Oct 2010

Me and Monterey

Thu 28 Oct 2010 Filed in: My Life | Reflections | Photos

I hadn’t been there for years, but I recognized the scene. The rugged, rocky, cypress-dotted coast of the Monterey Peninsula has a unique beauty and powerful appeal. Later that afternoon before boarding the train in Salinas, I needed to drop off the convertible that Enterprise had confused with the compact I had reserved, but for a little while last Tuesday, I just wanted to enjoy the view.

Some scenes can captivate for a few moments, and then one is content to move on. But watching the waves is different. Though there is a clear familiarity about the scene, it is constantly changing, this wave breaking differently than the last, water meeting rock with a surprising splash or a curious calm. Mysteriously, each moment has its own beauty and appeal.

I have been thinking about the focus of this season in my life, and I think that the continually changing interaction of sea and shore and cypress has something to tell me. The scene is recognizable, but it is not static. An infinitely creative God moves the components of my life, sometimes with a surprising splash, sometimes with a curious calm. And I hope that what he creates in the process has an ever-changing beauty.

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Welcome to Mount Hermon

Fri 22 Oct 2010 Filed in: My Life | Reflections

Joan and I honeymooned here; Suzanne has lived and worked here; Matt called it his happiest place on earth. Mount Hermon has always been a special place for our family. And this week I am here again. This visit coincides with a midweek adult conference, largely populated by retired folks, most of whom are older than me. They are retired, but they haven’t quit. Mount Hermon offers an optional redwood canopy tour, their impressive version of a zip-line adventure that provides an unusual view of the redwoods from higher than I choose to be; several older and less ground-hugging seniors took advantage of it. Personally I prefer to look up at the redwoods rather than down on them.

The conference is over now, and it is quiet here. Mount Hermon is again fulfilling its role as a personal retreat, a place to listen to God. Even for a retired guy, the busyness of life can easily drown out the quiet voice of the Lord, and listening is good. Listening, in fact, was one of the goals for this trip, and that goal is being met. These last three days of enjoying the worship, fellowship, and messages of the conference helped to sharpen my hearing as I enjoy some quiet hours with the Lord.

When they were kids, Matt and Suzanne used to watch eagerly for the “Welcome to Mount Hermon” sign on Conference Drive that told them we had arrived. The sign is still there, and I have sensed the welcome from the One who created the redwoods. It’s quiet, but He is here. And He is not silent.

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Reliving History

Sun 17 Oct 2010 Filed in: My Life | Photos

A few weeks ago I came across an old photo of my brother and me, taken over 50 years ago on the train ride at Griffith Park in Los Angeles. It seemed a fitting discovery as I looked forward to the Amtrak adventure that I am now on. Trains have always fascinated me. As a kid in England, I learned to travel the Underground (as we called London’s subway system) even though I was too short to reach the button that opened the doors. If nobody else was getting off, I’d simply ride on to the next station and come back on another train.

It is perhaps a surprise that a transportation system that is constrained by rails should become such a symbol of freedom. It still stirs a love of freedom in my soul - freedom from airport crowds, freedom from TSA lines, freedom from packing too many people into too small a space. In spite of an airplane’s ability to temporarily conquer gravity, I feel much less free on a plane than on a train.

I brought that 50 year old picture along with me, and this afternoon, Jon and I decided to recreate the scene. Some memories, after all, are worth

repeating. We headed for Griffith Park. The train is still there, albeit with a different paint job. We shared the picture with the engineer and, after enjoying the same ride as fifty years ago, took our places in the back of train so Nancy could take a new picture. The only other people close to our age on the train had their grandchildren along, but we were there making history - again. It appears that in the intervening 50+ years, someone shrunk the train, but other than that, it was a freedom moment to remember.

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Mussolini vs The Good Samaritan

Wed 13 Oct 2010 Filed in: My Life | Reflections

For twenty-four hours I felt that I was living in the myth of Mussolini’s Italy. The lie he wanted his world to believe was that he had made the trains run on time. The southbound Coast Starlight I was riding is not an Italian train, and it doesn’t have the world’s greatest on-time record. But this Amtrak adventure was different; we arrived at each station when scheduled or significantly earlier, much to the delight of the smokers on board who could then enjoy a platform nicotine break. I warned my brother who was meeting me yesterday that the train I was riding just might be early, but it turned out that the only thing early was my warning.

Yesterday’s northbound Coast Starlight was having problems that even Mussolini couldn’t fix. With a malfunctioning locomotive, it was 100 miles into its journey and six hours behind schedule. So it was that somewhere north of Santa Barbara, we stopped to dissolve both the dream of an early arrival and the nightmare of a stalled train. Those in the know disconnected one of our two locomotives, turned it around on a convenient Y, and hooked it up to the front of the stalled northbound train. A sacrificed hour later, both trains were on their way.

