Smooth Sailing

If you are anything like the rest of us it often feels like you’re always on the go. What strikes me as interesting today is how much we rush past in order to get where we’re going. This may be true not only in our daily schedule, but in the larger picture of life as well. It’s all about the hurry, about getting places on time, about being a success or checking items off of our "to do" lists. Can’t stop to watch the sunset or we’ll be late for dinner. Can’t attend the kids games or recitals, or whatever, because work is too pressing. Even on vacation, we drive right past all sorts of amazing places in order to arrive on time at the one where we have reservations. We have become too destination driven. Get up, get ready, get going, get there, get done, get home, get to bed, get to sleep, get up again. Not much margin for stopping to smell the roses in the middle of all those gets. Today’s poem reflects on a time last summer when I actually got off the treadmill for a few hours and simply lived. As I think back on the most meaningful moments of my busy life, the vast majority of them came as the result of my being someplace quiet and beautiful with people I cared about and stopping to take it all in. Ants and bees are perfectly capable of working all day and getting a lot done. As human beings, however, we have the privilege of being able to stop, hold someone’s hand, watch the sunset and contentedly utter things like, "Thank you, God, for this amazing day and the opportunity of just being here to enjoy it." That is living, and living abundantly. Don’t let life get so busy that you forget to live ... and there’s still plenty of time to begin today.

Smooth Sailing
Sometimes I’m just too busy
To enjoy the quiet things
To savor days of slower pace
Or know the peace it brings
Yet, tonight I went out sailing
By myself, without much breeze
I wasn’t getting much of anywhere
But merely basking in the ease
I relaxed, watched the sunset
From the start until the end
Observed the evening falling
And called the quiet friend
Oh, I could fire up the engine
And rush most anywhere
But I had no obligations
And chose to drift without a care
Just a quiet evening
Gentle breeze, a glassy sea
And one contented sailor thinking
There’s nowhere he’d rather be
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Hour Glass

Today’s thought is about time. I never seem to have enough of it, do you? The real issue, however, is not the quantity of time, but our use of it. The simple fact remains that Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison and Abraham Lincoln all had the same amount of time each day as you and I. Perhaps they just used it better. To that end, allow me to introduce you to two of the lessor Greek gods who helped to shape our historical concepts of time. First there is Khronos, the Greek god of time. From a variation on his name, Chronos, we get the root word for our modern measurement of time, as in chronometer. The concept of Khronos is also where we get the original notion of old father time. The time represented here is chronological and linear time, which marches forward in measurable increments. However, the Greeks had another notion of time as well. It was represented by the god Kairos, who was the youngest immortal child of Zeus. Kairos represented the time of god-given opportunity. He was a smallish being and had no hair on head except for a pony tail in the front. The concept was that as he ran past you could only catch him by grabbing the hair on the front of his head. Once he got by you there was nothing to grab hold of. Opportunity, therefore, had to be recognized and grabbed as it approached or it would be lost forever. Where are we going with this? The point is that there are two kinds of time. We all have the same amount of chronos, or measured time. What allows people to accomplish great and meaningful things, however, is how they respond to kairos, or opportunity time. I believe with all my heart that life, I will go so far as to say God, places endless opportunities before us, but we must choose to grab hold of them before they slip away forever. Now opportunity can mean financial, but there are a hundred opportunities a day simply to become a better human being and make the world a better place as well. May we all become more adept in recognizing opportunity when it comes knocking ... and perhaps a little more courageous.

The Hour Glass
In a never ending process
Like the tides rush from a bay
The sand pours through the hour glass
And the seconds tick away
From sunrise on to sunset
And then sunset once again
The days march by relentlessly
With no regard for men
Season after season comes
And goes without a trace
The measure of the passing years
Like wrinkles on a face
And still the sands of time fall down
Within the hour glass
Each represents a moment lost
We dare not let them pass
By Frank Carpenter ©

Personal Property

During the last few days I’ve had a hankering to write some more about stuff. Oh, you know what I’m talking about, all the extra stuff in our homes and our garages that we can’t seem to get rid of. As I may have previously mentioned, we’ve gotten both the kids shipped off to college during the past week. In the course of that process, they emptied their rooms of all that they thought they’ll be needing for the next six months. Their hampers are empty, their cars are out of the way, I’ve returned the borrowed chairs from the graduation party last June and given away the extra washer and drier we were storing. Amazingly, I still can’t seem to get a second car (mine) into the garage. Too much stuff. Does your life feel like that as well sometimes? Most of us are at least mildly obsessed with stuff. We want it. We enjoy it for a while. We abandon it. We store it. Eventually, we give it away ... eventually. The world has entirely too much stuff, but we just seem to keep collecting. Then we have to manage and store it all forever. My goal the past few years has been to end up with less each year instead of more. I’ve been only mildly successful, but being an eternal optimist I have high hopes for the future of those efforts. We all have so much more than we need, or need so much less than we have. You can look at it either way, but the results are always the same. I have even joked with my family in recent years that sometime I’m just going to set one corner of the house on fire so everyone will grab what they really care about and we can just start over with the important stuff we saved. No one ever thought that was funny. Regardless, the fact is that all we really need is the people in our lives. Maybe if we weren’t so busy procuring, maintaining and storing all of our stuff we’d have more time for those important people. What I do know is that we hardly ever see a U-Haul trailer being towed behind a hearse. That gives a pretty good indication of the lasting and eternal value of my possessions. Maybe I don’t need quite so much after all. Do you?

