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| A Round of Golf with Chad by Jim Reed |
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"YOU’RE SLUMPING!" I called out to Chad across the fairway, after the third of his several shots fell short. He was beginning to "hit it a little fat," which in golf parlance means the club hits the turf behind the ball. It often happens when fatigue sets in on the back nine holes of an 18 hole golf game. I instantly regretted this remark both (1) as a breach of golfers’ etiquette: do not, under any circumstances, offer a fellow player unsolicited advice about their golf swing on the links and (2) because I thought he bristled a bit, as if to say-- I’m NOT tired, I’m NOT slumping, now play your own game, thank you, brother Jim. We played on that hot summer day, and walking up the steep hill to the eighteenth green, I complimented him on both the quality of his golf and his stamina. I learned about the intense aerobic, physician-approved "interval training" he does almost every day since the heart attack four years ago. I could tell he was pleased with himself for walking rather than opting for a riding cart, as nearly all golfers ride nowadays. We both carded about the same score--not our best, not our worst, but hitting enough decent shots to "bring us back next time," as we golfers like to say. Later, as we talked, I offered my apology for the "You’re slumping" advice. "I didn’t mean to imply you’re getting old," I lamely offered. "Oh, I am getting old," he smiled, then chuckled. We unlaced our golf shoes, tossed our clubs into the trunk of our cars, gave each other a warm Unitic hug, and a "let’s do this again soon" before driving off. So I played a round 'o golf that day with a man who, at the ripe young age of 77, can walk rather than ride 18 holes. Because he is "grinding it out" - working disciplined and hard - to stay heart healthy. And righteously stubborn enough to deflect my "you need to take a riding cart on the back nine, Chad" judgement. And I say to myself, thanks for the game, Chad. Thanks for being my friend and golfing buddy. (When my golfers’ dream trip to Ireland happens, I hope you can come along.) Thank you for showing me a little good old fashioned grit out there today. Thanks, Chad, for walking the back nine. © 2011 Jim Reed
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| One Take on bin Laden’s Capture |
| The world awoke on May 2nd [2011] to the news of Osama bin Laden’s capture and resulting death the day before, in an assault on his compound by American Navy Seals Forces.
The news was received with much jubilation by some, and with different emotions for others. After nearly a decade of searching, we Americans had finally put an end to the “Mastermind of 9/11”. While much of the world rejoiced in the “victory,” my jubilation was somewhat subdued. I kept waiting for the euphoria to come, but it never quite arrived in the form I had expected. My admiration and respect for our president and his courage to act was abundant; ditto for the Intelligence Forces which had tracked the terrorist for years, the minds that planned such a daring and involved raid, and, of course, the bravery and precision exhibited by the Navy Seals Assault Team. And, I greatly admired the wisdom and sensitivity of the decision-makers who had bin Laden buried at sea, honoring the Muslim tradition. But, I found myself feeling a little “empty” in realizing that in this 21st Century after our Great Teacher’s walk on this earth, we had advanced so little in furthering Peace. Or had we? I gain some comfort in the fact that we question how far we’ve come in waging Peace, not War, that we can acknowledge a consciousness, an awareness that “an-eye-for-an-eye” policy, a “military solution” to political challenges, is not the most enlightened Way our Master Teacher suggested. No, I don’t profess to know how this practical “enlightened Way” would “look.” I do believe, though, as we grow more spiritually enlightened and aware, as we embrace those teachings and apply them in our own hearts (as The Great Teacher, and our own Chad suggest), a clearer “look” will open up for us. Peace on Earth comes only one heart at a time. Who is to say then, that a Department of Peace, not just a Department of Defense, can become a reality, striving for viable alternatives to military solutions. Respectfully,
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| Sioux Indian Story |
| My grandfather took me to the fish pond on the farm when I was about seven, and he told me to throw a stone into the water. He told me to watch
the circles created by the stone. Then he asked me to think of myself as that stone person.
"You may create lots of splashes in your life but the waves that come from those splashes will disturb the peace of all your fellow creatures," he said. "Remember that you are responsible for what you put in your circle and that circle will also touch many other circles. You will need to live in a way that allows the good that comes from your circle to send the peace of that goodness to others. The splash that comes from anger or jealousy will send those feelings to other circles. You are responsible for both." That was the first time I realized each person creates the inner peace or discord that flows out into the world. We cannot create world peace if we are riddled with inner conflict, hatred, doubt, or anger. We radiate the feelings and thoughts that we hold inside, whether we speak them or not. Whatever is splashing around inside of us is spilling out into the world, creating beauty or discord with all other circles of life. Remember the eternal wisdom: |
| Burned Biscuits |
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When I was a kid, my mom made breakfast food for dinner every now and then. And I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening so long ago, Mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage, and extremely burned biscuits in front of Dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his Biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me how my day was at school. I don't remember what I told him, but I do remember hearing Mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits." Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Your momma put in a long hard day at work today and she's real tired. And besides... a burnt biscuit never hurt anyone!" You know, life is full of imperfect things... and imperfect people. I'm not the best at hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. What I've learned over the years is that learning to accept each others' faults and choosing to celebrate each others' differences, is one of the most important keys to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship. So...please pass me a biscuit. And yes, the burned one will do just fine! And please pass this along to someone who has enriched your life... ~author unknown, from email |
| Old Age, I decided, is a gift... |
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I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long. I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging. Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love... I will. I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things. Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect. I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver. As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong. So, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it). ~ author unknown |
| When Your Hut's On Fire |
| The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions.
One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger. He cried out, "God! How could you do this to me?" Early the next day, he was awakened by the sound of a ship approaching the island! It had come to rescue him! "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied. The Moral of This Story:
~ author unknown
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It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way the kids walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Tie this? Open this? Some days I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it? I'm a TV guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a taxi to order, 'Pick me up at 5:30, please.' I was certain these were the hands that once held books, the eyes that studied history, the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they've disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone! One night, a group of us were celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice went on and on about her fabulous trip. I looked around at the others, all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned and gave me a beautifully wrapped package. It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. Her inscription read: 'To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." Soon I devoured this book. And I discovered four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legend told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built. He saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. Puzzled, he asked the man, 'Why are you carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.' I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.' At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder, one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he brings home for Thanksgiving, "My Mom gets up at 4am and bakes homemade pies, then she hand-bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there." As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. And one day,it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women. Great Job, MOM! ~author unknown (she's invisible) |
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A 92-year-old, well-poised and proud man, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock, with his hair fashionably coifed and shaved perfectly, even though he is legally blind, moved to a nursing home. His wife of 70 years passed away recently, making the move necessary. After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, he smiled sweetly when told his room was ready.
As he maneuvered his walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of his tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on his window. "I love it," he stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy. "But wait! You haven't seen the room." "That doesn't have anything to do with it," he replied. He explained, "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged... it's how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it. It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. "Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away just for this time in my life. "Old age is like a bank account. You withdraw from what you've put in." So, my advice to you is to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories! Thank you for your part in filling my Memory bank. Five simple rules to be happy:
~author unknown |
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| Unity Center 2041 Old Fanning Bridge Road Mills River, NC 28759 (828) 891-8700, 684-3798 Email: unity(at)unitync.net Facebook: UnityMillsRiver |
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