The Fallacy of Reptile Physicians

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment
Dewy-winged dragonfly at dawn. (click to enlarge)  Photo: Jeannean Ryman

The aging woman ambled beside me through the dew-covered grass toward the orange trees, her slight frame dwarfed by my lanky six feet.  She wanted a few oranges to juice for herself and the old man waiting on the front porch.  He was himself a large man, easily tall enough to reach the fruit she needed, but the disease we now call COPD (then, just emphysema) had stolen away his ability to walk any further than from one room to the next inside his home.  Even though she couldn’t reach very high into the trees, with a grandson or two just across the street, it wasn’t much trouble to get help when they wanted to enjoy the sweet, fresh-squeezed juice that the annual crop from the nearby trees yielded.

As we headed into a stand of unmowed grass, I noticed a look of apprehension on my grandmother’s face.  Her eyes were fixed on a flying insect a number of feet away and it was obvious that she was not happy to see it there.  As we continued on our course, the first insect was joined by a second, flitting and performing aerial acrobatics some seven or eight feet away from the first.  Grandma stopped dead in her tracks.  “Snake Doctors!  If they’re around, there’s a snake somewhere around too.  I’m going back to the house.”  She spun around and headed for the back steps with much more vigor than she had evidenced on the way out.  I chuckled and continued on with the bowl she had shoved into my hands, soon filling it with the sweet colorful fruit that grew prolifically on the trees.  I finished the job without seeing a sign of any snake.  The pair of dragonflies cavorting nearby certainly didn’t seem too threatening to me.  I had always liked the queer insects.

When I again joined the pair in the house, my grandmother explained.  “I hate snakes!  And, those snake doctors, those dragonflies, are a sure sign that a snake is around.  They are always near snakes.”  I didn’t want to be impolite, so I waited until I got home to laugh out loud at her foolish words.  In fact, a couple of years later, when I joined the Citizen’s Band radio craze, I chose as my on-air pseudonym, my “handle” as it was called, “Snake Doctor”.  Can’t you just hear it?  “Break one-nine.  This is the old Snake Doctor, looking to get a smokey report.  I’ve got the hammer down and coming your way…”  The vernacular was sillier than the name, by a wide margin, but I still took a lot of ribbing because of that handle.  

It wasn’t until a few years later, as my intellectual curiosity grew, that I realized that my grandmother wasn’t alone in her belief that the dragonfly was not to be scoffed at.  Indeed, the legend in the southern United States has it that these evil creatures actually stay near snakes so that they can sew them up if they are injured.  They are called by one foreign culture, “Devil’s Needle”, and by another, “Eye Poker”.  In South America, the phrase applied to the unfortunate bug is “caballito del diablo”, meaning “the Devil’s Horse”.  Also, much like our southern lore, in Great Britain the Welsh name for the insect translates to “Adder’s Servant”.  In fact, the very name “Dragonfly” evokes frightening imagery, as if the legendary fire-breathing creature has been miniaturized and embodied in the so-ugly-it’s-beautiful insect.  It is, even today, a much maligned insect…one might even think, a dangerous one.  They couldn’t be further from the truth.

This speedy flyer (one of the fastest insects known) is, in fact, a predator, but it eats flies and mosquitoes in huge quantities, helping the human race in an amazing way.  In Myanmar (formerly Burma), the native people have “seeded” the water with the larvae of the dragonfly for generations, understanding that the result was a crop of predators who would help to control the yellow-fever carrying mosquitoes.  The one group of people that does have a valid beef with these speedy, winged insect traps is the beekeepers.  The larger families of the dragonfly have been known to catch and ingest their fair share of honeybees.  That said, they don’t attract snakes and certainly don’t cure them, don’t attack horses and give them diseases as the Australians averred at one time, they almost certainly aren’t used by the Devil to weigh man’s soul as Swedish folklore teaches.

We humans don’t seem to be very adept at determining cause and effect.  The dragonfly is often found near the tall grass at the water’s edge where snakes also happen to frequent.  For some reason, that makes the two species close allies.  The folks in Australia observed horses jumping and stamping in obvious distress at the same time that dragonflies were flitting about.  It is probable that the dragonflies actually were eating the small parasites which were, in reality, tormenting the horses, but the poor “Horse Stinger” got the blame.  The very shape of the body makes the insect the target of disdain and fear, but perhaps the same could be said of my own body when viewed through the eyes of other species.  We jump to wrong conclusions, based on inaccurate assumptions again and again.  The result is a bad rap for an immensely beneficial species.  Fear and animosity are passed from generation to generation, and truth is a victim, as is the persecuted dragonfly.

You do realize by now, that I’m not really talking simply about an insect, don’t you?  Just as I have, you have also seen the individuals, persecuted and maligned by society, their lives made a living hell because of hearsay and conjecture.  They were seen coming out of a certain building; they were observed handing someone a package; they talked to the wrong people.  Who knows?  They just might not wear the right kind of clothes, may not have the right haircut, perhaps don’t even bathe as often as they should.  They are “not like us” and therefore dangerous to our way of life.  Perhaps, they speak a different language, have too many junk cars in their yard, or paint the trim on their houses the wrong shade of green or yellow.  The list goes on forever and it becomes clear that we’re no better at judging humans than we are at judging insects.  

At some point, we need to realize that we might, just might, be using the wrong criteria.  It is obvious that on our own, we have no clue whatsoever.  If you would perhaps allow me to make a suggestion, just one–I would like to propose that we use the original owner’s manual.  Try as I might, I can’t think about this problem without believing that the Teacher had this in mind when He suggested…no, insisted…that we love our neighbors in exactly the same way that we love ourselves.  It is, after all, the most important rule given besides loving our God with everything we have within us.

