That dreading-Monday feeling can sink in on Sunday even before the kick off on the afternoon NFL game. I don’t have to log in to the work email address without beginning to think of all I need to get done the next day (isn’t there something I’m forgetting?) and the anxiety will creep up, ruining a perfectly lovely Sunday.
I’ve never really articulated it to myself until my elder son, Will, started talking about how he gets a little worked up on Sundays, thinking about his job the next day (and just that he has a job in this market is much to be thankful for). Suddenly I heard myself, sounding like a typical dad, giving him advice: “There are all sorts of things you can do.”
“Like what?”
“Let me write ‘em down.”
And I did. I called it the list. It’s full of those sometimes silly, sometimes profound things I do to stop worrying and enjoy myself. “Send an email to someone you haven’t heard from in a long time…clean the top of the refrigerator…read a psalm…go outside with a book and no watch…”
At any rate, I sent the list to him. No, I’m not going to share all of it with you. It’s our list. But his reaction to it was priceless: “Dad, you know I’ve never even THOUGHT of cleaning the top of the refrigerator.”
Sometimes I wonder if God looks at us the way I look at someone doing a bad job at parallel parking. You stand there and see them driving up over the curb and yet you can’t somehow convey when they should turn the wheel to the right or the left or move backwards or forwards.
That’s what happens when I lose all perspective on my life. I can’t get a hold of that God’s-eye view that would make things clear. I was thinking of this the other day, mired in worries about all the stuff I had to get done that wasn’t getting done.
All at once I remembered an evening not so long ago when I was laboring under the same sort of loss of perspective. As I was rushing home, feeling inadequate to some task, I paused and looked in the window of my home. There on a winter’s night, I could see my family. One son was doing his homework at the kitchen table, his tongue between his teeth, another was dashing through the living room with model airplane in his hand and Carol stood at the stove stirring something good – soup? spaghetti? The kitchen windows were just starting to steam up.
“Wow, aren’t I lucky?” I thought. “Aren’t I blessed?” Pausing for just a minute, I could see how much I had to be grateful for. All that noise in my head quieted down. I’d suddenly found that God’s-eye view. Everything made sense.
This week promises to be killingly busy. May I never lose that sense of how lucky I am or how much I’ve been given. All the rest is like parallel parking. Turning my wheel to the right at just the right time.
Nothing’s more exciting than learning about a newborn. Talk about good news!
My friend Jim just had a baby boy and I’m thrilled for him. My mind immediately leaps back to when my boys were first born. I quickly forget the sleepless nights or the anxiety about how could we ever afford children. (I remember fretting about spending a mere $2.50 on a diaper pail.) Instead I want to tell Jim about the gummy smiles and the sweet scent of your kids after their bath and all those crazy things we built out of Legos.
I never look at my mostly grown sons without seeing their faces when they were babies, wrapped in their first blanket at the hospital. I can’t travel those fifteen blocks from the hospital to our home without remembering the excitement I felt at their birth.
And you know what? The excitement is still there when I hear from them by email or by phone. I can’t wait to know what is going on in their lives. I hang on their every word.
At baptisms at our church one minister used to say, “A new baby is a sign from God that he wants the world to go on.” A new baby is a reason to be filled with hope. Think what the world can become!
“Remember how bad things were last year?” I heard myself saying. I was giving a two-minute stewardship address at my church, and worried once again how we were ever going to make our budget this year. There were still too many folks in the congregation out of work and even more whose jobs seemed to be threatened. How could they dig into their pockets at such an insecure time?
Then I remembered. Things seemed even worse last year. The stock market had tumbled thousands of points, several big banks had closed and many more were teetering on the brink, everybody’s 401Ks had plummeted so much that they were calling them 201Ks. “Remember how bad that was?” I said. “Well, we got through that year.” The end of October seemed disastrous. The end of December we closed our books pretty close to our goal.
Sometimes it’s worth having a bad memory. I can forget those painful memories of adolescence when I said and did more stupid things than anyone could count. But every time I wonder how I’m going to get through something – when times seem really hard – it’s worth remembering.
I think of a really tough moment in the past and remember: “I got through that. I’ll get through this.” The help I needed was there when I needed it. It'll be there again.
No, I won’t tell you how old she is. She doesn’t want any of her tennis girls to know how old because she’s afraid they’ll hit the ball back too soft. But that she plays tennis twice a week is pretty impressive. It’s one of those things her four kids love about her. She loves a good game and she never gives up. (A little Celebrex helps the arthritis.)
We all love talking to her on the phone because she wants to know all about us, about our kids, about our friends, about the movie we just saw – should she see it? – and the book we just read – would it work for her book group?
She does a great job of taking care of Dad – he’s slowed down a lot – and although she says she prays for patience, the prayer seems to have been answered tenfold. But then she was pretty patient with us. With our cars and tree houses, with all the times we stayed out too late, with the girlfriends and boyfriends she knew were wrong but she never said a word, with the wrong turns in our career paths. (She would also tell you that she prayed to keep silent.)
She used to remind us her birthday was coming up, just in case we might forget. But these days none of us ever do. We’re all so glad to have the chance to say: “You’re a great mom. You’re a great mother-in-law to our spouses. (They could tell you how all your prayers to keep silent were answered.) You’re a great grandmother. Happy Birthday!”
It’s good to be able to say the important things at least once a year.
Sunday night Carol and I were putting the final touches on dinner – celery root soup and a beet salad – when the phone rang. Tim calling from college. “How’s it going?” I asked, conveying his answers as Carol set the table and sprinkled cheese on the salad. Midterms were coming up, music theory was really hard, Japanese history was interesting. I was about to ask him about rehearsals for “Richard II” when I heard a beep on the line.
