On Saying Goodbye

 

goodbye: interjection. A concluding remark or gesture at parting.

 The sadness wasn’t overwhelming. It wasn’t the kind that buckles a person at the knees. I wasn’t even brought to tears. Instead, I noticed it hanging around the periphery of my being. It was kind of like when you notice an odd smell in the air and are unable to identify its strangeness or where it is coming from.

 It first came upon me last night while lying in bed, awaiting sleep. Why am I feeling sad? I feel like I’m saying goodbye. The thoughts, coupled with the sadness, nagged at me. Goodbye to whom? To what?

The sensation was foreign as there was nothing extraordinary or outlandish taking place in my very ordinary life. That is, unless I consider the fact I retired a little over six months ago, and I’m still in the throes of adjusting. It has been a drastic change—I am no longer at the beck and call of a clientele to tend their gardens or clean their homes.

I logged twenty years in my self-employed gardening business. My personal vehicle was also my company vehicle. I owned two Ford Ranger pickups during that time. I called the first one, a snazzy red,  “My Workhorse.” It gave out at 250,000 miles and was replaced by another, the pretty blue one currently in my possession.

I spent hours in my truck driving to and from job sites. The majority of the over 200,000 miles I drove were solo, with no companion. The radio was set to my favorite radio station, the seat positioned just for me. The driver’s seat was a place of meditation. I spent important time there, often while at a stop light during rush hour traffic, communing with God.

The pickup accommodated my tools, the mower, fertilizers, plants, soils, and all other sorts of things connected to a gardening business. Backing a trailer has never been my forte’. I needed a truck to maintain my work schedule.

May 31, 2022 marked the end of “The Traveling Gardener.” It passed without fanfare, balloons or celebrations. I just stopped going to work. Other people were called in to fill my place. I was raised with the belief that work has a moral value, making me a person of worth. Adjustment has not been easy.

Time—and timing—are gifts. Summer arrived and with it the opportunity to work in my own garden. For all those years, the landscape on the corner of Echo Hollow Road and Wilhi Street was the picture of “The cobbler’s children have no shoes.” After a long day of gardening for others, I was too tired. It shouted “Neglect!”

It took a while, but I was finally able to mentally wean off the internal schedule I had for years: Monday was always Lucille's day, Wednesday was for Barbara, and every Sunday found me at the law offices. Old habits die hard. Life began taking on a sense of freedom.

There was one glaring problem: the odometer reading of 152,000 miles on my blue 2008 Ranger. The truck felt unreliable. While working, I drove around a confined area, within range of a tow truck and my mechanic. I wasn’t comfortable driving it far from home.

I wanted a vehicle that gave me the freedom to go beyond a very small radius--and the space to accommodate more than a single passenger. Decision made. I purchased a newer SUV with a warranty. And a back seat.  

Selling my truck outright rather than trading it in was a practical decision. The car dealership offered me less than half of what they would sell it for. I wear a variety of hats, but being a used car salesman is not one of them. A friend who is a savvy car person agreed to broker a deal for me.

After living life as a gardening vehicle, the truck needed a thorough washing and cleaning--a task at the top of my “Things I Do Not Like To Do” list. Two young men washed and detailed it for me so it would be presented in its best light.

I gathered maintenance records, the title, and proof of insurance and then drove it to my friend today, never to see it or drive it again.

Coming back home with my personal Uber driver, the sadness settled upon me again. This time I understood. The truck represented a large part of my former life. The work provided a means of financial support after leaving a marriage, making it possible for me to pay my bills and be self-sufficient. It also filled my days with activity and social contact.

I left the final remnants of that phase of my life behind today. It was a “Goodbye”—not only to an old friend, my daily sidekick, but what was. What was is no more.

It is physically impossible to look forward and behind at the same time. I walked away both literally and figuratively. I’m not looking back.

What lies ahead? I have no clue, but I am moving forward. And I’ll be doing it in a spiffy-looking car that doesn’t drive like a truck.

 

".,,but one thing I have laid hold of: forgetting what lies behind

and straining forward to what lies ahead..."

Philippians 3: 13 NRSVUE

On the Lowly Traffic Light

Traffic light: Traffic lights, traffic signals, or stoplights are signaling devices positioned at road intersections, pedestrian crossings, and other locations in order to control traffic.

          The car ahead had not moved through the traffic light quickly enough to suit the driver. The light turned orange, then red, forcing him to stop rather than move on through the intersection. His impatience was apparent when an expletive escaped under his breath.  

I was in the passenger seat and smiled, thinking--Humankind really doesn’t know. You’ll move forward when you are supposed to.

One of the first lessons I learned at God’s hand was of His control of every detail of my life. He used traffic lights to teach me.

