Keeping Promises

 

Keeping Promises

I mentioned several things on my Facebook posts that needed follow up to tell the full story. I looked back through my previous Blogs and wasn’t able to find them. I have so many stored from the past. They’re listed under titles and sometimes I can’t find what I want. My titles are often obscure and don’t share the facts that are buried in the text.

There are two stories I wanted to share. The first was in response to a cartoon about a person that was too hot under a blanket, too cold without being covered, but with the body covered and one leg protruding it was “just right.” My wife Cindy Morrison Beck had the same attitude. She called her leg “her thermostat.” Most of the time, I had no problem, but in the middle of the winter, it would get icy cold. When it became too cold for her, she would draw it back under the covers and place it against my bare back. The shock can be a real eye-opener in the middle of the night. The worst part was that she would immediately stick her other “thermostat” out from under the blankets to cool. Oh how I miss that shock therapy.

The other story was a post saying, “Don’t tell me about your childhood problems, I was forced to watch Lawrence Welk as a kid.” Lawrence Welk was a staple of our house Saturday evenings. Just as sure as I knew the sun was going to come up in the morning, I was positive that my dad Carl Beck would sit in his swivel reclining rocker directly in front of our black and white television to enjoy the music, then almost immediately fall asleep. I tried on many occasions to stealthily change the channel of that old television to anything that was more interesting than music of an accordion or “The Shrimp Boats are Coming.”

As soon as I would click the knob, my dad would sit upright and snort, “I’m watching that.” My hopes dashed, I’d return the channel back and we’d continue to watch Lawrence Welk. One time, I thought I’d prove Dad wrong and I slowly turned his swivel rocker to face away from the T. V. Great planning, then click…the chair bolted upright with Dad sputtering, “I was watch…” His voice faded to nothing when he was aware that he wasn’t facing the set. He returned the chair to face the television and we watched Lawrence Welk. Needless to say, Dad wasn’t pleased and tried to kick my butt as I walked past. He missed and nearly fell out of his chair. Although I still don’t like to hear the bubbly music, that program continues to have a special memory for me.

Imagine That There's No

 Imagine That There’s No

Imagine that people have no imagination. Their minds are devoid of thinking abstractly. Their thoughts were only able to deal with concrete ideas that they could hold in their hands, to see with their eyes, or to taste with their tongue. Our ancestors had no televisions, no computers, no movies, and no cameras, and no mimeographs or Xerox copiers. When mankind was first established on earth, the passing on information was done by story telling. Oral tradition was the only way to pass on knowledge and tales. A person’s imagination was needed to shape and bring to life the words that were shared by another person. Slowly words were transferred by marks of charcoal, divots pressed into clay tablets, or carvings into stone. Some used the charcoal to outline beasts and beings onto cave walls to tell stories. Others took it a step farther to make pigments to paint the story onto the walls. It took only the imagination of the viewer to retell what the scene portrayed and to bring the story to life.

When the written languages proliferated, so did the expansion of information. Each idea became a shared foundation upon which another generation of ideas could be used as stepping stones or as a ladder to reach the next level of ideas. Having the written word was an improvement, but it still took imagination to fully understand what the author intended. Then it took more imagination to see beyond the writer’s plateau and to create something more.

Inventions created electricity and the telephone farther extending man’s imaginative reach. The reach cut the cord and radios were invented. Families huddled around the radio in the home to listen to the news, music, comedy, drama, and sports. It was no longer necessary to wait for word of mouth or to attend an event to be in-the-know, but the listener still needed imagination to understand what was happening. They used their mind’s eye to “each the games unfold. It took imagination for the news of the battlefront and the fighting armies of the war to be understood. Many used maps, but it didn’t relay the carnage and the struggle of the soldiers.

Today we are being spoon-fed from televisions, computers, and even our cell phones. The once necessary imagination is being starved or being overfed by the inundation of information. Whether starved or choked, today’s youth are losing their ability to use their imagination.

