Thinking Out Loud, Volume CDLIII

My brother in law made a mistake, and it caused what he had to do to be a much more difficult task. His idea was great, though. He was thinking since his home is surrounded by significant acreage of pastureland, he should get a calf, feed it and let it graze in his pasture for a couple years, then slaughter it and fill his freezer with fresh beef. It was a smart move, except for one small detail: He gave his calf a name. He admitted to me that he shouldn't have done that, even though he named it Ribeye, because there's something about a name that makes it become much more personal. I remember one episode of "The Andy Griffith Show" when all the guys of Mayberry were were trying to catch a certain big, elusive fish that everyone referred to as Ole Sam. Then one day, on his first fishing trip, Howard Sprague caught him. At first they were all excited, but then the excitement turn to sadness when they all realized Ole Sam was gone. There was just something about the fact that he was a creature for which everyone had a fondness, and even called him by name, that made it personal. It was a relief to everyone in town when they found out Howard had thrown him back. In reading a book I've mentioned to you before, "Love Does," by Bob Goff, I was reminded of these stories, and I would like to share the idea that came to me from reading one particular chapter in his book. For some reason, we humans are sometimes quick to make derogatory remarks, and even poke fun of people who are different from us. We do it with people of different races, homosexuals, those who are extremely obese, folks from other religions, special needs people, etc. We make comments without stopping to consider how hurtful our careless words can be to those individuals. Here's the idea: We should try to become friends with at least one person from each of these groups. That should not be too difficult when we consider our coworkers, neighbors, the employees at the super market, and fellow church members. Then, when we want to make snide remarks about any of those groups, include the name of our friend from that group in our comments. For example, if we have a friend named Lucy Smith, who is obese, we should include her name every time we make fun of people with obesity issues. That makes it personal. As a matter of fact, why don't we try one more thing when we do that. If I want to make what could be a hurtful remark about those who are obese, not only should I include Lucy Smith's name, but I should also tell Lucy what I said. If I'm not comfortable telling her what I said, maybe I shouldn't say it at all. Do you catch my drift? There's just something about adding the name of a real person, someone we might could even call a friend, that makes it personal, and might even help us in breaking the habit of being so judgmental of those who are different from us. After all, when we stop to think about it, we're different from them as well, and they have just as much right to make fun of us as we have to make fun of them. If we feel we just have to be critical, let's name our criticism after a friend. That should make slaughtering their character a much more difficult task. Preston Sent from my iPad

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CDLII

No doubt there's no one else on earth who knows more about my wife than I do. It makes sense that after more than forty years of marriage, no other person could even come close to knowing about her the way I do. We talk to each other daily, 365 days a year. When I speak, she listens. When she speaks, I listen. We go places together. We have meals together. We take walks together. We trust each other. If something I do displeases her, she lets me know. I do the same with her. By the same token, when either one of us does something that pleases the other, we express our gratitude to one another. We know each other so well, we've become experts at interpreting the other's body language, and sometimes we can even discern what the other one is thinking. We went through a period, before marriage, when we said we were engaged. But now, after several decades of being husband and wife, we are truly engaged. Yes, you can say we have a thorough and intimate knowledge of each other. There's another way I could've done it, however, without going through all the actions I just mentioned. I could have studied her. Here's how I would've done it: Now that we have social media, I would have befriended her on Facebook and Instagram, and I would read everything she posts. I would also be sure to listen closely to anything anyone had to say about her. I would find out where she lives so I could pass by a couple times a week, maybe even getting a glimpse of her from time to time. I would learn about all her habits. I think I could become enough of an expert on her, I could even teach a class about her. I would call it an "Angie Study." However, even with all the time and effort I would put in to learn more about her, I still wouldn't know as much about her as I do with the actual interaction with her that I've been engaged in for more than four decades. You see, more than proclaiming ourselves to be experts and bragging about our knowledge of each other, we're actually involved. Instead of me knowing about her habits, we form habits together. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with an "Angie Study," but doesn't the method I discussed in the first paragraph seem like best way to learn all there is to know about her? It almost makes the method of merely "studying" her, like I described in the second paragraph, seem a little ridiculous, except for the fact that we so often follow that procedure when it comes to knowing about God. Sometimes I wonder if we are guilty of knowing about God, without ever reaching the level of simply knowing Him. To know Him, there has to be frequent interaction. We have to walk together. We talk....and listen...to each other, every single day of the year. When I'm hurting, I let Him know. When He pleases me, I tell Him. We trust each other. Now don't get me wrong....I'm not condemning studying about Him. I love a good Bible Study. All I'm saying is, even if I somehow memorized the entire Bible, I could still never know as much about Him as I do when I actually KNOW Him. Knowing Him and knowing about Him are not one and the same. Knowing about Him doesn't require intimacy. Knowing Him does. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CDLI