Personal Property
An attic full of memories
A garage of souvenirs
It's funny all that we collect
As we stroll through the years
A closet full of "too small" clothes
And drawers packed to the brim
With worn out socks and tee shirts
That were bought upon a whim
Kitchen cupboards over flow
With gadgets by the score
That chop and mix and blend and roast
Alas, they're used no more
Fitted sheets and blankets
From the bed we gave away
Bowling balls and baseball bats
From kids who used to play
Spare tires from a car we sold
Paint cans, old and rusty
A steering wheel from someone's boat
The Christmas wreath, now dusty
Our home is a warehouse, now quite overfilled
With the junk which was once our desire
These years of collecting have taken their toll
We can only hope for a fire
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Music

Have you ever paused to notice how differently people approach life? Faced with identical situations, certain folks always seem to have widely varied expectations and experience. It’s one of those "glass is half empty" things. Some people open their eyes each morning with the thought, "oh boy, another day," while others wake to the same day mumbling, "oh no, here comes another day." Same day, just different hearts. My metaphor for this concept is music, perhaps as a variation on the "different drummer" principle. Life has a beauty and cadence, a music if you will, which certain folks relish and respond favorably too. It’s not so much something that we hear as feel. They expect life to be better and even faced with the same obstacles as others, their optimism spills over into successful living. I do not in any way mean to imply financial success as we shall save that for other discussions. By successful living, I refer to happiness and purpose. Truly, I concede that the twain must not necessarily meet. Some lucky people make a huge success of their lives without ever having grasped the proverbial financial brass ring. In fact, I daresay that we may over emphasize that aspect of life entirely. It certainly doesn’t seem to help the divorce rate, perhaps even having the converse effect. It doesn’t prevent our children from going south and ruining their lives. It fails to make us live significantly longer. Finally, it might even be a hindrance to spiritual salvation and enlightenment. Once I heard someone referred to as being, "a failure at everything but living." That took a while to digest, but I came to think of it as the most exquisite of compliments. No doubt, there are those who seem to be dealt cruel hands by fate. Is that fair? Clearly not, but life just isn’t fair. You play the cards you are dealt as best you can. The point here is that some folks just fold instead of playing. They sit instead of dancing. They remain mute instead of singing. They are so overwhelmed by their lot that they don’t even try at all. Life, real life, isn’t about our circumstances, but what we choose to do with them. It takes no more effort to make lemonade out of lemons than it does to make orange juice out of oranges. We take what we have and we do what we can with it. The key is perspective and the choice belongs to each of us. The music of life is playing all around us, is happening all around us. We have but to listen. However, some hear the music ... and some do not.

The Music
I've often heard it takes all kinds
And none can doubt there are a lot
But as one goes through life one finds
Some hear the music and some do not
Some tap their feet to the beat of life
While others plod in misery
Some seek out joy and others strife
Some tragedy, some symphony
As deafness, like a plague, corrupts
And spreads from lonely heart to heart
A boil which festers and erupts
As it tears the threads of life apart
But the music plays for him who will
Incline his ear and bare his soul
And tarry there to drink his fill
Of what life offers 'till he's full
The choice is ours to trudge or dance
In cadence to the song we choose
On purpose or by circumstance
We can hear the jazz or sing the blues
Let not the deafness smother you
Lest you grow weary and distraught
Choose to let the music through
Some hear the music and some do not
By Frank Carpenter ©

Grandpa's Hands

Today, I thought I’d climb down off of my soap box and give it a rest for a change. The following poem is not so much about my own grandfather, but my father’s description of his grandfather and others like him. I also drew in material from men I used to work with on our cattle ranch in Oklahoma. What you see, then, is a historical snapshot of our rural elders from the previous generation, the cornerstones of each family who saw the turn of the century and lived through the great depression. Many of us have our roots in just such men as these. I have had occasion to recite this poem in public and almost every time several people seek me out afterwards to inform me, "that was my dad," or "that was my grandpa, " or "that was uncle Bill." Happens every time, and they were all correct. As our grandparents pass away and we slowly lose those of the greatest generation, who experienced World War II, the memory of our heritage has been eroding. Whole new generations are emerging whose entire experience is suburban living, freeways and computers. As we lose touch with our past, with our pioneer spirit, we have lost track of many traditional values and what the American dream use to mean to a relatively poor agrarian society. So this one’s for the memory of all those who came before, who shaped this country and our families. They played a part in making us who we are ... we must never forget them.

