Thoughts That Came at 3:30 in the Morning

“We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.”

2 Corinthians 4:8-9

Move forward. Keep your head up. Work with diligence the task set before you. Look out for the needs of others, not just yourself. Attack this day with the steadfast confidence that comes from faith in God and faith in each other. Banish inordinate fear from your heart. Today...this day...is what we have all been given. Let’s make the best of it.

The Assembly

My church, along with many others, made the decision to cancel services today. Instead of four separate meetings with over 700 people crammed into one auditorium, they will have one service at 9:30 which will be live-streamed with only essential personnel in the building. I believe this was wise and proper, and I will be watching, but...I will miss the assembly, the gathering, being together.

The early Christians warned us not to forsake the assembly. There have been times in my life when practically any excuse to skip church was sufficient. But as I have gotten older, and especially since Pam and I found Hope Church, it has become the highlight of our week. There is something reassuring about being together under one roof and for one purpose at a vibrant church. It’s unique in that every other meeting I attend is comprised of largely similar constituencies; investors, businessmen, brokers, advisors. But when I gather together with 700 people at the eleven o’clock service at my church, its a smorgasbord of diverse people from every background, socio-economic class, and life experience you can imagine. Honestly, the vast majority of them I don’t even know, couldn’t tell you their names if my life depended on it. In a church the size of Hope this is unavoidable. On any given Sunday Pam and I will know maybe forty people. But as I glance around the room there are flickers of recognition and camaraderie. I recognize that face. We smile at each other. Something warm is exchanged from across the room. 

When we all stand for worship and the music begins, we are all asked to leave behind the cares of the week—and this week there would have been much to leave behind—and give over our attention to prayer and the worship of God. Of the 700 people in the room many would prefer different music from what is provided. Others love the music just the way it is. But once it begins and we hear each other’s voices ringing out as one it doesn’t matter so much any more. We are reassured by the lyrics, uplifted by the melodies, reminded that all over the world at this hour hundreds of millions of voices are being raised for the same purpose. It grounds you in the moment and suddenly the burdens you entered the room with begin to lighten. We are in this together. Some lift their hands, some sway back and forth, others are solemn and still, heads bowed eyes closed, but there is freedom in this moment.

Then, the pastor shares the message, long planned, tenderly prepared, and we all hear the same words and we all respond differently. To some of us the message will be soothing. Others might take offense, still others will feel that they are the only ones in the room and the pastor’s words are meant just for them. Some will feel the discomfort of conviction, others will find hope and reassurance. Such is the complex group dynamics at play when we come together in the assembly. I will miss it. I will tune in to the live-stream and be thankful that we have the technology to do so, but I will miss the gathering together, the smiles from across the room, the delightfully discordant mixture of the corporate voice raised. Maybe next week or the week after that we will be back together. I hope so.

My Night As A Prisoner of War

People of a certain age will remember that old video we all saw in 11th grade world history class showing the black inky expansion of Nazi dominance across Europe. With ominous Wagner music pounding in the background, the Nazi menace slowly expanded into every crevice of the European map looking evil and malignant with bad intentions...

Now, all these years later, I finally know how poor little Spain felt in this picture. You see, my house, what used to be referred to as my castle, has been overrun by a pack of female invaders. I have been forced to retreat into the last foothold left to me, upstairs in my 12x10 last stand of a hideout. I have been given an eleventh hour pardon by the invaders and told that if I remain hidden, neither seen nor heard, I might be spared. What provocation brought on this naked aggression, you may be asking yourself. Let me attempt an answer.

This past week, two female members of my wife’s family—the White’s—had birthdays, my sainted Mother in Law and Pam’s kid sister, Angie who as fate would have it turned the big 50. Of course my wife simply couldn’t let such an event pass without an appropriate celebration. Thinking about this led inexorably to the seed of a plan hatched somewhere in the dark, jungle-heated corners of her brain whereby it was decided that all of the female members of the White family would come over here for a fiftieth birthday bash, sleepover  and facial party/movie night. Practically rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? 

Just before I was banished upstairs I was able to take a few pictures for the upcoming war crimes tribunal...

Gift bags...better known as munitions, or if you prefer...weapons of mass hysteria.

Provisions, featuring not one, but TWO fondue pots. Chocolate or cheese. Pick your poison.

