Month: July 2012

Satisfied?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The scrawny, tow-head shoved the old mower along the pavement.  It was hot.  He was tired.  The last lawn he had mowed had earned him three dollars.  And a quarter.  The quarter was a bonus from the nice old lady whose grass he had just whacked down to size.  He was hot and tired, but content.  The lawn mower was out of gas and he would be home in just a few moments to rest for awhile with a tall, cool glass of water.

Photo: Mike Babiarz

Suddenly, the front door of one of the houses he was passing swung open and a rough-looking man wearing a strong-man tee shirt stuck his head out.  “Hey!”  The boy stopped and waited to hear the life-changing words the man had to say.  “You want to earn ten dollars?”  Did he!  Ten dollars was an unheard of sum–right up there with the money the rich kids made working at the country club.  Did he want to earn ten dollars?  “What do I have to do?”  He wasn’t going to do anything illegal for it, but aside from that, if he could manage it, the money would be his.  The answer came quickly and he was amazed.  What?  It couldn’t be this easy!  “I just want you to mow my lawn, too.”   Before the crazy man had the opportunity to change his mind (or his wife came home to discover what he was paying), the boy agreed and, with new energy, ran home for his gas can and a quick drink of water.  An hour or two later, he was again on his way home, shoving the mower along the pavement, thinking about the future.

Did I tell you it would be life changing?  It was.  The lawn got mowed and the cash changed hands.  I have no idea what the boy spent the money on.  It was many years ago.  The life changing part is that he never wanted to mow a three dollar lawn again.  Not even if there was a twenty-five cent bonus to be thrown in after the job was completed.  There were plenty of three dollar jobs around.  He just didn’t want to work for that tiny amount anymore. 

Many years after that event, the boy, now a man, sat in a financial counseling seminar beside a Lovely Lady.  The moderator stood before them and announced that he was going to do the impossible with such a large group.  He was going to tell each one of them how much money they needed.  The men and women looked at him, half disbelieving, half expectantly.  Could he really do that?  As he paused, to let the tension build for a moment, each of them wondered, “How can he know what I need in my circumstance?”  “He can’t possibly know what I owe–the bills coming due.”  After a moment of these thoughts, he told them.  “Every single one of you needs…A Little Bit More!”

He was right.  By increments, our expectation of what was necessary to live had risen.  From the boy needing three dollars and then ten, to the man needing one hundred dollars and then a thousand, the scale kept changing.  Never satisfied, never moderating, the bar kept being raised.  Like the infamous “rat race”, there was no end in sight, only more challenges and slightly higher rewards.  The problem is that the life style kept changing right along with the slightly higher rewards.  A pay check of one hundred dollars resulted in the need for one hundred ten; when it became three hundred dollars, three hundred thirty was what was desired.  When the extra wasn’t forthcoming, means were found for coping.  Loans, credit cards, extra jobs…they all were utilized for the Little Bit More to be achieved.  It was never enough.

It is the human condition.  We see.  We want.  We get, but aren’t satisfied.  The cycle goes on and on in unending upward spirals.  Never happy, our joy is always just out of reach.  The examples cited above reference money and material affluence, but the principle is fairly consistent throughout the scope of our existence.  We want more than we have, so we go after it.  Never satiated, frequently willing to modify our morals to achieve our desires, we keep reaching and are destroyed.  Physically, relationally, and spiritually.  The apostle James told us that it is where conflict comes from.  We covet and we fight.  We desire and we kill.  On and on, without end.  Surely our Maker has more in mind for us than this.

Even though it was years ago, I will never forget the old Irish pastor stretched out over the pulpit in my church one evening.  He leaned right over until it seemed as if he was part of the congregation, speaking to each one of us individually, and he asked the question, “Are you satisfied?”  I can hear his Irish brogue like it was yesterday.  The question rings in my head.  You see, the Irishman had a different goal in mind.  He wanted to know if I was satisfied with being who I was, with doing what I did, with staying where I was living.  Not for myself, but for others.  I have thought long and hard about the answer.  A negative response requires that I change those things, that I work at reaching other, loftier goals than I have.  A positive answer means that there is no longer any reason to hope for better, for higher, for more.  It almost sounds though, as if he were asking me to keep on the way I was going, always wanting more than I could possibly have.

The beauty of this dilemma is that in spite of the seeming contradiction, my heart knows without question that I don’t need more money, more things, more of the empty promises.  Just as clearly, my heart knows that I need to be more…do more…live more.  That can only be accomplished by setting my sights on higher things and striking out to achieve them.

The answer to the Irishman’s question is a resounding NO!  I am not satisfied!  I must keep reaching, keep striving, keep working.  There is much yet to be accomplished.  I hope you realize that I’m inviting you to come along with me.  I know I can’t do it alone and a little company along the road would sure be welcome.

How about it?  We’ll see if we can still do just a Little Bit More…

“Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world Other.”
(from “Idylls of the King” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson~British Poet Laureate~1809-1892)

“Give me one pure and holy passion.
Give me one magnificent obsession…
Lead me on and I will run after You.”
(from “One Pure and Holy Passion” by Michael W Smith~American singer/songwriter)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

In Plain Sight

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Hiding in plain sight.  As plain as the nose on your face.  If it had been a snake, it would have bitten you.  Right under your nose.  The list of ways to say that something should be easy to see seems to be interminable.  So many things are in front of us and we are blissfully unaware.  A good friend of mine pointed out one such example the other day.

