A Day That Changed My Life

It was a cold, bright morning in December, 1979. I was running late for my exam in Dr. Bogel’s Modern Middle East class at the University of Richmond. That meant that I had gotten a late start on my 25 minute commute from Hanover County in my trusty 1968 VW bug, the one with over 200,000 miles and a couple of rusted-through holes in the floor board. That particular morning, I was putting the old girl through her paces, pushing the limits of German engineering. I had just made a sharp left turn into a neighborhood shortcut near the corner of Three Chopt and Patterson Avenue when I heard the disconcerting sound of a mechanical malfunction, then smoke and the distinct smell of burning oil. My commute had come to an emphatic end.

Since this was 1979, there was no cell phone handy. That meant that not only could I not take a picture of the trail of oil coming from beneath my dead car and publicly whine about it on Facebook, I also had to knock on somebody’s door at 8 in the morning to ask if I could use their phone. The only call I could think to make was to my friend David Axselle, who happened to be a mechanic. Even though this happened 40 years ago, I remember it like it was yesterday.

David took charge of my life. He could tell that I was quite distraught. In those days my life was like a treadmill. I was a full time college student, had a 30 hour a week warehouse job, and the racing around from those two commitments in a beat up Volkswagen was a blur. I lived on a shoestring of little sleep, little fun, and lots of work. So much for the alleged care free days of college. David picked up on the panic in my voice and took over...

“Ok kid, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’ll come tow your car in to the station. I’ll send someone over to take you to school so you can take that exam. When you’re done, call me and I’ll send someone over to pick you up. By the time you’re done, we’ll know what the problem is with the car.”

The entire time I’m taking Bogel’s exam, I’m thinking about the car and feeling sorry for myself. I looked around at the room full of rich punks from New Jersey and Connecticut, most of whom hadn’t done an honest day’s worth of work in their entire miserable lives, and felt nearly overcome with jealous rage, irrationally angry that my Dad was a small church pastor instead of a corporate executive. The resentment had been building up for most of my life and now, thanks to a blown engine, had reached it’s ugliest level.

When I walked in to Axselle’s Auto Service on Lakeside Avenue, I was about as down as I had ever been. David gave me the verdict.

Bad news, bud. You blew the engine. I can put a brand new engine in it for $700, but you could probably buy a decent used car for that much money. Another option is, I could get a rebuilt engine from a guy I know up in Ashland and put that in for you for around $400.

I said nothing as he talked. He might as well have said $4000. I just didn’t have the money for any kind of repair at that point in my life. Every nickel I made at my job went for gas, and the payment I was making to the bank every month for the loan I had to take out for my sophomore year to pay for tuition and books. Then David Axselle did something that I will never forget.

Listen Doug, here’s what you’re going to do. I’m gonna give you a loaner to drive for a couple of days while I rebuild this engine. I know you can’t afford to get this car fixed right now, but the way I see it, you don’t have a choice. So, I’m going to take care of this. One day when you’re all graduated and successful, you can do something nice for me. Now, get out of here so I can get to work. I’ll call when it’s ready.

It’s not too much of an exaggeration to say that that conversation changed my life. I walked into David’s shop defeated and resentful. Then his act of kindness and generosity redeemed me. I was overwhelmed by it. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. In that moment I was able to let go of much of the resentment which had built up in my heart. Someone had believed in me, placed a bet on my future with his checkbook. But more importantly, David had provided me a real world illustration of what grace looks like. I had heard the term in church all of my life but seldom saw it in action. David had extended grace to me, giving me a glimpse of a different way to live life, one not consumed with merely making money, but sharing it with those in need. 

Here’s what has happened in the forty years since that day.

I now live across town from Axselle’s Auto Service. It’s a pain in the neck to haul my vehicles all the way from Short Pump. I drive past at least a dozen mechanics closer to home and cheaper than Axselle’s Auto. But, there’s not a chance in hades that I would ever allow anyone else to work on one of my cars. In 40 years, I have probably sent at least 40 people there via referral. So, I suppose David was right all those years ago. I did eventually do something nice for him. But, anyone who knows him knows that he didn’t pay for my car repair all those years ago for purposes of business promotion. He did it out of an abundance of generosity. David was and is the type of guy who knows how to take care of others. He understands the old proverb that To Whom Much is Given, Much is Required.

So, on this dreary December morning in 2019, let’s be on the lookout for a chance to bless someone else today. You never know when the smallest act of kindness might have the power to change someone’s life.

