Like Heroes

Let’s go out in a blaze of glory.

All good things must end.

Like two heroes in a story,

Let’s go out like we came in,

In a blaze of glory.

So, I just received news that someone I know was life-flighted to the hospital due to pneumonia and COVID-19 complications.  And on top of that, if that isn’t bad enough, she has been battling leukemia for a few years.  I am hoping and praying (yes prayers are a good thing) that she will recover. 

But it has brought to mind an interesting parallel, an eerie connection between start of life and end of life, that I must address.  With the exception of fantastic finishes, we seem to leave this world in the same fashion that we enter this world.

By fantastic finishes, I mean those endings that are movie worthy.  Going out in a blaze of glory.  That phrase always remind me of the closing scene of “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”  They get up and head out of their hiding spot with both barrels firing. Or possibly, we are like Elijah climbing aboard the chariot of fire and heading off to heaven.  

But that seem to be a rarity.  For the most, there is no going out in a blaze of glory.  It is more like a candle slowly burning down with the flame flickering, sputtering, dimming until it eventually extinguishes.  

I have sat in far too many hospitals, visiting elderly saints whose bodies are just giving up.  There they are, virtually helpless, appetite waining, breathing more shallow, falling asleep frequently, speech slowing and sporadic until that time the close their eyes for the last time and the never open again as they pass from this world to the eternal one.  

For me, for them, for their loved ones, we have watch the deterioration, the decline of the vitality of the person who once was at peak physicality.  What they could do, they can do no more.  We even have another phrase for that time of their days. “They are a mere shell of the person that they used to be.”

How sad that end.  I mean, a follower, a faithful follower, a believer in the Lord, a witness for the Lord in word and deed, and this is the good bye?

Though it is not a blaze of glory, a portion of that song rings true. “Let’s go out like we came in.”  No blaze, however, but like we came in.  We enter this world a newborn infant, helpless, unable to feed, change, care for ourselves.  We have arrived and we are completely and totally dependent upon others to ensure our living.  There is not one thing that is under our own power, with the exception of crying, a lot.  And whether we recognize it or not, we need others, we are relying upon someone, we can do nothing but trust, we are in their hands.

And fast forward seventy or eighty years.  We find ourselves in similar circumstances.  We are completely and totally dependent.  And whether we recognize it or not, we are relying upon not ourselves, we can do nothing but trust, we are in His hands.

We have come full circle in our dependency.  And maybe, that is exactly what the Lord desires for us.  To be in a position in which all we have is Him, our hope in Him, our reliance on Him, and our understanding like Job, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I shall return.  The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

So, perhaps that moment where you and I will be one day, just like the many who have gone before, just like our loved ones ebbing away, weak, fragile, helpless, and dependent, perhaps that is God’s way of reminding us that, apart from Him, “We can do nothing.”  Perhaps that bedridden moment is a cessation of struggle and a vibrant step in faith.  Total trust.  

Our life is truly in His hands. There is nothing else that stands in the way.  And maybe, that is how we should have been living the in between years, you know, the “now.”  That which is between the arrival of the newborn, and the exit of the elderly.  For we who are in Christ, we who are the born-again, maybe our departure from this life is not a blaze of glory, but, dear saint, we will arrive at our new destination, and we will see the fullness of His glory.  Praise be.

A View, a Boy, and a Ball

Vim and vigor: An abundance or excessive amount of boisterous, youthful energy, enthusiasm, or vitality.

As I peer out my window upon my new view of the front yard, I am excited that the work has begun for the addition of color and ascetically pleasing images.  Not there yet, but moving closer and closer.

The one disadvantage that this front facing view has that the backyard didn’t, is my ability to see three and a half houses beside and across from me  Not a big fan of that, but I do get to see other humans scurrying around.  

Some are going to work, some are on walks, some are mowing their lawns, and some are turning their cars around, as we live on a dead end.  But the other day, I caught a glimpse of memory. 

A boy, maybe about nine or ten.  The grandson of our neighbor who lives directly across the street.  He is there in the front yard with his baseball glove and baseball.  And with one underhand motion, he tosses the ball straight, or as straight as he can, up into the air.  And he proceeds to get underneath the gravity path of the baseball and opens his glove to securely encase the oncoming ball.  