Grandpa’s Hands
Some of my childhood memories linger
Through the passing of the years
Much of them are lost now
But some moments stand out clear
I remember the old swimming hole
At the bend in Bidding Creek
The swing up in the hay loft
A thousand games of hide and seek
I remember bottle-feeding baby calves
The ancient walnut stand
I remember my first pony
And I remember grandpa's hands
They were big and rough and strong
Even after he grew frail
They told the story of his life
With a line for every tale
When he talked about the "old days"
We would sit and hold those hands
And they told us everything was true
Somehow, it helped us understand
Grandpa's life had been a hard one
Filled with potholes all the way
He had never had it easy
From his first to dying day
From the farm in Minnesota
Where he worked his father's land
To the little place where Grandma died
He had toiled with those hands
And the plow, the reins, the sickle
And the hammer, hay and knife
Had each left it's imprint on his hands
Through the course of his hard life
When you held them, you could feel it
Every bump the wagon made
Every bale of hay he hand-tied
Every time he swung the blade
You could feel those frosty mornings
'Neath the Minnesota sky
The prairie fire in Kansas
The drought in late July
The axe he swung to split the rails
To build his daddy's fence
And the bottom of his pocket
When he groped for thirty cents
Those hands brought back a hundred memories
Filled with happiness and pain
Which spanned a lifetime and an era
Then they brought me back again
To the man who held me closely
On his death bed as we cried
I sat for hours and held his hand
Long after he had died
And I missed him, but I knew
That he had lived both well and long
And if he had taught me anything
It was, "be strong, and carry on."
Now, years later, I've my own family
And my own hopes, and dreams, and plans
But I'll always have the memory
Of my grandpa, and those hands
By Frank Carpenter ©

One Man's Trash

There is an old saying that, "One man’s trash is another’s treasure." How very true that is. It all depends, I suppose, on the value system of each individual. As each person, or class of people, grows in affluence their values evolve through different levels of comfort and security. As a society, I fear that we may have gone too far in that direction. We demand too much and certainly wouldn’t dream of putting up with less. Surprisingly, however, we’re always quite satisfied for others to accept a supposedly lower standard. In fact, we’re often willing to compromise the standards of others in order to maintain our own. In short, we become snobs ... sometimes even bigoted snobs. The great lesson in this area is to be learned from children. They assign value and beauty to things without the corruption of our cynicism. Unjaded by their tender years, they see only the good in many things. Call it immaturity. I call it a gift. Much like I think God would be, they are oblivious to price tags and other such emotional encumbrances. They see only the obvious intrinsic value, perhaps even magnified by their own youthful imaginations. Well, call me crazy, but maybe the whole world looks a lot better from that perspective. Sometimes, it might do us some good to approach life from such a standpoint. Perhaps there’s way more treasure that we’re missing out on just because it looks like trash to us. The greatest wisdom, at times, can be discovered withing the simplest of hearts.

One Man's Trash
One man's trash is another man's treasure
What one discards brings another pleasure
A broken bottle washed in the sand
Becomes a jewel in a child's hand
What looks like drift wood to you or I
Might be a toy boat in someone's eye
A dandelion is the gardener's weed
But a prize to the young at heart indeed
For beauty and magic and simple delight
Depend on perspective, more vision than sight
So don't be too busy or haughty or wise
To look at the world through another's eyes
For to see the wonder in simple things
Is a priceless gift, like the joy it brings
By Frank Carpenter ©

Unfinished Business

I am the undisputed prince of procrastination. So if you are anything like me, you’ve been putting some important things off in life. And that life offers little in the way of long term guarantees . So ... got your house completely in order? Do you have a will, life insurance, burial plans, contingent plans for your house and business? Those are the big things everyone thinks about and perhaps they would be an indicator of our level of preparation and forethought. Financial plans are important and we should certainly have them straightened out in advance so as not to be a burden upon others. That kind of planning is also an indication that we care enough about those close to us to take a proactive approach to insuring their well being. However, there are many people who have taken care of most of the above items, and then some, but still overlooked important aspects of their lives and relationships. There is an older Garth Brooks song I like which contains the lyrics, "if tomorrow never comes, would she know how much I love her. Did I try in every day to show her every day that she’s my only one." If we are willing to take care of things financially, how much more should we desire to leave our emotional houses in order. Yet, how many people do you know who haven’t spoken to a child, parent, friend or other loved one in years? How many folks do you know you have blown their families apart for selfish reasons? Parents who have somehow failed to convey their love and approval? Children who have done the same? How many people do you know who may have sound financial investments, but have failed utterly when it came to investing in their personal relationships? The list goes on and on. How would you leave things if you slipped in the bathtub tomorrow, if you choked on a chicken bone, if a drunk driver ran you down, or a doctor rocked your world with dreadful news? We all have varying degrees and amounts of unfinished business in this life. Can we really afford to put those things off until sometime in the distant, but as yet unsure, future? This may be the time to finally put your house in order. When we do so we must always remember that the most important contents of our proverbial houses are the people who live inside them. If your tomorrow never comes, make sure that they do know how much you love them ... and rest assured they may appreciate your money, but what they really want is your heart. That is our true legacy.

