Thoughts on reinventing ourselves

I was talking to a client the other day about his company and how they wanted to “reinvent” themselves. I’m pretty familiar with the idea, because I’ve been with or worked with companies and people who wanted to re-invent themeselves for many years. It’s the great American Idea, that we can come back from failure and recreate ourselves into something new. And I am familiar with the idea because I’ve had to come back from failure a time or few in my own life.

But after talking to my client, I began to think on it a little more, and I realized that while it’s the great American Idea, it seems to me to only be partially true, that in reality, most people I know who have reinvented themselves a time or two were, in reality, rediscovering themselves.

I can’t tell you how many people I have talked to over the past few years who essentially said the same thing – that they wanted to get back to some essence that they had lost in the complexity and challenges of life. It was less about what they were doing, than it was about making sure they did not lose who they, at their best, WERE.

I’ve been on both sides of that story.

Years ago, when I had to dig myself out from depression and being in a bad place after my marriage fell apart, I spent nearly three years in constant therapy, which turned out to be a slow and constant peeling back of the layers to get to the best essence of me, then rebuilding that essence. It was work. I knew parts of it instinctively, but doing it right meant taking a few wrong turns, letting ideas and feelings settle, and some real work on my part.

I’ve done the same with some of my companies and clients over the years, in a professional sense, helping them sift back to what made them essentially successful. Often, again, it’s less about what they did or sold, less about business processes, than it was about who they were in their corporate soul.

Here’s the irony, in my mind. What we all are, as people or as companies, is almost always simple. But finding it and keeping it, is not always so simple. It takes a mindfulness that few of us have. We get distracted, we become enamoured with ideas, possibilities. The world flirts with us and we flirt back until we forget who and what brought us to the party. 

One of the best things I have learned about losing my way for a time, and then coming back to it, is how important that essence is. So today, I understand that it it is simpler to keep in mind, simpler to maintain, than to rediscover. And now, because I have done the work of rediscovery, I am sure I protect it, instead of running on instinct alone where I can be lose it in life's whirlwind. 

I’ve seen the same thing in other people, or in companies I have worked with. That if they lost their way for a while, and did the work to come back to their essence, that essence is fiercely protected from that point forward. And well it should be, because that is what makes us, us. Being our best selves (to use an Oprah phrase) is the ultimate success. 

 I have no idea where you are in your path my friends and readers, but some of us may be straying. I beg you… don’t. It’s harder to come back, than to stay the course. It’s more arduous to have to reinvent (rediscover) than to be who we are. Finding, then keeping true to, our essence, is really the path to joy.

The rest? It’s just distraction. 

Tom

================

The picture is from Niagara, on the Canadian side. You can click on it for a larger version. 

Thoughts: Articles of Faith

Many years ago, when I was looking to buy my first house, there was a lot of doubt as to whether it would come to pass. I did not make enough money to qualify, I had little cash for a down payment. But I had found a house I liked, and almost as a symbol of faith, I bought a bed for the extra bedroom we would have, even though nothing really pointed to my being able to pull it off. And it came together. Yes, it took time, but I ended up getting an unexpected new job, and some unexpected money came in, and my realtor, who also was my mother in law, gave her commission towards the down payment and voila! It happened.

That's been something I have done repeatedly in my life, made investments in things I wanted, even if life and logic, the world's logic anyway, did not point clearly to things working out. And generally, they have. I did the same thing on my second house, and for the one I have now, buying something specifically for the place I did not have, then waited for life, the universe, God, to somehow re-arrange things for me. I've done it on jobs I applied for that I really wanted, investing in things that would apply specifically to the work I wanted to do. I've done it at times of spiritual or creative crisis - made the investment in things, or in emotional energy (or both) towards the progress I needed to make.

Some people might call that tempting fate, or trying to trap God into doing what I want. I don't see it that way, however. I think of these as acts of faith. Or, since often they are things - a bed, a desk, a computer, whatever,  perhaps they are articles of faith. Whatever they are, they are part of my fabric at this point in life. Part of my way of saying that I believe enough to risk.

I don't do it willy nilly. You won't see me buying a Mercedes or something crazy. But I think it is important to show, to people, to the world at large, to God even, that I am not just waiting for something to happen, but that I am willing to risk to make it happen.

