Questing Parson

A Change Not Now Needed

I've been a widower for almost nine months now (for the second time). I've been a pastor for forty-six years now. I tell you this: Until you have lost a spouse you have no idea what grief is. I think back on all the times I tried to be a pastor throughout those years to the grieving widows and widowers. I look back and I realize how pathetic were my well-intentioned efforts. No one can prepare you for the devastation of mourning. And no one can comfort you adequately.

But, sad as the cliché may be, life does go on. There comes a day when you wake up and realize that your spouse is dead and you are not. And as much as being the surviving spouse just sucks, you are the survivor and you are living. Life, then, must be acknowledged. Life then must be claimed. Life must, by its very definition, go on.

I embraced the fact I must go on. I embraced it right after taking my eight-year-old granddaughter on our Excellent Alaskan Adventure, of which I written on these pages. Having that child hug me with her unbridled love, having that child's enthusiasm for the future infect me, I decided to live every day I am alive.

With that decision I've begun to rearrange my life. And so, despite my aged back that cries out in protest every inch of the change, I have begun to move on. The carpet needs to come up in the two rooms that still possess them. There's laminated hardwood floors to be installed. Lynn's not here anymore; there's no reason her sewing room cannot be turned into the grandchildren's room. And the kitchen, oh, the kitchen, just an acknowledgment of the century I live in demands some modifications to the kitchen.

I've measured. I've drawn up plans. I've made a priority list of changes. I've shopped and found a trundle bunk bed at a reasonable price, allowing me to have three grandchildren overnight at once. I've drawn up plans for the kitchen renovation, including the new ceramic tile floors. And, to tell you the truth, the present living room furniture is on the schedule of change; I only said I liked it because Lynn did. I'm well on my way to living beyond the grief and embracing the yet-to-be-discovered blessings of life.

Part of the renovations are centered on my little study. I plan to spend a lot of time there writing little essays as this. I need it to be conducive to stimulating my creative spirit. It's going to be a homey office, if you will. So, I'm making changes. One of those is putting some cabinet/bookcases in what is now the closet, thereby allowing more “living space” in the work area. And part of the placement of the cabinet/bookcases in the closet involved removing the shelving. It's that wire-like shelf so prevalent in modern homes. It was in removing that shelf I discovered there's one change I do not have to make.

There's a brace for that shelf, running from the front of the shelf to the wall, giving it support. When I removed that brace, I discovered it's perfect for scratching the back. It's long enough to reach all areas; the angle of the edge provides the perfect tension. It's wonderful.

Who would have thought. With the discovery of that unique back scratching device, I don't need to get married again.

Life and Faith With Phyllis Tickle

Spiritual Journey - Phyllis Tickle - An Unexpected Life from 30goodminutes on Vimeo.

Love and Future Plans

The parson has finished cooking up the biscuits to accompany the soup at the Monday Night Soup Kitchen. The regulars made their way in at the announced time and began to consume their evening meal. The “couriers” arrived and began to pack up the many dozen meals to be delivered to the various homebound and sick members and members of the community. Soon the fellowship hall was a passel of activity and laughter as the haves and the have-nots gathered around the common tables.

The parson headed back to his study where he began to put together the bulletin for the next Sunday’s service. He worked for an hour-and-a-half before he heard the deliverers of the goodies returning to the church. Powering off the laptop, he headed back to the fellowship hall where he filled a bowl with the cheddar cheese and potato soup and some of the other goodies displayed on the serving table.

Looking around for a place to sit, he observed several tables with all the chairs taken. Florence, who visited the meal fifty-two times a year with fifty-two separate stories of why she needed some money, was sitting with Edward, a resident from beneath the interstate highway bridge. The parson decided he didn’t need to give any money away this evening and headed to table off in the corner.

His soup was about half finished when Rebecca, one of the youth leaders approached.

Can I sit with you, Parson?” she asked.

“Sure, Rebecca,” said the parson. “By the way, thanks for being the scripture reader yesterday.”

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t as nervous this time as I was the first time I did it.”

“You did great both times,” said the parson.

Rebecca sat and began to sample the soup. “This is pretty good,” she commented.

The parson had now finished his portion and nodded his head in agreement.

“Parson, can I ask you about something?”

“Sure, Rebecca.”

Rebecca looked about the room and then leaned forward across the table.

“How old do you think somebody has to be before they’re ready for love.”

The parson was unprepared for this. “Are we talking about Bobby?” he asked. Bobby was Rebecca’s boyfriend of at least two years.

“I guess we are,” said Rebecca, “but mostly we’re talking about me.”

“Are you in love?” the parson asked.

“Everybody seems to think I am, but there’s love and then there’s love, if you know what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I love Bobby. I love him like I do right now. But I’m not sure that this kind of love is the kind of love I’ll want when I’m older.”

