Summer Rhythms

 Roll in the dirt, chest-to-chest, elbow flying, fist to face fighting. Outside the family I’ve had two physical fights. If you include fights with my sister in the mix the number goes up astronomically. Keith and I had plenty of time to argue, standing on the blacktop during recess. We were always the last ones picked; the first ones rotated out. Hot on the tarmac the week before summer vacation. Surrounded by black; the metal backstop of the baseball diamond too hot to lean on. Don’t know who said what or who touched who. There we were scraping the blacktop with each other until the teachers tore us apart. We stopped fighting. Stopped talking too. For that day, that week, that month of summer vacation.

It may have ended that way if it weren’t for the cabin. The stereotype cabin in the woods-sans Freddy K. Walking distance from a lake, short downhill hike to the downtown arcade where a roll of nickels buys you hours of Skee-ball with winning tickets that entitle you to the toy of your choice. Cool night-time sky filled with stars. My sister and I each get to bring a friend. But my friend and I weren’t talking.

That is an uncomfortable strange place for a teen to be in. Mom encouraged me to call; less for reconciliation and more to find out if Keith was going with us or not.  Saturday morning we loaded up the car; one large dog, six-plus suitcases, sleeping bags, ice chests and six human beings. Classical music on the radio, windows mostly closed, mom’s cigarette lit up; mom’s friend (she got to pick one too) sitting shotgun. Keith and I talking for the whole trip as if nothing had ever happened.

There’s an important place in life for summer breaks, Sunday sabbaths and daily rhythms. Allowing rest and assessing reality. That trip to Big Bear made me aware of a valued friendship. Mom was able to send the kids off to the arcade while she played tennis. Sister and I were able to step out of the ring and into a different space. Pine-filled fresh air for a week, sweltering summer temps left down in the valley. Decades later summer’s still a time to step-out of the work and weight of a normal crushing cycle. A hint imprinted of what peace, rest and wholeness can look like.

Letting Go Of Baggage

 Despite flight delays, crowded airports and TSA I still find vacation travel refreshing. It’s got me thinking about perspective. Glass half full? Hero or victim? Upon landing on one of our flights a middle-aged woman began jostling those ahead of her while talking on her cell phone and loudly saying, “Let me move forward. I’m missing my connecting flight.” Our flight had arrived early! Frustrating, yes! But you can pack that bad behaviour! Missing flights or being delayed is normal (more so post-covid it seems).

Ushered out of the terminal by police a crowd of us waited outside while security in flack jackets marched by with bomb-sniffing German shepherds on leash. This was my experience on another trip years ago. Once given the clear I headed back to the gate where I was told I’d missed my flight! “We called your name,” they said. “I was out on the curb with a hundred of my best friends,” I replied to no avail. Eventually a ticket agent assured me I’d have a ticket out on the next flight.

Travelling encourages me to experience the good in other people. The traveler stepping backward in line and graciously allowing us to take the spot in front of her. The tram attendant that grabbed our suitcases first (probably because we look feeble and in need of help) and insisted we find a seat before the bus filled up. The worker in the parking structure who gave me a ride on his golf cart so that I could get to our car and then go pick up the wife. There are these glimmers of other human beings that give me slight hope for my fellow humans. A very slight hope.

Purpose and attitude; it all comes down to those. Less escape than release and recalibration. The lady trampling down people to get out of the plane; what’s her purpose? One can only guess. Some bring all their baggage with them. Some leave it behind to calibrate and evaluate what to jettison when you return back home.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, the leader and perfecter of faith.”

                     Photo by Tom Barrett on Unsplash

Freud, My Dad and Scrambled Eggs

I lay back on the analyst’s couch.  The discussion resumes.  In a thick, German accent he revisits the question, “Why breakfast?”  I don’t think it's only me.  There’s something deep and archetypal about it.  Perhaps it's the eggs.  