I see it this way, I think: There is risk in anything, even doing nothing. In fact, I think there is MORE risk in doing nothing, in just waiting for fate, another person, circumstances to change; than there is in doing something, anything, even something wrong. I don't care what "it" is - work related, personal, spiritual, love - there is risk in not doing and risk in doing. To me, the risk in letting the universe act without my input and action is far more than the risk of buying something, or doing something towards what I want. Do I fail? Yeah, I do sometimes. Do I have success? Yeah, I do sometimes, more often, in fact, than I fail.

At this point, at my age (56), my house is full of these articles of faith. And, when things are not going well, or how I want them, I can look at these things and I am reminded that God is good. That he not some obstacle to overcome, or some dis-interested observer, and that he delights when his children work towards their own hopes and dreams. That things might not work out just how I want them in terms of the details, but that when I work towards something, invest in that something, take the risk.... things will be well.

What a joy that is, to look around my house and see these reminders. They give me, not just confidence that I will survive, but the confidence to dream. Even when it makes no sense whatsoever.

Tom

PS - The picture is of a painting my dearest Rona gave me, which was my article of faith that somehow, even though there was no money, and no path, I would somehow get to Venice. A couple of years later, despite it not making sense, we did, spending a week there, and a week in Rome. That trip re-invigorated my soul.  Now, I have another picture, bought at an auction for only a few bucks, yet very nice, of Notre Dame. Guess where I want to go next? I have no idea how, but......

Thoughts: Election Day and the Bigger Picture

It's primary Election Day here in Vermont. So I broke away from work this morning and made the picturesque drive to Pawlet to vote. Turnout is predicted to be low. Vermont is not a heavily Republican state and President Obama is not being challenged. The polling area, judging from the conversations around me, was full of a handful of Republicans, and a handful of Democrats who wanted to influence the Republican challenger.

I have a lot of friends who do not vote. Most of them have their reasons, which on the surface, vary, but which in the end boil down to the fact that they don't think it matters. So, for the next four years, they are likely to chafe under a president they did nothing to elect or push out of office. And they missed something else too. The ballot was full of local issues and questions. In the same election there were a host of questions about the town budget, about town officers, and about many things that affect us directly and at a local level.

While (Thankfully!) Vermonters are a pretty level headed lot and the results will likely reflect the general opinion this go around. It could very easily not be the case. A small group of people could easily move us to a place that we as a group don't want to be. And all who didn't vote will have relinquished the chance to make the positive changes in our lot.

But this post is not about the elections. It's just that the elections got me thinking, and wondering, how many of us simply live unconsciously, going with the flow of life, and don't ever step up and take advantage of the opportunities that life gives us. How many of us flounder and rail against life, when the chance for something better is right inside of us? And yet, like those who don't vote, we do nothing.

My life has not always been an easy one. But one life lesson I have learned is that if I want something to change for the better in my life. I am probably the one who will have to instigate it. I am the one who will have to reach out and try something. My taking the steps doesn't guarantee success, but it increases my chances of a positive change. And when I wait or just hope someone else will, it rarely does.

I don't like being the victim in life. I've let it happen in a few periods of my life and it has never been a good thing. Never. Let me repeat that: NEVER. When it happens, I feel weak, vulnerable, and helpless. When I step up, even when I step up and fail, I feel stronger, full of purpose, empowered.

Voting this morning is a symbol of that for me. I doubt my vote will turn the tide of history. But whichever way the tide turns, I did my bit. I stood up. I have a right to cheer or complain. I am not a victim of history, I am part.

And that is the same thing I want for my life. To stand up. To try. To make the effort, create the changes I want and not hope. God, I believe, rewards those who try. Maybe not always with exactly what we want (though often that does happen!), but with peace of mind, a sense of purpose, and personal power. I'll take that equation any time.

Tom

PS - The picture is of Pawlet's town hall, our local polling place. You can click on it for a larger version.

Thoughts: A God of Second Chances

It is Easter. I woke early this morning, and instead of going to a sunrise service, which I like to do, I walked to the top of the quarry and alone, watched the sun rise, thinking about not what the resurrection means, not to the world, not to mankind, but how has it changed me, personally.

This morning, I found myself thinking of my former pastor at Colonial Avenue Baptist, Branan Thompson. One of his messages and themes in 29 years of ministry there was that we were not to live on a "borrowed faith", that while we may have been brought up a certain way, that until we found our own way, our own path, we were not where we needed to be. As I sat on the top of the quarry, looking towards Granville, I remembered how Peter and Paul and others disputed whether it was Ok to eat certain things. A close reading of the bible shows real disagreement and for both, it seems to have been a matter of faith. In the end, though, it was not the fact or the action at all that was important. It was that each of them had a relationship with God, and that that relationship led them to a certain set of actions that they felt, within that relationship, would keep them closer to God. Branan had a consistent message, and many of us who worshiped under his guidance took away lessons that were profound and life changing.

