Spreading the Light of Joy In These Dark Days

 

From Pinterest

Sam:  "It's like in the great stories Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered.

Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end.

Because how could the end be happy?

How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened?

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow.  Even darkness must pass.

A new day will come.  And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer.

Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something.

But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now.

Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t,

they kept going because they were holding on to something."

Frodo : "What are we holding on to, Sam?"

Sam : "That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. 

And that's worth fighting for."

--J.R.R. Tolkien

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

These days it is hard to look around and not see darkness.  The Pandemic, the spreading of that other virus, anger/hate/violence.  It becomes easy to give in to the negativity, to just lay back and wait for the pending disasters to overwhelm.  It is particularly difficult when it seems the whole world is collapsing and we feel there is nothing we can do to stop it.  I've had those moments in the past couple of weeks, but today something happened.

I was out walking in the area of O'ahu known as Ewa (pronounced EVUH) this morning after delivering my mother-in-law to her activity center.  Since I'm down there once a week, I use that place for my exercise walk.  It's a nice break because it's all flat, none of the steep and difficult hills around Pearl City.  And plenty of shade.

When you visit a particular place at roughly the same time often enough, you see the same people out doing the same thing as you.  In this case, exercising.  We don't know each other by name, but we wave, salute, or tip the hat just the same.  As outdoor exercisers are still exempt from the mask rule, smiles were visible on just about every face I encountered.  I began to reflect on how my spirit was lifted by these simple expressions.  I thought about other times when strangers spoke to me, wished me well, made me laugh.  I realized that in a dark world, light can come from such small, random moments, brightening the world even just a little.

No one person can change the world.  But we all occupy a small corner, and I think we owe it to each other to try to make that small space better for us all.  The great thing is that this doesn't require a ton of effort.  All that is needed is an awareness of others, and perhaps some concern as well.  Fear is nibbling at everybody's lives these days and I think we underestimate the tremendous good that can come from small acts of happy kindness.  Night is scary sometimes.  But kindnesses bring the dawn that can light up someone's life.  Light dispels fear, and in these times, that is so very important.

Mourning Normal

Times Square, New York City

CNN.com © 2020

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

"What I've started, I must finish.

I've gone too far to turn back.

Regardless of what may happen,

I have to go forward."

--Michael Ende

It's late in the evening.  I'm at work and I've just finished reviewing the latest set of status reports on the Pandemic.  Globally, the case count is over 20 million, a quarter of those in this country.  739,000 people have died around the world, 163,000 in the United States.  The numbers are, by any measure or context, staggering. In the U.S. Civil War, the last round of historical reviews put the death toll, military and civilian, at over 700,000, and that out of a total population of 31 million.  I won't extrapolate that out to modern population numbers because 739,000 dead is a catastrophic number, regardless of why or when.

What makes such a number even more stunning is that this war, unlike the other one, isn't over.  In fact, it may never end.

We thought, back in May, that we had this thing nearly licked. But something -- and nobody knows exactly what at this point -- re-ignited the flame which has now turned into a global firestorm.  Some, perhaps most people are trying to do the right things, like social distancing, masks, staying home, becoming clean freaks. But there are others who aren't, who think that they can bring back "normal" by doing everything they used to do, regardless of the harm they are inflicting on others.  That selfishness, as much as any other cause, not only created the now, but has laid a grim path for the future.

We look around at a world completely changed.  We try to carry on, but the Pandemic has spun completely out of control, and we walk our streets fearing that moment, that random passing encounter when this virus' icy claws swoop in and clamp down.  It is a fearful time, one that has led to some highly contradictory decisions, like shuttering houses of worship while at the same time allowing protesters to swarm the streets, as if the First Amendment could be politically parsed.

The Cascadia Subduction Zone: The Very Real Threat

                                       

The "crumpled fender" zone marking the

location of the Cascadia Subduction Zone

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Within the past 35 years or so, a new seismological and oceanographic threat was first proposed, and finally proven. This sleeping giant is the Cascadia Subduction Zone which lies beneath thousands of feet of ocean 60 miles off the coast of northwestern North America. The scale of catastrophe that will result from this fault cannot be underestimated. But the process that led to this discovery is a detective tale that is hard to beat. 

In 1960, a massive earthquake tore the earth apart off the coast of Chile. It was measured at magnitude 9.5 on the Richter Scale, and still remains the most powerful temblor ever recorded. Four years later, another large quake occurred off southern Alaska, that wrecked not only the capitol city of Anchorage, but dozens of smaller villages and ports along the coast. The similarity of the two events helped lead to the movement of plate tectonics from theory to fact.

Basically, the Earth’s crust is a 40 to 60-mile-thick layer of rock which floats on the semi-liquid of the next layer down, called the mantle. The crust is broken up into massive pieces, called plates, which float upon the very hot mantle.  Within the mantle, huge convection currents are generated which propel the plates around.  

Looking at a world map, it seems obvious that South America and Africa fit together like puzzle pieces. Scientists for years had seen other continents and islands that also had common edges. When brought to acceptance, plate tectonics proved that the continents and the plates beneath them had been in motion for hundreds of millions of years. The current configuration is the result of the breakup of the last great supercontinent, Pangaea which began about 175 million years ago. Now, scientists know that the motion of these separate plates create seismic zones where they crash together. These collisions have been responsible for the creation of most mountain ranges on this planet. Those boundaries became the objects of intense research, which led to the identification of subduction zones.

A subduction zone, or convergent fault, is where an oceanic plate is diving, or subducting under a continental plate. They are located all throughout the Pacific ring of fire, and nearly all of them have been responsible for the largest seismic events in history. What scientists discovered was the disquieting fact that when subduction zones rupture, they only generate earthquakes north of magnitude 8. Recently, two events, the Indonesian Boxing Day Tsunami and the Tohoku Tsunami were both born of magnitude 9 earthquakes generated by subduction zones. 

Empty Nights and Irish Music

Another joyful night at the fiddle shop.

"My feet always dance to Irish music."