“Just a second,” I told Tim, “there’s another call coming in…”
“Hi, Dad,” I heard William’s cheerful voice.
“Hey Will, could we call you back? Tim’s on the line.”
“I’m at Macy’s,” he said, “and I’m trying to figure out what kind of coat to buy.”
“Okay, Mom will call you back on her cell…Hey, Tim, are you still there? That was your brother. He’s shopping for coats at Macy’s. How’s the play coming along?”
For the next twenty minutes, Carol was on one line and I was on the other, getting all the news. The soup got cold, the lettuce got warm, but who cared? Shakespeare and Japanese history and the virtues of camel’s hair vs. herringbone were much more interesting.
“Love you,” I said on my line in parting. “Love you,” Carol said on hers. Then we sat down for dinner and grace. “God, be with our kids,” I prayed. Seemed like God was watching over them pretty well already.
Why are bow ties so impossible to tie? I wear one once or twice a year and each time I find myself stymied. I used to know how to do it. Back in high school I was once in a show where I had to tie a bowtie backstage between scenes in 60 seconds. No problem. I could even do it without a mirror. Not now.
The other day I was tying my bowtie at the office – or rather, trying to tie it. I stared at my reflection in the window, making the loop and then working on the rabbit ears (as we used to call them), hoping for something cheerful and spiffy.
I couldn’t do it. I found myself squirming and twisting my torso, as though that would help, tugging at the silk loop without ever pulling it through. What a failure. Don’t tell me I should just go buy one of those pre-tied ties. That would be cheating. They always look fake to me, like a tie for a Ken doll.
Finally, I asked my colleague Amy if she could help. She helps Edward with his bowties all the time. “Sure,” she said. I sat on her desk and she undid the mess that was hanging around my neck and started over. In less than a minute she had created a masterpiece. A perfect butterfly at my throat, making me a dandy for the day.
It occurred to me that maybe God made bowties – or likes to have me wear one every once in a while – so that I’ll know how to ask for help. In other words, it’s not the tie that makes the man, it’s the humility that really clothes him.
Next time you see some guy in a bowtie, a real bowtie, ask him who tied it.
I was thinking about a neighbor Carol and I have been praying for. Quite frankly I was wondering if we should tell her or not. What does it mean to know that people are praying for you? Would she understand how it was meant to help? And how would I ever explain that?
All this was going through my head while I was jogging in the neighborhood the other morning and through the park. “Hey old man,” one old friend called out as he passed me going the other way. “Nice shirt,” said a woman, teasing me about my old ratty T-shirt. “Keep it up, Mr. Hamlin,” a neighbor called from her car as she passed. With each exchange, I felt a little lighter in my step, encouraged, amused, reassured. It made the run go faster and smoother, knowing I wasn’t alone.
“Of course,” I thought to myself, “that’s what it’s like when friends pray for you or put you on a prayer list. You’re reminded that whatever you’re going through, however you’re struggling, you’re not alone.” What a wonderful thing to say to somebody: You’re in my prayers. You’re sharing their burdens. You’re reminding them that they’re a part of a larger community. You’re asking God to be with them in ways you can’t. You put yourself on a course with them, encouraging them all the way.
Tim had only been away at college for two weeks and I was already missing him. Don’t get me wrong. I was happy he was at school, glad to hear about the classes he was taking, glad to know that he was studying hard and having fun with his friends. But I’d gotten used to having him around this summer – home on weekends from his job as a camp counselor. And we’d especially had a good time at the beach when we were both on vacation. How could I tell him I was thinking of him?
Then I remembered how he would always ask me when we were home or at the beach or standing in line to see a movie or shopping at Target, “Dad, can I borrow your Chapstick?” I’d dig into my pocket and hand it over. And he’d return it. Father/son sharing.
At that thought I dashed out the door to the drugstore on the corner. I bought two Chapsticks, scribbled a quick note and sent it off to his school. At least he’d be surprised there was some mail for him.
A couple of days later I got an email back: “I just wanted to say thank you for the Chapstick, Dad. It was really very sweet. That little package brought a lot of joy to my day. Love, Tim.”
My older son, Will, never learned how to ride a bicycle as a kid. Let me tell you I was convinced that it had to be added to my long list of failings as a dad – I couldn’t teach him. I taught Tim, his younger brother, no problem. But no matter how many times Will and I went around the park, me clutching the seat of the bike, ready at any moment to let go…it just never worked.
So somewhere along the way I let go. I let go, as parents really must let go about so many accomplishments and achievements they dream for their children. Maybe in that letting go, there’s a spiritual relinquishment. Allowing God to take up parenting where you as a parent don’t feel like you’ve done your best. I only remembering trying to teach Will to ride a bike was incredibly frustrating.
And yet, and yet…one day when he was 16, out a friend’s beach house, he got on a bike, coasted down a small hill and rode it. He never really stopped after that. He rode a bike the rest of high school and he rode a bike in college. Now that he’s a newly minted college graduate, he’s taken it to even greater lengths. You might be wondering why I’m telling this story now (and one can only hope that Will, age 22, reads it with some forgiveness). It’s because of the text message we got on Saturday: “Mom, Dad, just finished 78-mile ride. It was great!” A 78-mile ride on Highway One up the California coast. From a kid whose dad could never teach him to ride.
Sure glad I had some help in parenting. You never do it on your own. Thank God.
Why are bow ties so impossible to tie? I wear one once or twice a year and each time I find myself stymied. I used to know how to do it. Back in high school I was once in a show where I had to tie a bowtie backstage between scenes in 60 seconds. No problem. I could even do it without a mirror. Not now.