The parson took a moment to spread some grape jelly on the remaining biscuit. Having done so he took a large bite, chewed it carefully and then asked, “What are we talking about, Rebecca.”

Rebecca sipped two spoonfuls of soup. She sat up in her chair and seemingly weighted her words carefully. She looked over her shoulders in an effort the parson recognized as one designed to determine the whereabouts of her mother.

“Parson,” she said, leaning forward, “I’m planning to be a micro-biologist.”

The parson digested the information. “You’re in love and you’re planning to be a micro-biologist?”

“Parson,” said Rebecca with a bit of impatience evidenced in her voice, “that’s the whole point. I’m planning to be a micro-biologist.” She paused, leaned back, then leaned forward again. “Okay, I see. Look the problem is I’m planning to be a micro-biologist and Bobby is not planning at all.”

The parson paused before answering. “You mean he doesn’t know what he wants to do after college?”

“I mean he doesn’t know what he wants to do after whatever.” She stopped and chewed on a biscuit. “Mom said you made these biscuits; is that true?”

“It is.”

“These are great, Parson.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, look, Bobby, I think, is just waiting to see what his mother wants him to do. He doesn’t have the slightest idea where he’s going to college. Me? I’m going to Duke University. I know I meet all the requirements. I’m sure I’ll be admitted; and I know how to get the financial aid I’ll need. But, Bobby? He doesn’t have a clue.”

“You’re both juniors, Rebecca.”

Deborah spooned up the last of her soup. She wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin. “Parson, I know I’m a little hyper about this, but being juniors is exactly when we should be taking care of these things.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much. But my mother is always talking about how sweet Bobby is. Look, Parson, I know he’s sweet. He’s a nice guy and I love being around him. He’s funny. He’s considerate. He’s in love with me. But that’s as far as it goes.”

The parson started to make a comment, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“It’s easy to be in love when you’re seventeen. But I don’t think it’s going to be that easy when you’re twenty-seven or thirty-seven, God forbid, excuse me, Parson, and not have a clue what you’re going to do with your life much less you love.”

“Rebecca, are you asking if you and Bobby should break up?”

“No, Parson, no! I don’t want to break up with Bobby. Goodness, Parson, there are dances in our senior year, there are parties, there are all kinds of things that you need to have a date for.”

“And after your senior year?”

“See, I knew you would understand.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did. You know that there has to be a maturity in love for it to work. And not having goals is not

being mature. Gosh, I’m glad I talked with you. Thanks a lot, Parson.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rebecca gathered up her dishes. She reached over toward the parson. “Let me take those for you,” she said. Then she headed toward the kitchen with the plates. Halfway there she turned and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Bobby said he’d be glad to read the scripture next Sunday.”

The parson watched the future micro-biologist walk off while wondering if Bobby had a clue what was coming.

Graphic by subscription with Clip Art [dot] Com.

Long Haul Partners

The parson and his faithful canine companion, Charlie Brown, began their morning ritual as they exited the parson’s hybrid to begin their trek around the outskirts of the QuikTrip, America’s premier convenience store / service station. The morning excursion has just begun when the parson first noticed him.

He walked away from the semi which had just pulled away from topping off at the diesel pump, in the company of a non-distinguished partner, with a confident gait of one on a mission. There was something about him that set him apart. The clean and pressed clothes with the creased blue jeans?  The baseball cap with the NY Yankees resting on his head at an odd angle? The self-assured demeanor that proclaimed here was a person with whom the world would have to deal? Whatever the determining factor, the parson’s impression was here was one who was exceptional.

Charlie Brown took care of business as the two made their way around the facility’s perimeter. Mission completed, Charlie Brown hopped back into the car to await the parson’s procurement of his daily dose of cappuccino. Inside the parson saw him again. Now he was surveying the assortment of coffee based beverages with an intensity of one accustomed to making right choices. The parson took note that the baseball hat was now, in the manner of a true Southern inside a building, held in his left hand. The parson watched the intensity of his choice selection. Finally the choice was made, and a 16 oz. cup was filled with hot chocolate. The parson also noticed his partner’s selection of a 22 oz. cup of regular coffee.

The two approached Patti, at the checkout counter. He promptly produced the correct change while his partner handed her a twenty and waited for the change. While the partner waited he surveyed the selection of sweet treats as though trying to determine the appropriateness of selection. By the time his partner had pocketed the change he’d decided not to indulge and turned to exit together.

The parson, also knowing the price of a QT cappuccino, gave Patti the right change. He then exited, also. Charlie Brown was waiting in the car, tail excitedly wagging in the knowledge the next stop would be the farm where he’d be turned loose to romp at leisure for maybe a half hour. The parson cranked the car, backed out of his parking space, and began to pull away.