--Ciaran Hinds

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

A few years ago, I stopped in an Irish pub near downtown Denver for lunch.  I had heard that there would be live music in the afternoon, so I stuck around.  Along about 3 o'clock, folks started coming through the door carrying instrument cases of various shapes.  They sat around a long table in front of the windows and after some conversation, they burst into music.  I was instantly hooked.  I went back every Sunday that I could after that until time came for us to leave Colorado for good.  A knowledgeable guitar player put me in touch with a group that was meeting in Honolulu, our eventual destination. I started attending the sessions, first as strictly an observer, and eventually an occasional singer.  I felt drawn to participate, so I ordered a Bodhran, which is an  Irish frame drum, from a craftsman in Dublin, Ireland.  

Learning the drum proved to be a bit of a challenge.  I have a good sense of rhythm, but the technical aspects of playing the drum correctly kept me practicing at home in private until I felt competent enough to join in the session.  I still had a lot to learn about volume and the types of rhythms which supported the other players.  Fortunately, thankfully, they are a patient bunch and they brought me along with a lot of encouragement.

Hurricane Douglas and the Mysteries of Meteorological Miracles

Douglas pulling away.

National Weather Service

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

It's been a day of tense anticipation, moments of dread, even fear, and finally a collective sigh of relief.  As I write this, Hurricane Douglas is passing Kaua'i, the northernmost main island headed for obscurity in the vast reaches of the North Pacific Ocean.

At noon today, the outlook was not good.  The storm had zigged to the south which put it's forecasted path across the center of all eight islands.  What happened is an excellent tutorial on the exigencies of Pacific cyclones.  

The Pacific is a vast laboratory of meteorology, ranging from the chill waters of the Gulf of Alaska, through the constant storms of the Inter-Tropical Comvergence Zone at the equator and all the way down to where its waters wash up against the ice of Antarctica.  It is the largest ocean on this planet, 63.8 million square miles.  For the past few days, Douglas had been steered by a ridge of high pressure a thousand miles north of Hawai'i.  The pressure from that ridge kept Douglas on a consistent WNW path (290 degrees, for you compass fans).  But starting yesterday, a weakness developed in that ridge.  As a result, the hurricane turned in a more northerly direction.  The difference was only five degrees, but it was enough.  The storm passed so far north of the Big Island, that they were taken completely out of the cone.  It continued to trend in that direction, dumping heavy rains on Maui and Lana'i -- but nowhere near the precipitation that had been anticipated.  

But once past Lana'i, Douglas zigged back to the west.  It looked for all the world like O'ahu was going to get nailed.

Something Stormy This Way Comes

The Beast, poised to strike

National Weather Service

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F, Couey

I've been a part of severe weather events throughout my life, growing up with thunderstorms, tornadoes, and floods in Missouri.  I've learned that nature can have its violent moments, perhaps delivering a come-comeuppance to these arrogant humans who actually think they're in charge.  

Today, the state of Hawai'i is preparing for the arrival of hurricane Douglas which has been churning its way across the Pacific for the last week or so.  The forecasted impacts have shifted back and forth, responding to the little wriggles in its path.  Two days ago, it looked grim.  The storm's path would deliver a head-on strike to the Big Island, Maui, Lana'i, and O'ahu.  Since then, the track has shifted northward, and as of this evening, the Big Island is completely out of the cone.  The other islands remain in the cone, but the impacts will be less than what they could have been.  Kaua'i remains the one island that will get a direct hit, but again, that could change.

The storm center will pass about 30 miles north of the far northern tip of O'ahu as a weak Cat 1 or a strong tropical storm, but this island will still be subject to powerful winds in the 50-70 mph range, and up to 10 inches of rain.  On an island consisting of knife-edged mountains and long, steep valleys, the flooding could be epic.

Emergency shelters are opening, businesses have boarded or taped their windows, sandbags are placed, and the Navy and Coast Guard are putting to sea as I write this.  Aircraft have either been chained to the concrete or moved into storm-proof hangers.  Flights out of the state have been put on hold, and the mad rush at Costco and Sam's Club, as well as Lowe's and Home Depot has started to ebb.  There is a sense of the sharply defined watchfulness of the prepared.

This Moment of Mahomes

That walkin' talkin' pass-throwin' 

paradigm shiftin' and now

bank-breakin' QB

(Photo unattributed, but thought to be Kansas City Star)

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

No Chiefs fan will ever forget the moment.  Super Bowl LIV, fourth quarter, about seven minutes left.  Chiefs down by 10, and 49ers fans full of gleeful anticipation.  Patrick Mahomes had thrown his second interception capping a distinctly underwhelming performance to that point.  Then, came the Jet Chip Wasp, that audacious play that changed the trajectory of the game, and of NFL history.  Seven minutes and 21 points later, a half-century of football misery was forever ended in Kansas City.

And yet, none of us were all that surprised, or even nervous.  We had already seen our quarterback lead this team from a 24-point deficit to a 51-7 run and a win in the divisional round.  In the AFC Championship game, he did it again, this time from being down 10 points twice and 17 points another time, a scintillating victory that opened the gates to Miami.  We had learned that with #15 behind center, no game was ever truly lost.  

Now, I am enough of a fan to know that this kind of thing doesn't happen in a vacuum.  In order to make those comebacks happen, the rest of the offense, and the defense and special teams had to step up and play heroically, which they did.  But it is impossible to overstate the impact that Patrick Mahomes II had on those events.  His renown goes beyond just football.  To find a similar kind of epic splash made by a young athlete, you have to go back to Babe Ruth or Joe DiMaggio, Michael Jordan, or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.  These are athletes that changed the very nature of the games they played, and elevated the expectations forever.

Now, with just two full seasons as a starter under his belt, with a Super Bowl win and two MVP awards, this young man has been rewarded with the largest contract in sports history:  12 years, $503 million.

A Cold Brush with Doom

CDC.gov

“In hard times, we learn something incredibly precious: 

The fist of the universe can hit us anywhere, anytime."

― Mehmet Murat ildan

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Monday was in all respects a normal kind of day.  Nothing out of the ordinary happened, and I certainly felt fine.  Well, ordinary anyway.  But when I awoke Tuesday morning, nothing was normal.  

