Category Archives: inspiration

A Graceful Dance

It was a Daddy Daughter Dance.  Unfortunately for my son, he had to work out of town.  Fortunately for me, I was the second-string back up for Grace, who is 6 years old, and in first grade.

The school dance was for elementary girls, grades one through six, at our local university Grand Ballroom. My only concern was that it was from 6 to 9 PM.  Having two left feet and the coordination of a one-legged giraffe, how in the world could I fake dancing that long?!  In the end, it didn’t matter.

What did matter was that my granddaughter had a good time. She was dressed in a light blue dress covered with tulle. (For the ladies, aren’t you impressed I know what “tulle” is, and for us guys, it’s said “tool”, but not spelled that way, so it’s not a skirt covered in crescent wrenches like I thought.)

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Jill’s Diner

As I write this, we’re on the plane home from a week of adventures. 

It was late this past Sunday morning, traveling, Columbus, Indiana.  

Janet and I were on our way to the Creation Science Museum in Kentucky, and then the Ark Encounter forty-five miles past that. 

It was brunch time and we drove through downtown Columbus. We decided to grab something fast before heading on to Kentucky.  

We like the “local flavor” of places, especially in rural areas, so when we spotted a hole in the wall diner near the town square, it seemed perfect.

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May 20, 1985

I found an old journal I wrote in college, one I haven’t read in years. Page by page, I re-introduced me to myself from things penciled years ago.

Below is a story that flooded back to memory. It was in a college town two days after graduation, 36 years ago today. I was staying the summer to work two jobs in town while almost every other college student moved back home.

Here’s my journal entry from Monday, May 20, 1985:

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Dear Addie K,

Dear Addie K,

You burst into life a year and half ago!  At first, we loved you solely on whose you were, but now we love you because of who you are.  Your first 1 1/2 years of life have gone by way too fast!

Life is like that. Before you know it, you’ll be looking back and remembering in sepia toned colors.

Seek wisdom, Addie.  When you look back, you’ll smile at the vibrant, bright memories that wisdom can bring!

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A New Life Chapter

His solid white beard was perfectly trimmed.  Occasionally, when he was trying to describe something, he’d take off his company cap and run his fingers through his full, thick head of equally white hair.  It was a stark contrast to his deep black, wire-rim glasses.

Today’s his last day on the job.  He’s been preparing a long time for retirement, and now, it’s here. 

As we all went through the day, I’d stop by and say things to acknowledge him.

“You know, this is the last 9:15 AM at work in your career”.

He stayed busy, in thanks partly to a number of phone calls from folks he’d worked with.  He said, “I’ve just been really surprised by how many nice things folks have said to me.”

I nodded my head.

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The Mind Churn

My mind turns, twists, moves and churns. Earthquakes of urgent thoughts turn into raging thought tsunamis.

It’s not what isn ‘t. It’s what is.  

What’s isn’t, isn’t talked about.  What is, is.

Raging waters flow uphill, gather speed, then dribble down the mind’s mountainside spilling into the deepest depths, depths that do not surrender the issues of thought, whether forgotten or taught, surrendered or caught, given or bought.  

Words sound large, but quiet speaks loud. Its silence heals.  The healing rest, the energizing of silence slips away in our loud, boisterous, information-based system of living.  Yet the need to be still and hear the leaves rustle remains, even when it’s pushed aside.  

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An Inconspicuous Smile

A group of parents and kids were sitting around five or six tables strung together at a seafood restaurant.  They’d been at a sports tournament and the kids had on various versions of their team paraphernalia.

Most of the adults sat at one end of the long chain of tables. The kids instantly gravitated to the other, with the boys in the middle and girls on end.

As is usually the case, the girls were quietly enjoying themselves, but the boys, they were loud, excited and boisterous.

Whether by conscious decision or not, a mother was sitting in the middle between the adults and kids.  She was actively involved in the conversations on the adult side, but at the same time, completely aware of the actions and antics of the eleven to twelve year old boys at the table with her. Continue reading An Inconspicuous Smile

The Best Love Letter Ever!

Seriously, it was the best love letter!

I was in high school.  The summer before my sophomore year, I lived with and worked for my uncle in another town about an hour away. Through their church, I met two sisters, one also about to be a sophomore and one a junior. 

I was pretty naïve then, like Forest Gump at a dogfight naïve.

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Why Do I Write?

Why do I write?

The question was asked in a conversation going on in my head.  I had to stop and think past the pat answer, like enjoyment, or just being able to creatively express myself. 

My head conversation continued:

But really, why do I write, Jeff?

Honestly, I don’t know.  Me, myself and I have often discussed this.

That’s not an answer, Jeff.  There has to be something, something inside or out, that brings you back again, and again, to fill an empty page with words.

Right now, I really don’t know.  Sometimes writing seems like a preordained calling from high above, one that cannot be disobeyed. 

Other times, it’s a good feeling to write, but that’s a feeling. Feelings can be so feeble, so fleeting, and they can move depending on the wind’s direction. 

Then that’s not all of what I believe writing is then, is it Jeff?

No, me, but part of it’s fun.  It’s building a simple shanty, a family home, or even a gorgeous mansion, word by word.  Ideas are the architect.  Punctuation marks are the nails. Grammar insulates the walls, and thoughts brick the exterior with meaning, both obvious and hidden.  

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Cross Talk

From the time I was a seedling, I wanted to be something worthwhile. Every day I stretched higher, farther, reaching for the sun to bathe my leaves in life giving photosynthesis.

My life in the forest ended when soldiers wearing helmets, red cloaks and armor cut me down. 

I hoped the soldiers would form me into an honorable, useful item, like a fine chair, magnificent bed, or maybe a grand formal dining table. I would’ve even been satisfied to be a powerful support post in a house or mansion holding it all up.

Instead, their axes hacked me into a long, rough beam. Still, I hoped. 

They loaded me in a wagon and hauled me to a city. There they cut off a smaller beam from my top, notched a side to fit over the beam, and secured my pieces with long spikes and rope.

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