That’s it.  No convoluted recovery plan.  No mission and purpose statement.  Love others like we love the person in the mirror.  You know what you need to do to put the instructions into action.  Now might be a good time to get busy on that, if you haven’t already done so.  Tell someone about it, too.  Just about the time they start to whisper a juicy tidbit in your ear would be a good opportunity to share it.

I still love dragonflies.  They are amazing, beautiful creatures.  Well, okay, I’ll admit that if you see a close-up of their eyes (all thirty thousand of them in those compound goggle-looking things), you could possibly be freaked-out.  Still, what astounding design and purpose, all wrapped up in an odd and peculiar package…

Almost like…well…like you and like me, huh?

“It is the peculiar quality of a fool, to perceive the faults of others and to forget his own.”
(Cicero~Ancient Roman scholar and statesman~106 BC-43 BC)

“Stop judging, so that you won’t be judged, because the way that you judge others will be the way that you will be judged, and you will be evaluated by the standard with which you evaluate others.”
(Matthew 7:2~ISV)

(Special thanks to my childhood friend, Jeannean Ryman for the use of her amazing photograph today.  Jeannean has a gift for seeing the beauty in the ordinary and then giving us a glimpse.  This and many other wonderful examples may be viewed at http://jeannean.zenfolio.com if you are interested.)

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

The Burned Hand Teaches

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The little one was screaming.  At the top of her lungs.  Her brothers continued their play.  They assumed that as usual, she had been frightened by some bug or that she was angry about a toy she wanted, but couldn’t have.  Her big sister, on the other hand, had seen what happened and ran to get Mama.  “She hurt her hand.  I think the metal thing is hot.”

Sure enough, the little tyke had burned her hand on the galvanized tub we use for bathing the black monsters in the back yard every week or so.  The dogs are bigger than she, so today when one headed toward her, she thought that a higher vantage point might be helpful and attempted to clamber up on the upside-down tub, laying her hand on the metal surface which had been sitting for hours in the bright sunlight.  With temperatures in the low one hundred degrees, it was hot enough to sear her palm in seconds.  Mama quickly brought the screaming little girl in and attempted to run water over the hand.  She never got it near the water as the screaming got louder.  No amount of imploring could convince the girl that the water not only wouldn’t increase her pain level, but would make it better.  Her grandma, the Lovely Lady, quickly packaged up some ice in a plastic bag.  No dice.  She wasn’t holding that in her hand!  Grandpa tried to get her to put her hand on the side of an iced tea glass.  Still no luck.  She was sure that if she touched anything at all, it would hurt worse than it already did.

I burned my own hand pretty badly just a few weeks ago.  I immediately turned the faucet on and ran cool water over my hand, graduating to holding an ice cold glass for the next hour until the pain subsided.  Because of my experience, I, along with every other adult present, tried to convince the little tyke that the cool water would help the pain go away, but she would have none of it.  After long, agony-filled minutes dragged out, she was finally convinced that it wouldn’t hurt to hold a cool, wet dish rag in her hand.  When she headed for home, she was still crying.  It will take a while for the blisters on her little hand to heal.

In the meantime, as she was being tended to, her siblings were sent outside to play again.  I went out to be with them until time for them to leave.  I walked out of the back door to find her older sister, the one who had witnessed the accident, on top of the overturned tub herself, jumping up and down on it.  “I’m not touching it with my hand.  I can’t get hurt!” she bragged.  In my mind, I could see her slipping and falling onto her hands and knees any minute, or worse…with the backs of her legs coming to rest on the blistering hot steel, so I insisted that she get down immediately.  She was not happy.  Sure, her sister had been hurt, but this girl wasn’t going to touch it with her hands.  She pouted as she headed for the swing set to participate in some less daring activity.

You know, I see adult truths in the shenanigans of my grandchildren time and time again, and the events of this afternoon were no exception.  Through no fault of her own, the sweet little girl had burned her hand.  The bigger problem arose when she refused to accept a treatment that would have saved her much anguish.  I don’t tell the story to fault the little girl.  She doesn’t know any better yet.  I am however, aware of a good number of adults who do know better, but who won’t listen to sense when they need help.  You don’t need me to give any examples.  Look around you.  You might even want to take a look in the mirror.  We are stubborn people, demanding our own way, and taking it at great personal cost, refusing instruction and aid, even when we could benefit immeasurably from them.  You can certainly fill in the blanks here.

The other lesson I gleaned this afternoon was from the second girl, as she gloated in her invincibility.  She had immense faith in her physical prowess.  There are times when that faith is well founded.  She is a healthy, agile child.  Most of the time.  That said, I saw her fall off her tricycle just moments before the whole affair began, with no one nearby to cause the mishap.  Accidents do happen, and to tempt providence is never a safe course of action.  She knew that her sister was in terrible pain, but she still was willing to risk that pain herself while placing faith in her limited abilities.  Of all the adult attitudes this puts me in mind of, the quote comes instantly to mind, “That could never happen to me.”  We see others discovered in foolish positions, or caught in catastrophic behavior and we think that we can “play with fire” so to speak, without any chance of falling into the same trap.  There’s a warning in the Bible which fits quite aptly here, when we recall that it tells us, “Let him who thinks that he is standing, be careful that he doesn’t fall.”

I think the little one is going to be okay.  It will be one of many such lessons she will have to learn as she grows.  I would love to be able to help protect her from the pain of lessons like this.  I would love to be spared the tears I shed as I thought again this afternoon of her anguish.  But, if she truly learns by her errors, she will be better off.  We too have Someone who is touched by our pain and who desires nothing but good for us, but who still allows us to suffer in the hope that we will learn and grow. 

I’m pretty sure that it would be a good thing if we could avoid both the error and the arrogance of each little girl, respectively.  I’m also just as confident that I’ll probably be jumping on the upside-down tub soon, myself.  If you see me doing it, you might at least warn me of my danger.

