Rules are Made for When Brains Run Out

April 15, 2010

“Rules are made for when brains run out”, Matt Eaton

I have a good friend and former co-worker who is a graduate of West Point. We had many discussions ranging topics from finance to philosophy, politics to polemics. We have jousted with windmills we found in the corporate world and with those we saw in the world of policymaking. One of his favorite proverbs was, “Rules are made for when brains run out.”

This is undiluted truth. I experienced it today. For some reason my briefcase which has traveled with me on countless flights has now become a shady bag. The x-ray technician at the airport determined my leather companion to be suspect and in need of further scrutiny. I was politely asked to move to a separate area where I watched Barney Fife take a cotton patch and wipe the inside of my briefcase, sort of a accessory pap smear if you will, and put the cotton patch into what I believe to be a anti-terrorist sphygnogroptamassameter. Much to my surprise, my bag, without my knowledge, has evidently been exposing itself to substances that make the sphygnogroptamassameter very excitable and prone to beeps and tones.

Where could it have gone wrong? It has been such a good bag for so many years. I rarely let it out of my sight. Could it be cavorting with shady backpacks or, dare I say it, purses without my knowledge? Substance abuse! Who would have known?

Now I am an accessory to a suspect accessory. Barney’s comrade steps me over to the TSA welcome mat where I am told to remove my belt and empty my pockets while Barney unloads my bag and inspects all the contents. He carefully examines each and every phone, headset, and computer charger, while his partner, let’s call him Andy, carefully inspects me. First the wand, then the hands—first the front, then the back. Shoeless, beltless, and bag-less I wait for Barney and Andy to determine that the contents of my briefcase are worthy to board a Southwest flight.

Then it happens. Attached to my keychain is a 2.25” swiss army knife in a small leather holster that I had forgotten to remove. This diminutive blade was almost useful for cutting up an apple, and very helpful for letter opening and emergency hangnail clipping, is in the words of Barney Fife, “something that should not be on board an aircraft.” I am given my options and bid farewell to the tiny tool and am allowed to gather my things and begin to dress myself again.

We have all seen it—dutiful civil servants patting down Nana as she enjoys some attention that she can get nowhere else; travelers frantically removing shoes, computers and arguing over 4.5 oz bottles of contact lense solution as “the man” assures them that the extra 1.5 ounces over the limit will endanger the rest of the passengers and the planet; and the incremental striptease as the metal detector requires the removal of the belt, then the pen, then the glasses, then….bada bing!

Which brings me back to Matt’s undeniable truth: “Rules are made for when brains run out”. The TSA is a master of the obvious. If a person wanted to destroy a plane in flight they would probably not use the obvious tools that have been used before. As seen on Christmas Eve, underwear could be a weapon. I am surprised that TSA does not now require us all to drop trou so that they can scan the skivvies. Granted there have been no new airline tragedies since 9/11/2001 for which we are all thankful. The TSA is eager to take credit for that. But screening the obvious is an exercise not in safety but in psychology. Anyone with a brain would be able to tell the difference between a briefcase and a bomb. That is why we have rules, x-rays, and phygnogroptamassameters so that Barney can do his job and we can all be safe. However, someone who really wants to hurt us will likely use the not so obvious device. Here is hoping that while Barney is groping Nana, the real threat is not walking through the security area with lethal socks.

Back to School

I really was being good all day. I drove 5 miles under the speed limit most of the day, if you can believe that. The limit was 75 and I drove 70.

EXCEPT, when I did not see the 45 mph sign on the construction zone and thought the limit was 55, which I did see.

According to the trooper, who was not impressed with my lack of observational skills or my heavy right foot, I am in need of further driving education, or an immediate cashectomy of $300. (A cashectomy, for those of you who don't know is when the government extracts funds from you without an anesthetic. See, income taxes, estate taxes, sales taxes, etc.) Being quick with numbers i deduce that $189.50 for school and dismissal of the fine and points is a better deal that $300. So off to school I go.

Small Miracles

On the last day of our road trip we find St. Arbucks in the Safeway at Gallup NM. Sweet!

Moments of Clarity: A Princess is Born

There are moments in my life that I can revisit at will. I can go to them in my mind and see and feel what I saw and felt then and time travel back to that experience. One such instance is when at age 9 or so I was at church in the plenary meeting before we divided into our separate classes. The room was packed. A young lady came in and was standing by the door looking for a seat. I stood to offer her my seat. She walked across the room and sat elsewhere. I was standing there—next to my empty seat—horribly embarrassed. I can go back to that moment and feel that discomfort. That day chivalry died for many years to follow. Probably the first time I really had that kind of public experience. There was another in high school when a mistake on my part cost our basketball team an important victory. I was crushed—I still remember it.