That whole idea of relationship, and the importance of being in touch with God so that we can build that relationship and tap into his amazing love and power, brought to mind another pastor, Carol Johnston, from Troutville Baptist. Building that relationship with God one one of her major themes, and it was part of what led me to join that church, Because without the relationship with God (and those of you who read this and are not Christian, I suspect it is the same in your faith, whatever it may be.). Without time spent in personal spiritualness, focusing our minds towards God, we are are less than we can be.

Not "bad" - I would not say that. I know many, many people who have little or no relationship with God, but know and live the "rules", and they are fine, fine people. Admirable and kind and loving who lives good lives. Good people. But less than they could be. I've had periods in my life too, where I was distant from God, relationally, and yet was still a relatively "good" person. But I was less than I could be. Less than, I think, God would like me to be.

Thinking of Easter, I thought of that, and how relationship changes things. What happened after Jesus' resurrection was nothing short of a miracle. These disciples and apostles knew Christ. They had traveled with him and followed his teaching and preaching for years. They had a relationship with him. And his death broke them. But his resurrection empowered them. Not just because it happened, but because they knew him, and were open not just to the possibility that it happened, but to the power that he offered. The power to live a changed life. The power to become something more than they were.

Because they were not much really, when you look at them before the resurrection. They were not much, if you look at them before their relationship with Christ. But within relationship... they changed a world.

Scary huh? To know that much power is available to us simply by coming into relationship with God and allowing him to work within us.

I have always felt in my mind that God is a God of second chances. Certainly the bible is full of men and women who got second acts in their lives after coming into relationship with God. Those who came to Jesus directly and got to know him in person, always came away profoundly different. Healed. Changed. Transformed. The difference was in them all the while, but it was only in relationship that it came out. That they became what they could be.

I got a taste of how transformed we can become after my divorce. I was as broken as a man could be in that time. Many things contributed to my climbing out of that hole, A wonderful Christian counselor. A dear, dear friend. Hours and hours at prayer. And David Blugerman, the pastor at Wellspring Presbyterian, who lived the transformational love of Christ, and helped me see and experience what before, had mostly been theory and words - about how forgiveness breeds a resurrection of our own spirit.

It's a journey, this faith of ours, and the path can be twisting and surprising. Often, we are not where we think we are on that path. But if we follow it in relationship with God, we get second and third and fourth chances. That is one of the sweeping themes of the Bible. It is the message of Easter. David Blugerman often says that we can't sin (fail, screw up, flounder, ruin our own lives, pick whatever is haunting you) enough to offset God's ability to heal and raise us up. The resurrection was and is the embodiment of that. And that is why today, more than any other day, we can celebrate a love that has THAT kind of power.

After reflecting on the pastors that have made a difference in my life, I ended with prayer before I walked down to wake up my daughter and get ready for church.  We'll hear wonderful music in a true colonial church in Manchester, a reminder of the continuance of faith through the ages. I am sure the sermon will be good. But I have already worshiped deeply.

The picture is from behind my house, one of the lilac bushes, just beginning to bud out. Here in Vermont, we are coming off the worst winter in 43 years, and so spring, even the first hints of spring, has a special glory to it. In the same way, after a tough time in life, faith, and rediscovering relationship with God through prayer and reading and meditation, can have a special glory after we have been through rough times without it.

May you all have a blessed Easter.

Tom

Thoughts: On Driving

I drive a lot in my work, and much of that driving is at night, often not arriving at my destination until late in the night, or very early in the morning. For some, that might be hard duty, but I find for me, it is not. Driving is almost a form of mediation for me, particularly at night.

There is something about cars, reduced to moving lights, that create a dance, something almost organic in their movement. I find myself acutely aware of their movement, their trajectories and speed, and in my mind, traffic becomes sort of an intimate dance, where the moves are all familiar, yet always changing and new, and the constant shift and change is almost intoxicating, yet at the same time, stimulates my mind.