Taking Care of Each Other

Every year it happens. From Thanksgiving Day through Christmas I always become more aware of and sensitive to the vast chasm that exists between people. Many of us, blessed beyond measure, secure in our homes and fortunes, while others struggle to make ends meet, insecure and fearful of what the future will bring. Politicians and others eager to empower themselves seek to exploit this gap by pointing fingers of blame at a whole host of villains, none of which ever ends up being wrongheaded policies they themselves were responsible for. So, the gap between the rich and the poor becomes yet another fault line, another battle ground to divide us.

I know that this gap has always existed throughout all of human history. I also know that regardless of what attempts are made to correct the inequities that exist, our savior’s words are instructive...the poor you will always have among you. But, for some reason, I notice it more this time of year. The holidays can be the best of times for some while being the worst of times for others. Whichever station of life you happen to be in gets multiplied and underlined this time of the year, I suppose.

I happen to believe that the government has a big role to play in helping address the inequities of a modern society. There are many things that only government can do at the scale required. When I pay taxes, one of the things I am glad that those taxes pay for is assistance to the less fortunate. But, like Ebenezer Scrooge in a Christmas Carol, it’s tempting to say, “Are there not poor houses?” One disadvantage of living in a country with such a large and generous safety net is the complacency that it brings in our hearts. When we outsource the care of the poor to the government it can dull our own sense of responsibility. 

Of course, there are many exceptions to this. The United Way, The Red Cross, The Salvation Army, and many other organizations do outstanding work. My church and thousands of others give to food banks and benevolent societies that care for thousands of people. This is all good and proper. So, why this time of year do I still feel inadequate? Part of my problem stems from the fact that it has always been a profound mystery why God chose to bless me with success while many of my colleagues, smarter and better looking than me, have struggled? There must be a reason. It can’t just be so I can buy more stuff. 

So, lately I have been obsessed with the simple notion that we need to do a better job of taking care of each other. I’m not talking about  some grand new government program. I am mostly powerless to do anything about systemic poverty. What I’m talking about are the people right here in our neighborhoods, the people all around us at the mall, the gym, at work, and at restaurants. The people who deliver our packages, do our dry cleaning, bag our groceries, bus our tables. The folks who pick up our garbage, work on our cars, stock the shelves at our stores. What can I do to be a blessing to the people right here in Short Pump, up in Ashland, out in Mechanicsville?

To that end I’ve been thinking about something my wife showed me a while back about a restaurant in South Carolina and another in Maine who both came up with a pay it forward option for their customers. At the cash register of these restaurants there were these coupons posted all around, each worth a designated amount of money, $5, $10 and $20. They were paid for by previous customers and available to anyone who needed them to pay for their meals. One restaurant had a sign saying that his cash register was an official NO JUDGEMENT zone. If you needed to use a coupon, no questions would be asked. I haven’t been able to get this idea out of my mind. How cool would it be for a local restaurant in Short Pump to do this? Many of us could add 10 bucks to our bill to fund a coupon every time we eat out. If I understand the way life works, I imagine that at some point the same people who had to use the coupons would eventually be the ones funding the coupons.

I know that there are many business owners who do this same thing in a less obvious way and God Bless them. But wouldn’t you love to go to a restaurant that allowed you to help take care of your fellow man this easily? I know I would.

Now, I’m sure there are details about this sort of thing that would have to be considered. Where there is charity there is always abuse. But, I think that we can figure out how to make it work if we really wanted to. There should be no excuse for anyone to go hungry in the United States of America, especially at Christmas. All of us need to commit ourselves to doing a better job of taking care of each other.

If there are any restaurant owners reading this blog, I ask you to consider this coupon thing. If you do, tell me about it and I will give you free advertising in this space and I guarantee you I will become a regular at you place.

God Bless.

Christmas Comes Early

Yesterday was my Christmas. That’s because yesterday I locked down another fabulous cabin in Maine for 2020. We will be staying in Loon Call Cottage on beautiful Crawford Pond from June 27th thru July 25th.

No, this is not Loon Landing, our favorite spot. Due to a scheduling foul up, we weren’t able to secure it for the weeks we wanted. But, after weeks of relentless searching, we found this place. Lest you think that because the word “pond” appears in it’s name that it’s a tiny body of water, think again. It’s 11 miles in circumference...