One morning, back in my teenage years when I was a hunter, I shot at a duck flying overhead. I missed its body, but I hit one of its wings. The poor duck tried desperately to continue flying, but with only one wing, it was impossible, and it went into a downward spiral, crashing to the ground not far from where I was standing. You see, if any kind of bird only has a right wing, or a left wing, it cannot fly straight and will spiral to its doom, just like the duck I was telling you about. (There's probably a political lesson in that story, but that's not my primary focus for today.) If you look closely at a bird, you will notice there's a wing on each side of its body, and both of them are exactly the same size. That gives it the balance it needs to fly straight and to control its path. If one wing was larger or more powerful than the other, it would only be able to fly in circles and would never arrive at its desired destination. Therefore, when you see any "fowl of the air" flying overhead, you can rest assured its right wing and left wing are working together to keep it on a straight path. (I declare, there IS a political lesson there!) Now to my point: I got it from a reliable source (The Holy Bible) that a man who will not work to provide for his family is "worse than an infidel." Therefore, I work. I do it for the money, and the harder (and smarter) I work, the more money I make. Considering that fact, it stands to reason if I work all the time, I can make a maximum amount of money. However, there's a problem with that theory. The more time I spend working, the less time I have for myself and my family. Maybe it's true that I would make more money, but for what? I'm reminded of something my dad said to me one time, "I work to get paid, but if I didn't need to buy things every now and then, I wouldn't have any use for money." (Those of you who knew my dad will recognize that as a typical Harvey Davidson statement.) No matter what age you or me happen to be right now, it's time to consider what we will see when we reach our last day on earth and look back and evaluate our lives. Will the things that seem so important to us now have the same value on that day? I'm not the originator of this statement, but I love its message: "No one has ever said from his deathbed, 'I wish I had spent more time at the office.'" I'm typing this message from a hotel room in Texas City, Texas, because I'm here on business. May I never fail to give thanks for my job. Although there are days when I get extremely frustrated with my profession, as a general rule I enjoy my work, though it does require more than a hundred nights a year in a hotel. But the times when I'm happiest are when I'm with my wife, my kids and their spouses, and my grandchildren, and if I sacrifice those times just so I can make an extra buck or two, shame on me. I know it seems weird, but Angie and I drink coffee every night before bedtime. We do that because it's what we want to do. Although we may not do a lot of talking, we'll each sit in a recliner and read most every night when I'm home. Those are the times I love, and if I have any regrets from my deathbed, it will be that I didn't have more nights like that. I don't think it will even be that I'll wish we had taken more trips or bought bigger toys; instead it will be that I didn't spend more quality time relaxing with the ones I love. If I spend all my time working for the almighty dollar, I'm like the duck who only has his right wing. If I spend all my time relaxing with my family, I'm like the duck with only a left wing. Either way leads to a "downward spiral" and a crash at the end. When my last day comes and I reflect on my life, I'll have fewer regrets if I can say "I worked to provide for my family, and I also took the time enjoy life with them." That reminds me of something else my dad used to say when I was getting a little off track: "You'd better straighten up and fly right." It takes both wings to do that. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CDL