I noticed it first when I tried to get out of bed.  I felt a little dizzy, but I wrote that off to allergies.  As is my custom, I fixed breakfast for my mother-in-law, then headed out the door to begin my regular walk.  As soon as I cleared the carport roof and I was hit by the strong tropical sunlight, it hit me.  A wave of weakness and fatigue, along with a fresh round of dizziness communicated that my regular 5-miler was not happening that day.  I went back inside and reclined on the couch.  I had a backlog of programs on the DVR, so I intended to amuse myself thus for awhile.  I thought that this was just a temporary thing that would pass in a short period of time, but I was wrong.  As the day went on, I felt ever worse.  I fell asleep several times, and except for getting Mom her lunch, stayed there for the balance of the day.  

Cheryl made some of her killer delicious chicken soup, and I felt a little better, but the process of showering completely wiped me out.

Wednesday morning was worse.  I had no energy for anything, and the dizziness began to upset my stomach.  I called my Doctor and he told me to go immediately to the lung clinic downtown.  We drove there and I went in.  The current pandemic protocols required Cheryl to wait outside, which made her a little angry.  Once inside, the process was the epitome of efficiency.  Inside of 30 minutes, I had my vitals taken, my H&P completed, and had a long and searching conversation with a pulmonologist.  Once he concluded that this wasn't cardiac-related (I have five stents in there), I was given a nasal swab for flu and COVID-19.  The flu swab came back negative, but I would have to wait until Thursday morning to get the other results.

So, we hung out downtown until the rush hour had cleared, getting some dinner in the process, before coming home.  Cheryl was sure I didn't have the virus.  At least that's what she said.  But I could tell she was worried, nonetheless.  

For the balance of the evening, I thought long and hard about what a diagnosis of COVID-19 would do to my life.  First of all, I was mostly worried about if I had given this thing to Cheryl.  She is the most important person in my universe, and getting her infected would have been devastating.  Also, she works in the OR at Tripler AMC and the revelation that she had been exposed would have created a logistical problem of nightmare proportions.  My mother-in-law is 93, and thus lies in the most vulnerable of demographics.  If I had inadvertently given her this thing, I would never forgive myself.   I work in a 24/7 watch center along with about 15 other people.  If they had been exposed, it would have meant quarantine for all.  The watch center, called the State Warning Point, would have been left completely vacated which would have been a catastrophic situation for the State Emergency Management Agency.  Then, all the people I had been in contact with would have been exposed, and required to be tested, including the elderly folks who attend my church.

The Daunting Task of Faith in a Broken World

© whatchristianswanttoknow.com

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

There is an image, and the story behind it, from World War II that had a profound influence on me and remains with me even today.

On November 20, 1943, the U.S. 5th Fleet and the 2nd Marine Division opened the campaign in the Central Pacific with an assault on Tarawa Atoll. The invasion had been planned down to the last detail, except one. Nobody had made a detailed study of the tides. When the craft carrying the Marines approached Betio Island, it was suddenly realized that the tide had not risen sufficiently for the craft to pass over the reef. For the first 18 hours of the attack, the Marines were forced to leave the landing craft and wade through chest-deep water for 500 yards. In the blurry frames from a portable camera, the young Marines could be seen moving slowly through the water and being mowed down by automatic weapons fire from the island. But the survivors did not stop or turn around. They kept on moving forward. Enough of them were able to get to the beach to establish a presence, but it wasn’t until noon the next day that the tide rose, and subsequent waves of men and supplies were able to reach the shore.

Those Marines were the product of boot camp, which at that time was a study in human psychology. The recruits, through the viciousness of their drill instructors and the extreme pressure and stress of the training itself were at first broken down, all the habits and attitudes of their previous civilian lives excised and replaced by the ethic of the Corps. Some have questioned the brutality and necessity of such training, but one has only to watch that brief few frames of young men pushing forward even though others were dying around them to understand why. In order to be reborn warriors, they first had to be broken.

In Akron, Ohio in 1935, two alcoholics spoke to one another about the nature of alcoholism and a possible solution. Born out of that conversation was Alcoholics Anonymous, which has helped hundreds of thousands of people. As part of the process, a person has to admit to themselves that they are addicted to alcohol and are thus powerless in its presence.

For many, this life-altering moment comes at a point in their lives when they have literally lost everything – jobs, marriage, relationships with family and friends. Alcohol has taken over their life, and they have hit rock bottom. Even when they begin to work themselves back to sobriety, they must admit to themselves and to other members at meetings that alcoholism cannot be cured, and thus they are alcoholics for the rest of their lives, even if they never take another drink. Part of the power of the organization is that everyone there, especially those who volunteer as sponsors for newer members, has been there; knows how alcohol abuse destroys lives, and will always be their shadow. There are no non-addicts; everyone has suffered.

People turn to AA when they are completely broken and realize that they no longer have any control.

Control, or the appearance of, is held in high esteem by humans. This expectation is manifested through academics in our youth and in the careers we choose. We are taught by the world that it is up to us to firmly grasp the reins of our lives and steer ourselves to achievement, notoriety, and wealth. One of the harshest lessons of life is realizing how little control we actually have over what happens to us. There are those of us who have chosen to place trust and faith in God at least in words. But do our actions reflect those words?

In both examples I described, the people involved had to reach a point of absolute desolation and defeat. They had to recognize that they had lost complete control over what was happening to them, and it was necessary to make that tough admission that they had failed. But in that moment of despair, they found in something or someone the power that they lacked. It is so with disciples.

In Proverbs 3:5-6, we are told, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, submit to Him and He will make your paths straight.” A disciple of Christ is not a whole person; they have been broken and been reborn through the process of placing complete trust and faith in the Redeemer. God and Jesus cannot enter in until we make this choice. Nobody has or will ever be dragged kicking and screaming before the throne. It is a choice the we, and we alone can make.

In Psalms 139:23-24, we read: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts; And see if there be any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.” God knows us best: He is able to peer into our hearts and minds and see that which we are unable or unwilling to. But we have to invite Him in. And the only way to do that is through a daily, robust prayer life.

People sometimes don’t understand the nature of prayer. They feel that a prayer must be loaded with $50 words, expressed in Shakespearean prose, spoken in stentorian oratory, and accompanied by a display of great authority. Not so. Prayer, put simply, is just a conversation between you and God. Speak respectfully, but plainly, colloquially, honestly. Speak from the heart, in the same way you would with your most trusted friend, which in reality, is who God is. It doesn’t have to be flawlessly edited or polished. You see, God knows our hearts and minds, so He knows what we are trying to say, and has complete understanding of the issue we face. That we hear ourselves so poorly articulate things makes no difference to Him. He understands completely. Our daily visits with Him reflect the love we feel, and our commitment to His infinite wisdom. And the more often we do this, the more readily we will see the answers and solutions we seek.