Over and over again, He repeats this boyish ritual.  I can almost hear his mind speak, “A ball hit to deep center field!  He is under it and makes the catch for the second out!”  He must have played five innings.  And then, the young boy decided to add one more step to his repertoire.  After he would make the catch, he would move the ball from the glove to his other hand and throw the ball to the fence, getting the ball as fast as he can, and as accurately as he can, to the base, that is only in his imagination, to the base in the hope of doubling up the runner.  And it was that sound, that I remember.

When I was a boy, I also played catch.  With myself.  At times, it would be with others, but a lot of the times, it was just me.  Being on the smaller side physically, there came a moment when I was thirteen and fourteen, that I was relegated to a bench sitter on my baseball teams.  

Eventually I told my dad that I was going to quit since I felt it pointless to go and not play.  I know that was disappointing for my dad to hear.  He played ball all of his life and was still quite active in the men’s fast-pitch softball league of our city.  And a small disclaimer here, the ball, though larger than a baseball, it certainly wasn’t that soft.

And so, being retired from Little League, I found myself all the more going with my dad to watch the men play.  And then I saw him.  On the opposing team, on the pitcher’s mound, left-handed, just like me.  Sheer poetry.

His left arm, holding the ball, would rock back to the rear, and then the flowing movement forward in a windmill like motion, all the while his left leg and foot was propelling him off of the mound.  His right leg moving forward six feet as his arm whipped across his hip and releasing the ball toward it destination passed the batter, passed home plate, and into the mitt of the catcher,  reaching speeds of one hundred miles per hour.  All in one rhythmic like dance of poise and power.  

I so wanted to be like him, that I watched every move he made.  From the windup, through the delivery. I watched his head, his hands, his legs.  And then I would go home and I would piece all of those movements together and imitate him. 

Grabbing my mitt, a softball, and heading across the street to our junior high (middle) school, a brick monstrosity built in the early nineteen hundreds, I would then measure out forty-six feet, the distance between pitcher’s mound and home plate, and I would throw.  

And throw, and throw.  Even when the school burned down, all but a neighboring brick building, I then switched over to the standing structure and threw, and threw, and threw.  For hours. Almost all day on Saturdays, and all afternoon until early evening on the weekdays.  

And I got good at it.  I began to throw faster and faster, more accurate and was able to develop a rise ball, a drop ball, a change-up, and knuckle ball.  In fact, I got so good at pitching, that at sixteen, I was deeply entrenched playing fast-pitch softball on the men’s league.  Men, who were in their twenties, their thirties, and forties.  Two games a week, practice every week, tournaments in town and out of town on weekends.

I was the up and coming star of the town.  People would recognize me on the street.  Comments like, “I watch you play every week.”  “You pitch just like R. R. (The one I imitated).” Our team was winning, we were good and we were having a lot of fun.  And I was still throwing against brick walls.

But there is a tendency of getting good at what you do, that, well, we just don’t feel the need to practice as much as we once did.  And my meticulous honing of my skill grew less and less, and eventually so did my ability.  And then it was time to hang up the cleats, put the glove in storage, and move on with life, or move through life differently.  

But the memory is still there. And it all came rushing back with the “thump, thump, thump” sound of a little boy throwing a baseball at a fence.  Just like I did once, with all the vim and vigor that could be mustered.  With all the energy, enthusiasm, and endurance needed to be prolific in one’s field of expertise.

And then I began to think upon my relationship with the Lord.  Did it start out with such drive, such motivation, such diligence as one practicing sports?  And what about now?  Where is the vim? Where is the vigor?  One can’t remain at the top of one’s game without, well, without practice.

Practice, practice, practice.  We say that practice makes perfect.  That is not exactly true, but practice does better us. Practice does mold and shape us.  Practice does strengthen us.  And practice does mature us.  Especially and most importantly, in our walk with the Lord Jesus

Ezra 7:10 reads, For Ezra had firmly resolved to study the Law of the Lord and to practice it, and to teach His statutes and ordinances in Israel.

John 3:21 reads, But the one who practices the truth comes to the Light, so that his deeds will be revealed as having been performed in God.”

Philippians 4:9 read, As for the things you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

So, what are you waiting for?  Go and grab your spiritual glove, your spiritual softball, and find a brick wall and practice!