I pray a great deal while driving at night. When I am called on to pray at home or at church, my prayers tend to be short, simple affairs, as if just by being called on with no chance to think on things, my mind freezes or at least seems to short change prayer with a few lines, that no matter how heartfelt, always seem somehow, difficient in thanking our God. Yet late at night, my prayers soar, almost like a psalm more than a mere prayer, calling out God's blessing on the people I care for most deeply and in detail, laying out the thankfulness of my heart and the struggles of that same heart with emotion few who know me would recognize. Transported to some mysterious place by the dance of lights and the drone of my engine that is not just heard, but felt throughout my body, I somehow feel close to the eternal in a way only the grandeur of nature approaches.

Driving at night, I think much about the people I love, and what I love of them. Last night, I spent over an hour simply recalling a brief time the woman I love and I spent together a couple of weeks ago. The joy in that remembrance was longer than the actual moment itself, and the appreciation of the moment was deep, perhaps even deeper for the remembrance that I realized in the entrancement of thought as I drove. Earlier in the day I got caught up thinking about my children, and the simple joy I have in their presence. This happens often for me, as I travel in what seems like silence.

It is only silence on the surface, but something fluid and alive inside. I don't always have words for these things, and if called on in the moment to share them, I doubt I could find the words, because they are more feelings and emotions than words, and words seem so thin in describing them. It is one of my weaknesses.

This is why I write poetry, I think. I am often trying to capture something later that I cannot grasp in the moment, yet somehow I need to get out. Often a poem comes in the long drive, or at least the subject or a phrase that is central to the poem.

I often wish I was better at saying the things I feel when I am in the quietness of my car, but I often find myself floundering. Still, I am grateful for a work that forces me to travel, and find these depths in myself, and at times, get them out.

I am curious sometimes, and perhaps some of  you who read this can share with me - am I alone in the way driving moves me?

Tom

PS: the picture was taken while traveling, maybe a year or so ago. Pretty useless a shot really, except to illustrate a post like this one. But if you like it, you can click on it to see a larger version. 

Thoughts: Creativity Calms

OK, when I get creative, I get into sort of a zone, which I have always thought of as intense. Yet, this article argues, with some real science behind it, that creativity is a calming thing. It uses water color painting and it's effects on executives as an example.

I am always interested in what other creative people think on things, so how about sharing your thoughts.

Tom

A personal note on World Poetry Day

World Poetry Day is today, March 21, and was declared by UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) in 1999.

The purpose of the day is to promote the reading, writing, publishing and teaching of poetry throughout the world and, as the UNESCO session declaring the day says, to "give fresh recognition and impetus to national, regional and international poetry movements." World Poetry Day has existed in some form since at least 1505, according to the National Poetry Day Committee, which was based in Florida, USA, in the early 1990s.

I celebrate poetry nearly every day. It is particularly precious to me because I am not hugely fluent in expressing feelings in every day life. Emotions tend to overwhelm me and poetry is part of my process to soft through them and make sense of them. Taking the time to put them to words helps me clarify what I am struggling with, or what I want to celebrate, or what is on my mind.

Scientists who study such things, tell us that when communicating, only about 15% of what we get from someone comes from the words themselves. The other part comes, in about equal doses, from vocal (tone of voice) and visual (body language). Since poetry is all about words, I take special care in picking words that express a tone, that sound a certain way to try and make up for what's lost in merely being words on paper (or on a blog or site). Taking that care is soothing, and in a way, keeps me sane.

That's not just a metaphor. I really does help keep me sane. There have been a couple of times in my life where I was overwhelmed by life and work, too much so to give time to poetry, and not having that outlet however well or poorly I wrote, was destructive to me, and to those who depended on me.

I used to think that writing was something I could give up when I needed more time, that perhaps it was selfish to take that time to myself to ponder and write and sort things out my way. But I have come to see it differently. It's like taking medicine. You can miss a day or two and rarely does the lack of medicine kill you, but miss something essential for a long time, and you do suffer, often badly. (or at least I do.).

Reading poetry can do the same thing. At times, I struggle for days with something I cannot put words to. I write verse, but it does not work. It doesn't find the heart of what is on my mind and heart. But since I read poetry, sometimes some of yours who visit here, sometimes from books, in time, I read a kindred heart who touches me, and unlocks that emotion to something I can deal with. I am eternally grateful to those of you, and those who came before you, whose verses do that for me.

What does poetry do for you? Whatever that might be, celebrate it. Today as World Poetry day, and every day.

Tom

PS, the picture was taken last spring, in Botetourt, Va.

Thoughts: On the New Year

It's a new year.