My dad had a way of making me regret my actions when I had done wrong, but one thing I never, ever doubted.....he loved me as much as he loved himself. He just wanted to make sure I understood that there are consequences for evil deeds. As a result, I was basically a good kid, and at least in my opinion, I turned out to be a quality gentleman as an adult. I will admit that as a small child, the primary reason I was a good little boy is because I wanted to avoid the price that had to be paid when I was bad. Dad's ultimate goal, however, was for that line of thinking to change over time, and his plan worked. Let me explain. As a toddler, I didn't have the mental capacity to to reason things out like an adult, which meant that my real purpose for being good was to avoid the penalty for being bad. My parents knew, though, that eventually I would become an adult and would no longer be subject to their discipline, and if I was still acting strictly in fear of their punitive actions up until that time, all their efforts would have been in vain. They had to somehow instill in me a desire to do right simply because I had a love for righteousness. Otherwise, once they were out of the picture, I would revert back toward evil. There will always be a price to pay for stepping outside the bounds of what's right and lawful, because there will always be those who can only be motivated by fear of penalty. Imagine a world where there were no speeding tickets, because everyone had a desire to drive safely. In that world, due to a lack of crime, there would be no need for prisons, because everyone would be obeying one of the greatest commandments, and loving their neighbors as they love themselves. A sign of maturity is when the fear of punishment is no longer our primary motivating factor. If the main reason I'm serving God is to escape Hell, there's a problem in my relationship with Him, and I'm lacking spiritual maturity. If my only reason for not stealing from my neighbor is to keep from going to jail, it's an indication that I've never developed a love for right living. There's another commandment that tells us if we honor our father and mother, our days will be long on the earth. I can think of no better way to honor them than to live with a love for righteousness the way they taught me. Some of us can be motivated by love while others can only be motivated by fear. I choose love. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CDXLIX

The call I received from my daughter-in-law was the type that made me drop what I was doing and take immediate action. I had just sat down for a quick lunch when the phone rang, and she said, "Can you come with me to take Lake to the ER?" Within twenty seconds I was in my car, heading that direction. What had happened was he was running full speed through the house to take something to the utility room, and when he went through the kitchen, he cut a little too short and hit his head on the bottom corner of the bar. The injury produced a lot of blood, and left a deep gash that required several stitches. It has probably been a couple years since it happened, so Lake was about six at the time. Just like any typical six year old, he didn't want anyone, not even the doctor, touching his head anywhere near the injured area, much less opening it up to take a look at it. He didn't realize that in order for his head to heal and for the pain to go away, someone would have to open and expose the injury, and take the necessary steps to bring healing. I guess it's understandable for a six year old child to react that way, but since you and I are adults, we know better, don't we. Don't we? Well.....do we? When it comes to our physical bodies, maybe we do know better, but I dare say that many of us are carrying around hidden pain and secret injuries that we insist on keeping totally to ourselves, not allowing anyone else to even be aware that we're hurting. I admit that my grandson was probably right not wanting just any and every body to open and view his wound, and the same holds true for the kinds of wounds you and I are hiding, yet we'll never experience true healing if we don't expose these hurts to someone we trust. If we hadn't forced Lake to let us, the nurses, and the doctor take a look at his injury, it would've ended up getting infected and would've only gotten worse. While it's true that there are those who cannot be trusted with the information we're keeping concealed, there are those in whom we CAN trust, and if we think about it, we really know who they are. When the doctor opened Lake's wound, it did cause some temporary pain, but because he endured that short-term discomfort, he is completely healed today. I'm a very private individual....the type of person who doesn't want just anybody knowing my business, but as I age, I'm learning there are times when I have to open up and let someone else become aware of my secrets. It may be hidden pain, insecurities, or even secret guilt that's bothering me, and it will continue to do so until I go through the awkward act of allowing it to be exposed to some other trusted individual.....someone who only has my best interest at heart. Our injuries will only continue to fester until we allow someone else to open them up and take a look. Yes, it's painful to do so, but that short term pain brings permanent healing. Whether or not we want to admit it, there are some problems we can't fix by ourselves. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CDXLVIII