You never know;  I might listen…this time.

“Gato escaldado, del agua frìa huye.” 
(“If the cat has been burned, it runs away even from cold water.”)

Pride goes before destruction,  a haughty spirit before a fall.”
(Proverb 16:18)

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

Dead Men’s Bones

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I did my homework.  The online auction was for an oil painting by a listed California artist.  The woman had exhibited and won honors at the California State Fair in 1890.  The date on the painting was 1889, so it is likely that this very picture had been included in that exhibition.  I had been looking, as usual, for a new and interesting painting of a bridge to add to my collection, but this intrigued me.

Women artists were not common in the nineteenth century, nor were they likely to win any awards with their work, being deemed “not serious” artists.  The painting obviously did not include a bridge, but it was a beautiful, nearly monochromatic painting of a hazy, almost foggy, nature scene, a wonderfully detailed lake with little waves lapping up against the rocky bank, and tall trees rising from the water’s edge in a gnarled stand of trunks and leaves.  The artist had even incorporated a little-used technique which imitated a frame, and then painted a stand of wildflowers in front of that, making it appear that the picture was almost three dimensional.  I wanted it!

As I always have done with the online auctions, I waited for the last possible moment and snuck in a bid with no time left for others to raise theirs. It’s a trick called “sniping” in the auction world.  I suppose the name comes from “picking off” the competition before they even know you’re there.  I’m sure that some other poor bidder was unhappy to lose the painting at the last minute, but in retrospect, I might have been happier had he won.  Regardless, the money changed hands and the painting was on its way to me.  I awaited its arrival with anxious anticipation.

A time or two while I was waiting, I went back to the auction page online to view the photo of the painting again.  Over the week it took for the package to traverse the countryside, a feeling of uneasiness began to grow.  I kept looking at the small photograph provided in the auction and wondered about a strange object  I had noticed on the side of the lake in the painting.  When first I saw it, I thought that it was just some brush, perhaps a windfall of some small saplings which the artist had included in the scene.  The photograph was small and not completely in focus, so I just couldn’t tell.  Ah well, no matter.  It was a listed artist!  It would be well worth my expenditure and my wait.

The painting finally arrived.  I cut open the package and carefully removed the protective covering around the frame and the very well executed painting.  It was everything I had thought it would be.  I loved everything about it.  The water was skillfully done, the technique with the wildflowers, exquisite.  The trees were…well, trees.  And, the Native American burial…wait a minute!  Native American burial?  That’s not what I bought!  I purchased an oil painting of a peaceful meeting of water and woods!   The Indian burial is certainly of interest, but it is not something I want hung on the wall of my den.

This occurred over four years ago.  The painting still has no place to hang in my home.  It sits today, a couple of feet away from the table where I unwrapped it with such anticipation.  It was going to be a valued piece which resided in a place of honor on the wall of my house, a special halogen light shining overhead, to spread light on it when company came, or when I wanted to just sit and drink in the artist’s skillful depiction of creation.  Instead, it leans against the wall, waiting for…what?  I have never sold a painting.  I paid too much for it to throw away, and it has historical significance.  It is of no value to me, though. 

What a great example of life this is.  Centuries ago, our Savior spoke to the hypocrites, calling them “whitewashed tombs”.  The practice of dressing up ugly things in pretty packages is nothing new to our society.  The hucksters of today have nothing on the ones of that or any century.

I’ve even wondered if the way I felt about this purchase is not the same way the Lovely Lady has felt a time or two over the last thirty-some years.  I did my best to package these ugly bones as we were courting.  You can’t live with someone like me for as long as she has and not have some of those ugly skeletons come into view.   She has veiled the horror admirably, and I still have a place in her home, so it would seem that she is more open-minded than I.  And, I am grateful.

Hmmm…I seem to have wandered…Oh yes, the whitewashed tombs.  It is certain that there are a few of those prettily decorated graves around still.  We all need to be careful that we don’t get taken in.  With the painting, I thought I had done my homework, but was fooled by a reputation and a bad photograph.  It would behoove each of us to examine our essential choices in life a bit more carefully than that.  Many will still choose the pretty door hiding the dead men’s bones.  I’m thinking that we can do better than that.

Beauty and joy, and life, lie before us.  Let’s not trade that off for any pretty picture of death, no matter what talented artist chose it as her subject.

Now, what should I do with this painting?  Maybe the hall closet…

“Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.”
(Dorothy Parker~American author~1893-1967)

“What sorrow awaits you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs–beautiful on the outside but filled on the inside with dead people’s bones and all sorts of impurity.”
(Matthew 23:27~NLT)

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

The Right Stuff

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The old guys were back today.  The brothers have been coming in to visit me at the music store every month or so for awhile now.  If you didn’t know them, you wouldn’t think that they were nearly superstars once, not so many years ago.  I have seen them sporadically through the years, all the way from their arrogant, invincible youth, in the days when they played music with the best of the best and were well-known far beyond the reaches of this little corner of the world.  It may come as a surprise, but they weren’t always that nice to be around.  I wasn’t even sure I liked them all that much.

They kissed their wives and children goodbye and traveled for the biggest part of the year, repeating this for nearly a decade, coming back to divorces and troubled teens, finally realizing (almost too late) that there are more important things than fame and renown.  Even the dissolution of their family band led indirectly to more tragedy for this family later, but that is a story for a different day.

Photo: Andrew.Beebe

For the last several months, they have come by to see me and make sure that there is nothing in my music store that they can’t live without.  I’m happy to reminisce (and to take their money), but also to look to the future with them.  They recognize the follies of their former life and wish they could change more than a few exploits and harmful habits, but there is no going back there again.  That said, they are making a comeback, of sorts.  Their monthly visits coincide with the new music tour the band is on now.  Once a month, they play music for the old folks in the nursing home nearby.  It is, by their own account, more satisfying than playing for the crowds of thousands in the old days.  They report that the crowds are much less rowdy and more appreciative than were those other fans.  As we talk and joke, there is no arrogance, no sense of invincibility left, just an appreciation for the renewed opportunity to touch lives with music.  I like these guys!