Unfinished Business
What if the future, which seemed so bright
Was suddenly stripped away
By a doctor, whose prognosis shrank my life
To a week or a matter of days
What if the clock was ticking right now
And each second, more precious than gold
Was slipping away with my hopes and dreams
And I knew I would never grow old
Once the shock and the disbelief settled a bit
Being faced with such certain demise
I would scrutinize each of the hours remaining
And be forced to prioritize
Suddenly, things which had mattered so much
Would wither and fade from my view
As the people and things I had planned to put off
Climbed the list of what I ought to do
Contracts and calendars would simply be chaff
Discarded and thrown to the wind
While the value of handshakes and hugs emerged
As more meaningful acts to deal in
Family and friends, so often ignored
In the course of my other pursuits
Would receive the attention they always deserved
As I was grasping, too late, at my roots
Yes, life would be different and so would I
In the light of eternity
My last days would not be like previous ones
Once the news had been broken to me
But if I know now what matters the most
And I admit my short comings, why wait
Why not just change while my whole life can count
Instead of patching up things far too late
Because building a life, and relationships
Is like planning for retirement
In the end, value comes from what was invested
And we regret what was squandered and spent
We work so hard to accumulate
What one day we'll be forced to discard
But the man who has given himself through the years
May not find his last days quite so hard
As the old saying goes, you can't take it with you
Yet I think, in a way, that we can
If we choose to invest in the people we love
Sacrificing for our fellow man
For there are treasures which cannot be bought
Which will last far beyond this short life
They exist in the legacy we choose to leave
For our children and husbands and wives
So if there are things you've been putting off
Don't wait 'till your life is through
Make your time count so that when it is gone
You won't regret what you didn't do
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Crowd

My apologies to devoted readers for the scarcity of postings so far this week . I’m traveling and it’s been difficult to get onto a computer, let alone find some way to connect to the internet. As I’ve been out and about of late I have been amazed, as always, at all the people in the world. I get to wondering who they all are, where they live and what they all do for work. When we’re out and about, it can become so easy to just ignore the throng of humanity which surrounds us. Countless fellow humans stream past us each day and we have a tendency to desensitize ourselves to the of each individual lives which make up the mass of beings racing though our visual field and sphere of influence each day. Yet, they are individuals, each with a life, a family, a soul, certain needs and a unique story to tell. We received a "perspective update" yesterday morning when someone else stepped out of that crowd and showed some special kindness to my dear wife at a critical moment. It was merely some helpful, timesaving advice, but the woman indicated that she had seen us at breakfast that morning and remembered us. That caused her to seek us out and help us later on. We had no memory of her, she had been just another nameless face in the crowd. Yet, she had seen us and remembered us individually ... then taken the trouble to help us later. How many strangers in that same crowd may have benefitted from my noticing them and offering a helping hand? I was reminded, once again, that when Jesus commanded us to "love your neighbor" the meaning was intended to reach far beyond the familiar people who live on my street. No, our neighbors include anyone who comes within reach, stranger or otherwise. Yesterday, someone stepped out of the crowd and, by their unsolicited friendship, showed us what it was to love their neighbor. That’s all it took. Suddenly, the blur of people surrounding us focused and I saw, for the first time in a while, the faces of all the thousands of neighbors God sent my way to love. It’s a nice feeling, and I can’t wait to return the favor.

The Crowd
Lord, may I learn to love the crowd
And not merely wander though it
To show some kindness to a stranger
Who would never guess I'd do it
To have compassion on the folks I meet
Whoever they may be
Regardless of what benefit
That act might have for me
Lord, give me love for people
Of every shape and size and creed
May I be a friend, not just to friends
But all who are in need
Break down the walls of selfishness
And fear that I have made
And build anew upon the cornerstone
Of love which You have laid
So that when I step out on the street
I step out none too proud
But, rather, with an open heart
Prepared to love the crowd
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Stuff of Dreams

Some people just have the gift. Most of us look at life, at the world around us, and all we see is what’s actually there. A tree, a rock, a house, the sky. Ah, but there are others who can see beyond what is. For theirs is the gift of vision, of imagination, of hope, of dreams. No, they aren’t fortune tellers, they are merely willing to look beyond tangible reality into the realm of what could be, of what has yet to be invented and created. They look at a seed and see an enormous tree. They look at barren ground and see a grand structure. They look at life and they see life improved upon. When regular folks like you and I try to envision the same things we get all bogged down in the details. We can’t see past the cost and the time, the weather and whatever else could get in the way. For us, the dream most often dies before it even begins because it becomes entangled in the thorns of our worry and disbelief. Yet, for those who know how to dream the world is their oyster, and life is an adventure. But there is hope for us yet, friends. We, who were not born with the dream gene, being of the more cynical persuasion, can still learn from those whose feet tread in both worlds. Those folks can provide a lot of encouragement if we watch them closely and listen to their words. We just need to take our dreams out of that old box in the attic, dust them off and try them back on. Some will be beyond repair, but other may viable. New dreams can be a good thing as well. Sometimes our life experience has shown us new directions for our hearts to go. We may even have to begin with small dreams, confidence builders that are easily attained, and limber up by imagining and pursuing them. But it can be done. Now gaze off into the haze of the future. Brush back the overhanging limbs of distraction, maybe squint just a little and perhaps our dreams may come back into focus. Oh, they’re out there, just waiting for us. So take a chance. Lean back in your chair, think about what matters most to you and dream just a little. That’s how it begins.

