Being a Blessing

It is one of the inevitabilities of life that the older we get the more accustomed to death we become. Now that I am in my 60’s, most of my friends and clients are also in their 60’s, which means that each year I hear of death and disease far more often than I did 30 years ago. This past year has been especially difficult in this regard, having lost four dear clients over the past 8 months. By now it should not surprise me, I shouldn’t be so shocked by mortality...but I still am.

Far too many times recently a grieving widow sits across the desk from me at my office clutching a tissue as she sorts through the relentless stack of paperwork authenticating her loss. Whatever words of mine intended to encourage fall flat. I try not to make it worse by saying the wrong thing or something too flip, desperate not to make matters worse. It is not a skill that improves with practice. I am just as halting and awkward now as I’ve ever been around grieving people.

I hate to admit such a thing, but when the deceased was a difficult person...its easier. There is a part of me that thinks that some sort of divine justice has been served. I know that this is a horrible, judgmental notion, but it comes anyway. What’s far more difficult is when the loss is some wonderful, loving and caring human being. The person sitting across the desk from me is not anguished over the fate of their loved one, just devastated by longing and overcome by the prospect of life without them. Their faces are darkened by the specter of loss. The financial problems that my work solves offers them no cure for loneliness. 

My friend with cancer recently received great news after her surgery...no cancer found in her lymph nodes. But her cancer is a relentless and persistent enemy. Her doctors want one more year of chemo to guard against its return. So she will face it because she wants to live, has so much to live for. She fights with grit and tenacity. I cheerlead with stupid jokes, feeling more and more useless as she plows on valiantly through every setback in her path.

Why does it all make me so angry? What right do I have to anger in the face of mortality? It is the way of the world. People are born and people die every single day. The important part is what we do between these two events. I know this in my head, but when presented with death and dying, a part of my heart rages at what Dylan Thomas called...the dying of the light.

My dad used to tell me that my goal every day should be to “figure out how to be a blessing to someone today.” In other words, every day we live should count for something more than merely making a living. Life should be so much more than pursuing our narrow self interests. Some days are easier than others. Dad was a natural at being a blessing to others. For me it takes intentional effort. But in this season of life where it seems each day brings fresh news of loss, it’s more important than ever for me to get the hang of this being a blessing business. People are depending on it.

The Evolution of My Addiction

I had my very first cup of coffee on the morning of my 13th birthday. The rule in the Dunnevant house was no coffee until you became a teenager. So, I saddled up to the breakfast table and watched Mom pour me a cup from the silver percolator coffee pot that looked like this.

I loved the smell, and had long looked forward to becoming like my dad and taking mine...black. That first sip was one of the most profound disappointments of my short life. Of course, I wasn’t about to let my mother know. I finished that first dreadful cup in what, up until that time, was the single bravest act of my life. As I drank I remember thinking, Are you kidding me? This stuff is horrible! How do they stand to drink this every single morning of their lives?? It was the first time I entertained the prospect that grownups might not, in fact, be very smart after all. Of course, eventually I grew to love coffee, but the evolution hit another snag before beginning in earnest.

A couple years later I was spending the weekend with some friends. Saturday morning, I gathered around the breakfast table with my buddies and watched one of their Moms plop one of these on the table in front of me...

Ahh yes, I was about to discover that the only thing worse than percolator coffee was instant coffee. But, following the lead of my friends, I spiked it with cream and a teaspoon of sugar, which served the purpose of helping me stave off the embarrassment of not finishing the stuff.

But, then came my college years and this...

These were the years of 4 hours of sleep a night, if I was lucky. The warehouse where I worked had this stuff next to a tea pot with scalding hot water and styrofoam cups. After a couple hours of building wooden pallets I would pour my first cup...cream, no sugar. At quitting time I poured another and drank it while driving home to fortify me for a long night of studying. I was ignorant. I didn’t know any better. Then I met Ron Roop, my sister’s new boyfriend, who introduced me to this...