Last night I was at my sister's, visiting with her family. Over a new year's dinner of tacos we talked about the new year. One of my nieces was particularly enthusiastic about the new year, while her father was more of the idea that "it's just another day.". All in all, it made a lively discussion.

I tend to fall into the symbolic camp. I think it is good for us to have a moment in time to remind us that we can start anew, that there is always another chance, a place where we can plant our flag and say "the past is past, from here on I (insert change here)." It is a place we can place our failures where they belong, behind us.

Maybe we will make the change. Maybe we will not. But New Year's day is a symbolic place that reminds us of grace, of redemption, and that it is always there before us, should we decide to claim it. It is another chance. I think it is one of the great holidays for the way it reminds us of God's grace.

I tend not to make resolutions. I have in the past, but in recent years, I have moved towards a place where instead of resolutions, I decide on the things I want to focus on for the next year. Resolutions, I think, tend to focus too much on the results, not the progress. This sets us up for failure, and worse, the feeling of failure when perhaps that is not the whole story. You can say "I am going to lose 25 pounds." and lose 20, yet feel like a failure. There is no place for progress in a resolution, only for total success or total failure.

Instead, I tend towards deciding on a place or two I want to make progress. Focuses I call them. And through the year I make an effort to focus on improvement in those areas. I find that when I do that, I make progress. Maybe I don't get to a perfect place in that area of life, but I inevitably improve. There is progress. And progress brings on a sense of well being, and a sense that there can be more progress.

So as I begin the new year, I begin it with a wish that all of you who read me regularly experience the grace and hope of a new year. And that you find your own place of progress in the new year.

Tom

The picture was taken in Rupert, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Thoughts - On buying a library

I bought a library this weekend. Yes, you read that, a whole library. I was at an auction from a wonderful old house down the road from me, an estate sale. Most everything was selling high, which was fine, I don't need much and I was there more for the atmosphere and people watching. Cheap and delightful entertainment.

There were a lot of antique dealers there snarfing up the good stuff at good prices so I quickly settled into the mindset that I wasn't going to buy anything and just enjoyed the crisp autumn air and the parade of antiques and curiosities being auctioned off.

Then at one point, they put up the library. All the books, maybe a few hundred of them, that were in the built in bookshelves along the walls in the house. I had vaguely seen them but had no idea what was in them, and didn't give a thought to bidding.

After all, I already have a library. I've been collecting books since I was single the first time and I have walls of them in my little Vermont house. I still buy books, but sparingly, aware that with some size constraints, I have to protect myself from being swallowed by the things, which could easily happen. Yes, I could end up being one of those nutty old professor types whose whole house smells of ancient tomes and cats.

No one bid on the library.

That blew my mind. They had sold a couple of small lots of antique books for far more money than I could afford, so I figured these would go for a small fortune. The asking price in the auction began at a thousand dollars, then five hundred, then a hundred, then fifty, then forty.

I bid. And no one else did. Bang! I owned a second library. I'll be going over in my trusty Isuzu trooper this afternoon and loading it up.

My first thought was "what am I doing to do with all these books?" But after that, I calmed down. I'll pick through for a few that sing to me, pick out some more I think family and friends might like, and have already contacted the Pawlet library about taking the rest, either for their shelves or for the annual book sale they do. There's also a reading/loaner program for teaching people to read that might be able to use them.

Intially, because I love my books, I thought "how sad that no one wants this collection of a lifetime.", but I got past that feeling. I wanted them, and in the end, while they won't be together, they'll get into the hands of many, many people who also love books. So there is gain, in a way.

When I thought about it that way, it was forty dollars very well spent. I'm itching to get over there and load them up now.

Tom

An Update (since some of you asked).
I loaded up the Trooper over my lunch hour today, sorting through the books as I did so. I pulled out about 40 books for myself, some on religion, some on history, and a few poetry books. There were some old bibles in there that were marvelous. (I am a semi collector of such things), and some 19th century religious books, which I also have a weakness for.

I pulled out a few art books from a friend I have made here in Vermont, and a slew of cookbooks and some books on birds from the lady I love up here. The rest, about 12 boxes, will go to the local library for their use or to sell in their yearly book sale.

The real treasures were newspapers. There was a stack of old newspapers at the bottom of the shelves and they were real find. There were several from when the Titanic went down, which will go to my daughter, a total Titanic freak, and a group of papers from the days of and just after JFK's assassination, which I will either sell or donate somewhere, as well as some with other signicance, like Amelia Earhart's disappearance, etc. I felt like I had gone back in History.