Behold my rations. This will be exhibit A in my petition to The Hague  pursuant to my rights under the Geneva convention. Len Tuck, call your office!

Plunder.

Perhaps the cruelest cut of all are the little bags of Linder Truffles place on every bed in the house except whatever cot they have planned for me.

Although Lucy is clearly furious at this humiliating turn of fortune, she did appreciate the fact that she was given a bag of truffles and I wasn’t.

So, after the toughest week of my professional career, my reward is submission to the Imperialist Invading Force. There is no baseball to watch. No March Madness. No hockey or pro basketball. Just me and my faithful dog with the Coronavirus lurking out there waiting for me to make a mistake.

Your prayers would be appreciated.

Fight Back

Friday, at long last, is here. These are the sort of weeks that try men’s souls. You’re just trying to limp over the finish line, a week that you must simply endure because there is no alternative that doesn’t involve assuming room temperature. I don’t know about you, but whenever something monumentally disturbing happens in the world I go through several stages. First, I feel overwhelmed. Then I start scrambling for information, trying to wrap my head around events. Then I begin battling the thing. But after a while with me, its always the same, I get angry and defiant. Who the hell does this Coronavirus thing think he is coming in here and throwing my world into chaos? I’m not gonna stand for this a minute longer! I’m gonna...It’s always been my pattern. After a while I get tired of being frightened and simply get annoyed. That’s when I start cracking jokes. To some it might seem inappropriate for the gravity of the moment. Too flippant and unserious. That’s fair. But for me its my best defense. If I can make fun of something, make light of a dark thing it makes me feel empowered. This thing will not win. I will make it the brunt of jokes and bring it down to size.

We will survive this. Eventually we will get a handle on the virus and it will recede from our lives. Eventually, markets will regain their footing. When? How long will it take? I don’t know. Nobody knows. But let us not give in to despair. Let us not take on the posture of the helpless victim. Let us regain our swagger, even if it’s wearing a mask...

I got a call today from some guy trying to sell me a coffin. 

I said, “that’s the last thing I need.”

Today I was at the bank when two men walked in wearing masks.

I was so relieved when I discovered it was just a bank robbery.

What happened when the cannibal was late for the dinner party?

He was given the cold shoulder.

Imagine the Titantic with a lisp...

It’s unthinkable.

I got Yakuza and Suzuki mixed up the other day.

Now I’m in trouble with the Japanese mafia.

What do you call a Petri dish of Coronavirus?

A cancel culture.

Because of the Coronavirus, the NHL season is on ice.

What do you do with a chemist with the Coronavirus?

If you can’t Curium or Helium you must Barium.

Did you hear that Tom Hanks has Coronavirus?

BIG news. I sure hope he doesn’t castaway his career...

What do you call a You-Tuber with the Coronavirus?

Just another influenzer.

Last night my cat started with a cough.

I’m afraid he has caught the...purrrrona virus.

I took a viagra pill yesterday morning and it got stuck in my throat.

I had a stiff neck all day.

Did you hear that cows can give you the Coronavirus?

It’s fake moos.

My Plan For Fighting the Coronavirus

On February 10, 2020 I wrote the following words about the Coronavirus:

 “Do I plan on visiting China anytime soon? No. But am I planning on losing one minute of sleep over the latest pandemic apocalypse? Puhleeze.”

In literary circles this is what is known as irony. In regular circles its called being wrong.

I suppose that technically speaking I could claim that I am not, in fact, losing sleep over the virus itself but rather its effects, specifically on the equity markets. But, losing sleep I am. Unfortunately for me, I cannot while away the wee hours staring into my new 55 inch TV at some random sporting event, because they have all been cancelled. I was perfectly fine when they cancelled the NCAA tournament. I shed not one tear when I heard that both the NBA and NHL seasons had been dropped. But when I discovered that baseball’s spring training had been cancelled and opening day postponed a minimum of two weeks? Well, that’s when it got serious.

I don’t remember where I was or what I was doing at the time, but I had an epiphany of sorts about all of this the other day. Somebody was listing all of the at risk groups, the ones with the most to fear from catching the thing. It was on in the background. I was only half paying attention. When suddenly I picked up a couple of phrases that got my attention:

Over 60. History of heart issues including blood pressure. History of lung issues, including asthma. People who have had strokes.