A few years ago, I undertook to teach a class on the Book of Matthew. I used a variety of sources and resources to plan, organize, and craft the individual lessons. But foremost in that preparation was the study of the book itself. Every week, as I prepared the lesson, I spent a lot of time studying those scriptures. (As one salty old preacher told me once, “We can READ a book; but we must STUDY the Bible.”) I did this so I would be prepared not only to teach, but to field the inevitable questions from the students. As the weeks passed though, something surprising happened.

The world we live in is complex, impossible to understand, and rife with conflict, anger, and hate. But during this period, I found that as I looked at the world, I was seeing things with a clarity and understanding I had never before experienced. I began to understand that there was something greater going on. One night as I lay drifting off to sleep, a door opened. For a brief, exhilarating (and scary) moment, I caught a glimpse of God’s plan. Not the details mind you, but just the reassuring knowledge that His hand was on the wheel of events, and that I was not to waste time worrying. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

Of course, being human, once the course was finished, I drifted away from my daily study, for which I feel more that a little shame. But please let my experience be a guide for you. If you cultivate in your life daily prayer and scripture study, windows of understanding will be opened to you as well. These are not the kind of tips that help your 401k, but will give you a sense of peace as you contemplate the apparent chaos of a world gone mad.

The world is more than a little crazy right now, and of course, we are concerned. But remember what it was like in Jesus' time. Groups within the Jewish community were fighting with each other, and above all was the suffocating presence of the Romans. Jesus started His ministry, giving hope to a world that had been bereft of hope. Then, He was arrested, tried, and crucified. His followers were devastated. Surely, this was the end. But as we see through the long lens of history, the crucifixion of Christ was not an end, but a beginning of something that has circled the world. The people in that time could not see or anticipate the global spread of Christianity. We, at this time, cannot see how this current unhappiness will end up. But know that, as we saw in the past, regardless of how bad the world looks to us, events are in the hands of the divine. And we need to have faith in a result we can't now understand, and may not be around to witness.

At some point, God will task us with a job to do, not large or famous or important, but more often than not, seemingly small and disconnected. But God seeks to save souls, and we are His tools in that task. When someone in need crosses our path, we will feel a quickening of the Spirit, and we must respond. The more intimate our relationship with God and Jesus is, the more aware of those moments we will be.

In this country, we are sinking deeper into a political war, one dominated by hate, anger, and violence. Some of us are compelled to take part, either as a protester or an activist. While I understand the passion and the need to be involved (Woodstock generation, here), I think we need to remember that Jesus joined no political party. He did not choose to join and dominate the Sanhedrin, although it was something He could easily have done. Jesus didn’t take part in any of the movements, like the Zealots. Instead, He had only one agenda, and that was the establishment of God’s Kingdom on earth. This placed him above the conflicts of the time, effectively rendering them irrelevant.

I wonder sometimes if we need to be in the world in the same way, not joining parties or movements, but being good disciples to the individual souls we meet. When the multitudes of people came to Jesus to be healed, our Savior was presented with a daunting task. He could have simply raised His hands over the crowd and pronounced, “You are all healed,” and they would have been. But He didn’t. Jesus took the time and the immense effort to touch and heal each and every individual who was there. This is the lesson we need to remember. Jesus’ ministry was never about numbers – large crowds. He ministered to individuals. He saved souls, one by one.

Now that seems difficult, if not impossible. We have been indoctrinated to think that if we aren’t helping millions at a time, we simply aren’t accomplishing anything. But we must put aside our human instincts and instead trust God to lead us; teach us; show us where He wants us to minister. We may think that we only helped one or two people last month. But remember that we are not alone. There are millions of us out here, and we must trust God that our individual mission will unfold as He directs.

The hardest thing for any human to do is let go of the wheel. The best disciple is one whose trust is in God and Jesus, and not in their own driving skills. But if we are willing to cede control to Our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, then we will find that we will be on the path He has designed for us. This is our test. We are broken people in a broken world. Do we have the faith? Can we let go? We must allow God to take the wheel.

And there, we will find peace.

A Crater, the Moon, and a Moment

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Image and written content

I work inside a volcano.  An extinct one, to be sure, but still awe inspiring.  Diamond Head rises above the southeast coast of O'ahu, it's familiar shape a landmark as long as people have lived here.  Le'ahi, as it is known by the Hawai'ians, is one of several cones left over from an eruptive period that lasted about 200,000 years about a half-million years ago.  Beyond the obvious, it's a fascinating place.  The state park takes up a good portion of the crater and includes a rather daunting climb up to the summit off the tuff cone which provides a spectacular view.  During a normal (non-pandemic) day, hundreds of tourists arriving by car, bus, tram, and foot make the climb.  When the park is open, it's a busy, noisy place.

But around 6 p.m., the gates across the Kahala tunnel are closed and locked.  Awhile later, the park employees, National Guard, and day workers from the Emergency Management Agency leave for home, and things quiet down.  Those of us who are left are standing watch, monitoring a multitude of websites, radios, and other interesting pieces of technology, prepared to sound the alarm if the worst happens.  

The crater is a very quiet place as the sun goes down.  The thick, high walls keep the noise of the city outside.  They also screen out most of the skyglow, which means it gets dark.  Very dark.  Like, inside a black hole dark.  You can see stars overhead, better than outside.  As the light fades, the slightly rolling plain becomes faded and indistinct.  And then all you hear is the restless wind in the trees.  But what is most striking is the sense of peace.

Taking My Hands Off the Controls

“Sometimes you have to stop worrying, wondering and doubting. 

Have faith that things will work out, maybe not how you planned 

but just how its meant to be.” 

--Anonymous

Copyright © 2020

By Ralph F. Couey

My wife tells me I'm a worrier.  Guilty as charged.  It kinda runs in the family, as my Dad was always one to dwell on the welfare of his family, especially in his later years.  In a sense, Yoda would likely say the same thing about me that he said about Luke:  "All his life has he looked away…to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was; What he was doing.”  As I look back over the years, I can remember that the things that might happen got more of my attention then what was going on at any particular moment.  A big part of that was the sense that in whatever moment that was, I and my life, was in a hot mess. Naturally, it was more attractive to obsess about a future that had yet to be written.