Gardens, Gargoyles, and Giant Roosters

As you may know, recently I moved my desk beside our bedroom picture window that looks out to our front yard.   It is not necessarily the greatest view, the front yard, especially since we had made in the backyard a fern garden, with white rustic fence, small grass areas, fountain, chairs and fire pit. That was a great view, but I was using the kitchen table for my office. And it really needed to be a table for plates, glasses, and food.

And that is why the move to the bedroom and for front yard view. Still nice and pleasing to the eye.  And it was a really good move. Ascetically and inspirationally.  My writing, at the present time, is going well.  Everyday since the move, I have been at my desk pouring words onto  pages.  

My wife is now wanting to improve the view that will add more inspiration, yet keep, for the most part, the natural look.  While it is still in the inception and research stage, some of the plans that we have, are widening the flower garden so it is visible through the window. We are hoping to add another bird feeder and bird bath that will attract even more flying feathered friends. And perhaps a statue or a sculpture.  

I am not really a statue kind of guy and looking through images have only caused me to become less and less enamored with the idea. I don’t want a statue of a person, a child, a cherub.  That seems strange to me.  And no animals, no bunnies, no deer, no dogs, no dinosaurs, no dragons.

And for sure, no gargoyles.  Gargoyles? 

Nope. Not an evil monstrous, Transylvanian, creepy, Gollum-like creature!  In a garden, for inspiration?  No. Not the muse I need.  Just crouching there, staring back at me.  That is a hard pass.

I also am drawn to contrast.  A good friend of mine is an artist and the majority of his paintings have a palette of very bright, bold colors that seem to work against each other and yet blend well together through shapes and imagery.  Yes, some color would be nice.  

So, my next search was for “colorful yard statues and sculptures.”  And, why yes, there were definitely splashes. There was color! And there was contrast!  There were frogs, flowers, rocks, and roosters.  Roosters.  The first one was a 36” rooster. Then I saw a 72” rooster.  A six foot rooster.  But wait, there is more. A seven foot rooster, an eight foot rooster, and then…..  

The mother of all roosters. The G.O.A.T. of roosters.  Eleven feet. Can you imagine me sitting at my desk, ready to write, and looking out my window at an eleven foot rooster? A giant Foghorn Leghorn?  I say… I say… I say… No.

So, we are still looking, still planning, still searching, and still dreaming of that special ambiance that will add to my creativity, my imagination, my productivity.  Stay tuned.  We will have a garden, but no gargoyles or giant roosters. 

Thoughts, Clutter, Folders, & Clasp Envelopes

It is hard to believe that 2021 is almost half over.  It seems to have gone by rather quickly.  I think it is because it has seemed a lot like 2020.  But today, I am making this resolution. 2021, the year of getting it done.

And with that, I would like to invite you in to see a potion of my writing world.  As I have mentioned, I write a lot.  Not only do I write, I also have many thoughts, ideas, phrases, verses, sentences coming to my brain as I contemplate, as I make observation, as I read, and as situations pass my view.  

And I write them down.  I write them down on pages, on sticky notes, on index cards, and yes, even on napkins.  I write them down, because I noticed them and realized that they could make a good story, a good blog, a good poem, a good song, a good study lesson, and a good sermon.  So, I write them down.

And for every one I write down, I probably only complete one in ten.  Not a good percentage. But, the ideas keep coming, so what am I to do?  Well, I bag them up.  That is why I have titled this Thoughts, Clutter, Folders, and Clasp Envelopes.  When I have a thought, I write it down and put it in my main calendar and note pad.  

I have a full sized monthly planner for the year 2021 and 2022.  There, I write my upcoming schedule, dates of events to come, and when needed, I write down things that happened that wasn’t on the schedule.  

I also have inserts with my planner that holds papers.  I have an over all to-do list.  Things for home and personal, and things for church and work.  I have a daily list of what needs to happen today. I have my daily, weekly, and monthly routine of what I am responsible for, and I have a what to buy list.  I also have future planning, such as upcoming vacation, as well as upcoming events to participate in, and even restaurants to eat, and distances of towns to visit. And one more thing.

I also put new thoughts, new ideas, things that have sparked my interest with the hope that I will make something from them.  If they happen to stay there  in the planner for a long time and it is becoming obvious that I will not get to them or other thoughts and ideas pop up, they, the old ones, become relegated to those folders and clasp envelopes that are stored in a drawer for future consideration.

