Month: July 2024

It was a typical sweltering July day in Alabama. The clock had barely surpassed nine am and already you could feel the humidity pushing down on your skin like a hot blanket fresh out of the dryer. It’s the kind of weather that drives you indoors for exercise. Too hot for walking or jogging or pretty much anything.

I had driven to the gym, gotten out of the car and begun to walk through the parking lot. Let’s get this workout out of the way, I thought. This kind of weather seems to make exercise an unpleasant chore, even indoors. As I approached the double doors at the entrance to the facility, I heard a voice calling “Ken! Hey Ken!” I turned back toward the parking lot and saw a tall man with graying hair and Manchu moustache flowing into a full graying beard. He approached me and thrust his hand out in greeting, flashing a broad smile. “Do you remember me?” he inquired.

As with so many other encounters of this kind, I knew the face was familiar. I knew him from somewhere. But my mind raced for context, and came up blank. It must have shown on my face. “It’s Mike,” he revealed, clearly sensing my struggle. “Remember? We used to be in Sunday School together.” Yes, that was all it took. It came to me now. When we moved to this town back in 1989 we joined the local Baptist church and quickly got involved in Sunday School. We visited a rather large class and felt a bit estranged because we didn’t know anybody. Mike and his sweet wife were among those who befriended us and made us feel welcome.

Every time you move to a new city you start a new life in a way. And that life is not usually a positive one unless you get connected with the community, which almost always starts with making new friends. Mike was one of the first. We had a lot of great times with that group.

But a productive church membership is usually dynamic and fluid. Eventually I left that group to teach my own class. There followed a thirty-five year path spanning several different church ministries and groups, meeting new people, taking on new challenges, reworking Sunday morning schedules and tasks. Along the way I saw Mike and his wife less and less as they followed their own trail in our large congregation. Our church is of a size that couples can be mutual members forever and yet never see each other. We can debate whether that’s good or bad, but let’s leave that for another day.

At some point, I didn’t see Mike at all anymore, nor almost anybody else from that original Bible study group. Many years had passed. Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty years? I have no idea. Suffice it to say it was long enough that I could no longer place the name with the face until he helped me. Yet here we were, in the parking lot of the local civic center, trying desperately to catch up.

The timing was not great for either of us. He had spotted me as he was getting into his car, and clearly had somewhere he needed to go. I was kind of anxious to get on with my workout. But we tried to make the most of the moment we had. He told me his wife was doing great, filled me in on the career success of his son, and updated me on a couple of old acquaintances. I gave him a quick summary of my family and what I was doing to stay out of trouble in retirement. After this brief exchange, we shook hands again and wished each other well as he got into his car and I turned into the gym.

This chance meeting happened just short of two weeks ago. Yesterday I opened up a church prayer list email. I gasped as I read that Mike had taken what was described as “a freak fall” at work and was on life support at the downtown hospital. The email asked for prayer for Mike and his wife. It ended with this ominous sentence: “Mike will be taken off life support on Thursday”.

I was stunned. It was like a psychological punch in the gut. How could I have known that my brief conversation with him a few days ago would be the last time we would meet on this earth? If I had known, how might it have changed my priorities? It’s a hard way to be reminded of the fragility of our existence, of how grateful we need to be for each morning we open our eyes to greet a new day.

My friend’s name is not really Mike. I wanted to protect the privacy of his family. But God knows about him, and now you do too. Hopefully we can all learn something instructive from this story.

Mike would have liked that.

I admit it.  When it comes to my age, I am in complete denial.  My birth certificate states that I was born in 1951.  That would make me 73.  That has to be a mistake.  There’s no way I can be that old. 

In my head I see myself as a much younger man.  After all, I listen to music by folks like Lady Gaga, Ed Sheeran and Adele.  I dress up by wearing a sport coat over a tee-shirt.  I use acronyms in my text messages.  I know what a meme is.  I actually understand all the rules of soccer.  I hang out with minimalists.  I’m considering buying a pair of jeans that have rips in the knees.  I can name at least three of the Backstreet Boys.  Yep, I picture myself as a pretty hip guy. 