That's been an albatross around my neck for as long as I can remember.  What I failed to understand then, and even recently, is how little control any of us have over the future.  

Most people when they think about the future, the focus is on matters of money, or things related to financial health like one's career.  Now, we can plan, we can read what all the experts think, do all the prudent things.  But as the last three months have shown, things happen, things that cannot be predicted, and certainly things completely beyond our ability to control or influence.  I once had a co-worker that, upon leaving Friday afternoon, said, "See you Monday, unless the big asteroid falls." Big rocks falling out of the sky tend to make a hash out of people's schedules.

A Song, A Moment, A Light

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

I've been in a kind of dark place, as regular readers of this blog may have noted.  The reasons for this are perhaps no different than the burdens many of you have borne in recent months.  Yes, the long isolation of this pandemic along with everything else that has been on the news has taken its toll.  But along with that is that for the first time, when I look to the future, I don't see a path.  Lately, that view has become like a tunnel, one without the reassuring light at the other end.

Our situation here is fluid, governed by considerations far beyond anyone's ability to influence or alter.  I've never liked living on an island, and while Hawai'i may seem to be paradise to others, to me it is feeling more and more like a prison.

I have always had that itchy foot, the desire to explore; to see what lay beyond the next hill. Or the far horizon.  In my past are a lot of journeys beyond the horizon, and while I still am not sure what exactly I was searching for, I nevertheless found the quest deeply satisfying.  But here, every journey ends at a rocky shore, beyond which stretches the endless blue ocean and a horizon that lies tantalizingly, frustratingly out of reach.

Today though, in the midst of this funk, I heard a song.

The Dark Side of the Looking Glass

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

There was a time when that thing we called "the future" was a bright and shiny thing, full of hope and optimism.  It was a place where all problems had been solved and there were no new ones to confound and confuse.  In the future, everything would only get better.  It was a wondrous place, this future.

When I was very young, my father subscribed to several magazines, two of which always fascinated me.  Popular Science and Popular Mechanics were publications where the marvels of that time were written about.  New inventions, examples of the most advanced technology in everyday use.  I remember one article about a house that was designed aerodynamically and could swing around a pivot, thus always facing the wind.  Intended for life where hurricanes were frequent, this was a dwelling that would survive even the most powerful gusts.  There were articles about experimental cars, designs that echoed the national obsession of the space race, things guaranteed to fire the imagination of a pre-teen boy.  

Several times a year, there would be a article, previewed on the cover, that described the future -- not the far distant future, but one far nearer, tantalizingly close.  One article predicted that by 1975, we would all be flying helicopters from our homes to wherever we needed to go.  Another one suggested that by 1980, people would be living on the moon.  One article talked about the homes in colonies that would be built on Mars, certainly by 1995.  I read where at some point in time, we would all be wearing computers on our wrists, machines of incredible power and almost magical properties that would allow us to access any information we needed.  And by the way, a device with which we could communicate with each other.  With video.  

Most predictions were quaintly fanciful, some startlingly prescient.  But for me, it was a moment when the veil was drawn aside and I was allowed to dream.

Respecting Our Journeys

"People take different roads.

Just because they're not on your road

doesn't mean they've gotten lost."

--H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

The pursuit of knowledge in defining the speed of light was primarily to try to define, in a universe where everything is in motion, an absolute standard for distance and velocity.  What was discovered was that light always travels at the same velocity, regardless if the object emitting or reflecting that light was closing, receding, or at a constant distance.  

There was also another search for a standard at that time, as to which society or culture would be held as the standard by which to measure others.  In a time of exploration and collision of cultures, this was deemed to be important.

That regrettable urge remains with us today.  Not only do we compare large-scale social, political, religious, or economic systems, we are always using the smaller picture of our own lives as a yardstick for measuring others.  The impulse for this lies in the often-fragile structure of the human ego.

Pride can be a valuable trait.  It is essential for our self respect that we should find value in who and what we are.  It is what gives us confidence to tackle difficult tasks, or willingly place ourselves in less than comfortable circumstances when we know we can do some good.  But like so many other things, the key to pride is in moderation.  None of us are as smart as we think (or wish) we are.  None of us are as skilled as we would like to be.  None of us have all the answers to the unanswerable questions.  Even though there are times when we can and should pitch into a situation, there are other times when it is wiser and better to stand back.  As Harry Callaghan once said, "A good (person) knows their limitations."

There is a part of us who always wants to the the source of wisdom, the "wise old sage" to whose door people will tramp to for lessons and wisdom.  All too often, however, the answer we have is irrelevant, ill-informed, or just plain wrong.  And thus advised, those who took our advice end up in an even deeper hole.  

The 65-Year Roller Coaster

Wayfair, Inc.

In the past I've always seen birthdays as a positive thing, particularly after a serious round of heart problems in the early 2000's.  After that, every year was a gift, always knowing what might have been.  But this year is a milestone. Or, perhaps, a millstone. 

Number 65.

It's always been a benchmark of sorts.  Once upon a time, it was the retirement age.  Now, thanks to the improved health of codgers like me, it's just one step forward to what is now the understood retirement age of 70.  But I'm old school.  And 65 just seems old.

I've thought about this over the past couple of weeks, and I think I've achieved a kind of rationalization in my attitude.  Actually, I'm healthier now than I've ever been.  I've shed the excess tonnage that did me so much harm over the years.  I exercise regularly, walking 15 to 20 miles per week.  My blood pressure is actually chronically low; my diabetes is under control without any use of insulin.  My heart is in such good shape that my cardiologist has given up on stress testing.  On the negative side of the ledger, my memory is slipping, muscles are stiff, and my balance is not good.  I won't bore you with the other, more personal issues, but when I look at my Dad when he was this age, I'm in way better condition.  And looking around at other men my age, I can see ways in that I'm better off than they.  No competitiveness here.

The Dark Cloud, and Making the Silver Lining

"Become a possibilitarian.

No matter how dark thing seem to be

or actually are, raise your sights;

 Always see possibilities

for they're always there."