On a more positive note I remember the first time, thirty two years ago today that I set eyes on Sara Jane Wheat, now Tyler. Her face was red. Her chin quivered as she lifted her complaint about the new environment she had been thrust into, and the difficult transit she had just experienced. It was love at first sight—at least on my part.

Her mother was sure she was a boy until Sara proved her otherwise. We had a girls name picked out as a contingency but our friends named their daughter Jessica in January of 1978 so we decided that would not work. Many at the El Reno hospital commented on the beauty of our new baby. On day two, which was a Saturday, we agreed that we would call her Sara Jane. Sara (means princess) because we had a friend in Tennessee named Sara and we thought it a beautiful name; Jane in honor of my sister Nelda Jane. We found out later that Sara’s great-great-grandmother on her mom’s side was named Sara Jane, spelled the same way.

The next morning I had breakfast at the Boll Weevil Café in Fort Cobb, Oklahoma where we lived. A friend of mine asked me if I was disappointed that we did not get a son. I told her, “Not at all!” Her reply, “Just remember, a son is yours until he takes a wife, but a girl is yours for the rest of your life.”

This is a true statement. I remember clearly walking down the aisle with her in the church in Durango and blessing the union with her chosen mate. I can still feel the pain of sitting in my living room, hearing “Dad its cancer.” We cried together and prayed for healing. I remember driving to New York in January 2009 to meet a new princess, a joy in her own right. Our Gwendolyn Hope is definitely an heir to the crown.

I have moments that are frozen in time in my heart. Many of those moments are connected to my Sara. She is my favorite daughter and always will be. Happy birthday Sis.

Coffee Snobs R Us

In the past several years I have heard more than one business consultant extol the genius of Starbucks and the experience based model that they believe drives their success in business. Frankly the idea of ordering my coffee with Italian words for the sizes is a bit pretentious in my opinion. Granted, the environment is comfortable, the music is good, but the coffee—the coffee is addictive.

Day four of our road trip finds us in Missouri. An emergency BCO directive (see the blog on the receiving principle) stops us at a gas station to fill up and deal with biological urgencies. Although we have purchased gas we suffer the guilt of having facilitated the proprietor’s utilities without additional purchases. At 7:30 am there is only one purchase that makes sense and that is coffee. I step to the coffee bar and note the adjectives describing the lava hot liquids inside and choose the one that I discern to be the boldest

.

I have a friend who drinks his coffee black. His comment is “I want no chemical pollutants in my coffee.” I respect that. I have another friend that only uses light cream. In fact, we met eons ago at the coffee bar at Hope Chapel in Nashua, NH. Andy was wearing a large green army parka. He poured his coffee and reached to the inside pocket and pulled out a small container. I watched with great interest, as supplementing beverages from small containers was not a behavior with which I was unfamiliar. However, small hidden containers to supplement coffee at church—this was a new adventure. When Andy realized that he was caught, he said, “It’s cream. I don’t do powder in my coffee.”

I responded, “Hit me!” Andy shared his cream and we have relished our friendship for twenty years now, and many gallons of coffee with cream. But I wander—back to Missouri.

I pass on the powdered creamer—thank you Andy—and cap my cauldron of hot liquid and set out down the road. Cup in cup-holder, westward bound, cruise control set I reach for the beverage and that first, I wish my lips were made of asbestos, sip. “AUGH%#*@(*^%!” In the court of culinary law there is not enough evidence to convict this liquid of being coffee. In the Midwest the word coffee is defined as a hot brown liquid with no discernable flavor that you drink in the morning for God knows what reason. Then it hits me….

HI. MY NAME IS DAVID AND I AM A COFFEE SNOB! That’s right. I drive the interstate looking for the green circle with a star that points the way to what Graham Cooke describes as his favorite church St. Arbucks. I am a convert. I am not a missionary yet as I practice my rituals in small groups and one on one meetings. I am not sure what kind of commitment is required, but evidently I am ready to make it. As Graham says, “It’s a lot less expensive than regular church, and often times much more anointed.” But the bottom line is—it’s all about the coffee.

Thank you Jack Taylor:

Ginger and I are on a road trip. This is the most recent of many in our 35 years of our journey. Road trips can be the best of times and the worst of times. Our experience tends toward the best of times. I genuinely enjoy her company.

As I ruminate on our experiences driving, driving, driving to places, I wonder “what is the origin of the word “companion”. I learned that it comes from the latin word companionem (nom. companio), lit. "bread fellow, messmate," from L. com- "with" + panis "bread." (thank you dictionary.com). Sharing bread—a key component of a covenant meal—seems a fitting handle for our relationship. We are companions.