It was my road to Damascus moment. The scales fell from my eyes. I discovered that coffee came from actual coffee beans, and not freeze-dried crystals!! My first cup of freshly ground coffee was something called Kona, and I was transported to a whole new world. The rest is history.

I bring all of this up because of a recent trip I made into that great symbol of consumer excess...Starbucks. The only time I ever go there is to buy one of those fancy coffee drinks for my wife and her teacher friends. There’s a Starbucks right up the street from where she works, so recently I went in to pick up something for her. Usually I order whatever the featured special is, for one simple reason—there is a brief description of what it actually is. But on this day, there were no specials, so there I was scanning the menu boards trying to make sense of the smorgasbord of ridiculousness that was before me. Because Pam and I both are on something resembling a diet, I decided to go with something that had the words non-fat in the description. Later, I discovered that whatever it was I bought her was positively dreadful. It was the thought that counted.

But it got me to thinking. How in the name of all that is holy did we get from this...

To THIS...

...in fifty years? Progress? Marketing? Capitalism? Or just simple addiction?

Think about it...while I go pour a cup.

Cleaning Out The Museum

Yesterday was like a day at the museum, actually more like a day in the basement of the museum. See, after 21 years in this house we are finally replacing the carpeting upstairs. In order to do so, we have to clean out five closets. They are as follows:

Study closet—the place where the archives of our entire lives can be found, including the paperwork from every trip we’ve taken, every lesson plan Pam produced during her teaching career as well as every single document produced during her 13 years of working in Children’s Church at Grove Avenue Baptist Church.

Toy closet—every Halloween costume our kids ever wore, every Discovery Toys game they ever played, two armored divisions of army men, every Disney VHS movie ever made, the obligatory slinkie, American Girl paraphernalia, every CD of every choir concert either of our kids ever performed in.

Patrick’s closet—you just don’t want to know.

Kaitlin’s closet—what you would expect to find in a closet shared by Anne of Green Gables and the Baby-Sitter’s Club President.

Our closet—the only one of the five being used daily so the only one not a complete disaster.

By the end of the day, I had hauled four absurdly heavy giant contractor-sized black garbage bags outside to the garbage, made one trip to Hope Thrift with a car full of donations, and dumped $92.52 worth of coins into The Coin Machine at Publix’s.

Along the way, Pam would take photographs of items she either didn’t recognize or was unsure what to do with. We have caught grief from our adult children in the past for previous purges, and were taking no chances this time around. So Pam would hand me something and say, “Hold this!” Then she would take a picture and send it to the kids. Here are two such photographs:

My daughter laughed at one of these and replied...Dad’s face!!! Hahahahaha...

I fail to see the humor.

Along the way, we found our Passports, which was nice. Also, I stumbled across a sizable stack of short stories, forty year old journal entries, and a shocking amount of poetry with my name listed as the author...very little of which I remember writing. Several times, I found Pam sitting on the floor cross-legged amidst a pile of papers, lost in thought and close to tears. At the end of the day, as we sat in a booth at Casa Grande eating supper at 8 o’clock, we both were lost in thought at the trail of years we had just plowed through. It was the smallest artifacts which prompted the strongest feelings...finding Patrick’s Boy Scout troop badge, the three ring binder Pam put together for Kaitlin’s college search trip, and these two hand made treasures... 



This was how she spent her weekends leading up to the arrival of our two kids, back when cross-stitching was a thing. 

Over tacos we thought about our lives together, what a whirlwind it has been. Where in the world did we get the energy to make it through Little League, choir concerts, field days, back yard Bible Clubs, ski trips, summer camps? And that’s just the pathos produced by TWO CLOSETS!!

Here’s the advantage of finding, loving, and holding on to one another for 36 years. On a cold night in February 2020, we can smile across the table at each other and silently know that it’s been a good life, one that we wouldn’t trade for anything.

