A short Thank You

My ears aren’t so good any more; they haven’t been for some time.  I think I started loosing my hearing right after the first bad incident I had with electricity back when I was in college doing refrigeration work during the summer time.  Any way, I really notice it when I wear headphones, one sounds like it’s turned way up and the other is seems as though it’s only up half way.  I found that I have to wear both in one ear in order for the balance to not be messed up.  It’s kind of weird looking, but it works for me.  The thing that has really been the hardest about the loss of my hearing is that I have a hard time having a conversation in a crowd or hearing a person speaking at a distance in a crowded room.  Funny, I’m more comfortable in front of a crowd than in the midst of one, at least up at the front I don’t have to worry about what the other guy is saying.

Funny though it sounds, I think God blessed me through the loss of my hearing.  One of the first things I had to do was to learn how to compensate in crowded situations.  There were times when I would completely miss someone saying something to me, even my wife, that couldn’t end up good.  I found that the only way I could hear people was to really focus on them.  I had to be looking straight at them, something I really didn’t do well.   I have never been really good at paying attention to people, always had too many things going in my head to much care what others were saying… another thing that was bound to end poorly.  I had to learn how to actually listen to people; start to learn, I’m still learning.  Over the years I have gotten better at hearing conversations and voices in crowds, not by concentrating harder on the sounds people make, but by reading what their lips told me.  That has been a huge blessing for me, it’s taught me to clear away, if only for a few short minutes, all the distractions in my head so that I can share an unrepeatable moment with someone else. 

Dear Father God… Thanks for the blessings on the side of my head.

A Time for Giving Thanks

One of the songs that usually brings me to tears in my new life, my empathetic life, is a song by Todd Agnew entitled, "Still Here Waiting."  The chorus recalls the fact that when the singer/writer finally turned around and stopped running toward the things he desired and started walking back toward God and the things He wanted for the sinner, that God was there, waiting with arms open, every time.  It seems I spend a lot of time like the sinner in this song, walking purposely away from this God who wants to warmly cloth me in His blessings.  I spend days and weeks walking angry at life around me ignoring God who is always there waiting quietly.  Each time I catch a glimpse of Him through my anger fueled view of the world I am halted, forced to view myself as the worst of what I see in this world.  I have had a few of those moments recently, each time catching a glimpse of the joy I could be enjoying instead of the blackness that fills me most days.

I read somewhere that purposely expressing thanks to someone each day is an easy way to change your outlook, though it takes persistence, making it a habit is the key.  I am going to use these days leading up to Thanks Giving Day to poke a few holes in my attitude, letting a little light in. "How hard can it be?"

God forgive me...  You have given me eyes with which I can see.  I can see the glories of your hands.  I daily look upon the master strokes of this world you have created.  I am able to look at blessing after blessing that you have purposed to place in my life.  All these things I do, and yet I choose to close my eyes to all of them and instead look at what appear to me as wrongs and mistakes.  I look too often at the things sinful man has made of this world and I let my heart turn dark.  Lord, help me to look for those things that you purpose for me.  These eyes you have given me are not as clear as in years past, and maybe they have grown dim because of the darkness I have chose to fixate on.  One thing I have noticed in the past few months is that I am forced to look more closely at things when I really want to see them, and I wonder if that is by design.  Are you helping me to more closely attend to the people in my life? Thanks I give to you, as well as I can, for these eyes I have.  Thanks for the glimpses of beauty that are still present around me though I have chosen to darken my view of things.  Thank you, Lord, for giving me new opportunities to see You more clearly.  Help me to be more aware of the blessings you have designed for my eyes to see.

Hands

I was in the middle of communicating back and forth with my boss today.  She sent out a reminder to the faculty about the up-coming "Take Your Child to Work" day.  I shot back an off the cuff comment about how it's funny that day happens on a school day and not on one of the 100 plus days off from school.  She wrote back, telling me about why the day was picked and how it had been switched to a day after the yearly testing, I felt she had taken my reply too seriously.  So to that end I wrote back to her, thanking her for the extra info and pointing out that I was just pointing out a "funny."  My boss is so great, and patient with me.  She wrote back again, and as I was responding to her, I realized that I was writing about my dad, and that reminded me of how much I miss him.

My dad was in the mechanical service and food service industries for most of my life.  

When ever I had a day off I was up at 0-dark-30 and out the door with him, 

his helper for the day, loading trucks, moving crates in a warehouse, 

climbing through dirty crawlspaces and dirtier attics…  From the time I was 

8 till I left for college, If I was not working at my own job or at school, I was

 working with dad.  The last thing I would have ever wanted as a kid was another day off.

  I was too worn out from my last "day off" with dad.  It was on those 

days off, that I learned the most important thing about him; my dad worked hard. 

To this day I remember his hands.  As I picture them I am reminded of how hard my dad worked.

I had to stop and catch my emotions up for a minute.  I lost my dad a little over 2 years ago, I did not grieve for my loss, for I knew he was a believer, but i am not sure that I ever took the time to really think about how much I missed him (and would miss him as time goes on).  I wrote about my father once.  I told about the things he taught me, that I knew because of him.  I knew he loved my mother.  Every day he greeted her with a hug and a kiss and a loving word.  He made sure to tell me as a young man that nothing on this earth was as important to him as his wife, and I knew it to be true.  He taught me that a man was supposed to have 2 qualities: constancy and honor.  He taught me these traits daily in what he said and did, and in how these things agreed in how he lived.  He also taught me a man had to be strong and how he must sacrifice for his family.  

But I understand now that he taught me one lesson without ever saying a word.  He taught me this lesson through his hands.  My dad was a big man, 6'2", over 200 pounds.  He had arms that were long and strong... but his hands... I remember when dad was laid out in his casket, the first thing I saw were his hands.  I turned to my sister and said, "They got his hands right."  She agreed.  They looked hard, toughened by work, calloused and wrinkled by years of labor: my dad's hands.  His hands were huge, probably a good 50 percent bigger than mine.  My hands would disappear inside his when 

he sat with me and held mine as we talked (I needed a lot of counseling as a kid).  When he showed me how to work with the tools of his trades those hands were skillful, moving with gracefulness and purpose.  When he tossed me in the air each night as I ran to greet him I was sure his strong hands would catch me.  I can't remember a single time in my life that my dad's hands were anything but gentle toward those he loved.  Yes, I was spanked at times, but never out of anger.  Those huge, hard, calloused, mighty hands were always used for my good, no matter what.  

Most of this doesn't make much sense, but that's okay, because I'm writing to myself today.  What will my hands be remembered as by my children?