It's all in the back of the Trooper for now. I'll unload the ones I am going to keep or give to dear ones later today, then get the others to the library when they can take them. All in all, I got so much more than my few dollars worth here. I found a real treasure to enjoy, and share.

Tom

PS - The picture is of one of the Titanic papers. You can click on it for a larger version.

Thoughts on changing leaves

The leaves are changing here in Vermont. And the long term weather predictions have snow mixed with rain predicted for next week. As I drove to Rupert early this morning, it struck me how fast the color change is happening - there as a noticeable difference in the contrast of green and bright colors just from my drive yesterday afternoon.

If I were in Virginia still, it would be what we call "Indian Summer", where the leaves are just starting to change, but the days are still warm, hot even sometimes, well into the month of October. But here, with the change of color, comes a briskness that rapidly turns to cold. Monday morning, for instance, I went for a walk in the Manassas Virginia battlefield, which lies near my hotel. It was early, still dark, but warm and smelling of summer. This morning, eight hours north, the farmers were wearing heavy flannel jackets, their hoods up, and clouds of warm breath punctuating their faces as they worked.

When I visit Virginia, my friends often ask me if I like Vermont "better" than Virginia. It's not that way at all. I love Virginia. You don't stay 54 years in a place without loving it. (At least I don't.). But I have quickly come to love Vermont as well. It's different, with it's own beauty, it's own special light, and I can love one place and not love the other less.

Part of the thing I love is the differences. At my age, after living in a place all your life, you tend to know that place intimately. I knew the history of the little downs up and down I-81, the hiking trails, the shops and politics, how things are done, the way people worshiped, the light for photography.

Here, it's all new. Every day, and I mean that - EVERY day, is a discovery. At times, I feel like a child with all the discovery, all the newness. There are no real expectations of how things should work, because I expect things to be different. In fact, I find myself surprised when I find sameness (and there is some). I am constantly asking people about this and that and each day is a lesson of discovery.

I feel blessed by this period of discovery, to find myself with that child like wonder again. The events that eventually led to this were not something I particularly relished, but in the end, as God so often does, he turned something painful into something joyful, and as I walk through the changing season, I often find myself in prayer of thanks for it all, for his care the has made most every bad thing in my life end up, in time, good.

People here seem to have taken the short growing season and fast falling cold in the same spirit. People LOVE their gardens up here and nearly every house has some. Flowers are everywhere, and nurseries thrive like no place I have ever been. Part of the reason, I believe, is that they know the beautiful flowers have such a short life, and so they need to actively soak in the joy of their beauty as fully as possible while it is with them.

I got some of that same sense this past weekend as I visited my children in Virginia. My daugher and I spent a lot of time talking about college and realizing how close that is, and how close to grown she is made me treasure the few years of her childhood I've been blessed to share, and made me treasure the hours my younger son spent swimming like two kids all the more.

Life's a treasure, but not one we hoard. It's an ephemeral treasure, like Manna for the Isrealites, here today and then gone when we hoard it, so it is best to grasp the moment, savor it, be thankful for it, and have faith that tomorrow will bring yet a new delight, something unexpected and bright.

Tom

PS - the picture is one I took this morning, along Pawlet Mountain Road on the edge of Rupert, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Thoughts: On gifts

Monday evening I finished a wedding present for a pair of new friends I have made up here in Vermont. It's a few days late, but fortunately, they were not at all put out when I drove it by that night.

For several weeks, I have had it in my mind that I wanted to do a wedding poem for them, linking it to a photograph. The problem was that they were new friends. I don't have a long history with them, and that made writing a poem that was anywhere close to their heart difficult, but over the past few weeks, I have slowly learned enough of their life's journeys to begin, and then, in of all places, Disney World, I discovered an image that gave me the title and concept to build on.

Over the next week or two, as the wedding day approached, then arrived, I wrote and tinkered until I got it where I wanted it - something especially done for the two of them, so personal and private that it will likely never appear here unless they give their OK down the road somewhere.

Yesterday afternoon I spent with my love, putzing around antique stores. In one of them, I saw several hand-stitched samplers, and it occurred to me how, for so many, the idea of created gifts is no longer part of our every day life.

