My Cup Runneth Over (Musings of an Unspecialized Generalist)

When I was around 30, I saw an ad in a magazine for a musical saw. I remembered “Uncle Bob,” who, when I was a kid, came to our church every once in a while and played his saw. I ordered the advertised saw thinking, “I’ll bet I could make music on one of those.” The saw arrived in a couple weeks, and in about 15 minutes after  unwrapping it, I was making some screechy music. It didn't take very long to fine-tune the screeches and produce some sonorous sounds. I have performed many times and places and even won some trophies for my playing. I have been sawing off and on since then. I wrote a booklet on how to play the saw--it wasn't a best-seller. The   joy that I experience when I play my saw defies explanation. Beyond that, what do I love about playing the saw? It’s unique, and that is enough; but there is more than that. People are often amazed when I play my saw; perhaps it is the novelty of it, but  most people genuinely enjoy it's flowing music. And, I bel...

A few years ago, I noticed that people often held the door open for me as I went into the gas station store and they often called me “Sir.” (I wasn't sure I liked either at first.) But, there is an upside to aging. McDonald's has “senior coffee.” Our appliance repairman gives a senior discount, and many other businesses also reward one for being aged. There are many benefits to longevity. Last Sunday, Doris and I reaped one of the benefits of great-grandparenthood. We traveled to Jackson and saw Jay Victor Marchewka dedicated to the Lord in a worship service at JaxNaz Church.  It was a gift to us--a benefit to our aging--a God-directed blessing. We are grateful for our children and grandchildren who walk in and with the Lord. We have every confidence that Jenna and Jordan will raise little Jay in the nurture and the admonition of the Lord. Being a great-grandparent seems rather tangential in our culture. (Father Abraham would not have liked our lifestyle.) Howeve...

      Putting the finishing touches on a lion that I had started a year and a half ago, reminded me of how much I love sculpting wood, especially tall stumps. When we moved to Barton Street, there were some trees that had to come down; one was even topped into our garage roof by the wind. I didn’t want the trees taken all the way to the ground; I was in hope that I could find a tree sculptor to transform them into something remarkable for me. But there they were, kind of ugly centenals--more than ten-foot tall stumps, almost embarrassed by their toplessness.       In 2014, Doris and I went to Art Prize in Grand Rapids where I saw some sculpted trees that inspired me to think that I could do that. After all, I had a chainsaw! Besides not knowing any chainsaw artists, I knew if I found one he would be very expensive to commission. Still I asked around, but found no one close by.        I star...

Ben Franklin's Poor Richard said in his Almanac, that we don't realize the value of water until the well grows dry. The loss of something important highlights its value. (How well I remember a several week stretch, when we lived in the country, going a few weeks without any water coming from our well!) With loss of memory, Poor Richard’s proposition is only partially true, however. Part of the problem with profound memory loss is that the one who has it cannot remember that she has it. Only to the one who can remember is the value of memory highlighted by its loss. Such memory loss is not that alone; it is part of a larger complex; it is the result of certain brain shutdowns often deemed dementia. I have been blessed with an excellent memory; the person I love more than any other has not been so blessed. Perhaps, in God's gracious Providence, my memory is good enough for the two of us. I pray that it will be so. Profound memory loss also brings memory d...

Some things defy defining. They are clearly evident, like class, you know it when you see it, but you can't quite explicate it. Motorcycle riding is one such  phenomenon. This past summer my brother-from-another-mother-and-father made me a deal that I could not refuse: Art made me the new owner of his 1982 Honda motorcycle--sweet. In my younger years, I bought a Whizzer motorbike that had been in a wreck; and I rode that when I could keep it running. My brother Ron had an American Moto Scoot   that he let me ride quite a bit. I took a  spill from that once when I hit a large chuckhole in the road. I went face-first down the blacktop. I had a Cushman motor scooter that I rode and rode until I got a car. I have always liked two-wheelers with motors on them.   Dan bought a motorcycle when we lived out on the farm, and I rode that some, but I had never really owned a motorcycle. When Art said to me, “Hey! I want you to have my Honda.” I was ecstatic. (I ...

Reciting the Apostles’ Creed in worship this (Sunday) morning energized my memory and my “writing juices.” Growing up Baptist, creeds and their recitation was not part of my experience. We knew that Catholics did that sort of thing, and that was enough. When I began moving in circles where reciting creeds was more common, I was a bit uneasy, and probably a little suspicious, but I came to appreciate them as capsule statements of the Gospel I believed. I also came to value corporate, verbal confession as part of worship. (Even though my circles have widened, I will always be grateful for my Baptist upbringing.) It did puzzle me how some people could flawlessly recite a creed, yet they could not quote much if any Scripture--something that was emphasized in my early years.     As a pastor I came to using a creed, usually The Apostles’ and sometimes The Nicene Creed, for services of Holy Communion and other special times. I discovered that there are several historic Creed...

After our horseback ride a couple of weeks ago, Melony and I went for a seven mile bicycle ride on the Kal-Haven trail. What joy--frosting on the cake! From my youngest years I have been especially fond of cycles. One of my earliest childhood memories is riding a (too) big tricycle down our neighbors paved and somewhat sloped driveway. (Our driveway wasn't paved.) Bicycles have been a part of my life. (Probably I shouldn't tell it, but I own five.) Beginning around the age of 12, I delivered Kalamazoo Gazettes to many houses in Plainwell on my bicycle. Once, after throwing my last paper for the route on West Bridge Street, I ran into the side of a car and seriously injured my arm. (No, the car didn't run into me; I hit the car.) That “laid me up” for most of the summer, but when I could I got back on another bike and resumed my paper delivering. When Doris and I lived in St. Paul, MN and I was attending Bethel College, I rode my bicycle to work nearly every da...

A bicycle ride with my daughter? Yes, great! But, we weren't headed for the bike trail, and she said we wouldn't road-ride. “Turn into that driveway.” “Look at all those horses.” It was a great surprise and a wonderful treat. A horseback ride with Melony on a gorgeous fall day. I couldn't remember the last time that I had ridden a horse. What joy to be back in the saddle again. (Gene Autry was one of my boyhood heroes, Roy Rogers too.) I have had a special fondness for horses from my kidhood. I never had a horse as a kid, but my friend Sam and I rode his dad's draft horses often. Sam also had a saddle horse at one time; I took a bad spill from her. The horse turned toward the barn and I didn't; I kept going down the blacktop, face and shoulder first. I had another friend or two who had horses, as well. I am told that once when I was very young I went over and asked Mrs. Crispe, well-off Plainwell resident, if I could rent her barn to keep a horse. I...

On Thursday of this week I completed a chainsaw sculpture on a 201 year old tree that had become an 11-foot stump/trunk in front of First Congregational Church of Otsego. The city was going to cut the tree to the ground, but at our request they left a portion of it standing. (Can you imagine that happening in Detroit or even Kalamazoo?) Tim Lane made the vertical cuts, but I did the sculpting and color staining. It was a labor of joy-- thank you, Lord, for the privilege and the ability to accomplish this. I have done other tree sculptures, but there was something different about this one. I didn't feel that I was doing it for me, as I had the others in our yard on Barton Street. It gave me pause many times to think that this tree was standing when James Madison was the President of the United States, and I was altering -- yet saving it. A line from Joyce Kilmer's poem “Trees,” came to my mind many times. “Poems are made by fools like me, but only God could make a tree.” (In...