As I thought of the path these fellows have walked, I couldn’t help but think of another young friend who is still headed the other direction on the road to stardom in music.  This young man is the guitarist for one of the top artists in Christian Music and rubs shoulders every day with some of the biggest names in the music business.  He took time from his busy schedule to stop by and see me the other day.  The difference between this young musician and many others I see is astounding.  We talked for awhile and, brushing aside compliments of his own amazing talents and without ever making a self-comparison, he had nothing but good things to say about a mutual friend who also aspired to make a mark in the music business at one time.  His demeanor is that of a servant, never bragging, mostly deflecting any praise away from himself and to those around him, or to the God for whom he plays.  This one, I have liked from the day I met him.

As we talked, he brought up the subject of his road schedule, thankful that he doesn’t have to spend too much time away from his wife, but cognizant of the need to keep a balance.  Although it’s clear that he has no intention of doing so very soon, he even mentioned an “exit strategy”, suggesting that he won’t pursue his career at the expense of his marriage.  I am amazed at the wisdom, having seen the “too little, too late” scenario played out too many times.

Being so involved in the music culture has led me to consider, perhaps more than most people, the paths and attitudes of different musicians.  I analyze and take apart the various approaches these folks have to life and performing and fame, and I’m not always happy with what I see.  It is easy to lose sight of the goal in the mad dash to the rewards.  The goal and the rewards are not the same thing.  You see, if you are a believer, becoming famous is not the goal.  Making a lot of money is not the goal.  The goal is turning the spotlight on the real Superstar, and focusing attention on Him through the medium of music.  There can be rewards in the meantime, but the objective must always be in sight or values will be compromised.  Winning the prizes and gaining the adulation of the crowd along the way aren’t necessarily bad, but if they cause us to waver in our resolve to finish strong, they have become burdens and distractions. Many, in achieving the rewards, abandon their original purpose and end up losing the race completely.  The cost, along the way, is often in lost relationships and people damaged, almost beyond repair.

As for me, I have no expectations (and no possibility) of being a superstar, so there is no worry about the adulation of the crowd along the road, but I do wish I had learned the wisdom of the young musician earlier in life.  Mine, while not as extreme as my old friends’, has been the long hard road of learning by my mistakes.  Like the old musicians, I will have to live with the consequences.  It is to be hoped though, that I have retained some of the lessons learned along the way.

I remember a few of them.  Perhaps it will be enough.

“Greatness is not found in possessions, power, position, or prestige.  It is discovered in goodness, humility, service, and character.”
(William Arthur Ward~Pastor and inspirational writer~1921-1994)

So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God.
(I Corinthians 10:31~NET)

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

The Dance Of Life

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“It takes two to tango,”  she said, without explanation.  “But…”  The youngster before her opened his mouth once more in protest and then, sensing that the conversation was over, shut it abruptly.  It was as plain as the nose on his face that his brother was at fault.  Surely the boy couldn’t be blamed for taking part in an argument which had been initiated by his evil older sibling.  The elbow through the screen door…that was just the result of what his older brother had started.  He knew that it was no use.  Dad would be home soon.  He wouldn’t use enigmatic phrases like “two to tango”, but he had other means, less quaint, to drive home his point.  Oh well, what was done, was done.  The two who were tangoing would soon face the real music.  Still, what did that odd phrase mean?

The boy thought that he may have misunderstood the words his mother said.  Perhaps she had said, “…two to tangle.”  That would work.  When you tangled with someone, you fought with them.  One person can’t fight alone.  There had to be a second combatant involved.  That must be it.

Imagine his surprise, some time later, when the phrase came up in a discussion of two adults who had gotten involved in an extramarital affair.  Someone blamed the man, but the boy’s mother, always seeking fairness, said the words again.  “Two to tango…that’s what it takes.”  He walked away, still puzzled.  Not only a fight, but also a close relationship?  It would be years later before he understood the oddly worded concept.

I’m not a dancer; not the most coordinated mover you would ever meet, so my knowledge of the tango is only second-hand (the Lovely Lady breathes a sigh of relief…).  What I see of the dance however, explains the use of the trite phrase offered for seemingly opposing actions by my mother, so many years ago.  The tango has some movements which appear to be combative as the dancers push each other away and work against each other physically, but it also has movements which require a closeness and synchronization that demonstrate almost a oneness, a unity of thought and action.  I have watched the dance and imagined what it would be to see just one of the partners moving by himself or herself.  Actually, what I have decided is that it couldn’t work at all.  The opposing, almost combative, action requires a partner against whom to work.  The matching, close action still requires a partner for the movements to be reciprocated.  It really does take two to tango!

We live in a world of extremes.  I have watched couples tear each other apart, symbolically, as they deal with frustrations and hurts.  In many cases, both individuals oppose the other, with resistance building until an all out battle erupts.  The two dance their angry, bitter tango until one partner walks away, leaving the other to stand on the stage in wonder at the cessation of the dance.  Miraculously, once in a long while, one of the partners will attempt to repair the  relationship, exchanging their taunting, contrary moves for the clinging, synchronized ones.  But, if the other partner doesn’t soon change the attitude of his or her dance, it is to no avail.  It takes two to tango.  I have seen times when the change in attitude by one will be reciprocated, and the dance of love and closeness resumes.  Those times are, in our day and age, too rare.  Our society seems to celebrate the combative spirit, encouraging the dancers to seek other, more exciting, partners.  The dance ends in civil court as the last part of their tango for two is played out.