The Stuff of Dreams
A most unusual stuff
This stuff of dreams
Intangible, yet so real
Which, though unseen
Can loom so large
Not something you touch, but feel
Sometimes so elusive
It seems to drift
Like a mist or a cloud without form
Yet sometimes so powerful
As to rush through
Our lives like a thundering storm
Some would say the oasis
Is just a mirage
They see nothing more than sand
And doubtless they
Shall find just that
The unbelieving, who don't understand
Yet, for those who are willing
To look beyond
With the will and the vision to see
To them is revealed
The stuff of dreams
Not what is, ah ... but what could be
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Spirit of the West

Now a little known fact, and perhaps well kept secret, is that I also write and perform traditional cowboy poetry. I have even been known, on occasion, to frequent various "cowboy poetry gatherings" held in out of the way parts of the western states. This seems relevant today because I am currently visiting a friend’s ranch in northern California, en route to our aforementioned destination. This visit takes me back to some of my own roots, having once lived and worked on a cattle ranch in northeastern Oklahoma. That experience is the basis for my having material to write about ranching and our western heritage. Now, there is something different about rural people who live and work mostly out of doors. The have an unusual, symbiotic if you will, relationship with the land and the creatures which dwell thereon. Hollywood has most likely done them a disservice with its dramatization of the traditional west, but there is currently a renascence of western (American west) culture underway which has made important steps in preserving that part of our heritage. To that end, then, today I offer the following poem which seeks to explain that untamed part of the American spirit which is wrapped up in, and personified by, the working people of the American west. It was originally performed untitled, but I eventually realized that it could only be called, "The Spirit of the West." See ya on down the trail, saddle pals.

The Spirit of the West
There is something very special
Something you can only feel
But for those of us who've found it
It is something very real
It's a certain kind of wonder
Mixed with humility, and pride
Known only by the simple few
Who live and work outside
We've tried with stories, songs and poems
To help folks understand
But it's only known by those of us
Who love and work the land
It's in the torrents of the rain
God sends to soak the earth
It's in a mother's gentle hands
And calves and colts at birth
It's in the sun's first eastern rays
And final western glow
A spark which comes from mother earth
That only cowboys know
It's in the spirit of a horse
And in the river's path
It's in the rhythm of the hooves
And in the cyclone's wrath
We see it in the smallest flower
And in the bluest sky
It's in the wind-swept cottonwoods
And faint coyote cry
God reserved a special blessing
For the women and the men
Who work outdoors on horseback
And who call the land their friend
Call it peace, or inspiration
But it's in each cowboy's brain
It's in his stubborn western heart
And coursing through his veins
Something so alive and free
That it defies a name
And though we cannot pin it down
We feel it just the same
By Frank Carpenter ©

A Father's Prayer

Well, today at long last we depart to deliver our daughter, technically our baby, to college. It’s a very interesting time, being both exciting and just a bit bittersweet. We all have such high hopes and dreams for our children, tempered with that inherent parent’s fear that things always have the potential to go south on us as well. I recently came across this ancient poem, written when my little girl actually was one, and thought this might be an appropriate occasion to resurrect it. We have all prayed these kinds of prayers over our sleeping children and I took liberty long ago of trying to capture all those thoughts in this one simple package. We want the best, worry about the worst, wonder what we could have done better, seek wisdom for what we could yet do, and most of all we’re thankful for what we have. As a parent (or an aunt, uncle, brother, sister or grandparent) you may have prayed similar prayers over the years. Much of our hopes and prayers comes to fruition at this very moment, when we love them enough to let them go and launch them out the nest on their own untried wings. It’s a delicate, painful, exciting, heart wrenching, jubilant, frightening, triumphant, fascinating time of life. As parents, even though we secretly fear it a little, we have been working towards this moment for eighteen long years. The point of this whole parenting thing, after all, isn’t merely to raise good kids, but to raise good adults who theoretically should leave on schedule and embark upon their own adult lives. Sounds corny, but it boils down to the old "if you love something, set it free" thing. Or, as prefer to think of it, "if you love something, pay for its tuition and set it free." Either way, this is the moment we have been hoping and planning towards, and the moment we’ve been praying towards. The car is all packed, the good byes have been said, the iron is unplugged, everything has been checked off the list (we hope) and it’s show time. All righty then, just one burning question remains ... "Hey Honey, what do you want to do for the next twenty years?"

A Father's Prayer
Kneeling by my daughter's bedside
As she dreams the night away
I place my hand upon her forehead
As look at her and pray,
"Thank You, Lord, for this dear blessing
And the joy she brings to me
Give me the love and courage
To hold her close and set her free
Prepare the man she'll one day marry
Strengthen and soften up his heart
That he may care for her as I have
So that they shall never part
Lord, open up her eyes to You
Give her the wisdom, faith and trust
To accept You as her savior
And to live the life she must
May I be strong enough to lead her
And kind enough to be her friend
May I be the kind of father
That she needs me to ... Amen."
Again, I brush her hair back
As I kiss her and whisper, "Good night,
Your daddy loves you very much
Sweet dreams, sweetheart. Sleep tight."
By Frank Carpenter ©

