Wondering Mind Wants to Know

It’s one of those nights when my mind is wondering what to write for my blog. My mind is wandering through ideas trying to sort one out that is more than my usual ramblings. One of the characters one of the books I’ve written was named Loquacious. She said her mother named her that and she has always tried to live up to her name. Sometimes I feel that way. I think too often I say more than I need to say trying to explain fully my thoughts. That’s why I limit the number of words I use in my blog or I’d ramble on for several pages.

You’d think in 72 years I’d have enough stories to write them down for the rest of my life, I think often memories are like the pages in a book. Once you’ve read the page, you tend to forget it unless it was outstanding. And just how many of those stories are remarkable.

Unless someone or something reminds me of the content on that page turned, it remains stuck somewhere in the middle of the book, silent unless reread. When I started to write my blog, I was adding a new story each and every day, but found that I had a harder and harder time thinking of themes to pen down. I backed off only adding a new post on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but recently I share a family history posy on the national Minerd-Minard-Miner-Minor Website because I was weary of seeing postings of obituaries and invited others of the clan to add weddings, graduations, and births. I want to share memories of my ancestors and stir memories in others of the clan across the United States. I share stories. I am a very poor genealogist and am thankful for those people who have the patience and the resolve to do that tedious work.

There is one gentleman who is a member of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society who has an encyclopedia for a brain with family histories. He has back up on his computer with thousands of names and who is related to who, who married who, and the names of their kids. He keeps the names and dates of the family trees. I just water the stories to keep them alive, hoping they don’t grow in my retelling like the tales my uncle Dale Miner would embellish. 

The Outhouse

The unpainted wood of the outhouse at the Raymond Miner farm was weathered on the exterior, but it was special and had two holes. When Granddad built the privy he made the board seat wide, cutting one larger hole for adults and a smaller one for kids. He didn’t want to lose a child into the putrid pit below.

Grandma Becky didn’t buy or believe in the luxury of toilet paper for the john. Oh, no, old outdated catalogues fulfilled that purpose. The whole way to the toilet I would pray that there were still some dull pages left. No one wanted the shiny ones. Those pages made sharp, hard painful edges when crinkled for use and if they weren’t crinkled, the smooth slick, surface was little more than useless. The dull surfaced pages would soften when they were balled up and smoothed out and became tolerable if not comfortable.

In winter, I would put off the trip to the john until my eyes and my bladder bulged or I was about to lose control. The steps to the outhouse had no railing to hang onto or steady anyone in their trip through no man’s land.

Sheer bravery got me to the toilet and remove the lid for the chosen hole. Frigid winter winds would blast through the wind tunnel that I’d just created. It took real courage to unfasten my pants, push them down into a crumpled heap around my ankles, then tentatively place my unwilling bare flesh over the hole as a partial stopper for the gusts of icy air.

The board seat was frigid. I was glad it was wood and not metal or I’d have been frozen to the seat until spring thaw. The wind always managed to squeeze through the hole between the seat and my warm flesh. It would discover a way to slip its icy fingers beneath my coat and caress my chest and back. Goosebumps appeared on top of goose bumps and I would start to shiver. I knew I needed to finish before my teeth began to chatter sending out distress signals in Morse code.

I leafed through the diminished catalogue pages, searching for the cherished dull paper. I was at a point of panic, thinking of the torture of the shiny page. Frantically, desperately, I flipped the leaves of advertisement, passing over the tantalizing views of panties and brassieres. Pictures, that would on a normal day cause boys to linger were passed over in the search for just one dull sheet of paper.

Aha, I was safe; one lone dull page in the catalogue’s index directing inquisitive minds to where men’s shoes, suits, and ties could be found. A hasty tearing, the quick crush, and the smoothing of the paper was a prelude to the actual cleaning of the derriere.

The return of the pants to the point they could be cinched around my waist was welcome warmth. I was hoping that the return trip to the warmth of Grandma’s house would be uneventful as I hurried up the Everest of the concrete back porch steps. 

Struggles

We all have struggles in our lives. Some are huge and others just small ones that nibble at us every day. Many are hard to face because they are so large while others have become habits that are hard to break. Some are recent while others have continued over many years. Some of these struggles are daily while others are intermittent, only occurring every so often. Those struggles are sometimes so difficult to deal with. We think that the battle is won, only to be disappointed when it shows up again.

Sometimes the source of the struggle is minor and other times it is major and God considers it a sin. There are times the temptation we grapple with dangles before our eyes like the bait on a hook of a fisherman, then there are those conflicts that arrive like a load of gravel in the bed of a dump truck, almost smothering us. I do know if we concentrate on the problem it will constantly grow and try to consume us. I also know that we are stronger than we believe.