I’ve spent a fair share of my own time shoving and pushing away from others.  I’ve come to realize that the close, congenial interaction is much more desirable.  We draw strength from each other; we work in tandem with each other;  we achieve our goals as we borrow each other’s strengths and smooth over each other’s weaknesses.  It still takes two to tango.  I like the end of this particular dance a whole lot better, though.

How’s your tango going?  You know better than anyone the struggles and the calm, the fights and the embraces.  Maybe, it’s time to take a dance lesson or two.  I know a Teacher who understands the moves better than any other.  He’s even got an opening in His schedule for another student or two.  If you’re going to tango anyway, you might as well do it right.

Well, this old guy with two left feet has had enough of this part of the dance for today.  I think I’ll head home to spend a little time with my favorite partner. 

I haven’t stepped on her feet in quite a while.  I’ll try to keep it that way.

“And, hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.”
(“The Owl and the Pussycat” by Edward Lear~English writer and poet~1812-1901)

“There are “friends” who destroy each other, but a real friend sticks closer than a brother.”
(Proverbs 18:24~NLT)

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

Satisfied?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The scrawny, tow-head shoved the old mower along the pavement.  It was hot.  He was tired.  The last lawn he had mowed had earned him three dollars.  And a quarter.  The quarter was a bonus from the nice old lady whose grass he had just whacked down to size.  He was hot and tired, but content.  The lawn mower was out of gas and he would be home in just a few moments to rest for awhile with a tall, cool glass of water.

Photo: Mike Babiarz

Suddenly, the front door of one of the houses he was passing swung open and a rough-looking man wearing a strong-man tee shirt stuck his head out.  “Hey!”  The boy stopped and waited to hear the life-changing words the man had to say.  “You want to earn ten dollars?”  Did he!  Ten dollars was an unheard of sum–right up there with the money the rich kids made working at the country club.  Did he want to earn ten dollars?  “What do I have to do?”  He wasn’t going to do anything illegal for it, but aside from that, if he could manage it, the money would be his.  The answer came quickly and he was amazed.  What?  It couldn’t be this easy!  “I just want you to mow my lawn, too.”   Before the crazy man had the opportunity to change his mind (or his wife came home to discover what he was paying), the boy agreed and, with new energy, ran home for his gas can and a quick drink of water.  An hour or two later, he was again on his way home, shoving the mower along the pavement, thinking about the future.

Did I tell you it would be life changing?  It was.  The lawn got mowed and the cash changed hands.  I have no idea what the boy spent the money on.  It was many years ago.  The life changing part is that he never wanted to mow a three dollar lawn again.  Not even if there was a twenty-five cent bonus to be thrown in after the job was completed.  There were plenty of three dollar jobs around.  He just didn’t want to work for that tiny amount anymore. 

Many years after that event, the boy, now a man, sat in a financial counseling seminar beside a Lovely Lady.  The moderator stood before them and announced that he was going to do the impossible with such a large group.  He was going to tell each one of them how much money they needed.  The men and women looked at him, half disbelieving, half expectantly.  Could he really do that?  As he paused, to let the tension build for a moment, each of them wondered, “How can he know what I need in my circumstance?”  “He can’t possibly know what I owe–the bills coming due.”  After a moment of these thoughts, he told them.  “Every single one of you needs…A Little Bit More!”

He was right.  By increments, our expectation of what was necessary to live had risen.  From the boy needing three dollars and then ten, to the man needing one hundred dollars and then a thousand, the scale kept changing.  Never satisfied, never moderating, the bar kept being raised.  Like the infamous “rat race”, there was no end in sight, only more challenges and slightly higher rewards.  The problem is that the life style kept changing right along with the slightly higher rewards.  A pay check of one hundred dollars resulted in the need for one hundred ten; when it became three hundred dollars, three hundred thirty was what was desired.  When the extra wasn’t forthcoming, means were found for coping.  Loans, credit cards, extra jobs…they all were utilized for the Little Bit More to be achieved.  It was never enough.

It is the human condition.  We see.  We want.  We get, but aren’t satisfied.  The cycle goes on and on in unending upward spirals.  Never happy, our joy is always just out of reach.  The examples cited above reference money and material affluence, but the principle is fairly consistent throughout the scope of our existence.  We want more than we have, so we go after it.  Never satiated, frequently willing to modify our morals to achieve our desires, we keep reaching and are destroyed.  Physically, relationally, and spiritually.  The apostle James told us that it is where conflict comes from.  We covet and we fight.  We desire and we kill.  On and on, without end.  Surely our Maker has more in mind for us than this.

Even though it was years ago, I will never forget the old Irish pastor stretched out over the pulpit in my church one evening.  He leaned right over until it seemed as if he was part of the congregation, speaking to each one of us individually, and he asked the question, “Are you satisfied?”  I can hear his Irish brogue like it was yesterday.  The question rings in my head.  You see, the Irishman had a different goal in mind.  He wanted to know if I was satisfied with being who I was, with doing what I did, with staying where I was living.  Not for myself, but for others.  I have thought long and hard about the answer.  A negative response requires that I change those things, that I work at reaching other, loftier goals than I have.  A positive answer means that there is no longer any reason to hope for better, for higher, for more.  It almost sounds though, as if he were asking me to keep on the way I was going, always wanting more than I could possibly have.

The beauty of this dilemma is that in spite of the seeming contradiction, my heart knows without question that I don’t need more money, more things, more of the empty promises.  Just as clearly, my heart knows that I need to be more…do more…live more.  That can only be accomplished by setting my sights on higher things and striking out to achieve them.

The answer to the Irishman’s question is a resounding NO!  I am not satisfied!  I must keep reaching, keep striving, keep working.  There is much yet to be accomplished.  I hope you realize that I’m inviting you to come along with me.  I know I can’t do it alone and a little company along the road would sure be welcome.

