English: Macro photograph of coca-cola bubbles. Deutsch: Makro-Fotografie von Coca-Cola-Bläschen. Japanese: コカ・コーラの泡のマクロ写真。 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s taken me this long to get here, nearly two days, learning as I go, mostly by serendipity (or troublesome lessons). So what have I learned in two days?

I’ve learned not to read too many social justice books. I liked the good quote from the social justice book, about “Twice Bread.” I also like helping others, when it’s possible. But I checked that social justice book back in. The zealous guilt was too much for me. (And it’s not like I need further inspiration to over-analyze everything).

Earlier today, I stopped at the Shell gasoline station and “picked up a little happiness” like the Coca-Cola slogan says. I bought one of those just-right little plastic bottles of Coca-Cola soft drink and a little cellophane bag of cashews, because I enjoy soft drinks and cashews sometimes. (We are so human. We have to guard against too much of anything).

So, I hope you are having a good Wednesday. Thank you for stopping by again:) Church is tonight (Lord willing) and I like church night.

Meanwhile, look what I found! Some happy news! Enjoy!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YdJTjT1ulYc

English: 2006 Jeep Wrangler TJ Golden Eagle Edition (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One of my neighbors died over the weekend, but hold on. I’m not gonna leave you here with just that news, because God gives a gift in it.

This neighbor was a real man who was known by a nickname. He was usually alone, and could be any man, but I’m going to give him a fictitious name, to protect his privacy. Here, I’m going to call him “Johnny,” because his hard-scrabble life, which showed all over his whole self, reminded me of the musician Johnny Cash. Johnny Cash understood hard time.

My neighbor owned a Jeep Wrangler. He liked to wear some kind of camouflage and a sharp-looking wide-brimmed hat, with a long coat in winter. Some people used to complain that Johnny’s Jeep took up a parking space and he rarely, if ever, drove the Jeep. (People should understand that keeping  your ride helps keep your dignity).

Last night, I felt sad, seeing Johnny’s Jeep outside in the parking lot.

I parked my car beside it. Johnny kept his Jeep clean, although it’s old and rustic-looking, but not rusty. It’s the kind of Jeep with a tough fabric top and roll bars, open all-around.

The tread on the Goodyear radials is still good and the Jeep is a four-speed or five-speed, with maybe two clutches (?) extra pedals. I looked on purpose, but don’t know enough about vehicles to describe the Jeep just right. Johnny had taped over the top of the stick shift, where I’ve seen those speeds diagrams.

When I was out there looking at that Jeep, I felt mournful about Johnny, which is strange, to feel that way about a stranger, but it just shows how we are all connected somehow, and how each life matters. There was cloud cover last night and no stars could be seen and the train that runs nearby roared by, like a loud page turning.

The license plate on Johnny’s Jeep said “Polk” so I drove out to Polk County, Tennessee, on the open highway today, driving to feel better, lonely, with nothing else to do right now, with the window rolled down in my car.

I parked at the edge of the Cherokee National Forest sign and sat down and there was such beauty there, it looked like somebody painted it, with pine trees and shadows and light breezes and tiny lavender flowers with white centers and another kind of plant with delicate fuzzy blooms and water, the lonely lapping sounds, shimmering like diamonds, only better.

There were two men standing up in a boat, on Parksville Lake, so there were just the three of us, as far as I could see. The men stood and fished for a few minutes, very quiet and peaceful. Then they sat down and I heard the boat motor and the men in the boat. They went on through the water. The wake of that boat was so solitary and beautiful and gentle and pure. Finally, they disappeared on down the lake, looking for other places to fish, I guess.

Today, I believe God gave all this to Johnny, and He’s given this to all of us too, for Lent.

We know Johnny’s okay now, further on up the road, with God, and lots of friends. Isn’t God good, the way He pays such close attention, to each and every individual life, including us. Jesus said happy are the sad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpIKQaIVA08

Montage of languages. Prototype header for the language portal. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here’s something funny that happened yesterday, while I waited in line at one of those post office mini-offices, where you can buy stamps and pay bills and buy money orders.

The man at the front of the line spoke two languages, at least. I couldn’t tell which one. The customer was on his cell phone, talking to someone in (apparently) his native language, and also trying to complete his business transaction, in English, with the American clerk.

The clerk and the man were dealing with lots of cash. The man in line had a big ole roll of cashola. I saw a fifty dollar bill on the outside of one roll of cash, and lots of other American dollars. So the linguist (very good English) was buying two money orders, speaking back and forth in two languages. He sounded a little desperate, but doing the best he could, with the business that had to be done.

As too often happens, a few things were lost in translation, while the two men tried to communicate, about different transactions in different amounts, in different languages, plus a stamps purchase. The man asked the clerk for exactly two stamps, more than once, worried I guess, about all the money matters. Who doesn’t worry?

How does this happen? How do things get so exacting and confusing at the same time? Maybe that’s how.

Anyway, I waited for the exacting, confusing transaction to play out. Behind me, a younger guy, maybe in his 40s, stood third. Behind the third man, two more people stepped up, a younger man and an older woman. Only something was wrong, because this particular younger man was very upset, almost yelling. How embarrassing, especially for the woman he was almost yelling at. She remained quiet, like she knew something was wrong, but just had to bear it.

The careful cash man (who can blame the careful these days?) eventually got the two money orders and two stamps, but it took a long time. It just went on and on. The younger 40-something guy, when we glanced at each other (and finally smiled about the mess we were all in) said, “Some days it would be better if I never left my apartment.” Don’t we know. For heaven’s sake, we had to laugh. Who’s on first?

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Dr pepper ballpark left field (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This afternoon over on Walker Street white Morning Glories shouted out. Then this and that happened and I bought a Chattanooga Times Free Press and Cleveland Daily Banner. Let’s talk some smack.

One of my brothers the other day said he heard somebody talkin’ smack on TV and he didn’t like it. Since I didn’t know what smack talk is, I looked it up. Smack talk can be good or bad, depending on which on-line dictionary you’d like to check. (You probably already knew). The best definition (to me anyway) of smack talk was at Wiktionary, which states simply that “smack talk” is “to talk aggressively or boisterously.”

Smack talk can be bothersome unless it’s giving somebody a positive shout-out, but now we have to tolerate (barely) that mix-up of religion and politics that’s all up in our faces like flatulence. (Now I’m going to have to check my Archives and edit things, because some smack talk might be in there somewhere).

Here’s what…do any of us really need to talk a lotta smack, when lo and behold, there’s already a randy newspaper or a restless nation near you, already talkin’ some smack right up in our faces, right this minute. Religion and politics is a poison drug and we don’t need newspapers and nations smackin’ our arms, lookin’ for a vein to shoot us up.

Why do those religious newspapers and those political churches want to control us? Why do religious newspapers and political churches want to turn us into political and religious junkies? It’s worse during an Election Year, right here in 2012. Jesus said not to mix religion and politics. “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and unto God what is God‘s. Now don’t be talkin’ some smack and tellin’ us Jesus meant something else. My Mama told me “the main thing is the plain thing and the plain thing is the main thing.” Jesus also said, “My kingdom is not of this world.” So let’s rock with that.

You should have seen those Morning Glories, which I didn’t even know could bloom in the afternoon. I thought those were just morning flowers. If I were a flower, I’d be a night flower, but let’s not hold anything against those Morning Glories. They looked like happy white trumpets, lifting up their voices with the green leaf orchestra in the background.

When I went over to buy those newspapers (Hello, my name is Brook and I am a news junkie), I also bought a little pack of Frito-Lay Dorito brand jalapeno-flavored crackers and a Dr. Pepper to make my taste buds sizzle a little. Also, sometimes I buy things because they’re affordable and cute, like this 12.5 ounce Dr. Pepper.

So here I sit, with those crackers enjoyed. That Dr. Pepper spewed because I’d let it roll around in my Dollar General Store “Save Time Save Money Save Green” bag. I let that Dr. Pepper spew out its frustration and everything calmed down and the mess is cleaned up.

If I think of it, I might go check on those Morning Glories tonight, just to see if they’re closed. Here are a couple more things. Today I didn’t wear my pierced-ear earrings like I’ve worn just about every single day since I was 20-something years old. When you get old, it’s like you’re finishing a game of strip poker and you’re losin’ and things start falling down or falling off or you take them off or throw them away. Unless we’re throwing each other away, we have to believe less is more, don’t we?