Handicapping The Democratic Field

In past election years in this space I have offered opinions on the relative chances of Presidential candidates actually becoming President. It was my amateur attempt at political handicapping. I feel that since we are now actually counting votes—or in the case of Iowa, attempting to count votes—I should probably offer up the 2020 version. If you are interesting in my tract record at prognostication, check out the archives from 2016 and 2012. (Hint: It ain’t bad.) Keep in mind as you read this that I make no judgements about the political proposals of these men and women. This is merely a discussion of their chances of winning their party’s nomination. Not being a Democrat myself, I have no dog in this fight, just the trick knee of someone who has been paying attention to Presidential elections since 1972. If you’re keeping score at home, that’s 13 of these babies. So, like Farmers Insurance, I’ve seen a thing or two.

Candidates: (in alphabetical order)

Joe Biden

- Not chronologically the oldest of the four septuagenarians on the Democratic side of this race, but it sure seems that way. Biden entered this contest as the odds on favorite. He alone commands the mantle of his predecessor. He alone had the establishment’s full throated backing. And he is toast. It’s difficult to watch a man who has clearly rounded the bend and is now barreling headlong down the backstretch to diminished mental capacity. When you listen to Biden speak its as if there is a giant disconnect between his brain and the words that fly out of his mouth. He knows what he wants to say, but simply can’t string together the right words in the correct order.

Chances of winning the nomination 25:1

Pete Buttigieg 

- This 38 year old small town mayor has an impressive resume in everything except government. Served his country in Afghanistan, a Rhodes scholar, and easily the brightest light on the stage. His tenure as mayor isn’t exactly where he would begin an auto-biography. If he was smart he would avoid talking about it altogether (check out the crime statistics in South Bend). And he IS smart. From my perspective, Mayor Pete is the only Democratic candidate who actually seems to...like people. Would I want to have a beer with this man? Absolutely. Wild horses couldn’t drag me to a bar with any of the rest of them. Being the youngest candidate to come along in  quite a while, he probably is the only one who actually remembers that dreadful week in senior US Government class when we all learned...How A Bill Becomes A Law. He seems to understand that to get anything meaningful done in Washington much more often than not requires forming coalitions which usually involves actually convincing someone on the other side. He has the temperament and seemingly the will to at least attempt to find compromise. But, he is a gay man, and that is not an inconsequential fact in 2020, despite the rapid evolution of our country with respect to sexuality. My estimation is that there are at least 25% of the population (democrats and republicans) who will not vote for a gay man. I think that is too high a hurdle to clear.

Chances of winning the nomination 20:1

Michael Bloomberg

- The 60 Billion dollar man, 200 million in to his ad blitz was streaking across the democratic firmament like a ground breaking epiphany. Then he walked out onto the Nevada debate stage exuding all the personal warmth of an iguana. His performance was so pathetic, he made Joe Biden look eloquent. Still, he, unlike Mayor Pete had many successes as mayor of the most difficult city in America to govern. The amount of money he has already spent amounts to nothing more than a rounding error of his personal wealth...so there’s a whole lot more where that came from. But he’s going to have to do a better job of faking sincerity and defending himself in debates if he wants to win.

Chances of winning the nomination: 10:1

Amy Klobuchar

- The reasonably aged 59 year old senator from Minnesota has been a surprise. Given no chance of success by all the usual suspects, she has carved out two decent showings in the early contests and does a good job in the debates. In an environment of unreasonableness she seems ruthlessly reasonable. I can imagine her being able to hammer out compromise and forging coalitions...in Senate subcommittees, but not in the White House. She needs another four years to develop into a President-sized talent. Meanwhile, I would be willing to bet large sums of money that she will be the VP nominee.