Where can we go to find the tools and the strength to do battle with these urges? Where can we go to relieve the pressure of hopelessness and the feelings of discouragement? Where can strength we found? The place I find shelter is in the Word of God. It is a high tower. It is an oasis. It is a map to direct our steps. It is a light in the darkest of times. It is a place we see others have faced many of the same struggles that we do and what was the outcome. All are examples. Some of how to avoid those conflicts and others are prime examples of what not to do.

The problems may be many, but the answer is always the same…God.  Matthew 7:7-8 says, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:  For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.” It can’t be any plainer than that.

Psalm 28:7-8 also says “The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him. The Lord is their strength, and he is the saving strength of his anointed.”

So don’t be discouraged, Jesus, in John 16:33 says, “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In a world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” 

Excitement Needed?

When your life seems humdrum and routine or if the rat race pace has you frazzled with the same stuff day after day, perhaps you need to hit the brakes and slow down a bit. There is often an entire world that you’re missing if you just step back and slow down. Push something aside that is not absolutely necessary. It’s been said, “Stop and smell the roses,” but what happens if the roses aren’t in bloom? What happens if you’re in the midst of a storm? Can you see the beauty of the clouds or the lightning as it traces a path in the sky? You know it won’t rain forever. Keep watching for the rainbow.

Sometime you feel that you’re lost in a barren desert. There are creatures that live there, find it beautiful, and would die elsewhere. Follow their example and look for a cactus in bloom or a rock formation that’s been created just for you to enjoy. Most times there’s an oasis haven where life can be renewed; a place where your strength can be refreshed. There’s beauty that can be found in the shifting patterns of sand dunes that are shaped and reshaped by the wind.

Look around where you’re living. In spring there’s the greening of the grass and trees. Blossoms begin to fill the trees, bulbs push out tulips and jonquils, and who can forget the dandelions’ busts of “sunshine” in our lawns. Summer’s gardens begin to share their bounty. Row after row of beans, peppers, and tomatoes join with lettuce for fresh salads. Autumn prepares for the winter’s chill by displaying magnificent cloaks lined with a myriad of colors. Reds, oranges, yellows, and gold fabric fills the hills with exotic quilt-like patterns. Slowly they fade and turn brown baring the tree limbs that form patterns of shadow and light. Winter arrives blustery and cold, to decorate the now bare limbs with ermine-like coatings of snow and crystal crowns of ice sparkling in the sun and the fallen brown leaves are covered with a thick carpet of white. If you pause long enough and slow down to look around, you may find excitement in the natural things that you’ve hurried by and taken for granted.

Often there’s no need to take a vacation when things have piled up, causing problems and stress. Lean back in your chair, look out a window, and reflect on things that you see. Even if it’s a brick wall, look for patterns that might amuse you. Take a deep breath, relax, and think about something lovely that you’ve seen. Excitement can be discovered if you just take time.

 

Thoughts on Death and Dying

For many people the thought of death is unwelcome and even frightening, but death is a part of life. Birth marks the beginning and death is the period at the end. I was rarely touched with thoughts of death during my youth. Probably my first was the death of a pet. I’d see it not moving and my dad would bury it in the back yard. After several days of intermittent tears I’d go back to being a child.

My next remembrance of death was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I was in junior high when the announcement filled the television and newspapers, but his death although earth-shattering was held at arms’ length, by my youth and by its distance.

While I was a naval corpsman in Iceland my grandfather Raymond Miner passed away. It was definitely a difficult position for me. Time, distance, and finances made it impossible to arrive home in time for the funeral and I was unable to be with family during this time.

The next person’s death that impacted me was my grandfather Edson Beck. He was gravely ill in the hospital. I decided to visit after work. I knew he was dying and chose to sit with him waiting for my dad, Carl Beck to arrive. When I didn’t arrive home on time mom Sybil called me. I told her that if my dad wanted to see his father while he was still alive, he needed to come right away. He didn’t because his brother told him a nurse said Granddad was okay. My mom and sister came to relieve me while I left for home. Dad never got to visit before his dad died.

My wife Cindy passed away 19 years ago with ovarian cancer. She was symptomless except for a progressive cough and wheeze. I forced her to go to the hospital, ten days later she died. I wasn’t at her bedside because each time the kids went into her room they would say “C’mon Mom you can make it.” It tore me apart. I knew that she wouldn’t recover. I took them home to sleep and get away from the tension.

The next year Cindy’s mom Retha Morrison passed away with cancer of the white blood cells. Two deaths so close together was difficult. On the third anniversary of Cindy’s death, my mom Sybil passed away. Their deaths were in the month of March and my family now tries to avoid any major decisions in March.

I continue to age and I think about my death. I don’t fear death at all I only pray it’s not painful. I know that I am saved and know where I will spend eternity. Do you?