Rounding the corner of the QT building the parson noticed him walking with his partner back toward the waiting semi. The parson slowed to observe once again the confident gait. At the semi, the partner extended a key to unlock the door. He set his coffee on the running board of the tractor, reached down and with one hand on each side of the hips he lifted the confident one into the cab. Retrieving the coffee he followed.

The parson watched them pull out, professional long-haul driver and his grandson, on their way across the country on spring break.

 Graphic by subscription with Clip Art [dot] Com

Helping The Parson Understand

 The parson sat in the conference room of the nursing-rehab facility beside eighty-eight-year-old Elmer Sanderson. Elmer was a widower with no children. There was a nephew somewhere, but no one had heard from him in years. Elmer had long ago asked the parson to be his representative and have given the parson power of attorney over his affairs.

Around the table were representatives of the various sections of the facility, the dietician, the head nurse, a physical therapist, the social worker, and the facility doctor, a representative of the administration. The parson had been called to the meeting because Elmer was refusing some of the recommended treatment of the facility.

Introductions were made; the parson was welcomed; the meeting began.

“So, Mr. Sanderson,” said the head nurse, “we’re having this meeting because you have told the Parson you don’t want to eat the thick liquids we’ve recommended. The Parson insisted that we meet with you present and that we explain things to you. You understand that’s why we’re having this meeting.”

“Well, I have to tell you,” said Elmer, “I’m pretty damn glad someone decided to let me be present when I’m being talked about.”

“Okay, then. We’re glad you’re here, too. Now you’re refusing to drink those thick liquids the doctor has said you need to be on?”

“You better believe it, darling,” said Elmer. “I believe God gave everyone a need for water. Now water, sweetheart, has a certain consistency. And that stuff you’re giving me is closer to paraffin than anything God wanted a human to drink. So, yes, I’m refusing to drink it. And there’s no way in hell you’re going to make me choke that crap down.”

“I know you’re saying that Mr. Sanderson, but I need to tell you that when you consume liquids of the consistency of water you are aspirating some of the liquid and this can cause pneumonia which could lead to an furtherance of the coughing you experience and could lead to contamination of the bronchial passages and the onset of a terminal condition. Do you understand that?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, darling?” asked Elmer. “I understand that.”

The parson leaned over to Elmer and said in a stage whisper so everyone could hear. “Elmer, I didn’t understand that. Could you ask her to explain it to me.”

Elmer did not meet a beat. “Look, sweetheart, my pastor isn’t up on this nursing home vocabulary. Could you explain that to him.”

“Mr. Sanderson,” said the nurse, “what I was ....”

“Darling,” interrupted Elmer, “it’s the Parson who’s having the difficulty here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sanderson.” said the head nurse. “Parson, what I’m trying to explain is that if Mr. Sanderson doesn’t use the thick liquids and insists on water and coffee and such he’s going to aspirate, that is, get the liquid in his lungs, That could cause him to develop pneumonia which, in his condition, could lead to death.”

“Holey Moley, Elmer,” the parson said, leaning closer to him, “I think she said if you drink regular liquids it could kill you.”

Elmer looked at the parson a minute and then around the table. He then look back at the parson, “Well, I’m glad you understand it now.”

“So,” the parson asked, “you’re saying that you’re willing to accept that risk.”

“Parson,” said Elmer, “I’ve been ready to die for about twenty years.”

“Okay,” the parson said to the gathered, “I think we all understand how he feels. So I assume Elmer can expect a cup of coffee for supper?”

Elmer sat back in his wheelchair and folded his arms across his chest in a sign of victory.

“We can do that,” the nurse said. She looked toward the dietician. “Can you see to that Jackie?”

Jackie seemed to be consulting her notes. After a moment she looked up and said, “The requirements are that we need to keep putting the thick liquids on his tray because the DO must stay in place but we can have a PFR noted also to allow for the regular liquids.”

Everyone nodded. The parson leaned over to Elmer. “I think I need some more help. I’m not sure what she just said.”

Elmer leaned forward. “Sweetheart, the Parson needs a little help with that one.”

“I’m sorry,” said the dietitian, “I forgot myself. We have doctor’s orders, that’s the DO, on the chart so we have to follow them. It’s a matter or liability. What the doctor’s told us to do is the prescribed procedure for this condition. But even though we’re following the doctor’s orders we’re noting that there is a Patient Family Request and we’re also legally bound to follow that. Does that explain everything?”

The parson looked at Elmer. Elmer nodded. The parson thanked her for taking the time to make sure he understood.

The meeting continued a few more minutes. At the conclusion, Elmer announced. “Okay, so everyone knows that I know all about this problem I have and that I think I’ve lived long enough I don’t want you people interfering with the natural process. Now, let me tell you something, if you don’t stick to this you’re going to have to explain it to the Parson.” 

What Story to Write?

 The parson sat with the computer in his lap daring an idea to come into his mind that would be the genesis of a story for his blog. The idea would not take the dare. 

An hour later when the idea had not come, the parson spoke to Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion. “Come on, Charlie, let’s get away from this boring place.”

Charlie Brown bounded toward the door and was sitting impatiently beside the rear passenger door before the parson was down the front steps. Together they drove to the fifty area recreational area where he sometimes allowed Charlie Brown to run to his heart’s content.

Charlie Brown was sitting expectantly as the car pulled into the lot. When the door opened he bounced out, ran around in three circles and then headed at a trot down the hill. The parson sat himself on a picnic bench and watched Charlie frolic. In a few moments, the parson rose and began his own exercise, walking at a good pace along the paved path that circled the facility.

Two-thirds around the circuit, the parson greeted a couple sitting on bench. Then nodded. Facial expressions shouted this was not a romantic outing for the two; anger punctuated each countenance. The parson walked on. Rounding a curve that was prelude to the path dipping into a depression, Charlie Brown came romping up, tail wagging, tongue hanging, ears flopping. He paused to sniff the parson’s hand and then in a quick movement turned toward the pond at the bottom of the hill where the geese swam.

A movement on top of the hill caught his eye. The sound of laughter captured his attention. She must have been around eight. “Higher,” she commanded, and the soldier with the beret pushed her hard. She squealed; he laughed. The parson watched intently. The moments were precious; the parson knew deployment was in two days.

Charlie Brown had reached the bottom of the hill and now flung himself into the air to belly flop into the pond. The geese, accustomed to Charlie’s antics, showed no panic. Soon the geese and Charlie were paddling away, side be side. The parson paused in his walk to remember if Charlie’s seat cover was in place in the car. His memory assured him he’d have nothing to justify to Ms. Parson.

Cresting the hill, the parson saw Henry and Helen, “H & H” as they were referred to, walking on a path on the other side of the football field. They were holding hands as they had been for the fifty-five years of their marriage. The parson marveled at their love, their energy that took them to a dance every other Saturday night, and their deadly skill at poker. 

Charlie Brown came running to the parson’s side, having no doubt panicked when the parson had gone from his sight. Together the two walked around the soccer field and back to the car. Charlie Brown graciously shook as much wet from his fur as possible before jumping in. The parson slid behind the steering wheel wondering which story he would write.

Graphic by subscription with Clip Art [dot] Com

Evidence of Life

The parson pulled into the church parking lot about an hour before noon. Stopping, he pulled up the emergency brake, put the gear in park, released his seat belt, stepped out and opened the rear passenger door whereupon Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion bounded out and headed at a dead run toward the pond on the neighboring property. The parson started to call him back but for some reason didn’t. His last glimpse of Charlie Brown was his tail pointing straight up and he bounded down the slope toward the water.

The parson walked up the drive to the mail box and retrieved one bill, a form letter from the bishop promoting a special offering and fourteen advertisements for products that promised to either make him a better preacher or increase his worship attendance. Walking into his study he sorted the mail. He pulled out his iPhone and checked that he had the special offering on his calendar. He did. He then tossed the letter into the container with the liner at his feet. The bill was placed in the folder for the church treasurer to pick up on Sunday. He then sighed as he resigned himself to being an average preacher with average attendance and tossed the fourteen advertisements into the container.

The parson then made noticed the room felt comfortably warm for such a chilly day. He walked out of his office and back to the fellowship hall. There he checked the thermostat. It was set for seventy. the parson with a huff turned the unit off and muttered to himself: Am I the only one around here who knows what electricity costs? That was immediately followed by another thought: Oh, my gracious, I have become my father.

He then headed for the sanctuary. No reason to think anyone would have turned that unit off. On the back wall of the room he found this thermostat off. He gave a quick expression of gratitude and then turned toward the chancel. 

“What in the blazes?” the parson muttered, or something like that.

The chancel was bare of everything. No pulpit, no altar table, no piano, no worship banners. Instead chairs were arranged in a semi-circle facing the pews. Newspapers were scattered about. Coke cans were visible against a back wall. A table from the fellowship hall was in the center of the area with dishes and other objects stacked upon it.

The parson walked down the aisle toward the chancel pondering the mystery. A lectern stood just before the chancel steps. On it was a script for play with notations in the margins.

The parson smiled. Practice for the Youth Christmas Play had begun. The parson flipped through the script. It wasn’t purchased. This was an original. He counted the parts. There were twenty-five.

The parson headed back outside, his church now returned to energy efficiency and full of evidence of life.

Charlie Brown lay on the pavement asleep in the sun beside the car. He didn’t bother to open his eyes until the parson opened the rear passenger. Having done so the parson watched his faithful canine companion bound into the car where he promptly lay down and closed his eyes again.

The parson headed home ready to prepare his sermon for the little country church beside the road with a future.

Graphic by subscription with Clip Art [dot] Com