You shine whether you know it or not! 6/24/14

I've spent a bit of time on planes this month.  Most of my flights have been at night. Flights are just to be tolerated, you know, for the sheer convenience of not having to drive hours and hours. One of the most welcome moments is when they announce "Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our descent into xxxx. (wherever you're headed...) Please be seated, stow your tray tables, return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seat belts."  It's welcome because the flight is almost over, but also because you can once again see something out of the window besides clouds or just black night.

As I look down on city xxxx from the heights, I can see lights.  Big lights, small lights.  Lights that look like shopping centers, highways or neighborhoods with cul-de-sacs.  The patterns of the lights identify the type of place.  Some are white, most are yellowish from the great height.  Of course there are red lights, too.  The red ones you can see from above are found mostly on tower-like structures as if they are saying "Danger! Please don't hit us, Mr. Airplane!"  The red lights serve as a warning.

I was also intrigued, whilst on one of my evening flights, at the variety of styles and colors of lights on the takeoff runway. I noticed at one point the the giant plane I was on (an A320 EOW, according to the safety card) was surrounded by lines of white lights with blue ones off to the side.  However, the nose of the plane followed one straight line of green lights down the runway.  The color and path created by those green lights led us down the runway into the sky.

We compare ourselves to lights sometimes.  We encourage each other to SHINE and be the STAR that you are!  These comparisons have to do with finding your inner strength and doing your best.  But what if we are meant to be a different type of light?  What if our main purpose in "shining" is to guide others?  Suppose we are part of a team that forms the line of green lights to help someone else take off?

After 9/11, one of my favorite artists, Peter Frampton, realeased a song that expressed his views on how to deal with that horrible tragedy.  He mentions holding hands, singing songs, and not forgetting.  What spoke to me, though,  was a refrain that repeats over and over near the end:  "Find your light, turn it on, shine it down on everyone."  You can hear it here.  The light part happens at about 2:10:

Peter Frampton - Not Forgotten

In the end, Peter says (sorry for the familiarity, I feel I know him!), we can help others by "shining our light on everyone".  I want to go a step further and say that we don't need to wait for a tragedy to shine.  We are all lights.  Perhaps we warn, maybe we illuminate for clear understanding, we might even encourage action like a green traffic light!  Some may even have the tactful skill of acting as a yellow or red traffic light by gently guiding friends or loved ones away from danger or bad decisions.  I want to encourage everyone to find your light, turn it on, let it shine on everyone; the individual that needs our light may be someone very close or an utter stranger.  "Shine like the star you are" doesn't necessarily mean you're on stage.  Our lives are our stage and our daily activities can be lit-up runways, welcoming porch lights or even a red stop light.  Shine on no matter who is watching - or not.  Everyone is on a journey and you might be the one that helps light their way.

A Tribute to Dad 6/13/14

Dad is eighty-one.  He'll be eighty-two in November, one month and one day after I turn fifty-two.  That means he turned thirty a month after I was born.  How cool that he lived a whole life before his children started showing up - and that he left that life and embraced being a husband and a father with the vigor and single-mindedness that only he can muster.

I think Dad probably could've played college basketball somewhere.  Instead, there was a broken leg, then he joined the service, as many depression-era children ended up doing.  He spent time in Japan, which I always thought was so exotic - there was even a kimono that I could dress up in every now and then!

Dad ended up with three daughters.  I do think perhaps that God purposely meant for him to have three girls! Maybe he would have been too demanding on boys - who can tell?  Having girls was perfect.  He supported our arts efforts as well as sports.

Dad was always involved, with a capital "I".  Whether it was a softball team at work or being a deacon/Sunday School teacher/coach at church; Dad got a kick out of either running the show or helping out. His involvement spilled over to include us.  I had a speaking part in a grown-up church skit when I was seven.  Dad and his friend started a sports league for fifth through eighth graders at small private schools. Of course we played every sport. My Dad helped share church services at nursing homes on Sunday afternoons - and took my sisters and me along to sing and play piano.

If he wasn't in charge, he was supporting.  My Dad came to every ball game that work would allow.  He had a special outfit in school colors, and a jacket with our numbers embroidered on it. Each number was surrounded by a star for each year we lettered in basketball.

Dad made experiences special.  When I turned thirteen, I got to order prime rib in a restaurant. My fourteenth birthday, Dad took just me to see "Oklahoma!" at a dinner theater.  My sweet sixteenth birthday gift was a tailgating trip with friends to a Florida Gators game!

When I left for college, Dad did something very special. He wrote me one letter every week.  Dad just caught me up on the household and sports news.  In each letter was a one dollar bill.  He never missed.  My senior year, the ones turned into fives!   Four years of college - one letter a week.  That's my Dad.

Dad was the only one there with me when I took the walk down the aisle to get married.  I'll never forget how we stayed out of sight until the last bridesmaid headed toward the front. Then he looked at me with his eyes a little shiny and said "Let's give them what they're waiting for!"

Dad doesn't remember a lot these days. The processes of age have taken the clarity and replaced it with confusion. Every now and then, a joke can find its way through.  However, I remember all of the

things I've mentioned and more. I hope to tell him about recent changes.  I know that even if he doesn't understand it, that somewhere inside, he's cheering me on wholeheartedly.  He is half of the team that made me who I am; he is encouraging, involved, a bit silly and most importantly, a loving Christian father.  Thank you Dad.