The Birth of a Notion

 The Birth of a Notion

As I was thinking of what to write, two thoughts for the title and the direction for the subject were battling in my mind. The first title I thought to name it was “The Birth of a Nation” and I planned to share stories surrounding the birth of my three children. The initial thought was spurred by my post of our visit to Niagara Falls and the trip home. My wife Cindy Morrison Beck became nauseated as we drove home. Later as she tried to sleep, the images of electric poles sped past her like a picket fence and the nausea persisted. This was our introduction into pregnancy with our first daughter Amanda Beck Yoder. After Cindy’s symptom, I developed a craving for greasy hamburgers then and at each of her following pregnancies. With the last craving of a hamburger for our third child, Cindy said, “No need for me to go to the doctor. I’m pregnant” and she was.

The second idea that fits the chosen title of this piece was to introduce how an idea, phrase, or incident can set off a spark of creativity which eventually becomes the birth of a story, book, or poem. Many times I copy down a single thought and it stays on the paper for quite awhile. It was something I wanted to keep, but the words needed to finish it weren’t there yet. It was only the germ of a plot, a partial line of a poem, or sometimes it would find its way into a waste basket, rejected because I’d already written something similar or it wasn’t as good as my initial thought.

In my computer room, there are reams of paper with finished and unfinished manuscripts, partially written stories, and finished poems or Haiku that haven’t yet been entered into the computer. The stacks pile up, partly because of laziness on my part. I see the task and because I never took typing classes, I avoid it. I am a two, and at best a three fingered typist.

I did start to clean some of the clutter surrounding me and I found a check as payment for a book I sold. It was tucked into a Christmas card. The postmark was from a year ago. My bank was kind enough to cash it. I do hope my cousin Barb won’t be too mad that I took so long to redeem it. As you can see, even checks that haven’t been cashed can be an interesting notion to write about.

Will You Crucify Him

 

Will You Crucify Him?

Pure without defile, Jesus went to trial

Yet the crowd yelled, “Crucify Him.”

Barabbas was set free and Jesus it would be

That the crowd called, “Crucify Him.”

 

When the scourging was through, they mocked “King of the Jew”

Crying loudly, “Crucify Him.”

Parading Christ around on the blood spattered ground

They took Christ to crucify Him.

 

From two trials was led, thorny crown on His head

To mobs calling “Crucify Him.”

Guards cried, “Take up your cross. You’re not much of a loss.”

And the crowd roared, “Crucify Him.”

 

A spear thrust in His side, made sure Jesus had died

In response to “Crucify Him.”

Christ in burial clothes from His head to His toes

Wrapped after they crucified Him.

 

With tomb stone rolled away Jesus rose the third day

Of whom they cried, “Crucify Him.”

Even tomb couldn’t hold the one prophets foretold

And of men who’d crucify Him.

 

If you’d been in the crowd with crowds screaming out loud

To Pilate to “Crucify Him.

And if you standing there with the crowd would you share

With their calls to crucify Him?

Up Down and All around

 Up and Down and All Around

Maybe because I have slowed down just a bit from my youth or maybe my artist’s eye is capturing more of the beauty in my surroundings, but I have really been impressed with the sky filled with clouds, sunrises, and sunsets. I’ve looked more closely at the intricate delicate beauty of flowering plants. The rich colors and subtle hues my eye sees doesn’t translate to the camera’s eye. I struggle to describe what I see. It is never as precise even when it becomes a photo on my cell phone. I try to capture and share these landscapes, but wish I could share the intensity of the scene that I see.

My home is located in the mountains of southwestern Pennsylvania. It sports a wide panorama of surrounding tree clad mountains. This time of years those various trees wear a variety of colors in a patchwork design. These Chestnut Ridge Mountains are but hills compared to the Rockies or the Grand Tetons that I’ve visited, but Pennsylvania remains my home. On three sides of my home I have views of each sunrise, each sunset, and the many storms that roll from the west in massive thunderheads interspersed with flashes of lightning.

Because I live in a rural area, there is a perfusion of wildflowers and the many flowers planted by my wife Cindy Morrison Beck. One wildflower that was my wife’s favorite flower is the daisy. Fresh, plain, and innocent, its white petals form a tight circle around an egg yolk yellow center. The irises and the snowball bush have bloomed. The blossoms of my apple trees, the black berry, raspberry, and strawberry blossoms all are faded and the fruit is formed and been picked.

If I look, there is always something new for me to see. Have I slowed down enough to take the time to see? Have I gained the wisdom to really look around and interpret what I see? Often when I drive I am surprised with a sudden eye widening view. It stirs my artist heart and I wonder if I could ever capture the sights I was seeing with paint or with camera. Photographs capture only a small part of the things my eyes see. But I try.

Only the Lonely

Only the Lonely

The forced isolation, the mandated covering of faces with masks, threats of job loss, and social distancing from a past disease entity has created a serious problem. Mankind is a social creature. The old adage of “No man is an island” is true. Depression and the suicide rates rose tremendously with the “mandates” of Federal and State government during the “pandemic.” The most grievous thing was that the “preventions,” the social distancing, the masks, and closing schools and work places have done little more than extended the impact of a recent disease. This isolation and loneliness is crippling millions.

The cause of the disease is so microscopic that masks did little to stop it unless someone coughed or sneezed in someone’s face. The provided information about “prevention” did little to prevent its spread and medications used to curtail and treat the disease did more harm than good. There are many other illnesses and organ failure that came with the “cure.” There have been no extended time-trials to study the “cure” and its long term effects. The only way laboratories could have readied the “cure” so rapidly was to have known about the disease before it “burst on the scene.” Medication that was pooh-poohed by scientists is now proved to actually work.

Imposed internet schooling for children has been a failure on so many levels, but most appalling is that kids need to learn social skills and how to live with others. Now they have limited interactions with their peers. The lack of support from others of their own age has become a flaw in their character.

Isolation has caused feelings of loneliness. It can be intensified during the sudden loss of a loved one. The grieving person has to reshape their life without the support provided by others. Friends have fallen away because those bonds have been broken. The person often feels like the third wheel on a bicycle.

Loneliness can invade slowly, an insidious malicious entity that robs the peace and joy in a person’s life. The cloud thickens until it blots out the world around them. Depression sets in. The loss of a job, loss of possessions, an injury or an illness may isolate a person from their surroundings as did the mandated isolation.

Loneliness can present itself when a certain song is played or a meaningful phrase is repeated. A certain smell can stir a wave on loneliness. It may be as intense as the initial loss of a parent, partner, or close friend.

A possible cure? Don’t expect a stranger to come to you. Reach out to others. You may find some folk are as lonely as you. They may be looking for a friend too. 

 

A Stirring of Memories

A Stirring of Memories

One evening I was watching one of the nature channels on television. The program was of an explorer who goes about trying to find animals that are thought to be extinct. His quest took him to Newfoundland to look for a white wolf that was thought to be extinct for over thirty years. He first met an 80 year old man who lives in Newfoundland and kept two wolves, but not ones that were indigenous to the Island. He was familiar with wolves.

The two set out searching one arm of the eastern coast, but when they were unsuccessful there, they moved their operation to the northern part of the island. After several more days of searching, they found tracks, scat and several thermal images that prove there are still wolves in some isolated areas of Newfoundland.

I have said all of this to say much of the scenery felt familiar to me. Quite a few years ago a young man named Tim wanted to see what Newfoundland and Labrador were like. He was thinking of establishing himself as a missionary in this area of the globe. My good friend Norman Lee Johnston was our Pastor at the time and very keen on supporting missionaries. He decided to take the young man to visit that part of the world. My son Andrew, my daughter Amanda, and myself were fortunate enough to make the trip with them, making the drive from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, through the northeastern states, and into Canada. We camped in Maine before crossing the border into New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, then taking the ferry to Newfoundland.

Back on dry land, we traveled the length of Newfoundland from the southern coast to its most northern tip. All of this was to say that much of the scenery that I saw on the television program brought back the memories of a dear friend who recently passed away and of friends that we met on the trip. I miss my dear friend Pastor Norman Johnston. I also miss a missionary couple that we met on our trip, Buzz and Judy Ferguson. Just to let my missionary friends and families know that they are thought of and that they remain in my prayers. Buzz has also passed, but here's a shout out to a lovely lady Judy.