Chances of winning the nomination 30:1

Bernie Sanders

- The proud Socialist is unique for many reasons. He’s the only Democratic candidate who is not an actual Democrat. He’s the oldest in an old field. And he is the clear front runner, much to the bowel-stewing consternation of the Party big shots. He is carried aloft by mostly young people who aren’t old enough to remember his behavior in the 1970’s when he was most famous for his consistent apologetics for the Soviet Union and any other enemy of the United States, most famously with his classic, “Bread Lines are good!!” Its hard for someone like me who has been listening to this guy bitch and moan about this country all of my life, claiming that every single one of our enemies were morally superior to America, now watching him celebrated as some sort of champion of democracy and freedom. But, right now his Socialism is chic and unless he has another heart attack or the Democratic establishment figures out a way to cheat him out of the nomination, he’s going to win it.

Chances of winning the nomination 5:1

Elizabeth Warren

- A former front runner with a strong organization and even stronger leadership team has been a disaster as an actual candidate. Her brand of hostile, technocratic coldness might work in Massachusetts, but so far, national voters just aren’t into this finger jabbing scold. Yes, she cleaned Bloomberg’s clock in that debate and is good in debates generally largely because she is smart as a whip. But, is it just me or does she give off the impression that she really really doesn’t like people very much. Listen, she wouldn’t be the first elite politician who didn’t particularly care for their constituents, but the really good politicians, not to mention Presidents, are the ones who do a better job of hiding the disdain. Ronald Reagan was great at it, Bill Clinton even better. Elizabeth Warren, not so much. I still think she has a shot, but she needs a win...badly, and soon.

Chances of winning the nomination 15:1

The Great Physician

Throughout my friend’s long ordeal with cancer, her worst day was probably around the middle of January. She had spent all day at UVA, meeting with all five doctors on her treatment team. It was that day when she was told that all five of them were united in their opinion that there was cancer in her lymph nodes. Although they wouldn’t know definitively until they operated, they were fairly certain of what they would find and they wanted her to know so she could mentally prepare herself for what this dark news would mean...one more year of chemo. My friend felt devastated, defeated by the news. Uncharacteristically, she lashed out in anger and frustration. The entire tirade lasted all of ten minutes, then she was back to her old, confident self.

When I read the note she wrote to her family last night before the surgery I smiled at the familiar optimism, marveled at her confidence in the Great Physician. Whenever she prayed during these last six months it has always been with this bold, uncompromising absolutism, steadfastly refusing to allow the Almighty any wiggle room with her requests. There would be none of this...if it be God’s will...temporizing. No, she prayed with a supremely confident faith, placing all of her bets on our Savior’s observation that...You have not because you ask not. So, despite the horrible consensus of her doctors, she continued to pray for a complete healing. 

It was around midday when I received the text from the family...NO CANCER IN LYMPH NODES!!!

I placed the phone down on my desk and tried to gather myself. It was exactly what she had written 24 hours ago to her family...Tomorrow, I will be cancer free...the Great Physician will heal me and use this cancer for his glory...

Yes, the Great Physician had lots of help. Her team of dedicated professionals deserve great praise. The course of chemo treatments clearly did their job. My friend helped her case by following their advice to the letter—most of the time. But these same professionals were all convinced that they would find cancer in multiple lymph nodes, so sure of it that they painted the most negative scenario they could to prepare their patient for the reality of her condition. The only one who didn’t lose confidence after that long hard day in January...was my friend. 

Then, just a few minutes ago I got the news that no cancer was found...anywhere...no residual cancer cells.

It will be several more days before I get to speak with her. I can’t wait to hear her southern drawl telling me how she knew that her Savior would deliver her all along! Knowing her...I will never hear the end of it.

My Friend’s Big Day.

So, tomorrow morning around 7:30 my friend will arrive at UVA hospital to have her cancer surgery. For the past six months I have been pretending to distract her from so heavy a burden by telling her jokes and making her laugh. But what has actually been happening is every morning I get to witness her steadfast faith in God on display. Every morning I get to watch her overcome setback after setback with unfathomable endurance and good humor. Every morning, I am encouraged. Every morning I am reminded that I have no excuse to complain about anything in my life. By comparison, I win the lottery every morning I wake up without cancer. Every morning, she wakes up with cancer inside her along with the poison she has had to ingest to fight it. But by some miracle she has attacked each day with smiling confidence.