In the eighteenth and nineteenth century, many home grown seamstresses, writers and artists created something unique and handmade for people on their birthdays, Christmas, weddings and other special occaisions. Because nearly everyone came from a background where a home-grown gift was understood for the work, effort, focus and sacrifice it represented, such gifts were valued for the time and effort that went in to them. In a real sense, we realized that though perhaps not perfect things, these were gifts of the heart and hand, and they were valued deeply.

Today however, many of us never MAKE anything. And anything we make can probably be done "better" in some factory in China or Thailand. But there is, I think, still a place for the created gift, the gift you make, be it art or music or even the perfect Rice Krispy treats. For some reason we've gotten away from giving those kinds of gifts and go more towards the store bought (with requisite return tag if it's not just the perfect thing), or even money.

There is nothing wrong with the gifts we give, fresh from the stores in their perfectly wrapped boxes, but neither is there anything wrong with the the heart-given creation. They each have value, albeit value of different types.

A month ago, my son turned 11. I bought him a couple of presents, and wrapped them. I am famously bad at wrapping presents. Famously bad, as in one of the family jokes. But one of his gifts, I managed to wrap well. Really well. So well, he had a hard time believing I had done it. And for a moment, something had been lost, that knowledge of the personal touch. He was actually dissapointed at his perfectly wrapped box. That's when I knew he certainly got it - that things done personally need not be perfect to be of great value.

One of the things I am discovering here in Vermont, is how much of that personal touch still lives here. Perhaps it is the artistic nature that pervades the area, or the slower pace of life (and trust me, Southerners like me get a reputation for slow, but we are not in Vermonter's class.), or the fact that as a group, Vermonters seem to have an apprecation of time vs money that is a healthy thing.

Whatever the reason, I am glad for it. As someone who likes creating and giving personal things that take more time than money, and as someone who at times gets those same kinds of gifts. Somehow, it makes life richer.

Tom

PS - The picture is of some locally produced maple syrup. Did you know it takes 40 gallons of sap slow boiled and distilled over wood fires to make a single gallon of syrup? But there is no comparison to real maple syrup to the store bought mass produced version we so often buy. The difference is worth the extra money, and carries with it, the gift of time.

Thoughts: An unexpected start to the New Year

The picture above is of the front seat of my once beloved Isuzu Trooper. On New Year's day, while driving between my parents home in Richmond and my sister's home in Northern Virginia, the engine lights on the trooper came on and when I stopped, there was smoke coming from the engine compartment. When I opened the hood, there was a fire in the engine. I rushed to get my son and niece, who were riding with me, out of the truck and we watched as the truck was engulfed in smoke and flames.

Yes, it was the mess you would expect. We lost some of our Christmas presents and everything we had - clothes, toys, everything, was encrusted with smoke damage and water damage. And try finding a rental car on New Year's day in Ladysmith, Va. It's not going to happen.

But as soon as we pulled over, two off duty police stopped. One, a kind woman from Tidewater, comforted my children, while the other worked with me as the fire department and state police arrived. After the flames were quelled, they helped me pack up the wet and charred suitcases and bags of gifts into the back of one of their cars. Everyone involved, from the firemen, to the state trooper, to the people who stopped just to help, were kind and helpful.

The boyfriend of one of the off duty police who stopped tried to find us a rental car place and hauled us and our messy belongings from place to place for an hour, then when it became clear we weren't going to find one, volunteered to drive all the way to Vienna, Virginia to my sister's home. They had plans to visit family, but never hesitated to offer their help and would not take anything for it.

I won't lie to you. It was scary. But the kids were champs, followed directions and got out fine. They were scared but did great. The Trooper is a total loss and we lost some gifts. I spent the day today getting a rental car so we could get home this weekend, and doing laundry, and sorting through the bags of smoked gifts.

But we gained something too. By yesterday evening they were contemplating the great "waht I did during my Christmas vacation" story they would have when they go back to school next week. And this morning as I woke, the kids had made up two incredibly wonderful cards thanking me for my cool head and keeping them safe in a scary time. The cards oozed love. Tonight they wrote cards to the couple that helped us out so much, and drove us to Vienna, and there is a real sense of gratefulness all around today. Lots of hugs all around all day. And... we saw kindness of the most unselfish kind at work, faith in action.

I'd have preferred to have not caught on fire and lost my old truck. I could have lived with a bit less adventure. But I can't call it a total loss. Like most things in life, things are lost, and other things are gained. God was watching over us in a big way, and it's good to be reminded that he is at work even in bad times.

Tom

PS - like most of my pictures, you can click on this one for a larger view. It's not as pretty as most of my shots, but it's something to remember.

