and ignored the one standing right in front of her. This was not a conversation between two friends physically present with each other, but one between two friends who were distant in locale, yet engaged in spirit, while at least the one other person we could see was left out. Alone, if you will. While her companion enjoyed fellowship with the person at the other end of the call, this young lady who had thought she was with a friend, was in reality completely alone. I have a suspicion that this is happening with greater and greater frequency in relationships today, the suspicion fueled by the number of times I see the exact scenario played out in stores, and restaurants, and parks today.
Have you ever been alone? Really alone? I don’t mean alone in a time and space in which you choose to be by yourself. I’ve done that many times. A walk taken in the late evening to clear the mind doesn’t count; the early morning “hunting trips” in the fall, with rifle held in my hands, but no intention whatsoever of shooting any prey, isn’t on my radar screen tonight. I’m talking about that sense of being alone even when you are with other people. Sometimes with a great number of people.
I have been in a building with thousands, but felt more lonely than at any other time in my life.  I have stood with three or four men as they actively debated a matter but, having no interest in the subject under discussion, have been utterly alone with my own thoughts and a wish or two to be somewhere else. That said, I have been blessed to spend my life surrounded by people who have been engaged and engaging. My life is filled with friends and family who care and who show it.
Not everyone is so blessed. The woman who stood before me yesterday, weeping as she inquired if I could help her out, was surrounded by customers in the music store, but her words belied any sense of fellowship with any of us. “I don’t know how much one person can be expected to stand…” The young man, who transferred from a college in another town, said to me just today, “I’m asking myself, ‘What am I doing here?'” He doesn’t think he fits in. On an unfamiliar college campus with fifteen hundred other students, he is alone. I’m pretty sure that we could multiply these two by hundreds and thousands across our nation. All surrounded by people…All alone and lonely. All waiting to be engaged.
I don’t have easy answers. I’m not sure there are any pat replies to, “I’m alone.” The reality is that none of us needs to be alone, and yet, many are. You know some of them. Some, you have seen as you make your daily trip to work, or to the grocery store, or to school. Perhaps the best answer is for us to engage. It will take us out of the sheltered havens that we have built for ourselves and it will leave us uncomfortable. But, they’re not knocking down our doors, so we have to do some knocking down of our own, breaking through their defenses and sharing ourselves.
When our Creator said, “It is not good for man to be alone”, He wasn’t just talking about romance and marriage. He meant, quite simply, that it is not good for man to be alone!We are made in such a way that we need fellowship, made to mesh with others of like mind and similar interests. When we fall down in our responsibility to bear each others’ burdens, to engage if you will, we live in selfishness and pride and perpetuate loneliness for others.
Once more, I must descend from the soap box. I didn’t intend to stay up there for more than a moment, but time flies when you’re blathering on. I have made some decisions, as I rambled on, though. I resolve to listen more, to care more, and last of all (perhaps most important), to use my cell phone less in the presence of others. On second thought, it isn’t the most important, but it’s a start.
I’ve heard they have this new thing called voice mail. It could prove to be an amazing tool, and quite probably should be utilized more often. I’ll try it out…
“We who are strong are indebted to bear the infirmities of the weak and not to please ourselves.”
(Romans 15:1,2~Aramaic Bible in Plain English)

“I cried out with no reply 
And I can’t feel You by my side,
So I hold tight to what I know…
You’re here…and I’m never alone.”
(Never Alone~Barlow Girl~American Contemporary Christian music singers/songwriters)

“When you get the chance to sit it out, or dance…
I hope you dance.”
(“I Hope You Dance”~ Mark Sanders and Tia Sillers~American Country Music songwriters)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.