This picture was taken three years ago when we were at a dreadfully dull meeting someplace and I was doing what I do at such affairs...not paying attention and being a bad influence on people like my friend, the rule follower, who was trying to listen like a grown up. We attended 30 years worth of these meetings, and somehow she’s still my friend!

So, for those of you who are so inclined, it would mean a great deal to me if you could lift prayers up all day tomorrow for my friend. The procedure might last up to eight hours. There is a lot at stake. Just knowing that total strangers will be praying for her would mean the world to her.

She sent me a note she wrote to her family:

“Tomorrow, I will be cancer free—no residual cancer cells—the Great Physician will heal me and use this cancer for his glory. Cancer has stolen my hair, my fingernails, and the skin from my fingers, given me anemia, fatigue and lots more. But it hasn’t stolen my faith and my ability to pray and worship...”

Our last text conversation wasn’t nearly as profound...

But, that’s just me. That’s how I deal with tragic moments. The truth is that I don’t have as strong a faith as she does. I wish I did. I wish I could come up with profound, healing words that fit the moment. But...jokes come out instead. Nevertheless, tomorrow morning and throughout the day I will be praying for my friend. 

I hope you will too.

Our Weekend

We returned home today from our Valentine getaway thoroughly rested and less eager to reengage the real world tomorrow than we were to disengage from it last Friday. Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder. Our accommodations at The Inn at Riverbend were elegant in an understated way. Giles County, Virginia is the very picture of a back water outpost, a postcard view out of every window, the layout of the towns of Pearisburg and Pembrook a collection of everything from the sublime to the ridiculous, in dire need of a competent zoning commission. Luckily for us, these twin towns had the three things vital for any successful four day/three night adventure, a local pizza joint, a Walmart, and a delightfully quirky top tier restaurant which could only be reached after a death defying 5 mile drive through Deliverance-inspired line-less country roads, which insured that upon your arrival you were not only ready for a good meal, but a stiff drink.

Our Saturday 4 mile hike to Cascade Falls was maybe the best hike I have ever taken. At every step along the way there was something marvelous to see. When we arrived at the falls, an hour and twenty minutes from the parking lot, it took our breath away. A kind stranger took our picture.

The Inn itself met all of our needs. Perched at the top of a large hill with a 180 degree view of the New River and the surrounding mountains, the place made you wish you had come there in the summer. We would loved to have spent our leisurely hours sitting in the rocking chairs just outside our door taking in everything, but it was much too cold for that. Instead, we had to settle for the comfort and almost oppressive silence of our beautiful room. There was a small book collection in the shelves surrounding the fireplace out of which I plucked Ian McEwan’s Solar on Friday afternoon. I can’t remember a weekend where I had enough unencumbered time to start and finish a book. It was a delight.

What I really enjoyed about this weekend adventure was not so much the thrill of adventure itself but rather just spending uninterrupted time with my wife. After 36 years together, there is still something comforting about reading a good book in bed and being able to reach over and touch her soft, warm hand. 

When we arrived back home, Lucy greeted us with her customary enthusiasm. But after an hour or so I got the distinct impression she was weighing her options. Were we, in fact, better caretakers than her favorite dog-sitter, Becca? One gets the impression sometimes after she spends several days with Becca that Lucy has come to the realization that perhaps we aren’t as awesome as she once thought. Becca gives her undivided attention and dotes over her every idiosyncrasy, (and probably is much more liberal with the treat jar). But, like all dogs, Lucy is incapable of holding a grudge. In no time she was back on my lap in the recliner giving me a thorough debriefing sniff.

I opened my laptop to see what we missed while in the internet-challenged mountains of western Virginia...

Bloomberg Considering Hillary as running mate.

China next in line for plague of locusts.

Nevada Democratic Primary bracing for count irregularities 48 hours before Vote.

Woman Allowed to bring service-horse onto first class section of plane.

....I see that our nation’s headlong plunge into insanity continued unabated by our absence.