Thoughts: No picture. No poem.

This morning when I went outside to drive to my favorite coffee shop the skies were amazingly beautiful with vivid indigo and pink rimmed clouds, dramatic against the silhouette of the eastern mountains. Friends who know me well know I am rarely far from my camera, but today, I didn't grab it as I went out the door and so I was forced to simply enjoy the beautiful gift of the morning sky, fleeting and stunning.

That is the problem sometimes, with being a photographer or writer. There is something in us that is always looking at what we see as a photograph or a poem or story. But there are times to simply imbibe life, and take it in, and when we do, the reality is far broader, far more amazing than anything we manage to "create" from it.

The sky this morning for instance. I could have captured a lovely picture or two, but it would not have captured the spacious broad expanse of sky, only a portion of it. It would not have captured the mysterious pink hue that the dawning sun painted the trees and building around me with. It would have so much of that. But pausing, and simply basking in God's gift of beauty, was wonderful, a pure joy.

Oh, I will continue to "create" pictures and poems. That's just part of me. But it was good to be reminded of how anything I capture is only a tiny part of what is.

Thoughts: Journaling

I seem to be on a "reading about journaling" kick right now. Perhaps it's because I am journaling a lot these days, writing long page after page of stuff whirling around in my head. I am pretty sure, that if my journals are found in an attic somewhere two hundred years from now, that readers will come to the conclusion that I am a madman, but it's in my journals I let some of madness out, think crazy thoughts, and let sense sift back into my brain. It's also in my journals that I wrote prosaic notes about the day past, or write down ideas for stories or poems.

I pray in my journal sometimes, writing down words for God's ears only. I review my prayers there too sometimes to see where he has answered those prayers, and where he has not, and where he has answered them in ways I didn't see until I looked back.

There are periods in my life when I journaled on paper, in store bought journals. And times I journaled on the computer, so I could cut and paste pictures, e-mails, links and things that I wanted to remember into my journal. Neither way was completely satisfactory, and it was only when I asked myself why it had to be one way or the other that my journaling came together.

So now I keep both, a hardbound journal and a computer journal using the Life Journal software I mentioned in my previous post. Now I have the best of both worlds, and what ever my mood, slow and reflective, (which is best satisfied with a hand written journal) or fast and furious with access to my often digital world (computer based), I have it at hand. I have my journaling tools, either the computer or one of my plain black journals, nearly always nearby.

My experience is that keeping a journal has all sorts of benefits. The simple act of writing things down clears my mind. I can sort through thoughts when I write in a way I cannot seem to do in conversation, or by mere thinking alone. And once a thought is down in writing, my mind calms down and I am more peaceful. In fact, it is that peacefulness that helps me sort through thoughts and look at them more rationally and accurately.

A journal is also good for looking back. At my age, I have been through a lot of the things most people have been through. I've had successes and failures galore. I've now been journaling enough that I can go back to other times I've had to go through some of the things that are part of my life now, and see what I was thinking and feeling and how I handled them internally and how they played out. It's wonderful for getting a perspective on things that in the moment seem so important, but in the long run, really did not prove to be so important after all.

Sometimes my journals make me laugh. I say some of the stupidest things when I am ranting to myself.

Sometimes my journals make me cry, as they bring back memories that are sad, or painful.

And at times, they make me proud, as I remember positive things I did that I had forgotten about. People I helped. Successes. Good choices.

No one would ever get a real history of me through my journals. Only I understand a lot of what was going on. For me, a journal is more an emotional and spiritual history than one of events and people. Thoughts and feelings abound. Actions are hardly to be found.

From time to time, I run into someone else who journals. I love to hear how they see journaling, and what a difference it has made for them. That is one of the things I have learned, talking to people who journal. Nearly all of them are passionate, even evangelistic about journaling.

I didn't understand before I began, maybe 10-15 years ago. But I do now. A few minutes a day writing is such a benefit. A blessing really, all for a few dollars a month for a journal and a bit of time.

Here are some of the links I liked as I putz on the web reading about journaling. This entry was supposed to just be the list, but then my mind got going, and it turned into this entry. Yes, I seem to have become one of those passionate people who journal!

• An article on writing travel journals from CNN
• Journal for You website, with interview with "Journaling Experts"
• Journaling for the Spirit, an article
• Journaling for Stress Management
• 100 Benefits of Journaling
• Creative Journaling

The picture is from Winterthur gardens. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom