The Passing of Time

Jacoby tosses his bag onto the belt and progresses through the line waiting to board his flight. Another business trip, but not a welcome one after some long, tiring days and too many broken down deals. Shoe laces untied and I.D. in hand, Jacoby can do nothing but wait. Running on fumes, his eyes glass over in a perpetual glare; mind slowing down but with sharp, clear thoughts.

"How did this happen? How did I get here?," Jacoby silently reflects.

A small town boy growing up in a poor family, there was no such thing as opportunity. Jacoby always dreamed of getting out of that sleepy, hillbilly town, but his hopes were not rooted in a displeasure of his life but from a curiosity of his purpose. He loved his family and friends, even the town itself. But questions persisted; wonder about the future and the role he would play in the advancement of history. A day dreamer who would often consider what could be, Jacoby was a thinker, inspired by possibilities. There was something magical about a boyhood filled with almost nothing. There were neighborhood baseball games and an occasional campfire, bike rides and open fields. Apart from the simple pleasures of being a kid, the days were filled with unscripted leisure. Time to imagine, pretend, create and be lost in whatever world he wished.

Pondering these things, memories swirled in his mind prompting questions not unlike the days of his past. Filled with both confusion and awe as the memories flood, Jacoby's stare loosens as the line toward the departure gate inches forward. Suddenly a flight announcement blared and jerked Jacoby's gaze out of focus and his attention back to the line he was standing in. Wondering how long he had been napping, Jacoby guesses it was only a minute or two as the line continued to slither through the terminal.

A man, tall and appearing disheveled, standing just one place ahead of Jacoby, turned around and gazed at the busy activity around him. The man dropped his boarding pass and Jacoby bent down to retrieve the creased card.

"Sir," Jacoby declared in an inquisitive tone. "You dropped this," extending his hand toward the man.

"Oh, thank you. I can't go anywhere without this," the man replied.

"No problem...Where you headed?"

"San Diego...I've got family business out there."

As the small talk persists, Jacoby feels a bit renewed with conversation. Continuing, Jacoby replies, "We're on the same flight. Headed there myself. I've got some clients to check on."

The line to the gate dwindles as the men continue their conversation. Nearing the gate, Jacoby is interrupted by a vibrating pulse from his front pant pocket; an incoming message from his phone.

"Excuse me a moment," Jacoby interjects politely. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out his phone and sees a text from his wife. It reads, "Call me when you land. Go some BIG news!!"

"Sorry about that, it was my wife checking in."

"I understand. Everything OK?," the man responds.

"Yea, she's excited about something. I'll get the scoop later tonight."

"You know what? I didn't catch your name. Mine is Jacoby Kincaid."

"I'm David...David Crosley, nice to meet you."

With mutual pleasure the two men acknowledge their formal introduction with a nod and proceed through the gate. Shuffling their belongings out of their pockets and onto the x-rayed conveyor belt.

Teachable Moments

Tonight, as I helped in the bedtime routine of our three children, I pulled out a book of complied comic strips. Calvin and Hobbes is my favorite, and so I have now introduced Watterson's work to my two oldest. After a half dozen pages they were asking for more.

I'm not sure why they like it; maybe because the main characters are a kid and his stuffed animal. Maybe they sense in my reading how much I enjoy the strip. In the course of reading I stopped to explain why Hobbes looks like a stuffed animal in panes where parents are present and why when Calvin's parents are not in the scene, Hobbes appears to be a real, live tiger. It's fun to watch the kids let that soak in, knowing how much they identify with Calvin, with their own imaginations. There were other things I stopped reading to explain. Using moments when Calvin misbehaves or gets reckless to reinforce lessons the kids have heard in other contexts.

Using the context of a kid and his tiger and allowing my children to view their lives as seen and understood from a kid's perspective seems to me brilliant parenting. Thinking about my wisdom (or lack thereof) of reading this strip to my children got me thinking about my own way of knowing and learning life lessons. Since coming out of a dark period I've recently realized how important it is to step back and see for yourself what it is you're doing. Through a series of events and disappointments, I've been able to look at the experiences themselves, from my past, and probe them with questions and view them from a distance; sort of like seeing your life lived out on paper and reading about it.

Through it all, the darkness and the light, I've learned a lot about me. I'm still processing and progressing on a plan to bring it all together for a greater purpose. But tonight, my kids taught me, by a simple example of self examination.

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.