Photo: Dano

 How many times have you seen a similar truck drive past you?  Perhaps the better question is:  How many times each day do you see a similar truck drive past?  It is an everyday sight in most towns, as the drivers speed to commercial and residential destinations to make their deliveries.  The other thing I wonder is:  Do you see what is right in front of you?  Did you know that there is a message on the side of this vehicle?  It’s really not hidden and wasn’t meant to be a secret.  Oh, it was placed there purposefully, but the designers also purposefully didn’t make a point of telling you about it.  They wanted you to see it for yourself.

As I write, I can’t keep my mind from wandering to a most exceptional man in our country’s history, George Washington Carver.  He was an extraordinary man among his peers, an African-American who had risen from slavery, being redeemed from kidnappers for a horse at one time in his childhood.  He acquired something unheard of for one of his race in the late 1800s–an education, gaining a Masters Degree in Botany.  Carver spent most of his life teaching and experimenting and he is credited with the rise of the popularity of the peanut industry in the Southern United States, especially as a replacement for the cotton crops which were devastated by boll weevil infestations on several occasions.  He is perhaps just as well known for his work in discovering hundreds of uses for the little nuts and the oil they contain.  In spite of his own achievements, Mr. Carver gave credit to the Creator for showing him the secrets of the lowly peanut in this way:  “When I was young, I said to God, ‘God, tell me the mystery of the universe.’ But God answered, ‘That knowledge is for me alone.’ So I said, ‘God, tell me the mystery of the peanut.’ Then God said, ‘Well George, that’s more nearly your size.’ And he told me.” 

I wonder if you realize that somehow, this blog has done a similar thing with most of its posts, in a much less significant way.  Most of the posts you can read here utilize a story from life, either my own or that of someone I know, which makes a larger point.  The familiar often hides the profound, but with a little shove here and a small amount of prodding there, the truth is urged forth, to stand unveiled and powerful.  It is not my doing that the truth is there; I have simply managed a time or two, with no small amount of help, to be able to point it out. I’m pretty sure that most of life is like that.  The profound awaits discovery, hidden among the foolish.  We just have to be diligent in looking for it.

Federal Express?  Oh, yeah.  They designed their logo to do more than tell you their name.  It also tells you which direction they are headed.  Forward.  Look at the logo.  Do you see the arrow pointing to the front of the truck?  The negative space between the “E” and the “x”.   Ah, you see it now.  Forward!  It’s not only the direction the truck is headed, they want you to know that the company is moving ahead into the future, too.  There are many of you who had seen this already, but for the rest of you, I bet you won’t ever look at that logo the same way again.

That’s the way it is with the truth, when it is right in front of our noses, separated from the jumbled mess of life.  We grasp it, and we try to understand how to apply it properly.  Or, we can forget it and go on in much the same way we always have.  I’d like a serving of the former, thanks.  

Just as with the logo, whose creators intended that the truth should become plain to us, our Creator has done the same thing with all of His creation.  The truth is waiting to be found and applied.

It’s there.  Right under our noses. Hiding in plain sight.

“When you do the common things in life in an uncommon way, you will command the attention of the world.”
(George Washington Carver~American educator, scientist, and inventor~1864-1943)

“This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.”
(“This Is My Father’s World”~ hymn by Maltbie Babcock~American pastor and poet~1858-1901)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

The Light is Going!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

My friend and I stood at the end of the day, arms draped across the side of the old pickup we were leaning against, and wondered if we were going to succeed in life.  Not an unusual occurrence for a couple of young men, ready to tackle life…but this happened yesterday, not twenty years ago, so you could be forgiven if you were to express doubts about the ability of these two slightly-older-than-middle aged men to effect much of a change in the course of events at this late date.  It might even be said that if we’ve waited this late to begin, there is no chance at all of success in life for us.

We weren’t discussing financial success, nor even social prominence.  Neither Mike nor I aspire to the spotlight anymore.  He has run a profitable auto repair business and opted to close it in favor of the simplicity of a salaried position with a large dealership; I have operated a family music store for more than twenty-five years and am finally accepting the title of “successful businessman”, although I balk at the definition of success in that context.  What we are realizing is that time is getting short and we still have some ground to cover in other areas.

I remember the after-school softball games we played in the vacant lot down the street, when I was a kid.  There was not a single real player among us, but we loved the thrill of hearing the ball smack off the end of the old wooden bat and the run to first base (a flattened cardboard box), then a long rounded-off turn toward second base (Oscar’s tee-shirt).  If we made it that far, we were bound to try for third base (which was just an old abandoned red ant bed) and stretch for home.  The games went for an hour or two, but were made longer by the arguments about balls and strikes and tag-outs.  We would play (and argue) for as long as we could see, but the arguments ceased abruptly when somebody called out, “Hey, the light is going!  Let’s play some ball!”  The action would speed up, pitches were thrown without much ado between, and the runners were more likely than ever to attempt to make a so-so hit turn into extra bases or even a home run.  The light was going!  We had more playing to do!

I will admit that it does seem that time is being compressed for me.  I have also realized something else.  When I was a young man, I wanted to effect big changes in the world.  I have concluded that big change may not be my legacy.  Come to think of it, the changes I make may not touch much of the world.  That said, I still want to be an influence on the people with whom I come into contact in my lifetime.  If the context broadens as the years pass, that will be okay.  Regardless, I have a task to do and time is speeding by.  I do want to be a success.

Do you remember that song we used to sing  years ago?  You know…the one that told us to “brighten the corner where you are.”  The lady who wrote that song had wanted to serve as a missionary in a far-away land, but family illness forced her to stay near to home.  She served right where she was instead, and wrote the words as a reminder to others who found themselves in similar situations.

As my friend and I talked yesterday, we reminisced about another such servant.  Miss Peggy had a heart for the Chinese people and wanted to go and teach there.  But, that was in the late 1930s, and it was not to be.  The political unrest in China guaranteed that a single lady would not be supported by any mission board, so Miss Peggy made a trade.  She took over the vision of a man who had planned to teach Bible classes to kids in the Ozark Mountains and he took over her vision in China.  She never wavered in her service, nor in her love of China, making sure to befriend every Chinese exchange student who came to the local university.

Several years before her death, she was in the home of a Chinese family she had “adopted” and was shown an old family Bible, rescued from the Communist persecutors of their home country (the man’s father had been thrown into prison for preaching).  Due to her poor eyesight, she asked the host to read some of the notes and signatures in the front of the book.  As he read past one particular one, she shouted, “Stop!  Read that again!”  The name was of her “substitute” on the mission field.  Her friend had been influential in members of this man’s family coming to faith, as well as being an encouragement during their persecution at the hands of government officials.  Do you think it was just a coincidence that, out of the millions of people in that huge country, this particular family had ended up with this little lady sitting in their living room, listening to them read the names in their family Bible?  Perhaps not.

If this isn’t encouragement to “brighten the corner where you are”, you may be beyond help!  It may not be in such a dramatic manner, but our faithful walk in the path set before us will undoubtedly yield results.  Even if the only consequence is that our family and friends see the consistency and commitment of a life lived with integrity and faith, our legacy will live on.  I’m not sure how you define success, but I think that will do for me.

 But, enough of this talking.  The light is going and I’m still in the game!  Let’s play some ball!

“Brighten the corner where you are,
Brighten the corner where you are.
Someone far from harbor you may guide across the bar.
Brighten the corner where you are.”
(Ina Mae Duly Ogden~American teacher and songwriter~1872-1964)

“The greatest waste in all of our earth, which cannot be recycled or reclaimed, is our waste of the time that God has given us each day.”
(Billy Graham~American evangelist)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Know-It-All

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes, it is small comfort to be right.  Especially if you had the right idea but the execution was all wrong.  The mechanic smiling up at me from his uncomfortable position on the floor of the car was giving me the bad news.  “Yes, it was the clutch interlock switch all along, but you checked the wrong switch.  That’s why you couldn’t get it running.”  I managed a small smile to convince him that I wasn’t embarrassed at all.  I wasn’t successful in the attempt.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when the father of the four greatest children in the world asked me for a little help with his old car.  My son-in-law is gifted at what he does, but he stays away from the arena of auto mechanics.  Unlike my upbringing, he was not introduced to the application of baling wire and duct tape to various moving and/or stationary auto parts at an early age.  His father never did disassemble a starter motor on the dining room table to change the brushes or mount a new solenoid.  It was a skill born of necessity for us, not for love of the work, but owning old clunkers has inspired many hours of greasy hands and more than a few skinned-up knuckles.  I was game to give it a try again.

“The car won’t even click when the ignition is turned on.  Do you have any ideas?”  the young pizzeria owner queried.  With a couple of questions, I was pretty sure I had the problem narrowed down to two possibilities.  “It’s either the clutch/ignition interlock switch or a fuse.  There’s an open circuit somewhere.”  I spent a few minutes one blazing hot afternoon at the car with him, trying to narrow down the possibilities, but we didn’t have much time to spend.  “I’ll come back,”  I promised him.  It was another week before I could get to it.  For  a wonder, this time the temperature was more bearable and I had a few minutes more to spare.  Focusing on the clutch switch idea (the fuse option was easily tested and discarded), I spent a good bit of time removing the switch which was activated by depressing the clutch pedal.  I tested it with my ohm-meter.  It worked perfectly, opening and closing the circuit without fail.  Just to be sure, I inserted a jumper across the terminals and turned the key.  Nothing.  Disgusted, I laboriously re-installed the switch and checked one more thing–the current at the starter.  There was no voltage there when the key was turned.  My diagnosis was still accurate.  But, I had checked the obvious source and it was fine!  There must be a broken wire somewhere.  I couldn’t find any.

I finally gave up and sent a message to my mechanic friend, arranging to meet him at the car today.  He checked the same things I had, although much more rapidly.  Then, he removed a plastic panel on the underside of the dash, flipped through a wire or two, and searching around for something on the floor, picked up a short length of wire and stripped it quickly, inserting it into a plastic terminal with two wires going into it.  He turned the key.  The car started instantly! 

All of which brings us to the place we started, with the mechanic grinning up at me, and me, biting my lip in frustration.  The wrong interlock switch!  How ignorant could I be?

You’ve done that, haven’t you?  You know the answer to the issue.  The knowledge you’ve amassed over your lifetime all points to the correct conclusion.  You act decisively and apply the solution to exactly the wrong location.  The result is exactly the same as a complete lack of knowledge–Failure!  It is an all too familiar situation for me.  I have the capacity for knowledge about a wide array of subjects.  I love trivia and as a result, have a brain full of answers to many questions.  My downfall is the application of the solution.  I am gifted at understanding the issues, just not at solving them.  I have knowledge, but not much wisdom.