Relativity

Call me crazy, but I like to enjoy all the obscure little holidays in my life. Today, for instance, is my 275th Monthaversery. In case you struggle in arithmetic, that’s 23.083 years of happy marriage. Like I said, obscure holidays. Life should be celebrated and all those little milestones along the way are worthy of mention. What I have learned in my modest marital experience is that remembering such little things can be a very big deal over time. In modern western society we are obsessed with staying young, with fighting off the effects of age at all cost. Sadly, the message that sends to young people is that growing old is bad. However, everyone who doesn’t die young grows old. If you look at it that way, growing old is actually a blessing. And nothing has been more rewarding than having the opportunity to grow old together with someone I care about. Now it’s a stretch, but here’s where my twist on Einstein’s theory of relativity comes in. When you grow old with someone you are aging together, the effect being that you really don’t notice the change so much. Furthermore, the sharing of that time produces a trove of shared memories to be cherished as well. You see, it’s not so bad. It can even be great. So if you’re heading over the hill, like so many of us are, count your blessings and enjoy the ride. Your hair may turn grey, the kids grow up and move out, life has it’s seasons. That’s the nature of things. Just remember that time is relative and who could ask for anything better than simply sharing that time with someone you love. I don’t know much about astrophysics, but old Einstein really hit the nail on the head in the area of romance. So if you’re married, be sure to stop and tell that special someone how much you’ve enjoyed your time together ... and how much you’re looking forward to the rest of it.

Relativity
Einstein said it long ago
For he was the first to see
And understand the way time works
With his theory of relativity
Time, at first, appears to be
A thing which rushes on
But time is relative, you see
With someone else along
Though the unforgiving sands
Of time fall through the glass
Though minutes, hours, days and weeks
And years may swiftly pass
When you share the road of life
With someone you hold dear
Who knows you and whom you have
Known Since youth, from year to year
The things which seem to pass you by
Mean nothing when compared
To who you bring along with you
For time is relative, if shared
When you grow old together
Age becomes irrelevant
And time is just the clock you use
To count the years you’ve spent
Old Einstein understood that love
And time are relative
When both are shared with someone else
It’s a joy to age ... and live
By Frank Carpenter ©

Words of Fire

Ever lose your temper? I think we’d all have to answer a resounding "yes" to that one. Here’s the thing- anger is often based upon pride and selfishness and, therefore, just as often does more harm than good. Folks are quick at this point ask the standard defensive question, "What about righteous anger?" There certainly is such a thing, along with a biblical basis for it. However, in the bible righteous anger is used sparingly and only wielded by those of the highest moral and spiritual character. The other litmus test for anger is whether someone is already prone to lose their temper. If a person rages pointlessly and selfishly one day, they can hardly switch to justifiable righteous anger the next without being questioned. Justifiable anger also controls itself, meaning that it will never cross over to being just plain mean or rude. Those are the signs of anger run amuck and never the twain should meet. The fact is that when most of us lose our temper it’s nothing more that a loss of emotional control. When that happens we are prone to say far more than we intended, and in a manor most unbecoming. Once any words are spoken they become very difficult to take back and apologizing comes far short of rectifying the damage. Better we should take a deep breath, leave the room, count to ten, write a letter, go for a drive ... anything to keep from deploying the kind of weapons which so often accompany anger. We have to live with our words forever so they should always be chosen carefully and never in haste, especially angry haste. When we begin to get steamed up, a good filter can be found in Ephesians 4:2, "Be completely humble and gentle. Be patient, bearing with one another in love." That’s an outstanding beginning. So when you feel your face begin to flush and your blood pressure rising, try not to go on the offensive ... because you will almost certainly offend. Count to ten, whisper a quiet prayer and try not to breath too much fire. Things almost always turn out better that way.

Words of Fire
Far too often tempers flare, and anger takes its toll
On those we wouldn't choose to hurt if we were in control
For so it is with anger, like a loaded gun in hand
Once shots are fired, rarely does it turn out as we planed
Any word, when spoken hastily, with malice runs astray
Regardless of the best intentions it wreaks havoc on its prey
Slicing deep into the fibers of respect and love and trust
For any sentiment conveyed in rage will be regarded as unjust
Can any words of honor be spoken from an angry tongue?
Will any words of praise be heard if they are harshly sung?
No, wisdom has a quiet voice, always tempered with respect
But anger mocks the truest words and insults the intellect
Anger strangles open minds and smothers confidence
Until victims, numbed by pointless rage, block out common sense
We abuse our friends and family and our children with our words
Hearts and minds grow calloused 'till the best emotions go unheard
But, worst of all, our loved ones learn to guard their honesty
In fear of how we might respond so they never speak freely
Don't let your temper get the best of you or let it come between
The people whom you care about, for anger only makes you mean
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Poet

My fondest hope is that, if nothing else, I have been helpful in offering some perspective on life which causes others to take a second look at why and how they live. Today’s poem I humbly offer as something of a self portrait. It reflects what I daily pray I am accomplishing in some small way. If I am hitting the nail on the head, or otherwise of course, I’d love to hear from you. All you have to do is click on the email link to the left or drop me a line at frank@4-speed.com. In the mean time, and without further adieu, I submit the following poem for your perusal. May this be a day where you pause to wonder and seek truth wherever it may be found.

The Poet
A poet's gift is vision
with his soul as well as eyes
He sheds a light upon the truth
unveiling ancient lies
He looks for beauty where another
might not find it there
Yet, unafraid is he to show
the ugly and unfair
He is the champion of justice
shedding light where there is not
Defender of the underdog
and cherished values we forgot
He gives us words when we are speechless
and when we need a battle cry
He helps us see the world we live in
the lonely woods, the open sky
He stirs the hearts of patriots
sets free the beggar and slave
He reminds us of our heritage
recounting tales of the brave
The poet kindles in us passion
when we find it running out
He unlocks forgotten inner strength
in the faithful and devout
He reads between the lines of life
and helps the world to see
Not only what we overlook
but also, what could be
A poet is the looking glass
for all of human kind
Reflecting good and bad alike
and whatever he may find
He takes the simple truths of life
repainting them with words
So that people see what matters most
and what is simply absurd
So if he makes us stop and wonder
or question what is right and true
Then he has served us well enough
For he has changed our point of view
By Frank Carpenter ©

Punctuality

Much of what you find me writing boils down to character and issues of virtue. One virtue, or at least the manifestation thereof, which seems to be overlooked far too often is punctuality. Punctuality is perhaps symptomatic of kindness, thoughtfulness, and certainly humility. Ever notice how some people are just chronically late? Oh, they always have a good excuse: forgot to set the alarm clock, the power went out, the traffic was terrible, the kids had an emergency, car trouble, hit every red light, trouble at the office, didn’t get the fax/memo/email/phone message ... the list goes on and on. Interestingly, excuses merely attempt to shift blame. However, each person is responsible for his or her own actions and schedule. Now, there clearly are real emergencies. We all know that. Nine times out of ten, though, we simply didn’t allow enough time for traffic, red lights and the other unforseen contingencies which are so much a part of our everyday lives. Most of the time we push things to the last minute in a gamble that we won’t get hung up along the way. That, however, is a gamble with the valuable time of others. If we honestly allow for those unforseen variables, then we run the risk of arriving places early. Some folks would argue that that would constitute a waste of time. On the contrary, I would argue that arriving early is merely a means of assuring we will not squander the time of others. Far better to waste my own time, which I own, than to waste time that doesn’t rightly belong to me. I often find that allowing a little margin gives me a few moments to collect my thoughts between obligations. First of all, I’m not so stressed. Then I have the leisure to review meeting materials, think about what I will say, read a bible verse I have handy in my car, let my blood pressure settle down after wrestling with traffic, read a magazine in a reception area, whatever. Those little moments of margin in life can help to balance a busy schedule. I also find that the small talk which takes place prior to many meetings and events can sometimes be extremely valuable if we are there to participate in it. But time is money, isn’t? Exactly. My time is my money. Other people’s time is their money. If I’m late, I steal their time and, therefore, their money. When you arrive early and walk in on time it tells people that you are organized and they respect you for it, and it tells them that you respect them as well. Now, I know that you’re thinking of one or two people in your life who often take too much liberty in this area. So just send this along to them and let me nag them instead of you, just for once. That’s our thought for the day. Like so many things in life, effective interaction with other human beings, whether it be for business or pleasure, is based upon good old fashioned common courtesy ... which always begins with punctuality.

Punctuality
There is a thief among us
not one who plunders gold
But a commodity more precious
which cannot be bought or sold
So irreplaceable and priceless
it can't be harvested or mined
Or drilled or dredged or prospected
nor manufactured or refined
He steals the thing we cherish most
he who perpetrates this crime
He is the person who is always late
who robs us of our time
He never gives a second thought
to making others wait
We show up at the time prescribed
but he is always late
Because he feels his time is
somehow worth a little more
He takes advantage and he
squeezes something in before
Then he justifies his tardiness
with excuses he believes
Will indemnify his actions
but it is himself whom he deceives
For every time he robs another
of a moment which was theirs
He cuts a fiber in the bond
of honor binding his affairs
Until that bond is broken
or worn thin from his abuse
And those whom he kept waiting
will wait no more for his excuse
They will choose to wait for someone else
whom they know has more respect
For the valued time of others
their schedules and intellect
Then, perhaps, he'll learn his lesson
it's simply common courtesy
To respect the time of others
and practice punctuality
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Shortness of Time

If you were referred to this site in response to an email regarding Doug Root, I encourage you to scroll down and read yesterday’s posting prior to this one-it can be found immediately below. The response to yesterday’s blog about my recently departed acquaintance was so overwhelming that I have opted to take this opportunity to expand on the theme. Doug’s passing, in his early 40's, serves as a reminder that there truly are no guarantees in this life we live. Most of us put off making our peace with God, friends, or family members. We put off financial planning, travel and service to our fellow man. We procrastinate some of the most important issues in our lives because they are cumbersome or inconvenient. Somehow, we reckon that from an actuarial standpoint that there will always "plenty of time" to get those things straightened out. For many of us that may well be the case. However, actuarial tables are based upon averages. If the average person lives until he’s 80, that means some people live to 97 and others will only make it until 30 or 40. The point is that not everyone will make it to their estimated life expectancy so the man is a fool who counts wholeheartedly upon it in his planning. Financial planning can happen over time, but spiritual planning does not offer such flexibility. We need to deal with our salvation and get our affairs in order with God in advance because the moment of our passing can rarely be known in advance. Forever is such a very long time to take any chance on wasting. Therefore, it behooves us to have a confirmed reservation in heaven not only for ourselves, but for those whom we care about as well. Sometimes we get busy or distracted and tend to forget about how fragile this gift of life really is. However, when someone we know passes away, we are forced to consider the life he or she lived, the part of life they missed out on, and where they have gone to. On those occasions, we come face to face with the potential shortness of our time here on earth and, if we are honest with ourselves, we are also reminded of the magnitude of eternity. May our lives reflect such a perspective.

The Shortness of Time
We are so easily entangled
In the daily rituals of life
Wooed into marching with the others
When we hear the drum and fife
Until our time grows so congested
With commitments we have made
That they rule our private worlds
And things eternal seem to fade
We forget about our first love
The God we say we care about
We slowly nudge Him to the background
Until He's shut completely out
Wake up! What are we doing?
These things we've let monopolize
Are merely meaningless diversions
It's time we finally realize
That only the things eternal
Matter in the larger scheme
We must not let the world seduce us
With its promises and dreams
We must shake ourselves and understand
And train ourselves to see
The shortness of the time we have
And the magnitude of eternity
By Frank Carpenter ©

My Next Breath

A couple of weeks ago, an acquaintance who was just a little younger than I died of a heart attack. His name is Doug Root. We were not close, but he and his family were very close to many of the friends in my extended sphere of contacts. The event also dredged up a chilling reminder of my own heart problems a few years ago, which set my dear wife on edge as we relived some of those old feelings of fear and helplessness. Now Doug had congenital heart issues dating back to his childhood, but he was living a full and extremely active life so it took everyone by surprise when he died suddenly. This will be a very difficult time of grieving and transition for his family, but they at least have one major point of comfort. You see, Doug was a devoted Christian. More specifically, he professed to know Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior. The bible indicates that such a person, though his body may die, shall have a far better eternal life in the hereafter. That would be heaven. Therefore, if we have made such a peace with God, in accordance with the scriptures, there really is no death ... at least from a spiritual standpoint. If this is a new concept for you, then it will certainly bring up a whole host of additional and complicated question which I cannot here address. (Though you are welcome to email them to me.) If you are already a believer, I just want to take a moment and remind you that this life is merely the tip of the iceberg of our existence and we should endeavor to live accordingly. The good news is that no matter how trying this life may be, or how tragically it may end, the best part is yet to come. So this one’s for Doug and all those who are missing him right now. He may have breathed his last of the fetid air of this world, but that next breath, the one in heaven, must surely have been a sweet one. May we all long for such a breath one day.

My Next Breath
At the end of the darkest tunnel
No matter how black it may be
No matter the pressures or pain I feel
There is someone who comforts me
He pierces the gloom of my sorrow
Understanding the fears I must face
My God is the hope of tomorrow
Where He waits in that glorious place
In the moments when I truly suffer
When I'm frightened and gasping for breath
Even then, I am strong and triumphant
For I have cheated the prince of death
No disease or disaster can rob me
Of God's promise of victory
For I have been chosen to meet Him
At His throne to spend eternity
So what matter if I draw my last breath
And this life is taken from me
My next breath will be in heaven
And oh, what a breath that will be
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Whether we like it or not, every time we speak we convey some kind of message to those around us. With our lips we build up and tear down, we bless and curse. One of most destructive things that many of us burden others with is guilt. Some people are experts at guilt and use it most cunningly. However, a great many folks do so unwittingly, or perhaps due to the fact that they learned the use of guilt in their own rearing and it comes so naturally to them. Either way, guilt is a dreadful weapon to wield upon those we care about, or anyone for that matter. It has far reaching effects, destroying dreams and self image, melting courage and love. From an emotional standpoint, guilt might even be classified as a weapon of mass destruction because it damages not only the hearer, but has the ability to spread its tendrils throughout a person’s sphere of influence, both horizontally and vertically, reaching across distance and generations. So let us, as we interact with one another, especially our families, attempt to filter our words so they will avoid the long term damage that guilt can bring. A good filter can be found in Ephesians 4:29, "Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a word as is suitable for edification, according to the need of the moment, that it might bring grace to those who hear." That’s a good start for everything we say ... and that’s all for today, dear friends.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving
There is something we can share
with those we love and care about
Which they can carry with them always
and which never will run out
It won't rust or fade or dissipate
with the swiftly flying years
In fact, no matter what we do
it rarely disappears
This gift is not a pleasant one
never sought for or desired
Yet we seem to give it anyway
just as if it were required
This thing is guilt, which we've grown
to think of as a part of living
And it never seems to go away
it's the gift that keeps on giving
We bestow it on our children
and our parents and our friends
Who require but a few choice words
for a dose that never ends
It can haunt us in our slumber
invade our marriages and homes
And pursue a person anywhere
he hides or runs or roams
Indeed, this gift we love to give
and seem to always do
Can even outlive the giver
whose handiwork is never through
It becomes a piece of baggage
we must carry all our lives
To share its lifelong benefits
with our husbands, kids and wives
So when you open up you mouth
take care to guard your words
For they cannot be taken back
once they are said and heard
Be sure the words you choose to say
are the ones which you intend
That they bring grace to those who hear
and serve their proper end
Give something better to the people
whom you love and care about
Don't give the gift that keeps on giving
It's something they can live without
By Frank Carpenter ©