Traffic lights are one of those things we take for granted and never give much thought to until there is a malfunction, and they aren’t working. As with so many things, then we notice their value and purpose. They fall in the same category as a light switch, water faucet, or automobile brakes. They are mundane, ordinary, lowly implements that are purely mechanical.

While we think of them as modern traffic control, they came into existence long before automobiles were invented. The idea began in the 1800’s. They made their debut on December 10, 1868 when the first gas-lit traffic lights were installed in London outside the Houses of Parliament. They were implemented to control the traffic of horse carriages and to allow pedestrians to safely cross the streets.

The original ones were manually controlled by a police officer during the day using semaphore arms. (As a point of reference, the up-down barrier that drops down at a railroad crossing to block traffic is a type of semaphore arm.) At night, gas-lit red and green lights were used. The red signaled carriages to stop, and the green meant to proceed. To this day, the colors and what they stand for have not changed.

By 1914, the first electric traffic light was installed in Cleveland, Ohio. They were still manually controlled, but by 1920 they transitioned to being automatic.

In the 1960’s, computers entered the scene, and traffic lights started to become computerized. Over time, the traffic of a city could be predicted and controlled. And they are. We now live in an age where the lights operate on timers or detectors that detect vehicles stacking up at an intersection. The goal is to facilitate traffic flowing easily and smoothly, especially during rush hour for those commuting in the morning and evening.  

While their design varies from one country to another, traffic lights are used, understood, and accepted in most places in the world. We have all learned what green, yellow, and red represent.

How did God use the lowly traffic light to teach me His principle of love, care, and control? Many years ago, I pulled up to a red light and stopped. God very quietly pointed out to me He was the one who controlled my comings and goings—not any mechanical light. I waited, taking note I would move forward at the precise moment He intended.

Since then, whenever I come to a traffic light—whether it is red, green, or yellow--I acknowledge His precise Hand on the direction, speed, and tempo of my life. He knows where He wants me to be, and when He wants me to be there. My destiny is altered and changed at traffic lights—“Stop. Stay for a while longer. Now go.”

Consider this truth the next time you find yourself impatiently waiting for a red light to change because you have important things to do—and so little time in which to do it. The Great Choreographer oversees the timing of all things. Not a moment too soon. Not a moment too late.

Where Is God?

 

personal assistant: A personal assistant is someone who handles the day-to-day errands and activities of another person.

 

Typically, it occurs while I am lying in bed—when I first crawl in, and I’m trying to shut down and go to sleep; during the middle of the night when my eyes pop open, and my mind runs full-speed ahead; when I wake up in the early morning.

I am reluctant to call it worry, though the “worrywart” description given by my mother when I was a child would probably still be appropriate. There are spiritual versions—“lack of trust, having no faith, trying to be in control.” Those are applicable as well.

It really matters not what words are used. Those are the times I spend trying to figure out what is going to happen. What am I going to do tomorrow? How am I going to do it, and when? The degrees of concern vary, depending on the schedule in my very busy social life. (Sarcasm applied here.) However, I have been known to fret over things as insignificant as the eyelash on a fly.

One of “those” times was coming up. I had offered to drive a friend to a medical appointment. I’d not been to the office building before. I didn’t know the parking arrangements. I had no idea where the office was in the 6-story building located in a busy part of town. Those three unknowns were enough to set me and my imagination in motion. I always say that firsts in anything are the hardest. This was a first.

It occurred to me, in a very matter-of-fact way, that God knows and oversees my tomorrow. I don’t have to figure anything out. Sleep and rest were my friend.

There is a paradox in this. While I am the one having the experience, I can also watch and see what happens. I was going to watch and see.

My friend is quite particular about being late to anything, so we left with plenty of time to spare on appointment day. “Just in case we run into traffic problems or an accident.” We had done a trial run the day before, so the question of where we were going was taken care of.

Pulling up to the building, I moved into the correct lane that led into the parking garage. The entrance was on the ground floor level. As we crawled in, it was apparent the lot was full. Wait!! There was an opening in the second row, just a few cars over. We later discovered parking was available on every level, including the very top. We had been spared the process of circling up and circling back down, searching for a parking spot.

The next step was to find our way into the building from the parking lot. At the same time, we needed to orient ourselves so we could find the parked vehicle when we came back out. Sometimes confusion takes over in a dark parking garage, with no point of external reference. Note to self: B1. That was the level and area we parked in.

Finding the entrance turned out to be easy peezy. But where was the office located in this menagerie? Just then two nurses got off the elevator. “Could you please tell us where ****** ******* is located?”

“The third floor. Get off the elevator and you’ll see it on your right. You can’t miss it.”

Another nurse joined us as we got in the elevator, heading for the third floor. She assured us the office was easy to find and getting back to the parking lot wasn’t going to be a problem.