I found myself in another similar situation earlier today.  I was waxing eloquent with a few casual customers (meaning that they weren’t actually buying anything today) about the intricacies of copyright law as it applies to the performance of music.  I am not a lawyer, but have gleaned a fair amount of detailed information regarding the products sold in my business, so I felt qualified to expound on the issue.  I answered a number of questions the men asked, and it seemed to me that they felt enlightened regarding a subject they hadn’t considered much before.  Then I blew it.  One of the men mentioned an activity he carried out in his ministry, which was in violation of copyrights, as I understand them.  I suggested that it wasn’t appropriate for him to do this and he insisted he wasn’t doing anything wrong.  I persisted, as I am frequently wont to do, so by the time he left, he was angry at me and I was accusing him of breaking the law.  It wasn’t pretty.  And, it wasn’t productive.

You see, I know the facts about certain aspects of copyrights.  I simply am not skilled at helping others to understand and accept those facts.  It would have made sense to drop my argument when I saw that the gentleman was offended.  It was clear that there would be no benefit to continuing the discussion, but I saw what I believed was a wrong and was intent on fixing it.  Just like the switch under the dash of the car, I turned the wrench again and again, taking apart the wrong thing, only to realize, too late, that I was barking up the wrong tree.  I applied my knowledge without the slightest hint of wisdom.  I have apologies to make.

This is the point at which a wise man would leave off preaching and let the application sink in.  I’m not so wise, but I’m learning.  I’ve probably talked enough for one day.

My disappointment at not being able to conquer the Honda is abating.  Regardless of the person who achieved it, the car is repaired and my son-in-law has transportation again.  All’s well that ends well, yes?  I’ll have to pray for another chance with my friend from the music store.  Time will tell.

Wisdom is found in odder places than under the dashboard of automobiles…

“Sometimes I lie awake at night and ask, ‘Where have I gone wrong?’  Then a voice says to me, ‘This is going to take more than one night.'”
(Charlie Brown in the Peanuts cartoon~Charles M. Schulz~American cartoonist~1922-2000)

“If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men.” 
(Romans 12:18~NASB)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Footsteps on the Stairs

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The six year old boy beside the easy chair has appeared, not quite silently, from the upper floor of the big old house.  It is well past the hour when he was sent to bed, and his parents assumed that he was asleep hours ago.  They are sitting in the living room, still commiserating about the same subject they had discussed with the children earlier that evening, when they heard his footsteps on the stairs, plopping down each one of the fourteen treads, one halting step at a time.  The young lad from the upper regions evidently wants to discuss the subject with them also.

Some parents keep their affairs secret from their children because they are afraid to burden them. They want their kids to have a carefree childhood, free from the problems of the world.  It is a viewpoint that is not without merit, but this family had determined some time before this that they would talk (and pray) about their problems forthrightly, in just the same way they rejoiced openly over their victories and blessings.  They had learned earlier in the day that a debt, which they hadn’t even realized was owed, would be due within the next week or so.  It was of significant size.  Rather than whisper about the issue, it was spoken of openly at the dinner table with the children present that evening.  The thought that either of the children would lie awake and worry about their conversation hadn’t occurred to the young parents, so they are concerned.

“What’s wrong, buddy?  Are you upset?” his dad asks.  The boy has a pensive look on his face as he replies, “No, not really.  I just wanted to talk with you about something.”  They are relieved, but know that more is coming.  It is not at all what they are expecting.  “I know you need money.  I have some I want you to use.”  As he speaks the words slowly, the little fellow is holding out both hands, one full of wadded up dollar bills and the other running over with pennies, nickels, and quarters.  The couple is dumbstruck for a moment.  The boy has emptied his piggy bank of every cent.  He is saving for a skate board and has been working at different tasks for his grandparents and parents to earn the money for it.  This is more important to him.

Struggling to hide the tears, and with his voice quivering just a little, the young dad takes the money from the boy and thanks him.  He then has the presence of mind to ask the young man if it would be all right if the money stayed in his piggy bank until it was time to pay the amount owed.  “That way, if enough money comes in from our other income, we might be able to leave some of this for your skate board.”  The boy thinks a moment, then smiles while he nods his little head and, hugging his dad and mom, turns to make the trek back up the stairway.  Unlike the trip down a few moments before, his steps are light and quick as he dashes back up to bed.

It was over twenty years ago, but the evening is burned into my head indelibly.  I do remember having two conflicting thoughts as the little tyke disappeared around the corner to go back to bed.  The first was an apprehension that we might have weighed the children down with more than they should be expected to comprehend at their young age.  I still struggle with that.  But, the second thought was a feeling of pride in the character of our young son.  In the face of  trouble, he gave selflessly of what he had to meet the need.  I was proud…of him.  Come to think of it, I still am.  You see, the emerging character in a young child, when nourished and encouraged, becomes the strong character of the grown man.

I told the story some time ago to a friend and he assured me that children learn character from their parents.   While I won’t insist on it, I actually think that in this case, the parents learn character from their children.  The selfless act of that little boy many years ago has inspired me on many occasions over the intervening years.

