Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXCIX

There's just something about families that I love. It warms my heart to see mom, dad, and kids laughing and joking with each other, having a good time together. It reminds me of my own family. We're a long way from being perfect, but we love and respect each other, and through good times and bad, we stand together. Therefore, when I see other families who are obviously happy to be all together and appear to be having a great time, it grabs my attention. They may even be experiencing pain, but just having everyone together seems to work as a sedative that gives temporary relief from the hurt. Such was the case that I witnessed this morning as I stood in line to go through security at LAX Airport in Los Angeles. The parents appeared to be in their early forties, and the two daughters were eighteen and thirteen respectively. The mom was gorgeous, with dark skin and jet black hair, while the dad was tall and well built with a fair complexion. The daughters were obviously products of that union; the older one looking more like dad and the younger one was "mom made over." Both daughters were fashionably dressed in comfortable, casual traveling clothes, and I couldn't help but notice the cute little straw hat being worn by the thirteen year old. Judging from appearances, they seemed to have it all together....the perfect family. Security personnel were moving travelers forward in small groups, and I was included in the group with that nice family...just them and me, so that's the reason I was able to hear the conversation between them and the TSA agent. At first he asked each of the girls their ages so he could determine if they would be required to remove their shoes. As he was checking the identification of each parent, the conversation went like this: TSA Agent: So you folks are on your way to Hawaii? Mom: Yes, we're finally getting to go. TSA Agent: I guess Dad gets to pay for this trip, huh? Mom: No, Make A Wish Foundation is picking up the tab on this one. When I heard those words, it was almost like someone had just hit me in the pit of my stomach. This was likely to be someone's last major trip, so I looked them over a little closer and determined that it was the younger daughter. And sometimes I think life is not treating ME fairly! I looked back at that beautiful family and thought, "How can this be? They all seem so happy." After I'd had a moment to recover, I remembered that this is a family, and that's what families do. They had apparently made the decision that this is going to be a fun trip, and if it is going to be the last trip for them as as they are now, it is going to be a good one. For that lovely family, there has to be both pain and a sense of dread that is constantly in the back of their minds, but there's something about family and togetherness that brings them a sense of peace and comfort. I hope neither you nor I ever have to deal with the type situation that this family is facing, but if we do, with the combination of our faith in God and the support from our families, we can weather the storm. Without a miracle, the family I met this morning will soon be experiencing a time of tears and sadness that seems almost too great to bear, but in the brief time I was privileged to spend with them this morning, I concluded that they will face this crisis as a team, and they'll make it through. It won't be easy...in fact, it will be extremely tough, but they are gonna be fine. They have each other. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXCVIII

I think I may need some help understanding something. It's a nugget of wisdom that my parents failed to teach me, probably because they didn't understand it either. It has to do with the hunger for power, which I totally lack. Oh, I'm smart enough to know it exists; in fact I can name some people who possess it. Here are some of my questions: Where does it come from? Is it a quality that is inherited? If someone has it, can they lose it? I've read books and watched news stories enough to realize that once this condition grips an individual, it creates an insatiable thirst that cannot be quenched, and it may lead its victim to go to unprecedented lengths in a vain effort to satisfy his lust. It must be similar, and maybe even related to the hunger for wealth or fame, but what is it about power that becomes so attractive to some people? It's definitely not a new thing. Most of you know the story of King Herod,  who, when he heard of the birth of Jesus, ordered the slaughter of every male child under the age of two in an effort to eliminate what he perceived to be a threat to his position of power.  Every generation before and since that time has produced like-minded individuals...people who will stop at nothing to try to satisfy their cravings.   Here's where I stand:  I have too much to do living my own life to have time to try to control yours. If you want to buy a 32 ounce soft drink, go right ahead....that's your choice. I may not think it's wise,  but what you choose to do with your own life is your business. Yet, as we have seen in New York City, there are those who wish to hold that kind of power over you and me, and the scary thing is the number of people who are willing to turn the control of their lives over to the ones who crave that power. Naturally, power-hungry people gravitate toward positions in government, because that's the easiest place to achieve and maintain their desires.  Therefore, it becomes the responsibility of freedom-loving people to always be cognizant of those who desire to take away our liberties in their perpetual pursuits to satisfy their own selfish lusts.  I may never understand just what it is that so consumes a person that makes him or her desire to make other people's decisions for them, but I do know enough to realize that there are those who want to control what we eat, what we wear, what kind of cars we drive, what doctors we can see, how much money we make, how we worship, or even how many children we can have.  There's a scripture, talking about Satan, that tells us that we must not be ignorant of his devices. We would be wise to adopt that same philosophy in regards to the leaders of our communities, states, and our nation. The less informed we are, the easier it becomes for them to manipulate our lives and get a grip on our day to day activities. It's imperative that we stay on top of what is happening in our world.  Our very freedom depends on it. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXCVII

Those of you who know me well are aware of the fact that I've always been very active in my church.  I have assumed roles such as host, usher, teacher, and youth staff member, but the one area of service that I've consistently been involved in since my youth is music.  I started singing in church as soon as I reached the choir's minimum age requirement, and by the time I was in my late teens, I started occasionally playing piano for special songs. Now, here I am at age sixty-two, and I'm still in the choir, although I have learned that, just like playing sports, singing ability begins to decline as one becomes a senior citizen. I have always considered it an honor to be able serve in that capacity, yet, at least in my case, there have been some hazards along the way. Let me explain: Some people's jobs at church are all behind the scenes, yet those faithful souls continue to give it all they've got even though they get little notice from the congregation for their services.  Being involved in music is different. While it's true that we spend many hours behind the scenes rehearsing, during the church services, we are in the spotlight...literally. Therefore, we receive a lot of recognition. If a person is not careful, that notoriety can go to his head, and as a result, he begins to expect and even seek those accolades for his services.  I know this to be true, because, I must confess, I myself have at times fallen into that trap. I was once asked to sing at a wedding, and the church had one microphone for the singer right beside the only musical instrument, an organ....in the balcony. At first I felt a little frustrated that the wedding guests couldn't even see me, but then my frustration turned to feelings of guilt when I realized what I had wanted to do; I was trying to make at least part of the wedding about me instead of the bride and groom.  But am I not doing the same thing at church when I expect recognition for what little talent I may be exhibiting?   In order to be honest with myself, I must ask myself why I sing in church. A truthful answer would be the same today that it was thirty years ago...."to glorify God."  However, if at the same time I am trying to also draw some attention to myself, am I not asking God to share some of that glory with me?  I wonder if I would put as much into the music if we stood out of sight of the audience, like singers do in a funeral home chapel.  Would I be as eager to give it my all if nobody knew it was me?   I know it would not be feasible for the singers and musicians to be behind a curtain; it's our job to lead the congregation in worship. And yes, I compliment other singers and musicians when they do an exceptional job; as I believe I should.  The compliments I've received have made me feel good, and I've always replied with a polite "Thank you," but nothing I've done makes me any more special than the person who is doing a job behind the scenes. Some people just aren't singers, yet they have talents in other areas where I may be lacking, so that really makes us even...the way it's supposed to be. I promise I'm trying hard to remember that. It could be that, although my talent level has never been more than mediocre, staying humble may be easier today than it was several years ago, because I'm not as good as I used to be. There is one thing that has remained constant down through the years, however....I'm nothing without Him! Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXCVI

I grew up on, in, and around Catahoula Lake. In those days, during the coldest winter months, its depth was only 2 to 3 feet, so, technically, a person could put on waders and walk completely across its entire five-mile width. Every winter, tens of thousands of ducks would flock to it, just in time for duck season, making it a duck hunter's paradise. That is the setting for this first story: One Saturday morning, a few of us boys headed down to the lake to do some duck hunting. We put on our waders and marched out into the icy water, looking for that just right spot where we just knew the ducks would be flying. Not long after we reached the place we were looking for, a dense fog settled in over the lake, making it difficult to distinguish even the faces of our friends who were no more than five feet away.  At first we thought we'd wait it out, but the fog just seemed to get thicker, so we decided that we were wasting our time and we headed for home. When we had been walking about fifteen minutes, an older man appeared right in front of us, almost as if he had just materialized in the fog right before our eyes. We exchanged greetings, and then the conversation went like this, with me as the spokesman for our group. Man: I don't think you're gonna get any ducks today. Me: I know.  That's why were heading out of here. Man: Where are you boys headed now? Me: We parked our trucks at that camp over by the sand ridge. Man (Naming the camp's owner):  Yeah, I know the one, but if that's where you're headed, you're going the wrong direction.  You need to go that way (pointing in a direction that would require us to make a 135 degree right turn). Me: Really? Wow!! Well, thank you for your help. He bade us a good day and disappeared into the fog. We then had a spirited debate as to whether we should follow his advice. Some argued that we were definitely going back exactly the way we came, and besides, none of us knew that man, so why should we trust him? Since I was the eldest member of the group, at the ripe old age of sixteen, it fell my lot to make the call.  I agreed that none of us knew him, but he apparently knew his way around and had no reason to want to lead us astray, and besides, it's easy to get turned around in the fog.  I decided that we would go the way he pointed, but I must tell you, it sure didn't feel right. About twenty minutes later, we started coming up on some landmarks that we recognized and we were able to regain our bearings. I'll never know who that man was, but I'm certainly glad we happened upon him that foggy morning, and I'm glad we changed our direction. Another early morning, many years later:  Angie and I were at Reagan International Airport, near Washington, DC, preparing to board a flight heading for home. The line to go through security was ridiculously long, but since we had no other choice, we made our way to the end of the line....to wait. After about thirty minutes, we had moved up to the point to where there were only about a hundred or so people ahead of us, with at least double that amount behind us.  We had already checked our bags, so all we had with us at the time were a book and a small carry-on for each of us. There we stood....just two inconspicuous faces in a sea of humanity.  I looked to my right just as a busy looking airport employee walked by, quickly scanning the long line of restless travelers. To this day, I have no idea what it was about Angie and me that caught that man's attention, but when he saw us, he stopped and walked back directly to us. He spoke first: "Sir, where are you folks headed?" "Monroe, Louisiana, by way of Atlanta." "Okay, you're in the wrong line." What I DID NOT want to do was have to give up my place in line and start all over at the end of another line. However, what I DID want to do was go home. So we stepped out of line and followed his instructions, thankfully to a shorter, faster-moving line....the line that would get us home. Those are not the only times in my life when I've had to make bold changes that, at the time, just did not feel right...times when I've had to allow logic to overrule my emotions. I hate to think what would've happened that foggy Saturday morning so many years ago had we not turned back, almost to the complete opposite direction we had been moving. If Angie and I had stubbornly refused to step out of our line in the airport that morning, we would not have made it home. A friend confided to me a while back that his life just wasn't taking him where he had planned to go. As one looking on as an observer, I could see where he was doing some things wrong, and I pointed them out to him, yet he refused to hear it, and continued what he had been doing, only with more intensity...and his story is still the same today.  That's like finding out you're on the wrong road, but instead of turning to the right road, you just pick up your speed on the wrong road, which only gets you to the wrong place quicker. Sometimes we stay on the wrong path for so long that it starts to feel like home, which only makes the needed change harder to do. This article is already longer than I wanted it to be, so I don't have room to tell you about some changes that I've had to make that even caused me to shed a few tears.  If the path you're traveling is not getting you where you need to go, chances are, you need to change paths...regardless of how hard it is to do.  Moving off the familiar road is never comfortable, but when you make the change, and you know it was the right one, you'll be so glad you did it. After all, what's more important to you, your destination or your path? Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXCV

They're totally different, but they work so well together that we rarely mention one without mentioning the other, practically in the same breath. Salt and pepper. Rice and gravy. Peanut butter and jelly. Possum and okra. Well, okay, scratch the last one, but you get the message. What do salt and pepper have in common? Not much. Do you ever have a hard time distinguishing the difference between rice and gravy? No way, yet we're so accustomed to seeing them together that when we think of one, we automatically think of the other. Can you think of people like that?  I'm not really talking about husbands and wives, but just good friends...people who've become so close down through the years that we think of them like we do salt and pepper.  I know a few people who are like that.  It's not that they aren't friends with other individuals, but there's a bond between the two that's so much stronger than it is with other people. I wish I could call it an unbreakable bond, but unfortunately, as I just witnessed, those bonds CAN BE broken, and it may not be an earthshaking event that causes it. This has been a typical conversation between some of my friends and me when we're working a trade show: "Where are we gonna eat tonight?" "It doesn't matter to me...I'll go with the concensus." "What are Ray and Elvin doing?" Or it may go something like this on set-up day: "I wonder where Ray and Elvin are." "I don't know. They're usually here by this time of day." Ray and Elvin are different personalities and they work for different companies, yet for years they have been such good friends that their names are like salt and pepper or peanut butter and jelly. It's been that way as long as I've known them.  Where one would go, the other went also. It's hard for us who have known them down through the years to say Ray's name without also saying "Elvin." They're both good guys, and have been best friends for many years...until two days ago. I witnessed the split.  This is an over-simplification, but Ray asked someone to do him a favor, which was granted, but the way it was done caused Elvin a slight inconvenience, and that made him mad. He blamed it on Ray, although if it had been done the way Ray asked, it would not have affected Elvin at all. Elvin verbally attacked Ray, catching him totally off guard, and it went downhill from there. I talked to Ray about it, and another friend talked to Elvin. Ray went even beyond the advice I gave him in trying to resolve the situation, but Elvin said he was done with Ray forever. (He also said some other things that I won't repeat.) I'm not sure why I'm even telling you about it, unless it's due to the fact that it upset me and I need to talk about it to someone...and I picked you. I really believe if it had been something major, they would've worked through it, yet they allowed a tiny, insignificant, unintentional event to destroy a lifelong friendship. I guess it's human nature to focus so intently on the mountain in front of us that we allow a molehill to trip us up, and that's sad. Close friends are among the most valuable possessions we have, and it should be unacceptable to allow those bonds to be broken by minutia. Peanut butter is just not the same without jelly. Preston