Good Grief?

The movie “Twister” is a quasi-sci-fi-action-adventure movie of the 1980’s starring Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton. I often watch “at movies” years after their release. I view them in bits and pieces as they are shown for a season on channels like TBS or FX. This is the scenario I recall seeing the final action scene of “Twister”.

I’ll issue a “spoiler” alert. I’m going to speak to the final scene of this movie. If you have plans to watch it you may want to turn away from my short narrative.

The culminating scene of “Twister” has the two main characters, an estranged husband and wife storm chasing duo, taking their last chance to “fly” a homemade data gathering weather instrument into the mother of all tornadoes. Since this was the final action scene they succeeded.

Understandably the climate-curious duo is not going to win and walk. On cue the tornado literally turns and chases them. As if angered, the tornado grows larger and more menacing. The hero pair do everything they can to save themselves. As the monster closes in, the pair grab heavy canvas strapping and tether themselves to the head of a deeply drilled water well.

In fine action-escapist form, the exact moment they are secure, they are consumed by the monster tornado. Instead of being “sucked up” into the tornado to meet their demise, they begin to float. They levitate in the core of the beastly storm all while tethered to their secure grounding.

I’ll not trace the plot, but for Helen Hunt’s character this deadly experience becomes a momentous occasion. She looks down the throat of her lifelong nemeses and admires the wonder of it, if only for a moment..

This scene has these two characters in the most violent, destructive and deadly situation they could possibly find themselves. Yet they are able to find a reverent, respectful awe and wonder for that which would surely kill them.

I have several books on the subject of grief. In reading about and talking with others about grief I have arrived at a couple of absolutes. Absolute is a strong word and it becomes stronger when it is attached to grief. If I am claiming certainties I guess I better be certain, right?

What is certain about grief? First of all, grief is certain. The death of those we love is not the only thing that pushes us into a journey through grief. Death is likely the most profound cause of grief but it is not the only culprit. Significant losses of any kind cause grief and no one is immune from loss. Therefore, grief is certain and certain for all.

What is the second certainty? It would be that no two people journey through grief on the same exact path. Grief seems to be as unique as the individual who is grieving. There are identifiable similarities on individual journeys, but there is no standardized grief. Individuals are not required to experience each similarity. It is certain that grief is an individual journey.

In these short paragraphs I have spoken to two diverse and unattached subjects. What might “tie” the two together? The writings of C.S. Lewis might be a place to consider. If you are unfamiliar with C.S. Lewis his work would be highly recommended. He was a brilliant person. Moreover, he was strong in Christian faith. His ethics an theology are deep and profound.

C.S. Lewis married late in life. After only a few short years of marriage his wife contracted an illness and subsequently died. In the weeks and months following her death C.S. Lewis kept a journal of his journey through grief. “A Grief Observed” is an account of his journey.

In “A Grief Observed” Lewis bares his heart and shares the raw emotions that accompanied his grief. The struggle with his faith escalated to the point of crisis. He was a believer living through the tumultuous winds of loss and grief.

Like the characters in “Twister” C.S. Lewis was pursued by a storm that might subsequently destroy him. Yet, like the characters in the movie, he was grounded by being attached to strength and security.

Faith in Jesus Christ did not deflect the storm that turned and pursued C.S. Lewis. In the midst of the storm he was not immune to the ravages and dangers inherent in the storm. He was tossed and “flown” by the violent event that surrounded him. His emotions responded to the destruction. Yet, as C.S. Lewis was “bound to Christ eternally by loves strong cord” he was able to stare down the throat of destruction and find a reverence in its passage.

Oh...may I learn to live DAILY in the assurance of the flawless, never failing bonds of Christ.

Till the storm passes over

Till the thunder sounds no more

Till the clouds roll forever from the sky

Hold me fast, let me stand

In the hollow of Thy hand

Keep me safe till the storm passes by

One Word...

PACHINKO......

Summer Camp

During my “growing up years” my family camped. Ooooohhhhh the memories. We camped by lakes and rivers. We camped in the heat and humidity. We camped in endless rain and even in tornadoes. We were intrepid.

Once we were camping at Okatibbee Reservoir north of my hometown of Meridian, MS. One late night our camping neighbors had enough time to properly ferment themselves in the grain beverage of their choice. Thus began the memory.

On this night a couple of the fermented neighbors ventured into the water for a late night swim. The water and the grain beverage mixed and caused a chemical reaction. It caused them both to turn into Jerry Clower.

The Jerry Clowers thrashed about in the water. One would bellow “knock ‘em out John”. The other would respond “awwwwww, shoot this thang”. They would both slur “shoot up here amongst us, one of us has got to have some relief”. It seemed to them to be just as funny the 214th time as it was the first. It was surreal.

I also remember being led to that most sacred of childhood deceptions.....SNIPE HUNTING. Yes, I was taken Snipe Hunting. I was lead by my “deceptors”, paper sack in hand, down the dark wooded trail to the place where I would be assured to capture that elusive creature.