We do learn character from each other.  I’ve noticed recently that Liberty Mutual Insurance has a series of commercials running on television which really don’t sell a product at all, except by association.  I like the concept.  “People doing the right thing”, they say, showing case after case of individuals seeing one person helping another and then responding in kind.  I’m not sure that the world works that way, but it should.  It is what our Creator expects of His own.  “And let us consider how to spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”

I’ve never given everything I have to help someone.  Someday, I just might follow in that little boy’s footsteps. 

They’ll be hard ones to fill.

“While we teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.”
(Anonymous)

“So encourage each and build each other up, just as you are already doing.”
(I Thessalonians 5:11~NLT)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

A Matter of Degrees

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The hottest summer I can recall.  Yes.  I think this may be the worst in my adult life.  I’m sure there were hotter, when I was a child in the far southern tip of Texas, but those have faded in my memory.  And, since my guess is that you’ve heard quite enough complaining about the weather, I’m going to change the subject and spend a little time talking about Christmas.  Why not?  Christmas in July!  It seems as good a way to get through the heat as any I know of.

Photo: Calsidyrose

I go back in my memory about ten or twelve years, to a frigid early December evening.  As we approach the winter solstice, the days have been compressed and darkness encases the little town I live in for all too many hours.  I am in a suit, much too light for the twenty-five degree temperature outside, but having no overcoat, it is all the protection from the blasting North wind I have available.  Why am I in the suit?  It is the first night of the annual candlelight service at the local university and I have, once again, allowed myself to be manipulated into playing my French Horn with the brass group which will perform a twenty minute instrumental prelude to the choral program for the next three nights.

Arriving nearly forty-five minutes early, I find the parking lot by the building closed off, reserved for VIPs.  I head on to the next lot, only to view an expanse of tightly parked cars.  No room.  I glance over to the front entrance and see the mass of people already swelling, huddling close to keep warm and I keep going.  Finally, a parking place is found, nearly two blocks from the venue and I am running, late for the call time, through the frigid landscape.  When I finally push my way through the packed crowd, I am cold and annoyed, not the two best conditions for an auspicious start to a performance.  It will get worse.

As I warm up, I realize that I have picked up the wrong mouthpiece for my horn.  A minor annoyance, one might think, but for me, it is a major catastrophe.  After a warm up, we play a piece or two to allow our tuning to settle and to induce us into the ensemble mode.  I am playing badly, but, having been assured all my life that a bad warmup is a sure sign of a good performance to come, am willing to let it go.  The problem is that the whole thing goes downhill from there.

On stage, our performance begins with (wouldn’t you know it?) a horn solo.  A bad attack of the first note, turns into a struggle to hit and hold every subsequent note thereafter.  In the middle of the second piece, I forget a key change and play an A two or three times, where the composer was hoping I would find an Ab.  The entire program is cut from the same cloth, with bobbles and wrong fingerings, along with some serious tuning issues.  It is, to put it bluntly, my worst performance in memory.  I am mortified.  It is as if the cold from outside has made its way into my head.  I am stone cold!  As I head outside into the icy, windy weather afterward, I have no intention of returning for the following two nights.  They can find someone to fill in for me.   There is no way I am going to be embarrassed like that again!

After a night to rest and a day to mull it over, I actually did show up for the next night’s program.  With the correct mouthpiece.  On time.  It was quite possibly the best performance I had ever played.  My solo parts were impeccable, the tone almost heavenly (I have witnesses), and I missed not a single note the entire evening, a more-than-minor miracle even on my best day!  I’m convinced that anyone who had been there the night before would actually have thought that the group did recruit a new horn player.  I was red hot!  No one was more surprised than I, especially after the previous evening’s fiasco. 

What made the difference?  Well, besides the mouthpiece, I couldn’t tell you.  What I do know is that sometimes, you just show up, no matter how much you want to quit; no matter how much you want to never attempt a thing again.  Here’s another wrinkle…I have experienced situations like this any number of times in my life, but it is just as likely to turn out the other way around.  A quarterback who completes every pass in one game, throws four interceptions and fumbles the ball three times the next.  The pitcher who throws a perfect game one night, comes out for his next appearance and gets pulled in the third inning because he walks the bases loaded and then, hitting the next batter, walks in a run.  We simply remain faithful to what we are called to do.  Even when we don’t feel like it; even when it takes every fiber of our being to walk out onto that stage.

Now, it’s your turn.  The stage of life awaits.  Did you fall down the last time you tried your balancing act?  Give it another shot and head out on that tight-rope one more time.  Did you flub your lines as you articulated them during your last speaking part?  The only way you’ll get them right is to walk out again…and again…and yet again.  I’m not sure that it ever gets any easier.  We just realize that we have a task to do.  And, we do it. 

The air conditioner has just come on in here, reminding me that it’s not really winter outside, and that it’s supposed to reach over one hundred degrees again tomorrow.  Ah well, hot or cold, we keep doing what we do, putting one foot in front of the other, just one more step closer to the prize.

How would you like to play through a piece or two with me along the way?  You might want to bring the right mouthpiece…

“A little more persistence, a little more effort, and what seemed hopeless failure may turn to glorious success.”
(Elbert Hubbard~American publisher~1856-1915)

“We fall down.  We get up.
We fall down.  We get up.
And the saints are just the sinners,
Who fall down and get up.”
(Bob Carlisle~American singer/songwriter)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

So Hot I’ve Got Goosebumps

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment
Photo: Bayasaa

I hope you’ll forgive a non-original post today.  On holidays, sometimes I tend to turn off the creative connection in the brain and then it seems to take a little while to boot up again.  I think it might be a good time to trot out one of my favorite posts from the past anyway.  The event described below occurred on Independence Day just a year ago.  