So if it stays  there for a long time and is dormant,  it eventually gets placed in a clasp envelope, in a folder, or on a sheet of paper with other random notes, article starts, etc.  And I do, periodically look at them and I usually think, “That’s not bad.  I should get to that or try to write something.”  And then I put it back into its container and move on.

But remember, I have just declared, 2021, the year of getting it done. And with that, I present to you a snippet, a smattering, pieces of inspirational thoughts and ideas over the years. They are in no particular order, and also with no commentary as to why or how that thought came to be:

“God was, and is, and is to come.  Wherever you look, He is there, so look at Him.   What are you advertising?”

“‘Where did you go,’ they asked me. ‘Same place I’ve always been. Here, or there.’”

“Is our conscience implanted or ingrained?”

“Faces of me, I can’t even see, what the day is doing to me.”

“I saw you in the corner, huddled in and so scared.  And me, I was wondering if anyone even cared.” 

“Fade to clear.”

“We are wanting convenience and comfortability. Dangerous living requires the opposite.”

“Lost.  You don’t know where you are. But you do know that you aren’t where you want to be.”

“Not perfect, but full of grace.”

“‘Why did this happen to me?’ In order to minister to those like you.”

“The tree. It was here as long as it needed to be.”

“How quiet the night is. So calm, peaceful, and soft.”

“Don’t tell people what you know.  Tell them who you know.  His name is Jesus.”

“Hopeless and homeless.  Left out and loveless.  For these You died.”

“So it was just a simple gesture.  Didn’t cost me anything except for two pieces of paper.  But you would have thought I had given them the world.”

Writing titles ????

  Hidden treasures (snacks in car seat)”

But  I Might be Wrong

Dreams (caged, controlled, not knowing they had been set free)

The easy inconvenience of not doing 

Covered couches-  protecting ourselves from us

Feet- the steps on a journey to nowhere

My favorite mug

Ordinary saints

And there you go.  Just a few notes written down. Not sure what will become of them.  And I recognize that none of them are brilliant, none of them are earth shattering, and none of them seem to be complete.  And that is the point. After all, they are all just starts.  Not finished yet, but perhaps they are well on their way.

Just like us.  We are all starts.  Not what we will be when we have been completed by HIm.  That is why I leave you this verse of encouragement.  “For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6.  You have been started.  You will be done, you will be finished on that great and glorious day.

As for my writings.  2021, the year of getting it done.

Stay tuned for a new blog site that will contain the completed writings, stories, poems of all varieties, including ones about Jesus, ones about love, ones about me, my wife, and son.  About dreams and travels. About joy and sorrow.  About things lost and things found.  The site is: Prose and Poems.  (The stuff in my gray matter) https://tpaulb063.wixsite.com/proseandpoems

And as always, look for me here at: Open Roads and Sidewalk Thoughts. https://tpaulb06.wordpress.com

Twelve feet

Twelve feet and one wall.  Apparently that is all it took.  And now, the back story.  

I have always written.  Since I was a teenager I have written.  Poems, about life and living.  Lyrics, with tunes in my head, hopefully, for singing. Stories, about events and circumstances.  

Later, I would write blogs. They were about everyday moments, some comical, some serious, some challenging. 

 And not to mention my career, my profession, my job, my calling, or however you want to say it.  As a pastor, a preacher, I deliver every Sunday morning a message, a sermon around thirty minutes long.  And for the past ten years or so, I have written out my message word for word.  In the past, I would just have an outline and some talking points.  But not so, for a while.  They have been all written out.  I have moved sentences around to make them fit better.  I have utilized a thesaurus in order to have what I hoped would be just the right word.

One thirty minute sermon written out comes to about 10-12 pages of text.  Approximately 3300 to 3800 words.  Written out every week. Doing so has, in some ways diminished my other writings.  Those writings for my blog.  

I have had six separate blog sites.   Some I no longer write upon, and have shifted to only a couple at this time.  The reason for the different blogs or why I would start another one, well, that was mainly for the content or the topics on which I was trying to speak. And most of my blogs are read by only a handful of people.  Most of my sermons are heard by a small gathering of persons.  And the poems, even smaller.

But I write.  Seems like I always have and appears like I always will as long as I am capable.  Sometimes, the writing comes easy.  Sometimes, it is more difficult.  Sometimes, I can write from start to finish in one setting. Other times, most times it may take days. And at times, some are left incomplete.