I had convinced myself it was authentic because I had looked up the word Snipe in the dictionary. My “deceptors” had described the Snipe to a tee. I then discovered Websters definition matched their description and I was all over it. It was all the authentication this young woodsman needed.

I devotedly planted myself along the path facing the edge of the woods, knelt on the ground with paper sack open in front of me and began the mating call...”bbbbwwwwwwuuuuuuurrrrrrrpppppp” ”bbbbwwwwwwuuuuuuurrrrrrrpppppp” ”bbbbwwwwwwuuuuuuurrrrrrrpppppp” ”bbbbwwwwwwuuuuuuurrrrrrrpppppp”. I ultimately returned to camp.

I share the Snipe Hunting story to help others. If you are ever asked, be leery of this unlikely activity....

Hop On Pop

My father had a vast tie collection. In addition to “Ghost Tie” he had a substantial collection of what I term as novelty ties. He had cartoon ties, food theme ties and Christmas ties. He often wore his fun ties to church. Forget “pants on the ground”... my daddy stated his rebellion with a good Tabasco Tie.

All the males in my father’s family wore one of his fun ties to his funeral. I felt a part of his rebellion. I still smile inwardly to think that individuals who attended his funeral might hold indignation because Tommy’s family wore those silly ties. If someone holds such a perspective they didn’t know my father very well.

I selected from his collection the Dr. Seuss themed tie “Hop On Pop”. It was a theme that spoke to me. I remember a favorite childhood activity was to wrestle with daddy. In a literal sense we would “Hop On Pop”. In older childhood and adolescence I recall being a part of the ribbing we would give daddy when he would make erroneous noises during his naps. Who doesn’t recall “quit kicking the stamps”. In a sense we took the opportunity to “Hop On Pop”.

In the later months of my parent’s lives we migrated into the undesired yet needed role as “parents to our parents”. Parenting parents has never been or will never be a cherished role. It was unnatural  and upside down. Don’t get me wrong, we did it but it was not cherished. This was a time of life I had no real desire to “Hop On Pop” yet it was called for from time to time.

Today is Father’s Day. It has been a bitter-sweet day. It has been a joy share a meal with my wife and children and have some time to visit. It has also been a time to note this is my first Father’s Day without my father. I miss him. I miss my mom. I’m OK, but I do miss them.

This morning as I dressed to go to church, I put on the “Hop On Pop” tie. A thought dwelt in my heart. The heritage my father has left is now in place. It is what it is...It’s a blessed heritage. It is a heritage of faith and hard work. It is a heritage of family. It is a heritage of helping others. When it comes to heritage, I think I’ll “Hop On Pops”.

A Mother's Prayer

Throughout our lives our mother was faithful to pray for each of her children. It is not uncommon for any mother to pray but mine was an uncommon prayer warrior, especially on behalf of her children.

I shared in a previous blog that we are in the process of cleaning out my parent’s house. My sister has been diligent to minimize the potential of our overlooking pertinent family history or business. One way she has minimized this oversight is to leaf through books and to read letters and notes, particularly handwritten ones.

It is not uncommon for individuals to collect things and my parents were no exception. Among the several “collectibles” my parents archived were notepads. They exhibited a strong competency at maintaining a significant inventory of legal pads, note pads, spiral bound miniature notebooks, etc.

This large number of notepads presented a challenge of stamina because practically every notepad had at least one or two pages of writing. To minimize the potential of overlooking family history or business, time has been spent in flipping through and reading each notepad.

Early in the course of our recent two-day work venture, my sister quietly handed me one of my mother’s notebooks. What was written is self-explanatory.

Auld Lang Syne

I have spent time recently “clouding” a goodly portion of my computer files. Doing so I was reminded of an interesting item.

A class requirement from a few years ago charged each student with producing a "Self Portrait". Its requirement could really be identified as a "life snapshot" as opposed to a true self portrait, but I couldn't argue. It actually became an opportunity to become broadly reminiscent.

As a “non-traditional” student I stood as one of the “more seasoned” members of the group. Laying the events of my “Self Portrait” against the median age of the class I became profoundly aware that the events expressed in my project were only history in the eyes of my classmates. It was one of the more sobering moments of my life.

I thought I’d post this project for today’s blog.

Your Serve (Part Two)

“Traditional Service” and “Contemporary Service”. The original sign provided directional cues to each distinct event. What if this was the actual sign? It obviously changes things.

The original sign allows the individual to respond to his or her specific interest or desire. If you like your “gathering” to contain elements contemporary in expression, you know which way to go. If you like your “gathering” to contain elements traditional in nature, you know which way to go. The original sign could use additional defining. After all, one persons contemporary is another persons traditional. “And the beat goes on”.

In part one I emphasized the use of the word “gathering”. The words “contemporary” and “traditional” are now removed and “gathering” is no longer the emphasis. The sign still provides directional choice but is it a choice of YOUR interest or desire? What would be your response?