Hickory

A chill rips across the rolling, gray hillside. The sharp whistle signals to all who are alert, and reminds as if forgotten, that life must give way to death. A lone tree, high atop the barren pasture, sways majestically as if keeping watch; as it seems, fulfilling an assignment of sorts. This tree, old and gnarled, thick waisted, hoisting its long, spiraling limbs; absorbs the cold wind, surrendering its leaves and nuts to the hillside below.

A man approaches, bent with age but strong in breath, carrying a bag, stops to smell the hickory. The damp but earthy aroma, blunt with rustic flavor, reminds the man of younger days. He has made his appointment with the hickory to collect its harvest. This hillside, this tree, is an entry point, calling back memories of lessons learned and life experienced--recalling how those before have lead and wondering how those behind will carry forth. Leisurely the old man collects the nuts in the bag, admitting with his pace that his real purpose here is the emotions.

Looking down, the man sees a hickory nut partially embodied by its heavy outer shell, dried enough to have lost a segment of the shell all by itself. Wrenching his fingers around the shell, the man attempts to loosen the other segments. The man, wise in years, cannot muster the strength to rid the small nut from its shell, so he retrieves a blade from his right pants pocket. "Ray Kincaid" the engraving reads, saying it aloud. With his mind recalling his father, Ray clutches the nut and sits down on a nearby rock.

"It's been years since my last visit," he considers as his boney fingers fumble around with the knife prying off the nut's shell.

Ray's father brought him here as a boy; every fall, to collect the nuts. He remembers enjoying the time spent with his father; the hike, the weather, the hope he felt while working along side him. Lost with these memories, the wind ratchets up in force and the tree above can be heard moaning and creaking, sending a flurry of leaves and nuts crashing down. Steadying himself on the rock, Ray hears something like a voice calling out. He looks around but sees no one. "Crazy wind," he mumbles under his breath.

Finally able to rid the hickory nut of its outer shell, Ray drops it into his bag, looks up into sky and says, "Thanks Dad." The feelings toward his past continued to pour out as he thought of his father.

Ray was sure glad he came today--to this place--understanding that something right was happening. Glancing down and spotting a small group of hickory nuts, he went back to work.

A Theory as Strong as Newton's

A long held theory became as strong and unwavering as any Newton ever devised and proved. Let's call it the "red shirt-wedding" theory.

This past weekend, the family gathered in Bridgeport, Connecticut for my brother-in-law's wedding. Because of the culture of that part of the country and its particular style, I was afraid my theory would crash and burn. My theory states that every wedding has at least one guy who wears a red dress shirt. Coat and tie are irrelevant details and the actual red color can be any variation.

Even my brother-in-law, who is aware of my research and generally supports the theory, was in doubt about its success. The whole wedding party and close friends were instructed to be on the lookout for the "red shirt guy." This theory was discussed all week leading up to the wedding and all of us were preparing for a big let down.

I gladly report with exuberance that upon arrival at the church, I did not even have to get out of the car to see the "red shirt" guy. He had arrived just ahead of me and was standing in the doorway. Touchdown! There are times when I don't spot this person until the reception, but not this time. As as aside, just so you don't think this occurrence is a fluke, another red shirt guy appeared at the reception. Bonus!

Please don't congratulate me for research well completed. Anyone could have done it; it only takes a vision and a little hard work. With a dream and a plan, you too can discover a whole new world.

Everyone Can Benefit from Counseling

It's a little known fact that my favorite television show is Cheers. You know it as the show set in a bar with a womanizing owner, the battling bar maids (one crass and the other intellectual), a beer guzzling, unemployed accountant and other well casted characters. Cheers is great not because of the story lines but because of the characters. The theme song opening each episode explains what the show was all about--relationships and all that is involved with great friendships.

Just within the past month I have experienced the essence of what life was like in that tiny Boston bar. While undergoing a bout of personal darkness I turned to friends, and without surprise, they came through for me. I have been wrestling with my sense of purpose, particularly as it relates to career. Falling into an unhealthy emotional state, I decided I needed the help and support of those I trust.

I remember years back my best friend would say that "everyone can benefit from counseling," and I, of course, loved to debate his premise of the frailty of the human spirit. He went on to a career in counseling and social services while I pursued ministry. Go figure that we both would work in fields where the depravity of the individual is a central theme. Anyway, remembering our antagonist conversations, I decided to seek him out for career counseling. I went to him with a book in hand that had been recommended to me by another great friend. That book, 48 Days to the Work You Love by Dan Miller, has been a tremendous resource in self reflection and a good start in this career counseling process.

I guess what I am saying is that place where everyone knows your name is a good place. Without the honest feedback, resources, and the accountability of friends, I imagine that I would remain in this dark period spiraling toward rock bottom. I am now a believer; counseling can benefit everyone and friends you can turn to in times of crisis are invaluable.