Storms Blow

I just discovered another way that I’m like my Dad. He hated cancelling activities. Neither snow, wind, rain, or hurricane would stop him. I was unreasonably annoyed last year when the governor cancelled every activity in the state for Hurricane Michael. I’m annoyed again now that so many activities are cancelled for Hurricane Dorian. There are definitely areas of Virginia Beach that will deal with flooding and power outages, but why can’t we play volleyball or go to the Y? It’s a little wind and rain, no worse than a standard nor’easter. Annoying. Dad was like that too, particularly about church.

As pastor he could make the call. If it was Sunday, he would insist on having church, regardless of the weather. Lianne and I lived right around the corner, so we were always there too. One year, 2010, we had a huge Christmas storm. The streets were covered in snow, and it was still snowing on Sunday morning. Dad sent an email telling everyone that the service was a go. It was a very small crowd. In an effort to make the most of the situation, I took a nice snowball into the sanctuary and pelted Dad right in the chest. I figured Jesus wouldn’t mind a little snow on the floor of the church because he loves little kids, and he knows how to have a good time.

It was a motley crew that Sunday, but we had a blast. We sledded in the parking lot, and had a snowball fight. It was the day after Christmas. I assume we sang a few songs and Dad shared a word, but I honestly don’t remember if we had a church service at all. I do remember playing in the snow with friends and family.

Similarly, a few years later, Dad scheduled an outdoor church service in June. It was only a few weeks before Dad passed away. The weather was iffy, but of course he decided to do it anyway. Dad, foreshadowing his own experience, released his turtle from captivity, back into nature where it belonged. The rain showed up, but the people didn’t. Those who did … they remember it.

I don’t know why cancelling things grated against my dad’s instincts. He was big on commitment and keeping the Sabbath. Attending church regularly was very important to him. He was also unfazed by the storms around him. Not reckless, but not careful either. In fact, oftentimes there was joy in the storm. There was shared experience in the struggle. I think that is what Dad enjoyed most. He wanted to exert his will over the circumstances instead of allowing them to push him down a path he didn’t want to go. I can relate, but sometimes the storms are too big for this life.

Storms blow, rain and wind causing a great tree to bow and break.
Storms blow, sickness and disease causing a great man to bow and break.
Storms blow, but we shouldn’t cancel life because of them.

We Bear the Scars

You’ll often hear older folks waxing poetic about the good ‘ole days when kids played outside, climbed trees, and weren’t afraid of a skinned up knee. I’ve slid down my share of impossibly high slides with no guard rails. I’ve spun so fast on merry-go-rounds that I nearly passed out and was eventually launched from the metal platform like a droplet of water flung from a shaking dog. I learned about centrifugal force that way. #science I’ve jumped on trampolines, and get this, there were other people on it at the same time!! Crazy, I know. I’m pretty sure the springs were extremely rusty as well.

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The Death Curve

It’s really an “aging” curve, but I prefer “death” curve because it is more macabre. The sad truth is that life expectancy in the US is stagnant or even declining, in large part because of our poor health habits. My grandmother is 97, and still living on her own. She doesn’t drive, she’s losing her eyesight, but she maintains a reasonable quality of life. She’s on a solid curve. Dad died at 62, but up until the last few months he was extremely active and healthy. It was an excellent curve until cancer reared its ugly head. I’ve been pretty active over the past 2 weeks. I made a comment this morning about how my shoulder was bothering me and Lianne suggested that I take it easy. Dad would always say that the best way to overcome an achy joint or an aggravating injury was to go exercise it. He ended up having surgery on both shoulders, so maybe this isn’t the best medical advice, but I do think it is excellent life advice. I sounded like Dad when I responded to Lianne, “As soon as you quit doing stuff, you’re dying.” Jaron, ever the pragmatist, said, “We’re all dying.” Ok, he has a point, but it is possible to die healthy. That should be our goal. This chart shows the difference between dying healthy, and dying sick.

Death Curve Continue reading The Death Curve

Housework For Boys

There’s a dying stereotype that says women do all the work around the house. Fortunately, I was brought up in a home where the chores were shared. Mom was home most of the time, and did the bulk of the child rearing and housework, but Dad was known for vacuuming and doing the dishes. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m married to such an awesome girl. Unfortunately, I haven’t quite lived up to expectations.

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Holding On to the Sticker

I kept one of the stickers. I probably got a dozen of them altogether, but I eventually threw them all away. The ones from Sentara Princess Anne Hospital had my picture on them. I smiled because I always smile. I think I wore the same ODU t-shirt for over a week straight. Those stickers are gone. The visitor sticker I got from Portsmouth Naval Hospital on April 22nd, 2013, however, is still affixed to my dresser. I see it every day. It is painful if I stop and think about it. Maybe I should get rid of it. Not yet. It’s a piece of Dad. It’s a reminder that he was real. It wasn’t so long ago that I was talking to him. See? I still have this sticker to prove it.

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Checking the Bees

We were standing on opposite sides of the beehive. He would start at one end, and I would start at the other. We searched for the queen. We looked for any signs of sickness in the colony. We made sure the queen was laying eggs, and that there weren’t a bunch of swarm cells. Some moments are etched into my mind. The bushes beside me brush up against my bee suit. The sound of cars thundering by on the main road behind our house. The sight of Dad looking intently at each frame of bees. I looked over at him through my bee veil as he lifted one of the frames. I noticed his slightly protruding stomach and a little knot of worry formed right in the middle of my gut. I debated with myself. Should I broach the subject? I finally stuck a toe into the murky water. “So, how are you feeling?” Continue reading Checking the Bees