One part of our body matures at a slower pace than the rest. A good example of this would be in teenage kids. Their bodies are mature enough to reproduce long before their minds are capable of properly raising kids and being good, effective parents. As I look back over some of the stupid decisions I made in my adolescent years, I realize just how fortunate I am to still be on the planet....and I was one of the good kids. I guess the ideal scenario would be for our minds and our bodies to mature at the same rate, but since the maturation process of our minds comes with wisdom gained by life experiences, we find our minds continuing to mature long after our bodies have begun to decline. Therefore, I have some messages for parents, and for that matter, every adult, whether or not we are parents. The first one is directed toward moms and dads: Parents, forgive your kids. I'm not saying we should remove all consequences from their wrongful acts, because part of the maturation process of our minds is learning firsthand that there is a price to pay for our indiscretions. However, after we are satisfied that their lessons have been learned, it is then time to forgive and forget, no matter what they have done...and that means never bringing it up again. Several years ago, a good friend of mine relayed a personal story to me that goes to the heart of what I'm trying to say. As an immature kid in his early teens, he accidentally shot his younger sister, fatally injuring her. His parents were grief-stricken over the senseless loss of their precious daughter, but they weren't the only ones. So was he. He said even to this day, he still replays that dreadful scene in his mind from time to time, and he is filled with shame and regret. He also told me the only thing that has sustained him is the fact that his parents have forgiven him. Even with all the pain and anger they have experienced, they realized if they didn't completely forgive their son, it would be as if they had lost both their children. Now a message to all adults: We should keep in mind that as grown-up as many of our teenagers look, their brains are running way behind their bodies, and they are going to make some dumb choices. I've often said the best defense my kids had was my memory of my own actions when I was their age. I've been reading a book written by a former secret service agent, and he devoted one chapter to the difficulties he faced in protecting the children of presidents, from Amy Carter, to Chelsea Clinton, to the Bush Twins. One thing was made clear to me in that chapter; they were no different from anyone else's kids when it came to youthful immaturity....it's just a fact of life. It's important that our kids learn that unwise choices lead to undesired consequences, but at the same time they must also be taught how to forgive and forget, and that can only be taught by example. You and I are the teachers. Even at the age of sixty-three, I still mess up and have to ask for forgiveness. How can I expect to be shown forgiveness unless I'm also willing to provide forgiveness? Part of that process is to remember kids are kids....just like we used to be. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CDXLVII

Just to be clear, I can't condone what the guy did, because there's never a right time to do the wrong thing.  All I'm saying is I think I understand why he did it.  He was a nice looking young man, a hard worker, a good provider for his family, and he loved spending good quality time with his kids.  One would think any woman would be thrilled to have such a man, but for some reason, his wife just never seemed to be quite satisfied.  Everyone who worked with her in her office had to listen to her daily complaints about her husband.  No, he didn't forget birthdays or anniversaries; she made sure of that.  It's just that the gifts he bought for those occasions never pleased her.  Besides that, he loved to play golf on Saturday mornings.  He was too conservative with their finances.  He liked to go over to his parents' house and check on them at least once a week, and that infuriated her.  Her co-workers heard every detail about it all, until the morning she showed up for work with red, puffy eyes, caused by a night of crying.  He had found someone else and had left her.  Everyone in the office was shocked by her tears, because they thought by the way she was constantly running him down, she would be glad to get rid if him. On a slightly different note, there have been times, especially during some of the more high-stress periods of my career, I've looked with envy at the man hanging on the back of the garbage truck,  mainly because all he had to do every day was go to work and then forget about it when he got off in the afternoons.  Then one day the thought occurred to me that I've never actually envied him on payday.  As a matter of fact, that man would probably trade jobs with me in a heartbeat. Sometimes the restaurant doesn't get our steak exactly the way we like it, and we let them know about it, while there are so many who can't afford to eat there...possibly even some of the employees of the same restaurant.   When we have to work a full day on that last day of work before the long holiday weekend, it puts us in a bad mood because it's so late by the time we can head out of town for a weekend on the lake, yet how many are having to work through the entire weekend?  If my bonus is a little less this year than what I was hoping for, it makes me mad.   At one point in my career, I was a sales rep for a tie company, and they would send me whole ties to show as samples.  At the end of the season, I would have all those ties that were no longer being made, so I would give a few of them to one of my good customers to for his personal use.  Then came the day when the company stopped sending whole ties; instead they sent fabric swatches cut out in the shape of ties.  As a result, I no longer had the ties to give to my customer.  During that transition, I only had one client stop buying my product.....the one I had given the ties to.  The one customer who got mad and left me was the one I had treated best.   Why do we complain about our blessings?  Have you ever gone out of your way to provide something special for your kids and they weren't satisfied with it?  How did it make you feel?  I'm convinced God must feel the same way about us sometimes when He blesses us so abundantly, yet we complain. Has He blessed us so many times that we've come to expect it, and even believe He owes it to us?  I'm reminded of a lesson by my friend, Roy Duffey, about how, if we're not careful, the more we're given, the less grateful we become.  As abundantly as I've been blessed, the last thing I should ever do is complain about those blessings. Preston