What I have come to understand is that it seems, for me at least, that in order for me to write, for words to flow upon a page, I need a place that produces thought.  And that is harder to find than one might think.  

I used to use coffee shops for my writings.  Like many people, they can have a great atmosphere to get the literary juices flowing.  In the town that I generally would say that I am from, and that is because of the years I was there, I had four different coffee shops where I would go and write. I found that they each had tapped into a specific area of my grey matter that helped produce words with purpose.

One was for inspiration. One was for contemplation.  One was for expectation. And one was for relaxation.  But that was there, that was then.  

Since moving to the central Oregon coast and living in two separate towns, I have never found a coffee shop that would fit any of those four purposes that I needed.  I would still go and I was able to write, but it was somewhat laborious and felt like a chore.  Especially when I had to prepare a written manuscript that would be delivered every Sunday morning.

My office at my work location in both of those towns gave me the ability to put words on a paper.  Good words, needed words, beneficial words, and hopefully God led words in my sermon messages.  But they were never quite the fit for me as to what I thought I needed.  I even have had four different rooms that I would put my desk, of where I would attempt to write.

At the home where I now reside, the third bedroom became my office.  My desk that had been in storage was now sitting at one wall.  There were pictures that I enjoyed and they were placed on the wall.  By the way, I am hoping to, in the future, write a blog about my favorite things (pictures, books, songs, etc.).  

Then we landscaped and decorated a portion of our back yard with flowers, ferns, fountain, and flame.  It could be seen through the sliding glass door in the kitchen if one was sitting at the table.  And so, I would write from the table, looking upon a nicely staged and eye-pleasing area.  And I will admit that it did help tremendously with writing, with stories, with inspiration.  

Pretty soon, I was becoming less and less portable and would leave my computer, my tablet, my notepad, my Bible, my pens and pencils on the table.  It wasn’t difficult to move everything every day, but, you know being lazy and all, they seemed to find their permanency.  Good for me maybe, but not so good for a kitchen table, a dining table for, you know, kitchening and dining.

So I did some rearranging and went back to utilizing the  third bedroom/office.  And while writing was done, still not the feel desired.  And then, an epiphany.  From my wife. “What if we took the wooden shed in the back yard by the ferns and fountain area and remodeled it, insulated it, put window in it and turned it into a study area?”  And that was a great idea.

We haven’t done it though.  We have made plans, thought about what was needed, what it would look like, and how we would decorate it, but it is, at the present time, still a shed.  It is a nice looking shed and would make a wonderful man-cave, she-shed, office, study.  And I assume that one day, that will be the course of action that we will take.

And then epiphany number two.  Our bedroom faces the front yard.  But it does have a larger picture window.  And the decision was made to move our bed to the opposite wall and change up the placement of the dressers and nightstands.  We put a small minimal looking functional desk in front of the window.  My other desk was the roll-top type.  I love it, and it has plenty of storage drawers and a shelf for some accents, but it would be too high and block off most of the window view.  And so that all happened three weeks ago, the move.  

Through the window I see our front lawn, the cherry plum tree, a rhododendron, another tree, some ferns and bushes, the bird feeder with birds stopping by for lunch.  I also see the houses of our neighbors, our road that leads to a dead end, and at times, the postal carrier walking through our yard to his next destination with the mail.  

But all in all, it has been a wonderful move.  It has only been three weeks. I have, in those three weeks, written two official correspondences, three 10-12 page sermons, three other writings.  And many of them are completed at one sitting.  Also, I  have eight other topics that I will soon be developing.  And yes, even this writing, the very one that you are reading at the moment. Wrote it this morning and the current time is 9:15am.  

And this is what it took to bring back writing thoughts, notes to ponder, dreams to perhaps one day fulfill.  It took twelve feet and one wall.  That is the distance between my office/third bedroom and my current desk residence in front of the picture window, looking out at a portion of the world.  Twelve feet and one wall.  It truly is location, location, location.  I am hoping for many, many writings to be birthed and  many potential thoughts and starts to be conceived.  At my desk, in my study.

So, as I close, there are two things I want to share.  Number one, sometimes, we just need to move a few feet to get a better perspective and a kickstart to creativity.  Number two, keep reaching, keep looking, keep searching for your picture window to the world of dreamers, of singers, of poets, of preachers, of writers.  And one last thing, write about the important and the necessary.