Who Wrote The Book Of Love?

Have you ever seen love up close?  No, I’m not talking about the mushy, touchy-feely, here-today-gone-tomorrow kind of love.  That, you see on television, depicted in graphic detail again and again every day.  The popular notion of love is in our faces relentlessly, but gives no clue of what love really is.  Still, I think I saw it the other day.  No, I’m sure I saw it the other day.  It happened while I was getting my fuel tank filled up.  And, I’m not talking about the tank on my car, either.

The Lovely Lady and I had spent a couple of days in a lazy unhurried non-schedule, soaking in the experience of people-watching and unwinding at a popular breakfast restaurant, wandering into and out of countless “antique stores” (read: “collections of old junk”) and hock shops in pursuit of everything and nothing, and pretty well finding just that.  We stayed in a posh downtown hotel, thanks to a discount travel service, getting up whenever we wanted and going wherever we wished.  I have to admit, the banjo museum was an original treat, but I was thankful that all the banjos were behind glass where no one could play them.  The walk along the river was relaxing, in spite of the 103 degree temperature, and the movie was tolerable.  We did have one event that was scheduled and we made sure to keep the appointment.

The symphony was giving a holiday concert with a guest vocalist whom we have always enjoyed, so 7:00 in the evening found us striding along the city streets, folding canvas chairs slung over our shoulders, toward the events center parking lot for the free entertainment which wouldn’t start until 8:30.  The streets were crowded with folks headed the same direction and there were more than a few policemen and “ambassadors” posted about to make us feel safer.  As we passed one such post, I casually commented to the cheerful older gentleman that it was a bit warm.  He replied, “Well one good thing…you don’t have to worry about goose-bumps out here!”  Boy, was he wrong!

I won’t bore you with the long wait on the hot pavement, the searing sun on our necks, the futile waving of the advertising paper fans in an attempt to keep cool.  But, as the sun plunged below the horizon and the temperature moderated a little, the musical sounds wafted through the air, first the individual warm-ups, a horn here, a viola there, then the corporate tuning session, and finally, the blending of a hundred or so individual instruments’ voices fused into one beautiful conglomeration of sound and purpose.  We were content and sat in rapt attention, unmindful of the cacophony of crowd noise around us and the non-musical folks who moved to and fro through the crowd, themselves unaware of the beauty which flowed from the stage.  It was an apt ending to a great relaxing weekend.

What?  Did I leave something out?  Oh, yes!  The goose-bumps.  Two things during the evening inspired those little raised spots on my neck and my arms.  The vocalist (and audience) was responsible for them at a couple of junctures; once when she sang a beautiful rendition of that old hymn “How Great Thou Art” (you should have heard that huge crowd singing along) and later when she invited us to join her on “God Bless America”.  Music has such a capacity for moving the human spirit and it certainly achieved that for many on that night.

This capacity was partly responsible for the other case of the chicken-flesh on that hot summer evening too, but only partly.  The orchestra was playing an upbeat, rhythmic piece, one which just invited the body to move.  We patted our feet, perhaps even tapped on our legs with our hands a little, but public decorum demanded that we go no further and we acquiesced.  Not so with one fellow a few feet away from us.  My eyes were drawn away from the lighted stage in front of us to glance at the man.  The glance was enough to notice that he was an adult, but that he was mentally handicapped.  I hope that term is acceptable.  The landscape keeps changing so I’m not sure if “gifted” is more correct, or possibly “special needs”, but I use the term simply as descriptive, not as a pejorative.  This young man, probably 25 or 30 years of age, clearly was moved by the music and he was not to be denied.  Joyously, he was on his feet and dancing, waving his American flag, wonderfully unaware of the rules of decorum and concert etiquette.  Those of us around watched him, and most smiled, but a few laughed.

Love makes you do strange things, things you wouldn’t normally do.  As I worried about those unkind people laughing, I noticed that another, older, man got up from his chair and began dancing along with the young fellow.  Within moments, the young man’s mother and his sister were also up with his father and were dancing, every bit as energetically as he, spinning around him, taking his hand and urging him on in his joyous abandon.  There was no embarrassment, no reticence in their celebration of their son and brother, no concern for reputation, simply a declaration of their unwavering love.  The goose bumps were back, along with a little stray moisture in the corner of my eyes.  I’m not sure, but I think I saw others wipe away a tear or two.  Maybe it was just perspiration.

We have been conditioned to think of love as an emotion, a physical reaction to the wiles of the opposite sex.  Our whole lives are tied up in the thought of fulfilling our desires and needs with love.  When the reality doesn’t fit our expectation, we move on to the next relationship and start our impossible quest all over again.  I would submit to you that love has nothing whatsoever to do with selfish desire and perceived need, and everything to do with living for someone else.  In the unselfish actions of that young man’s family last Sunday night, I saw love.  And it appeared to me that they enjoyed the dancing every bit as much as he did.  What a great event!  It wasn’t the best music I have ever heard, but there were some amazing moments, both on and off the stage. 

I’m not sure if the tank is full, but there’s certainly enough fuel now to keep going for a few more miles.  We don’t always find the filling station where we expect it to be…and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Love always protects, always hopes, always trusts, always perseveres.”
(I Corinthians 13:7)

“We cannot do great things on this earth, only small things with great love.”
(Mother Theresa)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved. 