I have had first-time experiences where I was like an airplane, circling the elusive airport, trying to land. This was not one of those.

The elevator nurse was right. Finding the office and finding our way back to the truck was a piece of cake. I was smiling as I spotted B1 on the pillar post and my familiar blue pickup.

People of means often hire personal assistants. They are the ones who take care of the details of daily life, enabling their employer to come and go freely and smoothly. They go ahead, leading the way, making certain there are no surprises, roadblocks, or messes.

I have my own personal assistant—God. He is teaching me and reinforcing the fact I don’t have to try to figure anything out. He really does have my tomorrow—and my today—taken care of. 

"What a bunch of rubbish!" you might say. "This is petty, insignificant, and of no consequence. How does this compare to the tragedies taking place in the world right now?"

Yes, this was a "little thing." But it was a stress-free experience, one of convenience. If God cares enough to micro-manage the details of my life, I can trust Him to take care of me in the tornadoes that might await me around the corner. He is the ultimate choreographer.

 Blessed be the name of the Lord. And blessed are those who allow Him to be in charge.

 

Where is God?

If our eyes are never opened to see God in the “little things,”

we will never see Him in the “big things.”

On Looking Back

 

It is physically impossible to look forward and backward at the same time. It cannot be done. You are able to see one direction or the other, but your eyes cannot take in both at once.

It is no different with one’s inner vision, that place within your being, mind and soul. When you spend time focusing on the past, reliving it with guilt, regret, and “if only,” that is where all your thoughts are. You expend your energy there. It is where you are—in the past. The result is like an eddy or a whirlpool. Going in circles, you get sucked down and become stagnant. You are rendered powerless and immobile with no chance or hope of ever getting out and moving forward.

While letting go of one’s past is sometimes easier said than done, hanging on to it weighs a person down in the most literal sense. It becomes a heavy burden to carry, with no real payoffs--unless you are trying to qualify for martyrdom. Living in the past is the antithesis of God's plan and desire for us.

Living in the present, ever moving forward, is important in order to live a viable, productive, complete, and satisfying life. How do I know? I am the voice of experience. It was one of the first lessons taught me by my Creator.

Valuable principles like these are foundational. They are the base for other building blocks in a person’s life. In my opinion, this one is especially worthwhile.

 

“…but I focus on this one thing:

Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead.”

Philippians 3:13 NLT

On a Pair of Walking Shoes

 

empathy: n. Identification with or understanding of the thoughts, feelings, or emotional state of another person.

 

As I headed down the sidewalk for a walk in the fresh air, my shoes shouted for attention. I found them quite intriguing, with their own story to tell. 

I am trying to walk with regularity since I retired four months ago from my gardening business--even if it's only for a short distance. The brief physical activity is no replacement for the steps per day I tallied behind a mower. However, my body feels better when I’m moving in the fresh air. I feel better.

The shoes were gifted to me by my daughter before we headed for Scotland and Ireland three years ago. She knew we would be doing a lot of walking, and even though I never tried them on before purchase, they fit perfectly.

They are well-worn yet still serviceable. The soles reveal my individual gait. The tread on the outside heel of each shoe is worn down, an indication of how I roll my foot from the outer to the inner with each step. This was always a source of great consternation for my poor mother. “You're so hard on shoes! Your brothers don't need new shoes nearly as often as you do.” The message was that I needed to walk differently. I didn’t then. I still don’t.

The shoes triggered a flow of memories. I remember wearing them while standing on the banks of Loch Lomond in Scotland with my daughter and grandgirl. I wore them when I climbed the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, a vertical equivalent of eight flights of stairs. They’ve been to Edinburgh Castle and wandered through Windsor Castle in London. The shoes have covered miles and miles of pavement.

And here I am, walking on a sidewalk in Eugene, Oregon. No one would ever know where my shoes have been by looking at them. No one would know where I have been by looking at me.

There is an obvious point to be made here, the crux. Every pair of shoes tells a story. That story belongs to the one wearing them. No two stories are alike, because no two people are alike.

It’s very easy to look at another person and see only physical characteristics or personal attributes. The next time you see someone, and judgement is quick to appear, look at their shoes—not the style, color, or design. Consider their story and that of the person wearing them.

We cannot know what state another is in, be it mental, physical, spiritual, or financial. There is no way of knowing where a person has been, what they have gone through or what is happening to them in the present. Perhaps they just lost their job or received a negative report from their doctor. A child may be causing them grief, a spouse is abusing them, or they just received notice of eviction. There is no end to the calamities that befall humankind.

While we can't change the circumstances of those we encounter, this is my suggestion: A little bit of compassion, empathy, and kindness goes a long way in how we treat people. A lot goes even further.

 

“You can’t understand someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.” Unknown