--Norman Vincent Peale

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

There's a linguistic missive that's made the rounds for the past decade or so of how the Chinese character for "crisis" is the combination of two other characters, one meaning "danger" and the other "opportunity."  It's the kind of dualistic interpretation that abounds in Asian philosophy, one possibility readily apparent, the other more subtle.

Some people in history have guided decisions by that point of view, achieving in times of crisis.  Most people don't realize that millionaires were created during the Great Depression.  Charles Darrow created a board game which enabled players to at least pretend to be tycoons.  The game?  Monopoly.  It proved to be wildly popular, and made Darrow a fortune.  Michael Cullen in 1930 started a grocery chain that became a success, even during a time of economic disaster.  J. Paul Getty bought up depressed oil stocks that enabled him to create an empire.  Joseph Kennedy, Sr. made a pile from real estate speculation, and its rumored, successfully violated the Volstead Act.  More recently, during the Great Recession, WhatsApp, Venmo, Groupon, Instagram, Uber, Pinterest...all were startups between 2008 and 2010.  These are billion-dollar ventures today.

Now, this post is not about how to get rich.  I'll leave that to others.  But history has proved that even during the darkest of times there are those who find the light.

These days we are all suffering from cabin fever, or more accurately Quarantinitis.  We have plumbed the depths of home entertainment during this time when many have been required to stay home.  We are desperate to get out of the house, and even return to work.  But it won't be easy.  

Reading the news, a careful examination of reports will tell us that even when the economy starts to open up, it will still take a year or more before we see the robust level where we were just before the pandemic.  Small business, which is about 80% of the U.S. economy will take longer.  A lot of small companies will simply have ceased to exist in the past two months.  But entrepreneurs are by nature risk-takers, and it is likely that those same business owners will be back with something new for the market place.  But it will take time to attract attention and build clientele.  It's like turning on the shower and having to wait for the water to heat up.  

The Universe and a Mind Blown

A graphical representation of the expansion of the universe 

from the Big Bang to the present day, with the inflationary epoch 

represented as the dramatic expansion of the metric seen on the left. 

This visualization can be confusing because it appears as if 

the universe is expanding into a pre-existing empty space over time. 

Instead, the expansion created, and continues to create, 

all of known space and time. 

(Wikipedia)

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Written content below only

I've been holding off on this post because I wanted to be able to explain the complexities of the science involved without losing you or confusing me.

As I said before, I've been a steady customer of the Science Channel's excellent program "How the Universe Works."  I've learned a ton, made easier by the eminent skill of the PhD presenters to make it simple enough to understand.  

About a month ago, there was an episode that dealt with the expansion of the universe.  Basically, since the Big Bang, everything has been expanding outward to form what we know as the observable universe.  Here's the first big idea.  I always thought that what was expanding was the component parts (galaxies, etc) expanding into pre-existing space.  Actually what is happening (see the image at the top of this post) is that space itself is expanding.  Outside the borders of the known universe, nothing -- nothing exists.  Not stars, not dust, not even space itself.  Mind blown.

Back in the late 1920's, A former mule team driver, Milton Humason, was working at the Mount Wilson observatory above, as Dr. Sagan put it, what was then the smog-free skies of Los Angeles.  He had been taking spectrograph images of distant galaxies.  Now, a spectrograph is a handy tool for determining the chemical makeup of distant objects by taking that light and focusing it through a prism.  The prism then breaks the light down into its component parts, identifying things like oxygen, calcium, and other elements, all which have distinct frequencies in light. But Humason discovered something more astonishing.  The telltale bands that identified those chemicals was shifted towards the red end of the spectrum.  

A Short History of Hawai'i, or Why Volcanoes Make Us Feel Small

Mauna Loa

Mauna Kea

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Data from USGS

and Hawai'i Volcano Observatory

I thought it might be a good opportunity to take some time off from the current unhappiness and discuss something completely different.

Over the Holidays last year, we had most of our family in Hawai'i to help celebrate our son's retirement after 23 years in the Navy.  It was a joyous time, especially since the last time we all got together was for our granddaughters funeral.  

We spent the first week on the island of Hawai'i, locally called simply "the Big Island."  One of the things we did was to visit Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park.  Now, I've seen pictures of a volcano and it's usually a typical cone shape with steep sides and a caldera at the top.  I had seen two of them, Mammoth in California and Rainier outside of Seattle.  But I was never as impressed and awe-struck as the day we drove along the southeast coast of the Big Island.  We had stopped at an overlook to take some pictures of a beautiful deep blue and generously white-capped Pacific Ocean (the winds were really howling that day).  After a few minutes, I turned around and beheld an awesome sight.

There before me were three of the five volcanoes on the island.  Since the slopes are very clean, it was very easy to take in the incredible size of them.  Not that I was able to fully wrap my head around them, mind you.  It's one thing to think of a volcano, another to look at pictures, but to see them in person was mind-blowing.  To my left, Mauna Loa rose into a flawless blue sky, capped by snow.  To my right, further away, Mauna Kea poked it's similarly white cap above the immediate horizon.  We had just driven by Kilauea, south of the highway, a lower peak, but still massive in size.

Leaving the Vampire Life Behind

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

One afternoon, about eight months ago, I showed up at work and was told by my supervisor that I would be moving to the midnight shift.  This announcement caused me a lot of angst.  I was, and still am, the primary caregiver to my 93-year-old mother-in-law, who is a delightful person, very easy to love, but suffering the downward slide of dementia.  Working evenings, I was able to be home for her for most of the day, only leaving her alone for a couple of hours during a time of day when she was usually napping.  This meant a total re-ordering of my responsibilities, and not knowing at all how this was going to affect her care.

I've worked nights before, in the Navy and during any number of the jobs I've held over the years.  Never been my favorite shift, but I had signed a contract stating that I would be available for any and all shifts as assigned.  So, manfully shouldering my new schedule, I flipped my days.

Working nights means sleeping during the days, something I've always found difficult.  I get sleep after a fashion, but I never feel rested and alert, and that fatigue becomes cumulative over time.  My new supervisor has been on that shift for nearly 15 years, so its become second nature for her, a fact of which I was secretly envious.  The good news is that she was also a caregiver, so she knew how hard this dual life could be.

