I write these annual reviews of personalized news primarily for myself and my family. It anyone else takes pleasure or meaning from it, that's just fine. Thanks for your interest.
On this New Year’s Day, as I think about the year just past,
the words of an old Joni Mitchell song float through my head.
And
the seasons, they go round and round,
And
the painted ponies go up and down.
We’re
riding on the carousel of time.
We
can’t return we can only look behind from where we came,
And
go round and round and round in the circle game.
In so many ways this past year feels like yet another spin
on the wheel, not that much different from the cycles before it. The perception of movement. The hum of routine. The little highs and lows that determine my
response to Janice’s daily inquiry—how was your day?
Yet the carousel is constantly changing. Minutely, imperceptibly, the bearings on
which the giant wheel turns are wearing out.
Beneath the happy clamor of the calliope, the wheel sometimes groans
with age. The discerning ear can hear
the faint moan behind the melody. This
wheel will not turn forever.
Janice and I Get
Medicare Cards
Yes, my beautiful bride and I turned 65. Somehow I’ve turned grayer in the process
while Janice has turned more blonde. I’m
not complaining.
In our American culture there is supposed to be something
meaningful about the 65th birthday. It
certainly was meaningful to the U.S. Postal Service, who for many months packed
our mailbox with a daily dump of promotional letters and brochures selling
Medicare plans, Medicare counsel, retirement planning, investment counsel and
European river cruises. No
exaggeration--if we had kept every piece of mail, we could have filled a small
bedroom.
In the end, in case you are wondering, we bought none of
it. I continue to work and drag down the
actuarial rating of my employer-sponsored health plan. Thank you Johnson Group. I appreciate you sticking with me another
year.
Highway 64
Over 30 years ago I hatched a plan to ride the 2,336-mile
length of U.S. Highway 64 from Whalebone Junction, NC to Teec Nos Pos, AZ
before age 65. I almost met that
deadline, initiating the first half of the trip while I was still 64 and
finishing up a few weeks after my birthday.
The trip was epic, everything I dreamed it would be. My great friend Raymond Clark and I rode over
4,000 total miles through some of God’s most spectacular land.
Some of Highway 64, particularly the eastern North Carolina
section, has become virtual interstate.
But much of it remains pretty much as planned by highway engineers back
in the 1920s when it was commissioned along with its glitzier cousin, U.S.
66.
Most of Route 66 does not exist anymore, but Highway 64 remains
intact. It runs within a quarter mile of
my house, so the East 64 and West 64 signs call to me almost every day. I want to ride it again.
The photo shown here is to me, the quintessential image of
the trip. Darkening mountains flank a grassy valley that stretches endlessly toward the setting sun. And a road runs through it.
Miracles
While on the road west, I received disturbing news. Janice’s brother John had a heart attack
while riding his bicycle at Fall Creek Falls State Park. It turns out his heart went into ventricular
fibrillation, an irregular heartbeat that causes death unless there is almost
immediate resuscitation.
That’s where the miracle happened. John collapsed within the view of a campground
crowded by a Seventh Day Adventist Church retreat. Included in the group were
several cardiac nurses who started CPR quickly and continued it for at least 15
minutes. Then a park ranger came along with a portable defibrillator in his
truck. A LIFE FORCE helicopter landed
and carried John to Erlanger in Chattanooga where, within a matter of hours, he
was not only alive, but cracking jokes.
John is a long-distance bike rider, and for most of his
30-mile ride that day he was in isolated areas.
If his attack had occurred at any other spot on his route other than by
that particular campground, he would not have survived. The hand of God is a beautiful mystery.
Something similar happened to my friend Charlie Rollins,
whose heart went into fibrillation while mountain biking near the
Virginia/North Carolina border, miles from any paved roads. Charlie often rides alone, but this time his
son and daughter-in-law were there to start CPR. He survived and recovered enough to out-fish
me on Laurel Creek near Abingdon VA just a few months later.
We can’t understand why some people die and some do
not. We can understand that all life is
a gift of God that is renewed day-by-day, hour-by-hour. I am grateful for the gifts God gave to John
and Charlie.
The Fab Five
Our quiver of grandchildren now includes five. The year has been punctuated with sweet times
with each of them. And like most sweet
things, these moments leave us wanting more.
I’m grateful for ease of travel, and also for digital photos
and videos, Instagram and Facebook, which allow us to see these beautiful,
growing children almost every day. I
think about earlier generations of grandparents who had only the occasional
black and white photos in the mail, and maybe an annual visit to keep connected
with their extended families. I don’t
want to take for granted the easy familiarity we enjoy.
Increasingly, I appreciate the differences between these
five young characters. Sam—the oldest—is
driven to excel, especially at his newfound passion of basketball. He is a 10-year-old gym rat with
inexhaustible energy. He performs under
pressure. He displays a quiet courage.
Charlie is the budding artisan—a builder like his
father. We have a great picture of
Charlie standing on the dining room table beside a massive tower he built out
of his new school supplies. It’s worth a
thousand words.