So please oblige and be patient with me while I get older. I’ll try to go trim my Archives and take some of the smack out, maybe:)

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Toccoa/Ocoee River (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hot late afternoon sunlight fixed on Paul Kuykendall’s tanned shoulders while his eyes fixed on survival one knot at a time.

A primitive red and white sign on the side of 64 Highway, just inside Polk County, Tennessee, grabbed my attention one day last summer. The sign read “Survival Bracelet” in big bold letters. The “open” sign greeted passers-by as the craftsman sat at a gray weather-worn picnic table weaving together a strap designed to be taken apart.

“This is a handed-down craft,” Kuykendall stated as he carefully tied colorful parachord material into square knots. “Someone accidentally showed it to me. They used to call it macrame.”

Macrame, however, is for decorative purposes. Survival bracelets can save lives or at least save face. Stories abound on websites about survival bracelets, or survival straps, being used for everything from securing weapons in war zones to tying cans on the back of a wedding car to making an impromptu leash for a service dog or tying a drifting boat to a dock.

“You can build a shelter,” Kuykendall said. “You can take the bracelet apart and connect poles…make a lean-to. You can tie sticks together to start a fire. If you take it apart, there’s about eight feet of rope.”

Kuykendall, who set up his roadside business last summer to survive tough financial times, explained that he used parachord, parachute material with military roots, to make the bracelets, which he had arranged on a small round rack between bricks. “It’s not random jewelry,” the man said. “It’s borderline gear.”

Still, Kuykendall added, “The materials make this art what it is, having an eye for what goes together properly.”  The rack of bracelets, lined up as well as woven together with military precision, called attention to an array of colors including purple and burgundy, sky blue and white, red and green and many other color combinations.

Making the bracelets helped Kuykendall relax, he said. “I get to be alone,” he remarked. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care about what’s going on in the rest of the world while he was trying to make a living using his outdoor skills.

Kuykendall made special note of a special kind of survivor–those who’ve been to war and lived through it. He referred to the Wounded Warrior Project.

The site offers ways to help soldiers who’ve been hurt fighting America’s wars, especially in the Middle East. One announcement reads: ‘The greatest casualty is being forgotten.”

I don’t know if Kuykendall will still be making survival gear as thousands of visitors pour toward the Ocoee River this summer for kayaking, whitewater rapids-riding and other outdoor adventures. But that day last year, he wondered aloud as he sat and then got up to walk toward his house. “You didn’t ask the important question,” he said.

Then he talked about remembering our wounded warriors. Once the answer was written down, Kuykendall walked back to his work table. (I’ve driven by looking for Kuykendall and his bracelets this summer of 2012, but didn’t see them. But you can still find survival bracelets somewhere, I’m thinking).

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Firefighters (Photo credit: thomaswanhoff)

It’s not possible to go bravely all the time.  Sometimes we must go afraid. I read that phrase “go afraid” in a Guideposts magazine article many years ago.

The story was about a group of people trapped inside a burning building. Firefighters struggled valiantly to rescue the people so they wouldn’t die. The firefighters got the group to start moving to safety, but everyone had to cross a scary barrier. One woman balked.  The fire terrified her. 

“I’m afraid,” she cried to the fireman. 

“Then go afraid!” he shouted.  Still feeling frightened, the woman crossed what seemed an unsteady support.  But when she obeyed the expert, despite her fearful feelings, he was able to help her.

Our fears can be different types, with different levels of danger.  The writer Anne Tyler, in her book “Celestial Navigation,” described a character who carried herself like an over-filled teacup. That’s what it’s like to be overwhelmed, to feel exhausted or fragile. Or to feel afraid of something, like fear of criticism or rejection or ridicule. The fears, some more serious than others, multiply until we may say inside, “I can’t go. I’m afraid.”

But there’s something good to read about feeling fearful or being “Exhausted But Pursuing,” by Gary Wilkerson, in the February 6, 2012 World Challenge Pulpit Series.  The encouragement is at http://www.worldchallenge.org.

On the back of the newsletter are words from Isaiah 43:1-2: “Fear not…when you walk through the fire, you will not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.”

It’s so difficult to go afraid. But God promised. Somehow, God will help.

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