It took me a week or two to finally reach some kind of equilibrium, although I never really fully adjusted.  And I found that this new life did affect the care I could provide.  Now, having to retire by noon, she had to be left unattended for a lot longer time.  I worried constantly about what was happening with her while I was (trying to) sleep in the back bedroom.  

The Death of the Pub

©Timothy Gauger 2017

O'Toole's, on the south side of Chinatown

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

Scattered across Honolulu are four Irish pubs, all very well known for live music, great atmosphere, and traditional Irish congeniality.  For over 20 years, the Irish Rose, Anna O'Brien's, Kelly O'Neil's, and my favorite hangout, O'Toole's have been instrumental in keeping Irish culture alive here in the tropics. In addition, for those in the Irish music community, they've been the places to perform, to watch and listen, and gather for informal music sessions.  Now, they may go away forever.

All four are owned by Bill Comerford, an entrepreneur who also is the driving force behind Honolulu's epic St. Patrick's Day celebration.  But like so many other small bars and restaurants, the Great Pandemic of 2020 has effectively killed them.

Honolulu's response to the growing pandemic was to issue shut down orders to a lot of businesses, including nearly all that were part of the hospitality industry.  Comerford had to close the doors of all four pubs, and recently said that despite the closures, that mortgage and tax bills kept coming.  He did qualify for government loans under two emergency programs, but at his age and financial situation, and with no indication when, or even if the government would allow the pubs to re-open, he pragmatically decided that taking on debt of that magnitude was foolish.  He intimated that he was rapidly approaching a situation where closing the pubs permanently was his only option.

Comerford represents millions of other owners of small bar and restaurants across the country who are facing similar critical decisions.  Of all the non-human casualties of the Pandemic, this might be one of the most serious.

I don't have to tell you that the economy is a mess.  With businesses closed and workers laid off, governments are feeling the loss of the sales, business, and property tax revenue that municipalities need so desperately to survive.  We were told that a national debt of $20 trillion was unsustainable even for an economy the size of the United States.  Now, it looks like that debt may soar to as much as $30 trillion. Some states and cities are re-opening, but cautiously and in very limited ways.  Everyone fears that the return of commerce will cause a spike in COVID-19 cases, and subsequent deaths.  It's the kind of choice that puts America in God's little acre -- east of the rock, and west of the hard place.  Either re-start commerce, or watch our economy go the way of Greece.

Those are the big issues.  But buried here are the smaller, more personal losses.

A pub is not just a place to drink.  You could do that in your basement.  It's a place, usually a small one, where people gather to share with each other pieces of their lives.  There is a treasured kind of intimacy that exists in these places, something that a larger chain operation just can't provide.  You understand that this is a place where a person has rolled the dice on an economic risk.  We feel a kinship with those brave souls, and I think that's what gives such places that sense of warmth and shared experience. 

Humans are social animals; interaction is necessary to our mental and emotional health.  Pubs provide those places to gather, where laughter is common and hearts are lifted.  Most offer live music on a regular basis.  For the Four Irishmen of Honolulu, it was almost every night.  For the musicians of Honolulu's Irish community, the loss of those performance opportunities threatens their livelihood.  They are professional musicians first and foremost, so these closures hurt.  None of them have gotten independently wealthy doing this.  After all, the love for the traditional music of Ireland is their primary motivation.

I don't drink, for reasons I won't go into here.  But I do love a good time, and I share a passion for Irish music.  For those reasons, and a weakness for Diet Coke, I went to those pubs.  I made friends, and out of those evenings, I collected a boatload of good memories.  I miss those times.  I miss those people.  I miss the music.  And I miss that sense of community.

When the Pandemic really hit its stride in late February, nobody expected it to last very long, or have the impact that it's had.  Now, two months later, the curves of infection and death are flattening, but nobody knows if this thing is close to being over.  People who need to work and earn money are becoming frustrated and agitated, a groundswell of emotion that nobody knows what to do with.  It is clear that we can't risk giving COVID-19 a new launching point now that we're finally beating it back.  More ominously, nobody knows whether this is a one-and-done thing, or if the corona virus has moved in to stay.  What is becoming clear is that life on the other side of this Pandemic will be very different. 

The loss of humans to COVID-19 is tragic in a way almost impossible to articulate.  I know this, and I am in no way minimizing those deaths.  But the shredding of our social fabric may result in equally tragic long-term consequences.

So, I know that life has changed, perhaps permanently and what may be gone forever are these small business operations that simply couldn't survive an extended shutdown.  Yes, there will be the large chain restaurants and bars that may survive, although I don't see how one can go to a bar or restaurant, wear a mask, and stay six feet away from everyone else.  But there's something endearing about that neighborhood watering hole where, as the phrase goes, "everybody knows your name."  To lose those places risks the loss of that sense of community so endemic to them.  That place where friends could meet, lower their barriers and shields and just enjoy each other may be fading away before our eyes. And our hearts.

For those lovers of traditional Irish music, including this writer, the resulting silence will be deafening.

Random Thoughts That Sprang From Cabin Fever

Waikiki shut down tight.

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Image and written material

Well, we're a month into the shut down, and from what I see on the news, the natives are getting restless.  There was an outbreak of demonstrations last week by people who have had their fill of cabin fever.  Of course, each gathering produced a spike in COVID-19 cases, to no one's surprise.  There have been many great things done through the force of the indomitable human will throughout history, but against this virus, will is not enough.  I'm reminded of a story of a band of Sioux who had been exposed to Smallpox.  The people were dying and the surviving warriors dressed in their battle gear and paint and rode around the camp daring the disease to come out and fight like a man.  People in general and Americans in particular have only so much patience with regards to what they consider their rights.  The demonstrations last week may prove to be only the tip of the iceberg of the national mood.  

I miss sports, more than I realized.  I have over the past month watched every minute of the Chief's Super Bowl season at least twice.  This week, I turned to YouTube and watched the Royal's 2015 championship post season games.  Twice already.  I realize that any meaningful baseball season is a wash at this point, but I'll be crushed if there's no NFL this fall.  In those halcyon days before the pandemic, sports was considered a diversion, at best.  Now I think many are finding out just how vital that excitement has been, and how desperately it will be missed.  ESPN has fallen to televising old national spelling bee contests, if that's any indication of how badly we need competition, even the vicarious variety.