Oliver is our poet and artist. His imagination is always alight. He reads and sings and paints and
writes. Oliver draws custom bookmarks
for each of his books. I love that.
August is the comedian.
You can’t spend two minutes with that kid without laughing. His smile is brighter than his hair. His love of life is innate and
infectious.
And Pen is our belle of the ball. She is pretty and petite. She is quiet and content, especially when in
the arms of her mama. When her feet
finally hit the ground, I’m certain they will be lighter than air.
Janice and I are so blessed by these young miracles, and we
pray for them every day.
Oh, and we are also blessed by their parents. Lesley and Daniel, Whit and Sarah, we pray
for you every day, too.
A Daughter’s Dominion
On the other end of the age spectrum, Janice’s mother turned
91 this past year. She also turned
increasingly infirm and less able to live on her own.
I greatly admire that way Janice has cared for her mother
these past years. She takes her
responsibility personally. She struggles
to find the balance of being there for her mother, for me, for her children and
grandchildren, for her friends and her church, and then keeping something in
reserve for herself. It is hard.
Early in the year Janice resolved to find the right assisted
living for her mother, and after a lot of research she found Dominion Senior
Living, a new, small, faith-based facility in Hixson. Her choice was good. The staff at Dominion is great. They fulfill their promises. They show compassion and connection with all
their residents.
Dealing with an aging parent is hard for Janice, her
brother John, and his wife Gale, and they all are rising to the challenge. But let’s be honest—the greatest burden falls
on the daughters. Her mother’s frequent
confusion and early morning calls are difficult, but Janice responds with grace
and patience.
Janice, I love the way you love others.
Operation Snowmen
Back in 2013 I hatched the Operation Snowmen idea—an annual
ski trip for a circle of guys from church.
Since then we’ve skied Keystone, Copper Mountain, Vail/Beaver Creek,
Jackson Hole and--in 2017--Park City, Utah.
This past year had a father and son flavor as several of the
guys brought along teenage sons. It was
a great time in great snow. If you are
looking for a good family ski option, Park City is an excellent choice.
A trip to Park City means you have the option to ski Deer
Valley, which I recommend for at least one day.
Deer Valley is a bit more sophisticated.
It does not allow snowboards at all.
All its runs are groomed daily.
The food in the slope-side restaurants is practically five-star.
But the best thing about Deer Valley is the restrooms. Ski resort men’s rooms are usually pits of
misery. I guess it’s difficult for the
male species to take aim through four layers of Gore Tex and polypropylene
while balanced on ski boots.
The men’s rooms at Deer Valley, or at least the one I found,
are like spas. Private water closets.
Spotless marble. Music. A uniformed attendant.
It was better than taking a leak at the Masters.
Anyway, I’ve grown to genuinely love and appreciate the
Snowmen. Next stop, Lord willing, a
return to Copper Mountain.
Chattanooga Institute
for Faith and Work
Clark Taylor, a long-time friend and motorcycle companion,
sort of retired this past year after a long and successful career as a
healthcare administrator. I write “sort
of” because Clark immediately threw himself into a new venture focused on faith
and work.
Clark was gracious enough to invite me to tag along as a
cofounder of a new non-profit organization, the Chattanooga Institute for Faith
and Work. Our mission is to provide
educational programming and counseling that helps men and women discover the
important connections between everyday work and faith in Christ. I confess that Clark is doing the heavy
lifting so far, and I appreciate him for that.
In 2017 we launched our website and organized some early
programming. In 2018 we plan to do a lot
more. If anyone is interested in
learning more, check out CIFW on Facebook or go to www.chattfaithandwork.org.
Round and Round, Up
and Down
There are so many people and events that were important to
me during the circle game of 2017. I am
especially grateful to have reconnected at least a little bit with Cliff, my
brother. This is an answer to
prayer.
I am grateful for my late Aunt Emme and my uncle Pat. The Lord knows why.
Janice and I spent a wonderful week with dear friends Raymond and Jill at Cape San Blas, a scruffy homage to the way Florida used to be. If you want to experience it, act fast. The real estate developers are closing in.
I am grateful to Joe Johnson and all my co-workers at The
Johnson Group for a meaningful year. I’m thankful to all the good people at
Erlanger Health System, Northeast Georgia Health System, West Tennessee
Healthcare and others for the opportunities to do what I like to do.
I’m grateful for Micah Fries, Paul Lasso, Jeremy Maxfield,
George Brown, Deb Parsons, Scott Walker, Adam Major and others at Brainerd
Baptist Church for their leadership and service. Also Robby Holt, pastor at North Shore
Fellowship, who has encouraged Clark Taylor and me through the launch of
CIFW.
The year featured many upward moments. There were also some downs.
We lost someone special this past year with the unexpected
death in July of Jeremy Walker. He was a
faithful, funny guy who is sorely missed by his family and friends.
And as the year closes, one of my dearest friends is
fighting the good fight against kidney failure.
I pray for Barry to recover and see healthier days in the year ahead.
Happy New Year one and all.
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