How about it?  We’ll see if we can still do just a Little Bit More…

“Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world Other.”
(from “Idylls of the King” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson~British Poet Laureate~1809-1892)

“Give me one pure and holy passion.
Give me one magnificent obsession…
Lead me on and I will run after You.”
(from “One Pure and Holy Passion” by Michael W Smith~American singer/songwriter)

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

In Plain Sight

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Hiding in plain sight.  As plain as the nose on your face.  If it had been a snake, it would have bitten you.  Right under your nose.  The list of ways to say that something should be easy to see seems to be interminable.  So many things are in front of us and we are blissfully unaware.  A good friend of mine pointed out one such example the other day.

Photo: Dano

 How many times have you seen a similar truck drive past you?  Perhaps the better question is:  How many times each day do you see a similar truck drive past?  It is an everyday sight in most towns, as the drivers speed to commercial and residential destinations to make their deliveries.  The other thing I wonder is:  Do you see what is right in front of you?  Did you know that there is a message on the side of this vehicle?  It’s really not hidden and wasn’t meant to be a secret.  Oh, it was placed there purposefully, but the designers also purposefully didn’t make a point of telling you about it.  They wanted you to see it for yourself.

As I write, I can’t keep my mind from wandering to a most exceptional man in our country’s history, George Washington Carver.  He was an extraordinary man among his peers, an African-American who had risen from slavery, being redeemed from kidnappers for a horse at one time in his childhood.  He acquired something unheard of for one of his race in the late 1800s–an education, gaining a Masters Degree in Botany.  Carver spent most of his life teaching and experimenting and he is credited with the rise of the popularity of the peanut industry in the Southern United States, especially as a replacement for the cotton crops which were devastated by boll weevil infestations on several occasions.  He is perhaps just as well known for his work in discovering hundreds of uses for the little nuts and the oil they contain.  In spite of his own achievements, Mr. Carver gave credit to the Creator for showing him the secrets of the lowly peanut in this way:  “When I was young, I said to God, ‘God, tell me the mystery of the universe.’ But God answered, ‘That knowledge is for me alone.’ So I said, ‘God, tell me the mystery of the peanut.’ Then God said, ‘Well George, that’s more nearly your size.’ And he told me.” 

I wonder if you realize that somehow, this blog has done a similar thing with most of its posts, in a much less significant way.  Most of the posts you can read here utilize a story from life, either my own or that of someone I know, which makes a larger point.  The familiar often hides the profound, but with a little shove here and a small amount of prodding there, the truth is urged forth, to stand unveiled and powerful.  It is not my doing that the truth is there; I have simply managed a time or two, with no small amount of help, to be able to point it out. I’m pretty sure that most of life is like that.  The profound awaits discovery, hidden among the foolish.  We just have to be diligent in looking for it.

Federal Express?  Oh, yeah.  They designed their logo to do more than tell you their name.  It also tells you which direction they are headed.  Forward.  Look at the logo.  Do you see the arrow pointing to the front of the truck?  The negative space between the “E” and the “x”.   Ah, you see it now.  Forward!  It’s not only the direction the truck is headed, they want you to know that the company is moving ahead into the future, too.  There are many of you who had seen this already, but for the rest of you, I bet you won’t ever look at that logo the same way again.

That’s the way it is with the truth, when it is right in front of our noses, separated from the jumbled mess of life.  We grasp it, and we try to understand how to apply it properly.  Or, we can forget it and go on in much the same way we always have.  I’d like a serving of the former, thanks.  

Just as with the logo, whose creators intended that the truth should become plain to us, our Creator has done the same thing with all of His creation.  The truth is waiting to be found and applied.

It’s there.  Right under our noses. Hiding in plain sight.

“When you do the common things in life in an uncommon way, you will command the attention of the world.”
(George Washington Carver~American educator, scientist, and inventor~1864-1943)

“This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.”
(“This Is My Father’s World”~ hymn by Maltbie Babcock~American pastor and poet~1858-1901)

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

The Light is Going!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

My friend and I stood at the end of the day, arms draped across the side of the old pickup we were leaning against, and wondered if we were going to succeed in life.  Not an unusual occurrence for a couple of young men, ready to tackle life…but this happened yesterday, not twenty years ago, so you could be forgiven if you were to express doubts about the ability of these two slightly-older-than-middle aged men to effect much of a change in the course of events at this late date.  It might even be said that if we’ve waited this late to begin, there is no chance at all of success in life for us.

We weren’t discussing financial success, nor even social prominence.  Neither Mike nor I aspire to the spotlight anymore.  He has run a profitable auto repair business and opted to close it in favor of the simplicity of a salaried position with a large dealership; I have operated a family music store for more than twenty-five years and am finally accepting the title of “successful businessman”, although I balk at the definition of success in that context.  What we are realizing is that time is getting short and we still have some ground to cover in other areas.

I remember the after-school softball games we played in the vacant lot down the street, when I was a kid.  There was not a single real player among us, but we loved the thrill of hearing the ball smack off the end of the old wooden bat and the run to first base (a flattened cardboard box), then a long rounded-off turn toward second base (Oscar’s tee-shirt).  If we made it that far, we were bound to try for third base (which was just an old abandoned red ant bed) and stretch for home.  The games went for an hour or two, but were made longer by the arguments about balls and strikes and tag-outs.  We would play (and argue) for as long as we could see, but the arguments ceased abruptly when somebody called out, “Hey, the light is going!  Let’s play some ball!”  The action would speed up, pitches were thrown without much ado between, and the runners were more likely than ever to attempt to make a so-so hit turn into extra bases or even a home run.  The light was going!  We had more playing to do!