I Want To Be Rich

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

What a debacle!  The gorgeous piano would still play beautifully, but the raw edge of bare wood on the front corner stuck out, as they say, like a sore thumb.  How could I face the owners of this fine instrument?  Surely they would be furious!  Perhaps I could shove the trailer, piano and all, over the side of the hill and claim accidental damage?  The thoughts running through my head were all akin, with a foundation in despondency and a framework of desperation.  As the gloom began to take control, I suddenly remembered that I had been in similar situations before and lived to tell about it, so I brushed away the swirling “what ifs”, squared my jaw, and told the rest of the crew to continue unloading the grand piano and we headed into the huge mansion to face the music.

I suppose that you might want me to back up a little and give a few details, but the prelude to this little drama has almost no bearing on the outcome.  The doctor had engaged our services to move his grand piano.  We had arrived at his home at the agreed upon time and, removing the pedals and legs, stood it upright on a dolly and loaded it in my trailer.  I had supervised the padding of the glossy black instrument, but had neglected to cover one very small corner, a spot of about three inches by one inch.  My memory has made it much larger, but it was a relatively tiny percentage of the entire piano.  No matter.  It rubbed on the side of the trailer the whole distance.  Upon arriving at the destination, some twenty miles away, we swept away the pads, to find the damage staring back at our dismayed faces.

Now, where were we?  Oh, yes.  Facing the music.  Well, as it turns out, the joke was on me.  There was no music to face.  Oh, there was consternation.  There was even a little frown on the good doctor’s face as I pointed out the damage, assuring him that we would have a furniture refinisher out as quickly as we could to make amends.  As I waited for the storm clouds to gather and the thunder to crash, he brightened and noticing my consternation, threw an arm over my shoulder.  “Don’t worry about it, Paul.  It still makes as beautiful a tone as it ever did, doesn’t it?”  I relaxed, but still felt the need to apologize again.  “I’m really sorry, but we’ll make it right, Doc.”  He waved away my apology with his hands.  “I already know that.  Nobody is hurt and nothing is broken.  How much do I owe you?”

As I drove home, mostly in silence in spite of the truck full of strong men, I couldn’t help but remember another delivery to a house just a mile or two away from that huge mansion, a couple of years before.

“The Unforgiving Servant” (Domenico Fetti)

I had agreed to help out some folks who were in financial straits, but who needed to move and had no way to deal with their old piano.  The old upright instrument had seen better times, appearing to be in it’s final days of usefulness.  Besides the functional issues, it had scrapes across the front where the bench had been tipped over against it, the legs were almost completely devoid of finish and the veneer was peeling away at a couple of spots.  Nevertheless, we loaded it into the trailer and padding the contact points, strapped it to the side as we always do.  Just as I got to the first intersection, at which I made a turn, I felt something shift in the trailer, so I stopped and went back to investigate.  The strap had slipped and allowed the piano to crash into the back door of the trailer.  There was a little damage to the piano, with a couple of fresh scrapes in the finish on that end.  I was unhappy, but not really disturbed, since the piano was already such a wreck.  Upon arrival at the house though, the owner of the piano didn’t see it in quite the same way.  As I apologized for the slight damage, which I had to point out to him, he raised his voice, exclaiming vigorously about my careless treatment of his property.  I was dumbfounded.  After agreeing to touch up the damage, I left without any pay, as I had arranged beforehand.  The slightly damaged piano had inflicted significantly more damage to my trailer, bending the door where it had impacted it.  Worse, I was angry and bitter about the owner’s reaction to the minor incident.  When the subsequent event described above occurred, it still rankled.

So, I drove home and thought about the difference in the two men.  In the place where I expected grace and forgiveness, there had been only anger.  Then, in the place where I anticipated nothing but fury, I experienced grace and peace.  I have thought about that on several occasions since.  I think I am beginning to understand the disparate reactions.

We all are presented with different paths to walk throughout our lives.  One of these men was wealthy, lacking nothing he wished, the other, impoverished and wanting.  That in itself couldn’t explain the reactions.  One would certainly expect a wealthy man to place more value in the things, while you would think that the poor man would place value in people.  Instead, the values were reversed.  The well-to-do man saw my distress and had compassion, understanding the higher value of a human when compared to a piano.  The needy man, however, saw only the tiny marks on his property, dismissing any concern on my part and demanding justice.  I have come to the conclusion that it is not his lack of physical goods that makes him truly poor, but his poverty of spirit.   By the same token, the doctor is wealthy, not because of his financial prowess, but because he places such value on his fellow man.

I thought of both men again this evening, as I contemplated the final sale of our piano moving equipment, including our trailer, today.  I do not expect to move pianos again.  It seems to me that it was a great gift to be given the opportunity to learn this lesson before the end of my piano moving days.

I’m sure more lessons will come from other endeavors.  I hope I will be a good student.

I’d certainly rather be a rich man anyway…in spirit, that is.

“Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. As he began the settlement, a man who owed him ten thousand bags of gold was brought to him.  Since he was not able to pay, the master ordered that he and his wife and his children and all that he had be sold to repay the debt.  At this the servant fell on his knees before him. ‘Be patient with me,’ he begged, ‘and I will pay back everything.’  The servant’s master took pity on him, canceled the debt and let him go.  But when that servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred silver coins.  He grabbed him and began to choke him. ‘Pay back what you owe me!’ he demanded.  His fellow servant fell to his knees and begged him, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay it back.’  But he refused. Instead, he went off and had the man thrown into prison until he could pay the debt.  When the other servants saw what had happened, they were outraged and went and told their master everything that had happened.  Then the master called the servant in. ‘You wicked servant,’ he said, ‘I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to.  Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?’  In anger his master handed him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.  “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”
(Matthew 18:21-35~NIV)
 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Mirror, Mirror

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

We were having a pity party.  My friend, the bicycle technician, and I were talking shop.  I am excited that he has a new job doing what he has always loved to do.  He’s good at it, too!  After my cycling accident last year, he took my damaged steed and made it good as new with almost no effort.  I only wish he could have done the same for my head, but that’s a different story, isn’t it?  He loves to take in an ailing bike and return the same machine to his customers in top condition.  If you’ve ever worked with your hands at a job in which you take pride, you’ll understand.  While there is something to be said for the remuneration in cold, hard cash (or direct deposit, if you prefer), the real benefit to having a skill such as his is in the joy of achievement, the pride in craftsmanship.

photo by hradcanska

The bicycle man asked me if I had ever worked on a project, knowing that I was doing everything exactly right, only to have the result not fit my expectations.  “I sometimes wonder if I’m even supposed to be doing this at all!” he exclaimed, exasperated over an uncooperative bike he had worked on this weekend.  I could empathize, having just dealt with a similar situation recently.  The customer brought in a very expensive electric guitar which was hard to play.  The vintage Les Paul was a thing of beauty.  I have said many times that I love working on the nice instruments, because they seem to “want” to be repaired, slipping easily into adjustment, almost with a sigh of relief.  The opposite effect is often seen with cheap instruments; those poorly built examples of inferior design and construction preferring instead, to fight you every step of the way.  The guitar lying on my repair cradle on this day was in the former group, almost always a joy to work with.  But, it was not to be with this stubborn beast.

No matter which way I determined to go, there was nothing to be done to make the necessary adjustments.  The treble side of the neck had a back bow, which caused the strings to rattle on frets if they were lowered to a comfortable playing position; the bass side, actually had a bow (we call it “relief”) in the opposite direction, causing the strings to be much higher than normal.  I was baffled, since the normal adjustment of a truss rod in the neck which would fix one problem was sure to make the other worse.  Whichever way I turned it, either the back bow would be worse, or the relief would be more pronounced.  It was a no-win situation.

I can count, on one hand, the number of times I have had to call a customer and tell him or her that I could not repair an instrument which I have agreed to tackle for them.  This was one I would have to add to that count.  He arrived to pick up his guitar last week and we talked about the problem and any potential for abatement.  As we talked, I learned what had happened to the poor instrument.  It was not the fault of the guitar that it had such a problem; it had simply fallen prey to a modern practice for which it was never designed.  Many modern guitarists are experimenting with what is known as “alternate tunings”, dropping the pitch of the lower strings to achieve new tone qualities and chord structures.  The common practice is to use bigger strings for such changes, but this guitar’s owner had decided to mix sets of extra light treble strings and extra heavy bass strings to achieve the tone he was seeking.  The result of the skewed scale was the uneven twist we were seeing.  I felt like a chiropractor for a moment as I told him, “It took some time to get into this situation, so it will take a while to repair it.”  He took the guitar home to work for awhile with the opposite string arrangement, heavy on the treble, light on the bass, and see how it works.  I am hopeful that the problem will take care of itself over time.

I know that your eyes are glazed over right about now with the technical explanation, but I wanted you to understand that sometimes, the issue is not a matter of a simple adjustment.  Frequently, the solution to the problem is to make amends, so to speak.  Basic physics tells us, “For every action, there is an equal, and opposite, reaction.”  If we do things which were never intended to be done, there will be a price to be paid.  My Mama was fond of quoting the verse that says, “Be sure your sins will find you out,” usually right after one of my brothers, or even my sister had tattled on me.  She wasn’t wrong in the application to human beings, just as I am confident that guitars and bicycles are much the same.  We cannot abuse anything over time without it showing in very real ways.

For us, the habits of a lifetime shape who we are.  I have reached the age at which I am reexamining some of those habits.  I don’t always like what I see.  Oh, some habits are good, leading to growth and maturity.  The ones I don’t like so much are the destructive ones, perhaps even the sinful ones.  Those have left their mark, and not only on me.  People around me have been influenced, lives have been altered.  Like the Les Paul guitar, the remedy won’t come overnight, and sadly, perhaps not at all.  I will endeavor to make the changes in my lifestyle, but the effects will likely still be felt for years to come.

It would seem that, once more, we have moved from speaking only of inanimate objects, to application regarding the human condition.  It is often thus, that a thought concerning the mundane will turn into a revelation of the significant. The question is, what will we do with the revelation?  The apostle James speaks of a person who looks in a mirror and goes away, forgetting what his image looked like.  What a waste!

Are you feeling the effects of the years of improper usage?  There is time yet to make amends, time to develop new habits.  I’ve said it before (and will again, no doubt)…Where there’s life, there’s hope!

I’m going to try hard to remember what I’ve seen in the mirror.  How about you?

” For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror.   For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like.”
(James 1:23,24~ESV)

“We are what we repeatedly do.  Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”
(Aristotle~Ancient Greek Philosopher~384 BC-322 BC)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.