...with lots of nooks and crannies for Pam to explore on her kayak and paddle board. The fishing, by all accounts, is off the charts. AND, it has a swimming dock!!

Three bedrooms, and more importantly, three bathrooms! 

It’s no Loon Landing but nothing else could be. What it is is...on a lake in Maine, and available for an entire month!! Amazingly, this place is only 12 miles from the ocean and this beautiful town that Pam and I love so dearly...Camden, Maine.

Lest you think that I intend to go the entire year of 2020 without returning to Loon Landing, think again. We have the first two weeks of October scheduled for that particular piece of paradise, and we are praying that something dreadful befalls the person who has the place the last week of September so we can gobble up that week too!! Just kidding!!

So, my Christmas is complete. I don’t want or need another thing. Maine has been booked and all is well.

My Brave Friend’s Bad Day

Since it’s Friday, an update on my brave friend.

She’s having a hard time. Each new chemo treatment brings greater discomfort and the attending miseries associated with that poison can be nightmarish. Some mornings when I text her I can tell she’s not feeling well. There have been more such mornings lately. She sounds more frustrated, angrier, sick and tired of being sick and tired. But today, I ended up fussing at her. I felt bad about it, but not bad enough to take any of it back. So I called her to make sure she wasn’t angry with me. She wasn’t. She’s just angry at cancer.

Here’s the issue. My brave friend is a worker. She’s always been a worker. Like me, when she was a kid she had chores and worked with her Dad in the garden. All of her adult life she has run her own business. Working is in her blood. The problem is she thinks she can still go in to work like she doesn’t even have cancer. She has convinced herself if she stays on the sofa and works from home she would be giving in to cancer. I basically responded that she was an idiot, and needed to drop this hero crap, stop being so stubborn and allow her body to heal. Her platelets are down precisely because she is working too much. Its not giving in to cancer to give your body its best chance to heal by resting. She says, “But, I’ve never been sick before! I don’t know how to not work.” To which I replied, “Well, you’re sick now, sister! Drop this hero act and slow down!” After this exchange it occurred to me that I might not have the greatest bed-side manner.

After we talked on the phone I started thinking about how I would be dealing with life if it were me who had cancer. I realized that somebody, probably Pam, would have to give me the exact same speech I had given her. When bad things happen to me, like open heart surgery 17 years ago, I get angry and aggressive. I want to fight. Pam was constantly trying to reign me in from trying to do too much too soon after the operation. I was a horrible patient. And here I was this morning lecturing my friend about her stubbornness. Pot, meet kettle.

But, just because I might not be the best messenger doesn’t change the fact that the message was true. My friend needs to give herself the best chance at victory. That means dialing back her schedule, resting more. Sick people. You can’t tell ‘em anything!! The worst part about this morning was...she didn’t laugh at my joke. Didn’t even realize it was a joke. 

But, tomorrow is another day. Onward and upward.

25 Year Old Me v. 60 Year Old Me

I don’t know about you, but I find it fascinating how people change as they get older. I’m not talking about physical changes as much as attitudes and preferences. It’s a well documented fact that as we age our perception of life changes. Our buying habits change, our tastes in everything from fashion to food changes. The things we find interesting at 60 are often miles apart from the things we thought were interesting when we were 25. Take me for example.

Some things have not changed about 25 year old me. I still love baseball, still crazy about dogs, and I’m still in love with my wife. I still love anything with sausage in it, still love the taste of cold beer, still love my morning coffee. Still love reading, still love to travel, and still hate having to wear a suit. Still love practical jokes, still love taking physical risks, provoking arguments with people just to stir things up, and the occasional inappropriate joke. Still love my big, opinionated family. Still love Jesus. Still overwhelmed by grace and the power of forgiveness. Still can’t sit still at all the times when adults are supposed to sit still. But...thats about where the similarities end.

The 60 year old me is a much different guy in many ways. I have lost interest in college basketball, professional football and golf. In my twenties and beyond I was attracted to politics, fascinated by the rough and tumble of it all and quite hawkish about America’s foreign policy. Now, I am repulsed by politics and about as dovish as it is possible to be. I have been disabused of the idea that just a bit more money will make my problems go away. I find that with age comes much less certainty in the infallibility of my conclusions. 60 year old me understands his weaknesses much better than 25 year old me, who had a hard time admitting he even had any. 25 year old me was all about the law. 60 year old me is much more into grace. 25 year old me was obsessed with making his mark on this world. 60 year old me is hoping I didn’t make too big of one. 25 year old me was driven to become a success. 60 year old me desperately wants success for others. 25 year old me thought he knew everything. 60 year old me is astonished at how little he knows.