Symbolic; I suppose.  Reaching back to childhood I equate quick breakfasts ---Frosted Flakes, Cap'n Crunch, cold cereals and hot cereals--with school days.  Summer days and weekends tantalized with morning cartoons and full breakfasts; eggs, bacon, fresh melon; peaches and bread-with spreads of butter, peanut butter, marmalade and jellies.  Years later I would add coffee to the list---the smell, the heat, the senses coming awake.

The doctor taps his pipe against the table and mutters, “Der pater.”  Father; yes.  In the early days before the screaming fights and the long absences dad would come into the kitchen to cook.  I remember scrambled eggs with other ingredients; sausages and salami; flavorful but different than mom ever made.  Bathrobe on; which was dressed-up for dad on a Saturday, he scrambled eggs. Mom percolated coffee and set out the table.  My sister and I sat at the table waiting to be served.

The analyst inhales; adjusts his pipe.  A clock ticks in the background.  “So---you were served,” he says--both statement and question.  So we were.  That may well be the crux of breakfast’s hold on me.  The good breakfasts I’ve had have all been served.  I’ve enjoyed them in repose; most often in community with others.  I’m being served.  I’m ordering what I want.  Extra bacon or absurd amounts of butter and syrup-even pure maple!.  All mine.  Id, ego and Sabbath rolled together like a crepe.  The alarm sounds.  Reflection ends. I go on my way--- thinking about breakfast and planning my next Sabbath rest.

The Perfect Purpose For Travel and Vacation Getaways

“So you can run to the end of the highway, And not find what you're looking for No, it won't make your troubles disappear;  And you can search to the end of the highway, And come back no better than before, To find yourself you've got to start right here…”---Keith Green

Travel to escape and rejuvenate is a good thing. Travel just to escape shows lack of character and wisdom. The key problem with escaping for escapings’ sake is that you have to take yourself with you. Of course folks try to get around that by becoming somebody else via sex, alcohol or drugs but self comes back with a vengeance the next morning.

A vacation should be restorative. It’s the idea of Sabbath expanded to weeks or months. Sightseeing is fun and exhilarating but if it leaves you more tired than when you left your ‘real’ life you were running not recharging. The goal should be to return from an adventure fresh and ready to run the race. Physically you should be rested. Mentally you should be awake and agile.

Catching up with old friends or making new ones is helpful. Friends have a way of seeing and laughing that refreshes perspective and provokes thought. A good friend will drive you toward fullness in your goals, target and trajectory. Talking to God will do these as well. Getting away from home and into nature can accomplish some of this as well. It gives you a perspective of God and your fit in the world. Huge lakes and torrential rivers or great expanse of ocean let you know that God is huge and you are very small in the scheme of things.

Travel and getting away should integrate you into all of your life. It can be apart from who you are and what you do but it’s better if it is a piece of the whole. Society is full of men living shattered and separated from reality. Those few that live with purpose and fullness will draw from times of travel and trip. Like the sheep in Psalm 23 they will find their souls restored and their paths straight.

Days of Play

I’m drop dead tired and shooting for a short blog post. Darryl and I drove down to the lower desert today to watch the Amgen Tour of California. We brought our bikes along and took a short twenty-mile ride in temperatures predicted to hit 108 (they hit 111). Following that we had breakfast and then found a place on a lawn at the base of the road up to the Palm Springs Aerial Tram. We didn’t work today. We didn’t solve the world’s problems. We just had fun.


We can feel guilty about work and getting stuff done. Even on a Sunday, after church, we feel guilty because we choose a nap rather than crossing something off our huge ‘to-do’ list. When Jesus returns what will He say? I suspect He’ll ask if we loved each other. Hot on the heels of that question He may ask about our joy---since the two are inter-connected, “This is my commandment that you love one another that your joy may be full.” Fun with friends and ministry to others is big on Jesus’ list. My getting through that list of ‘to-dos’----not so much.