I will admit that it does seem that time is being compressed for me.  I have also realized something else.  When I was a young man, I wanted to effect big changes in the world.  I have concluded that big change may not be my legacy.  Come to think of it, the changes I make may not touch much of the world.  That said, I still want to be an influence on the people with whom I come into contact in my lifetime.  If the context broadens as the years pass, that will be okay.  Regardless, I have a task to do and time is speeding by.  I do want to be a success.

Do you remember that song we used to sing  years ago?  You know…the one that told us to “brighten the corner where you are.”  The lady who wrote that song had wanted to serve as a missionary in a far-away land, but family illness forced her to stay near to home.  She served right where she was instead, and wrote the words as a reminder to others who found themselves in similar situations.

As my friend and I talked yesterday, we reminisced about another such servant.  Miss Peggy had a heart for the Chinese people and wanted to go and teach there.  But, that was in the late 1930s, and it was not to be.  The political unrest in China guaranteed that a single lady would not be supported by any mission board, so Miss Peggy made a trade.  She took over the vision of a man who had planned to teach Bible classes to kids in the Ozark Mountains and he took over her vision in China.  She never wavered in her service, nor in her love of China, making sure to befriend every Chinese exchange student who came to the local university.

Several years before her death, she was in the home of a Chinese family she had “adopted” and was shown an old family Bible, rescued from the Communist persecutors of their home country (the man’s father had been thrown into prison for preaching).  Due to her poor eyesight, she asked the host to read some of the notes and signatures in the front of the book.  As he read past one particular one, she shouted, “Stop!  Read that again!”  The name was of her “substitute” on the mission field.  Her friend had been influential in members of this man’s family coming to faith, as well as being an encouragement during their persecution at the hands of government officials.  Do you think it was just a coincidence that, out of the millions of people in that huge country, this particular family had ended up with this little lady sitting in their living room, listening to them read the names in their family Bible?  Perhaps not.

If this isn’t encouragement to “brighten the corner where you are”, you may be beyond help!  It may not be in such a dramatic manner, but our faithful walk in the path set before us will undoubtedly yield results.  Even if the only consequence is that our family and friends see the consistency and commitment of a life lived with integrity and faith, our legacy will live on.  I’m not sure how you define success, but I think that will do for me.

 But, enough of this talking.  The light is going and I’m still in the game!  Let’s play some ball!

“Brighten the corner where you are,
Brighten the corner where you are.
Someone far from harbor you may guide across the bar.
Brighten the corner where you are.”
(Ina Mae Duly Ogden~American teacher and songwriter~1872-1964)

“The greatest waste in all of our earth, which cannot be recycled or reclaimed, is our waste of the time that God has given us each day.”
(Billy Graham~American evangelist)

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

Know-It-All

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes, it is small comfort to be right.  Especially if you had the right idea but the execution was all wrong.  The mechanic smiling up at me from his uncomfortable position on the floor of the car was giving me the bad news.  “Yes, it was the clutch interlock switch all along, but you checked the wrong switch.  That’s why you couldn’t get it running.”  I managed a small smile to convince him that I wasn’t embarrassed at all.  I wasn’t successful in the attempt.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when the father of the four greatest children in the world asked me for a little help with his old car.  My son-in-law is gifted at what he does, but he stays away from the arena of auto mechanics.  Unlike my upbringing, he was not introduced to the application of baling wire and duct tape to various moving and/or stationary auto parts at an early age.  His father never did disassemble a starter motor on the dining room table to change the brushes or mount a new solenoid.  It was a skill born of necessity for us, not for love of the work, but owning old clunkers has inspired many hours of greasy hands and more than a few skinned-up knuckles.  I was game to give it a try again.

“The car won’t even click when the ignition is turned on.  Do you have any ideas?”  the young pizzeria owner queried.  With a couple of questions, I was pretty sure I had the problem narrowed down to two possibilities.  “It’s either the clutch/ignition interlock switch or a fuse.  There’s an open circuit somewhere.”  I spent a few minutes one blazing hot afternoon at the car with him, trying to narrow down the possibilities, but we didn’t have much time to spend.  “I’ll come back,”  I promised him.  It was another week before I could get to it.  For  a wonder, this time the temperature was more bearable and I had a few minutes more to spare.  Focusing on the clutch switch idea (the fuse option was easily tested and discarded), I spent a good bit of time removing the switch which was activated by depressing the clutch pedal.  I tested it with my ohm-meter.  It worked perfectly, opening and closing the circuit without fail.  Just to be sure, I inserted a jumper across the terminals and turned the key.  Nothing.  Disgusted, I laboriously re-installed the switch and checked one more thing–the current at the starter.  There was no voltage there when the key was turned.  My diagnosis was still accurate.  But, I had checked the obvious source and it was fine!  There must be a broken wire somewhere.  I couldn’t find any.

I finally gave up and sent a message to my mechanic friend, arranging to meet him at the car today.  He checked the same things I had, although much more rapidly.  Then, he removed a plastic panel on the underside of the dash, flipped through a wire or two, and searching around for something on the floor, picked up a short length of wire and stripped it quickly, inserting it into a plastic terminal with two wires going into it.  He turned the key.  The car started instantly! 

All of which brings us to the place we started, with the mechanic grinning up at me, and me, biting my lip in frustration.  The wrong interlock switch!  How ignorant could I be?

You’ve done that, haven’t you?  You know the answer to the issue.  The knowledge you’ve amassed over your lifetime all points to the correct conclusion.  You act decisively and apply the solution to exactly the wrong location.  The result is exactly the same as a complete lack of knowledge–Failure!  It is an all too familiar situation for me.  I have the capacity for knowledge about a wide array of subjects.  I love trivia and as a result, have a brain full of answers to many questions.  My downfall is the application of the solution.  I am gifted at understanding the issues, just not at solving them.  I have knowledge, but not much wisdom.