But, I still have a mischievous streak in me. I still enjoy pushing people’s buttons, which brings me back to the inappropriate joke. My problem has always been that I LOVE THEM. Of course you can go too far with anything, some jokes, although funny, probably shouldn’t be told in mixed company. But when I’m debating whether or not to tell a particular joke, I often make my decision based on if the laugh it produces will be an embarrassed one. If so, I usually go with it. So, today I leave you with this classic:

A businessman boards a flight and is lucky enough to be seated next to a stunning looking woman. They say hi to each other and he notices she is reading a manual about sexual statistics! He asks her about it and she replies,' This is a very interesting book. It says here that American Indians are the most well endowed men and that Polish men make the most sensitive lovers. By the way, my name is Jill. What's yours? 

“Tonto Labowski, at your service.”

Buddy the Elf and Mrs. Claus

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Today we all wake up to December the 2nd staring back at us, making demands. Thanksgiving was late this year which means that there are only three weeks left before Christmas. That dull ache in the pit of your stomach is the first flaring of panic rising from deep within when you contemplate all that remains to be done between now and then. All the Google docs and family Christmas websites in the world can’t change the fact that there are only 20 shopping days left until Christmas. Nothing says Let’s celebrate the Savior’s birth like a three week mad dash to buy as much gold, frankincense and myrrh as we can get our hands on!

I always feel out of sorts in the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas. For one thing, business is winding down, end of the year requirements being largely administrative. This frees me up to be of assistance to my wife during this hectic time. But I never know exactly how to go about helping her. She becomes like a whirling dervish this time of year, flitting about here, there and everywhere doing elf-like jobs. Take yesterday for example. We enjoyed a brunch with Kaitlin and Jon before they left to drive back to Columbia. When they were out of sight, she asked me to help her rearrange the family room furniture so we could get the big tree down from the attic and in place. Once that was done, she seemed content. She had working feverishly as hostess all weekend so I thought she was done with decorating. I even left to head over to the gym for a workout. When I arrived back home, it’s like a crew from Flip This House had descended on the place. Not only was the big tree in place, but five others as well. Gone was all the fall regalia, replaced by the Christmas finery. She had been at it for almost five hours and showed not the slightest sign of fatigue....

This is by no means all of it, there are four more trees in place upstairs. None of the trees have been decorated yet, not all of the seasonal knickknackery has been hauled down from the attic...but this was an astonishing accomplishment for one woman and one terrified dog to get done in one afternoon while I was doing cardio!!

So, now I have guilt. Once again, the majority of the prep work gets done by my wife, while I roam around the house asking if she needs me to pay for anything, write a check for something. Yes, it is true that I will be in charge of outside decorations. I am also tasked with anything that requires heavy lifting, something for which I am increasingly ill-suited due to a variety of age related issues which I would rather not discuss. So, basically I become my wife’s hired hand during the holidays, an entry level laborer with few skills but very eager to impress the boss, a real life Buddy the Elf to her Mrs. Claus...

Thanksgiving In Four Photographs

There are four photographs from Thanksgiving that tell the story of how the day went for the Dunnevant’s.

This is the Over The River and Through the Woods shot. We were heading over to Linda’s for the big meal. The rule is supposed to be that Christmas music cannot be played until the return trip, but that rule got violated. 

This was to be the first Thanksgiving ever without Patrick in attendance. We were missing him, missing Sarah... a lot. But, while we were eating the meal, they were busy posting a video of a gorgeous song that Sarah had composed about Thanksgiving and the longing that rises in the heart on this day. It was beautiful and made our day.

Then, there are these people, my brother and two sisters. Life without them would be unimaginable and nowhere near as fun.

Meanwhile, Miss Lucy’s life was being interrupted by our prolonged absences and the presence of her ginormous and incorrigible cousin, Jackson. When we finally returned from our very long day, I snuck upstairs to take a quick nap on my recliner. As soon as I extended the foot rest, she appeared at the door, big old goofy smile on her face. Then she did what she does every single time I attempt such a nap. She deposited herself on top of me, with her back legs on the floor, demanding head skritches. She stays up there for five minutes or so, then jumps down and curls up on the floor at my feet.

I hope that each and everyone of you had as wonderful a Thanksgiving day as I did. God Bless you all.