It would be a happy ending were it not for the muttered grumbles of a few passengers fretting over the possibility that they might miss a connecting train in Los Angeles. It seems to me that in the eternal scheme of things, an hour spent parked by the Pacific to help those more inconvenienced than me is not a bad thing. But there is this streak of selfishness that slithers through the soul, trying to convince us of our own importance. The next time I’m tempted to pass by a neighbor in need, someone needs to remind me of yesterday’s Coast Starlight and that not even Mussolini made the trains run on time.

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Journeys Are Good

Sun 10 Oct 2010 Filed in: My Life | Reflections | Grief Notes

I am on a journey, and journeys are good. The journey began yesterday at the rainy Tukwila Amtrak station, which is a nine-year-old temporary creation awaiting the birth of its permanent replacement that has been imagined but not yet built. Temporary is apparently a relative term; in the world of Amtrak stations, change can come slowly.

The journey is good, but getting ready for it is an irritating hassle. I hate packing. Anyone in my family can confirm that truth. Joan did the packing when we traveled, and now every trip is a reason to miss her afresh. I’m pretty sure I have packed too much stuff; I usually do. I’m also pretty sure I have left behind something I should have brought along; I usually do that, too. And before you ask, yes, I have a list, but I’m pretty sure it’s too long. I may have brought the wrong stuff, but fortunately Amtrak doesn’t charge me for baggage.

I like train travel. It avoids the hurry-up-and-wait, TSA-bedeviled atmosphere of today’s air travel and allows one time to reflect on and enjoy the journey. And I intend that this trip include time to reflect on my journey. Grief has a way of occupying the mind and narrowing one’s vision, and I need to be sure that my focus is neither too narrow nor misplaced. So I bring along the pieces of my life to listen to God; I hope I have not packed too much, but He doesn’t charge me for baggage.

I am on a journey, and journeys are good. In the world of Malcolm, change can come slowly.

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Enjoying Fall

Thu 07 Oct 2010 Filed in: Humor

Sometimes identifying with Snoopy is a good thing.

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Present Tense Living

Sun 03 Oct 2010 Filed in: My Life | Grief Notes

I am a long-time advocate of living in the present tense. To be consumed with what was or what might be robs energy and joy from the blessing that is now. That does not mean that one should ignore the past and the future; doing so can be dangerous. We are, at least for this life, time-bound creatures, and like it or not, we live in the moment.

There is a fine and sometimes fuzzy line between living in the present and giving proper consideration to what was and what will be without being enslaved by it. That fuzzy line came crashing in on me the other day with one word: Christmas. I don’t mean to start counting the number of shopping days left or to bewail the coexistence of back-to-school and Christmas sales. Those were not the issue. I found myself pondering Christmas with Matt in heaven.

Joan’s first Christmas in heaven was wonderful, not only for her but for Matt, Suzanne, and me as well - different, painful, but still wonderful nevertheless. I suppose I should expect that this Christmas will likewise be different (no problem there) but still wonderful. But my mind, having jumped several weeks ahead, was having trouble wrapping itself around the concept of Christmas being wonderful for Suzanne and me with Joan and Matt both being gone. As I wondered how on earth we would do Christmas this year, my concern for the future began to replace my joy in the present.

I don’t know yet what Christmas will look like this year. In the days between now and then, Suzanne and I will somehow figure that out, so stay tuned. But I do know that the present tense God who is with us now will be with us then. Emanuel - God with us - that’s what Christmas is about. Meanwhile, I’m going to try to live in the present without losing hope for the future or gratitude for the past.

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Old Dude Seats

Fri 01 Oct 2010 Filed in: My Life

It was a creative way of getting my exercise. I needed to pick up something downtown for my brother whom I will be seeing later this month, so I decided to try out my old dude card (otherwise called a senior regional reduced fare permit) and took the light rail into town and planned to do a bit of urban walking. It was an enjoyable trip. But when the southbound train arrived to take me back home, it was packed to the gills.

No problem, I thought. I can stand. As soon as I boarded and before I got a good grip on the rail, two different people offered me their seats. The first was a young lady who looked more tired than I hoped I looked. I smiled and told her to enjoy her seat; I’d be fine standing for a while. (I guess my parents trained me well: Gentlemen don’t sit while ladies are standing.) But no sooner had I declined her kind offer than a man sitting in one of three fold-down seats designated as priority seating for seniors and disabled passengers began to get up and offer me his seat.

I smiled again and repeated the answer I had given to the young lady. But I began to wonder just how old I looked. Perhaps I should have taken one of their seats. Was this old dude standing next to them making them feel guilty for sitting? I hope not. The young lady got off at the next stop, and I took her seat. The gentleman across the aisle smiled, closed his eyes, and took a nap.

And me? I’m blessed to be reminded that in a world that is often much too harsh, chivalry is not dead. And maybe I’m an old enough dude to benefit from it.

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Malcolm Brewer

Clanbrewer: Under Construction and In Touch

Me and Monterey

Welcome to Mount Hermon

Reliving History

Mussolini vs The Good Samaritan

Journeys Are Good

Enjoying Fall

Present Tense Living

Old Dude Seats