Yet, every once in a while, I see something that shocks me out of my delusion, and forces me to acknowledge how much time has passed.  The latest reality check came the other day as I was scrolling through my local newspaper Facebook page.  I came to the article about the teachers who were honored upon their retirement from our school system.  There were nineteen employees in all.  I began scanning through the names, some of which I knew, and some not.  Eventually I came upon a name that stunned me.  Just stunned me. 

The name was Gina Gamble.  Wow.  No way, I thought.  Is that possible?  My mind immediately flashed back to a hot and humid August morning in 1990.  My son Brett was so excited to start the first grade.  He is our oldest child and we were equally excited for him.  It was Meet The Teacher Day.  We brought him to the elementary School.  There was only one then.   Hard to believe, considering there are now three, with plans to build a fourth.   

The old grade school was at the top of a hill.  I think the city fire department uses the building now.  We anxiously found Brett’s classroom and walked inside.  We were greeted by this pretty, youthful, blonde-haired lady with a warm smile.  She introduced herself as Gina Whitson.  Miss Whitson seemed excited, but a little nervous and apprehensive.   Upon talking to her, we learned why.  Turns out this was Gina’s first year as a teacher.  This was to be her first class.   She was going to be in charge of twenty rambunctious six-year-olds, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. 

She needn’t have worried.  Brett and all of his classmates had a terrific year in the first grade.  Gina did a great job, and our son loved having her as his first “big school” teacher.   

How can it be that was 34 years ago?  Brett (who is now 40) would go on to work his way through twelve years in the school system, while Gina would go on to become one of its best teachers.   Along the way she got married, raised three beautiful daughters, and put in 34 hard years at three different schools..   

Now she is retiring.  Where did the time go?  She says she still loves to teach, but she just recently was blessed with the birth of her first grandchild, and she wants to spend more time with family.  I saw her picture in the internet article, standing with the other retirees, holding the certificates they received from the Board of Education.  She looked exactly the same as she did the day we met her in that classroom.   

Gina, if you read this, I just want to express our appreciation for everything that you, and all the other retirees, have done for the kids of our town.  Teachers are one of our most precious resources, and we are blessed to have some of the best.  It’s one of the main reasons why everybody wants to move here.  It’s one of the main reasons we have to keep building more schools.   

I hope you have a wonderful retirement.  Oh, and one more thing.  I hope you will forgive me if I just can’t get used to calling you Gamble.  To me, you will always be Miss Whitson.  I guess remembering you that way helps me to keep feeling young. 

These days, I need all the help I can get. 

I’ve been keeping my daughter’s dog while she and her family are off on vacation.  He is a cute little Boston terrier with that classic black and white color pattern.  Black ears and eyes, with the white stripe running down the center of his forehead through his snout, black body with white paws.    

And he is old.  Really old.  Age has taken its toll on this loyal family member.  He can’t see out of one eye, can barely hear, and has trouble walking due to arthritis.  He struggles to chew his food because his teeth are wearing out.  Worst of all, he snores.  I mean, really snores, like a drunken sailor on a park bench.  All night, and most of the day, he rattles the window shutters and vibrates the dishes with his buzzsaw breathing.  I lie in bed listening to the roar, and wonder how such a little animal can emit such a thunderous noise. 

When I’ve had enough,  I get up and approach him, thinking maybe I can jostle him, wake him up, or turn him over in such a way so as to stop the snoring.  Do they make a CPAP for dogs?  But just as I get ready to give him a gentle poke, I can’t help but notice he looks so peaceful and content when he is zonked out.  It’s probably the only time, I think, when he is not aching and feeling the afflictions of his many years.  I can’t bring myself to disturb him. 

Maybe, deep down inside, I feel as though one day that will be me, elderly and infirmed, longing just to sleep for relief from pain and the erosion of my body.  Psalm 71:9 says “Do not cast me off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is spent.”   

We really need to love and respect the oldest among us.  They have run a long and hard race, and are just trying to cross the finish line the best they can.  It’s easy to become impatient and frustrated with them, but we’re all headed there, and we’re going to need all the grace we can get. 

So I’ve decided to just put up with the dog’s snoring.  Besides, my daughter will be back in  a few days to take him back in.  One day, she may have to do the same for me.