I've watched a lot of Science Channel programming, especially one show called "How the Universe Works."  I enjoy watching and learning from eminent scientists in the field as they "dumb down" the extremely complex information to a simpler form that someone like myself can attempt to comprehend.  There has been several mentions of the star Betelgeuse, the upper left star in Orion, and what an interesting object it is.  Betelgeuse is in it's death throes, and is expected to explode into a supernova event, one that will be clearly visible to us on this planet, even in broad daylight.  (Sometime in the next thousand years or so.)  It would be the first time in human history that such an event would be witnessed this close.  If one can call 642 light years close.  Dr. Michelle Thaller, a frequent commentator in that program, talked of standing in her back yard, gaze turned upward, and saying, "Come on....explode!"  It's nice to know that people so intelligent and accomplished in their fields share with little ol' me the simple pleasure of looking into the night sky.

The Joy and Beauty of a Morning Walk

Dawn over Pearl Harbor

"Walking is the perfect way of moving

if you want to see into the life of things.

It is the one way of freedom.

if you go to a place on anything

but your own two feet, you are taken there too fast

and miss a thousand delicate joys 

that were waiting for you by the wayside."

--Elizibeth von Arnim

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

I love to walk. It is such a peaceful way to spend time, even when the reason for the exercise is cardiac health.  At one point in time I was running nearly every day, usually about 5 miles or so.  Then one day my doctor told me that if I didn't want to be in a wheelchair before age 70 that I'd better take up something less harmful to my joints.  I took up hiking, and over some five years, did about 200 miles of the Appalachian Trail.  It was more than exercise.  It was my time away from the world.  When we moved here to Hawai'i in August of 2019, much of my extra time became committed to caring for my 93-year-old mother-in-law who, while in excellent health physically, is suffering a steady inexorable degradation of her cognitive faculties.  Hiking requires an commitment of at least half a day, so I had to be satisfied with tours around the concrete jungle.  

One of my most common walks starts at home and heads up a 300-foot ascent to the top of Waimano Home Road which ends at secured gate to the State Health Department facility draped across the top of Waimano Ridge.  From there, the view is breath-taking, looking out across Pearl Harbor and Ford Island and the endless Pacific beyond.  No matter how many times I've been up there, it never ceases to amaze.  

This morning I left very early, just before sunrise.  I have to work tonight, as my "weekend" will end.  Hopefully, I will have tired myself out enough to sleep this afternoon.

It was very quiet this morning, the traffic still limited by the current set of stay home orders.  I've noticed, being out walking almost every day, that a lot of people have taken up this recreation, no doubt because exercise is one of the few exemptions allowed.  I can hear the steady tread of my shoes on the sidewalk, something only heard when things are very quiet.  Occasionally, I stray into the street as I encounter someone coming down the hill.  We smile and wave at each other, each knowing the real why we are out doing this so early.  Walking up that long hill, I see many more of the feral chickens that populate this part of O'ahu.  While the hens are generally drab, the roosters have brilliant plumage, those colors even more vibrant in the early morning light.  

Going Forward to a New Normal

HuffPost.com

Life is some days a bed of thorns, 

a puddle of mud, 

a pothole on a highway 

and it might deny you happiness 

but life is going to respond to your attitude 

and happiness is always a choice.

--RightMessages.com

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

except quoted and cited portions.

There's a lot of noise these days about how the government is going to somehow get the economy and our lives back on track.  But as long as new cases of COVID-19 are appearing, and the deaths continue to mount, there will be a lot of resistance.  At the same time, everybody is wishing for "things to get back to normal" and a state of being where the word "pandemic" is not part of our daily vernacular.  

It's a laudable and desirable goal, but I think there's one thing that needs to be recognized and accepted.

We're not going back to normal.  We're going forward into a new normal.

I've thought a lot about this the past few days as the impacts of the stay-at-home orders, mandatory quarantines, and the cancellation of those social and sporting events that we now know we so desperately need.  Major League Baseball is bandying about a number of possibilities for this year, including holding all the games in the spring training complexes in and around Phoenix, Arizona in empty stadiums.  But you'd have to sequester the players for at least four months, away from family, friends, and any recreational diversions, and I just don't see the MLBPA signing off on that.  Other proposals include starting an abbreviated season late, and doing the playoffs and World Series in a neutral site like Florida or Arizona.  MLB would lose ticket revenue and would have to make do with only television revenue.  The NFL still intends to hold it's full season, starting in late August, but now the schedule has been expanded to 17 games and the playoffs enlarged by two additional wild card teams, which adds one more week to the tournament.  So, if they have to delay the start of the season, we might not see the Superbowl until late March or April.  The NCAA, NBA, and NHL are not speaking of this yet, since they have time before their respective seasons start.  All of this hinges on a return to normalcy.

But what if "normal" no longer exists?

Together, All Alone

WRCB TV Chattanooga, TN

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

It was an odd-feeling weekend, to be sure.  The City and County of Honolulu announced a curfew for the Easter weekend, running from 11 pm to 5 am, which meant that everyone except essential personnel had to be off the streets.  I was fortunate to be off for three nights, taking the Good Friday state holiday on my Sunday.  I have to tell you though, I kinda wish I had gone to work anyway.  Kinda.

We stayed in the house, honoring the standing stay-at-home order issued previously.  I was able to get out to do my exercise, which was remarkably refreshing.  Easter Sunday, we viewed two services, one put on by our international church headquarters, and the other done by one of our local congregations.  There are some that claim that this will be the new paradigm for churches, going online instead of gathering in brick-and-mortar congregations.  It was a noble effort, but to be honest, it really fell short in the one critical area of religious life, fellowship.  I really haven't realized how important that is to our religious life.  We are a small congregation so by nature we are involved in each other's lives.  In a good way.  While it was good to see everyone online, my heart ached for human contact; the handshakes, the hugs, the ministry of presence that the members of a church community provide to each other.  We check in by phone often, but I miss the hugs, I miss the conversations, I miss the shared affection we have for each other.

Cheryl and I love each other, and really enjoy each other's company. But we miss the part of us that exists with our friends, and the sense of adventure of going somewhere new.  I, for one, will never again underestimate the importance of that.  We have each other, and we need each other.  But we also need everyone else, because for us, that's where life exists in its most joyful forms.