I found myself in another similar situation earlier today.  I was waxing eloquent with a few casual customers (meaning that they weren’t actually buying anything today) about the intricacies of copyright law as it applies to the performance of music.  I am not a lawyer, but have gleaned a fair amount of detailed information regarding the products sold in my business, so I felt qualified to expound on the issue.  I answered a number of questions the men asked, and it seemed to me that they felt enlightened regarding a subject they hadn’t considered much before.  Then I blew it.  One of the men mentioned an activity he carried out in his ministry, which was in violation of copyrights, as I understand them.  I suggested that it wasn’t appropriate for him to do this and he insisted he wasn’t doing anything wrong.  I persisted, as I am frequently wont to do, so by the time he left, he was angry at me and I was accusing him of breaking the law.  It wasn’t pretty.  And, it wasn’t productive.

You see, I know the facts about certain aspects of copyrights.  I simply am not skilled at helping others to understand and accept those facts.  It would have made sense to drop my argument when I saw that the gentleman was offended.  It was clear that there would be no benefit to continuing the discussion, but I saw what I believed was a wrong and was intent on fixing it.  Just like the switch under the dash of the car, I turned the wrench again and again, taking apart the wrong thing, only to realize, too late, that I was barking up the wrong tree.  I applied my knowledge without the slightest hint of wisdom.  I have apologies to make.

This is the point at which a wise man would leave off preaching and let the application sink in.  I’m not so wise, but I’m learning.  I’ve probably talked enough for one day.

My disappointment at not being able to conquer the Honda is abating.  Regardless of the person who achieved it, the car is repaired and my son-in-law has transportation again.  All’s well that ends well, yes?  I’ll have to pray for another chance with my friend from the music store.  Time will tell.

Wisdom is found in odder places than under the dashboard of automobiles…

“Sometimes I lie awake at night and ask, ‘Where have I gone wrong?’  Then a voice says to me, ‘This is going to take more than one night.'”
(Charlie Brown in the Peanuts cartoon~Charles M. Schulz~American cartoonist~1922-2000)

“If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men.” 
(Romans 12:18~NASB)

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

Footsteps on the Stairs

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The six year old boy beside the easy chair has appeared, not quite silently, from the upper floor of the big old house.  It is well past the hour when he was sent to bed, and his parents assumed that he was asleep hours ago.  They are sitting in the living room, still commiserating about the same subject they had discussed with the children earlier that evening, when they heard his footsteps on the stairs, plopping down each one of the fourteen treads, one halting step at a time.  The young lad from the upper regions evidently wants to discuss the subject with them also.

Some parents keep their affairs secret from their children because they are afraid to burden them. They want their kids to have a carefree childhood, free from the problems of the world.  It is a viewpoint that is not without merit, but this family had determined some time before this that they would talk (and pray) about their problems forthrightly, in just the same way they rejoiced openly over their victories and blessings.  They had learned earlier in the day that a debt, which they hadn’t even realized was owed, would be due within the next week or so.  It was of significant size.  Rather than whisper about the issue, it was spoken of openly at the dinner table with the children present that evening.  The thought that either of the children would lie awake and worry about their conversation hadn’t occurred to the young parents, so they are concerned.

“What’s wrong, buddy?  Are you upset?” his dad asks.  The boy has a pensive look on his face as he replies, “No, not really.  I just wanted to talk with you about something.”  They are relieved, but know that more is coming.  It is not at all what they are expecting.  “I know you need money.  I have some I want you to use.”  As he speaks the words slowly, the little fellow is holding out both hands, one full of wadded up dollar bills and the other running over with pennies, nickels, and quarters.  The couple is dumbstruck for a moment.  The boy has emptied his piggy bank of every cent.  He is saving for a skate board and has been working at different tasks for his grandparents and parents to earn the money for it.  This is more important to him.

Struggling to hide the tears, and with his voice quivering just a little, the young dad takes the money from the boy and thanks him.  He then has the presence of mind to ask the young man if it would be all right if the money stayed in his piggy bank until it was time to pay the amount owed.  “That way, if enough money comes in from our other income, we might be able to leave some of this for your skate board.”  The boy thinks a moment, then smiles while he nods his little head and, hugging his dad and mom, turns to make the trek back up the stairway.  Unlike the trip down a few moments before, his steps are light and quick as he dashes back up to bed.

It was over twenty years ago, but the evening is burned into my head indelibly.  I do remember having two conflicting thoughts as the little tyke disappeared around the corner to go back to bed.  The first was an apprehension that we might have weighed the children down with more than they should be expected to comprehend at their young age.  I still struggle with that.  But, the second thought was a feeling of pride in the character of our young son.  In the face of  trouble, he gave selflessly of what he had to meet the need.  I was proud…of him.  Come to think of it, I still am.  You see, the emerging character in a young child, when nourished and encouraged, becomes the strong character of the grown man.

I told the story some time ago to a friend and he assured me that children learn character from their parents.   While I won’t insist on it, I actually think that in this case, the parents learn character from their children.  The selfless act of that little boy many years ago has inspired me on many occasions over the intervening years.

We do learn character from each other.  I’ve noticed recently that Liberty Mutual Insurance has a series of commercials running on television which really don’t sell a product at all, except by association.  I like the concept.  “People doing the right thing”, they say, showing case after case of individuals seeing one person helping another and then responding in kind.  I’m not sure that the world works that way, but it should.  It is what our Creator expects of His own.  “And let us consider how to spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”

I’ve never given everything I have to help someone.  Someday, I just might follow in that little boy’s footsteps. 

They’ll be hard ones to fill.

“While we teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.”
(Anonymous)

“So encourage each and build each other up, just as you are already doing.”
(I Thessalonians 5:11~NLT)

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