In our transcontinental transporter we listen to music and lectures; pause the music to talk and listen to our thoughts and dreams and expand our shared understanding; listen to our bodies’ rhythms. The latter requires a biological tag team approach in which the BCO (bladder control officer) is an office that passes from one traveler to another on a discretionary basis, learning to feel one another’s pain. Sometimes we just sit next to one another and say nothing.

Which brings me to Jack Taylor:

Early in our marriage, a friend gave us a teaching tape by Jack Taylor called “The Receiving Principle”. This teaching has contributed as much to our well being as a couple as anything I can remember. The receiving principle is rooted in Genesis chapter 2 where God gifts woman to man because he was incomplete on his own. Jack draws from this story a principle. When God puts two people together in marriage they often have conflicting traits than can grind on one another. The man who is punctual is mated to the woman who is always late. The woman who is fastidious and neat inevitably connects with a man who is organizationally challenged. The spender marries the tightwad. You get the picture, and if you are an observer of people you know that this is an almost irrefutable law of nature. Opposites attract.

Jack says this is God’s design in order to help us complete one another. (Rene’ Zelwiger had it right in Jerry McGuire). His key to the process, the receiving principle, is to receive your mate as God’s perfect gift to you. Understanding that of the 6 billion or so people on earth, the person next to you is perfect for you makes the differences take on a different hue. When you are thankful for the person (and the differences) it changes you. As God changes you, more often that not, your companion changes too. It causes for Mr. Punctual to say, “I would rather be late with this person than be on time with anyone else in the world.” Mrs. Neatnik realizes, “Living with this slob is better than having a clean house with anyone else that God could have given me.” This realization opens the door to love, acceptance and forgiveness at new and deeper levels—further up and further in.

We heard this early. We have learned it over and over and over. We have not always expressed it perfectly, but we get it. I can truly say that my companion and I have shared our bread for nearly 34 years and she is without a doubt one of the most remarkable human beings I have ever known. She is God’s perfect gift to me. We are as opposite as you can design—way to go Dad. Admittedly there are days when she does not see me as her winning lottery ticket, and there are days when I may not fully appreciate her giftedness. However we have years together to show that the principle is valid. God willing we have many more to keep working on it. We have children and friends that bear witness to the reality that it works. The receiving principle—Thank you Jack! Thank you Lord!

Seasons

The seasons they go round and round, and the painted ponies go up and down,
We are on the carousel of life. Joni Mitchell

Yesterday Ginger and I went to the decommissioning of a church in Londonderry, NH. We were a part of the team in 1998 that planted that church and we served there for just over three years as it became established. It was one of four church plants we have participated in since 1989. Three of the four no longer exist. One is still going and there are other offshoots that we were not directly involved with. Our role was mainly supportive of the leaders who took great risks to establish groups in what most would consider a difficult area for such endeavors.

As I sat and listened to the words being said, heard the words of the heart that were not being said, I probed my own heart. What is the fruit of two decades of focus which consumed enormous quantities of time, energy and money--not to mention hopes and dreams? Three out of four churches are gone.

I looked around the room and remembered.

I saw a vibrant young woman who is in her first year at university. I remembered visiting her mother in the hospital when she was born. I remember sitting with her parents when her grandmother died. Listening to her father as we discussed his plan to start his business, which still thrives.

I had a conversation with a young lady who had been in my Sunday School class who was telling me with enthusiasm of her plans to join the navy and work in naval intelligence.

I discussed difficult issues of the day with a pastors wife who is engaging her world in a creative and dynamic way. I was remembering her wedding day--we were there. I remember how smitten her husband was when he first met her at our church meetings--he is still smitten.

All afternoon I reconnected with people with whom I am connected. From the standpoint of religious score keeping we are batting a meager .250. But as I spent the afternoon in the presence of fellow sojourners, I realized that our purposes and hopefully God's purposes had indeed been fulfilled. When we moved to New England our theme came from Psalm 37:

Trust in the LORD and do good; Dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness. Delight yourself in the LORD; And He will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD, Trust also in Him, and He will do it. (Psa 37:3-5)

I was surrounded by the faithful. A faithfulness that had been cultivated by all of us together as we passed the seasons on the carousel of life. I was surprised that I was not saddened. Frankly, in my opinion, the world needs not another religious group nearly as much as people who will trust in the Lord and do good. I experienced the joy of the journey in a new and surprising way. I sensed the Father's pleasure in his children. "Trust also in Him, and He will do it!" Good job Dad!