Somehow, in all the hoopla and hysteria running rampant throughout the country, I had completely missed the salient point that...I am at risk. 

First of all, how can this be? How on earth did this happen? How in the name of all that is Holy have I become a 61 year old man? Here I was worrying about my wonderful, elderly clients, spending all my time worrying about the friends I have who are older and currently not in the greatest of health. It had seriously never dawned on me that I might actually be vulnerable to the thing.

So, what’s my plan? Do I plan on flipping out and running all over town snapping up every available roll of toilet paper like the number one symptom of COVID-19 is Diarrhea? Heck no! Am I going to cancel all activities of daily living and cloister myself in a closet in my house? NO! What I am going to do is exactly what the professionals at the CDC tell me to do. I’m going to wash the hell out of my hands like it’s my job, singing a complete verse of Penny Lane while doing so—exactly 20 seconds long. I’m going to greet people with an elbow bump. No hugging, no hand shakes. I’m not going to touch things like bathroom doorknobs, or grocery cart handles without either gloves on or a handkerchief in my hand. I will cover my mouth before coughing or sneezing in public. In addition, if I have the slightest fever or feel even slightly ill—with anything— I will stay the heck home and do my business from my home office.

Eventually this country will recover (including the stock markets) from this virus. But until we do, I will make prudent changes in my routine and my behavior out of naked self interest, but also for the love of my neighbors and friends. In time of National crisis, this country has always pulled together to help each other through. Why don’t we all bypass the clowns in Washington and start doing the wise, smart, and loving things like helping each other, taking care of each other? Maybe we will collectively shame them into bringing the power of government into this fight for the benefit of everyone.

Be safe out there, ladies and gentlemen. And keep a sharp eye out for someone who might need your help.

Two Pictures

Both my friend and I are dealing with lots of stress associated with our chosen profession. Obviously it has been harder for her, with all of the physical challenges she faces, but its been no bed of roses for me either. Sleep has become a rare commodity. So, I came up with an idea during our text conversation this morning. I asked her to go through all of her pictures and pick out one or two that make her the happiest, the ones that make her heart smile the brightest. I would do the same. Then we would share them with each other. During the day today, whenever pressure starts to build, we will have these photographs handy. They will serve to remind us of what is real and what is essential amidst all the mayhem. 

She sent me these two pictures:

I sent her these two:

What are your two pictures?

My Nightmare

Yesterday’s brutal slog was followed by a restless, fitful sleep which featured lots of tossing, turning and bizarre dreams. Mercifully, I finally woke up for good at 4:00 in plenty of time to take our house guest of the past four nights to All Saints Episcopal Church to catch his bus back to Nashville. The Chambers Singers Spring tour of 2020 was a raging success and Deen Entsminger was a delight to have in our home. A big thank you goes out to Leigh Anne Fort and Becky Baldwin for hosting seven young women in their homes since Friday. They treated their girls like queens and were the talk of the ensemble.

The subconscious mind is a strange place full of discordant, brooding inclinations that manifest themselves, I’m told, during periods of great stress. Yesterday would certainly have qualified as stressful, so I probably should have expected bad dreams last night. The one I got was a doozy.

We have neighbors in our culdesac who have a wonderful dog named Maverick. He’s a black lab and a world class sweetheart. We noticed recently that he didn’t look well, and learned late yesterday afternoon that he had to be put down. Such a sad thing to lose a beautiful, sweet dog. He was one of Lucy’s best pals. With that loss serving as a backdrop, my dream proceeded like this:

Overcome with empathy for my neighbor’s loss, I decided that I would loan them Lucy for a week or so to help them through their grief. The trouble began when it was time to get Lucy back. They refused to give her up, insisting to me that I had said they could keep her forever. Then, in the maddening way of dreams, I found myself in a excruciating loop of waking up every morning, walking around the culdesac and seeing Lucy out in their front yard, unable to come to me because of the electronic fence they had hastily erected. Lucy would whine at me each time I passed the yard. It was as close to a nightmare as I have ever experienced. When I awoke with a start at 4:00, I looked down at the end of the bed, and there she was stretched out to her full length like she owned the place. I have never been so glad to see a dog in my entire life. Even now as I write this, she is at my side, much earlier than usual...

As I was sharing this dream with Deen on our way to the bus this morning he said that I should try to find the mental file where it was stored and shred it immediately.

I agree.