This is Gene.

For those of you who don't know him, or know about him, Gene is "one of my golf buddies". That is what he says about me when he introduces me to one of his friends, which he does almost every time I go anywhere with him. A. E."Gene" Quest was born in 1914. Yes, He is 95. Gene is amazing in many ways, but mostly for the way he loves life and lives everyday to the fullest.

I can't remember exactly the first time he came into my office (it has to be about ten years ago), and I can't remember exactly when he became a member of our family, but it wasn't long between the two events. Gene and I quickly began a routine of talking every few days, and playing golf one afternoon each week when the weather and my schedule allow. When the weather is not good, we usually grab lunch. Honestly, this routine was mostly the result of his doing.

One day in my office he said he'd call and we'd play golf. He did and we did. I learned early on the Gene will do what he says he will do. I have learned a lot from Gene. He has taught me or reminded me of so many important lessons in life.

Here are just a few:

1. GIVE - Gene has shown me that life is so much better when you give. He gives to others, to me, and to the city. He truly enjoys giving, whether it is one of a hundred trees he (and his family) have planted in a park in Lubbock, or if it is a handshake, a hug, or putting lessons. Gene loves giving candy and gifts to my kids. Re-gifting is perfectly okay with Gene. He has taught me that every time we give a gift we are re-gifting. When he knows I am leaving town for a trip, he gives me a sleeve of golf balls to use if I get to play. If a few days go by without interaction, he calls just to see how Holly, the boys, and I are getting along. Gene reminds me that it is good to give.

2. RECEIVE - Gene believes life is a gift. He has shown me if we receive life as a gift we are so much more ready to receive and enjoy things from others as well. Gene loves to receive anything that is a token of love or friendship. When presented with a gift, a helping hand, an award, or a plate of Holly's chocolate chip cookies, he receives it gracefully and enthusiastically. The enjoyment is visible on his face and in his words and actions. When our friend Stan gives him a ride to Lion's club, he always thanks him and tells me. He consistently brags on the gift and the giver to others. Gene receives so well it makes giving more enjoyable.

3. DANCE - Not only does Gene still golf, he also still dances. He dances at the nightclubs. He dances in the ballroom. He dances anywhere someone is willing to take a dance lesson. Life is good for Gene because he dances at age 95. And, Gene dances at age 95 because LIFE, for him, is good.

4. KEEP GOING - About a year ago, Gene had an emergency surgical procedure to repair a small bowel obstruction. This was possibly related to his pancreatic cancer he had survived a few years earlier. He was in intensive care for a while and then in an extended care facility for a few weeks. Some of us questioned whether these would be Gene's final few days. They weren't. Gene's attitude, his determination, and his looking forward toward the next round of golf, the next dance, and the next morning walk were amazing. His love of life seemingly has a direct link to his motivation to keep going.

5. HOLD ON TO EACH OTHER - When I go somewhere with Gene, he holds onto my arm. Whether we are walking into the house, across a parking lot, or climbing out of a bunker we are frequently arm in arm or hand in hand. While this was at first, a little bit "different" for me, I have grown to expect it and enjoy it. It is not that Gene can't make it on his own. Remember, he dances. He holds on to someone else because life is better this way, a little more secure, a little more manageable, and much more enjoyable. This is as true figuratively in life as it is literally. It is true when walking with Gene, or Holly, or with my boys, and it is true when "walking" with the folks around me everyday. It is true when strolling the smooth places of life, and it is certainly true when climbing out of life's "bunkers". Gene reminds me to hold on to those around me.

6. BE FAITHFUL - As I mentioned at the beginning, if Gene says he will do something, he does it. In this regard he is faithful. But I have grown to understand this comes from something else deep inside him. He is faithful in the sense that he is "full of faith". In 95 years, he has seen more than he can describe, both good and bad, joy and heartache, love and loss. In spite of this or because of this, he lives a life of strong and beautiful dependence. I will never forget the first time we sat down to lunch in the clubhouse at the golf course. He reached both hands across the table and grasped mine (again holding on to each other). His 95 year old hands are an amazing combination of strength and softness. He said these words I have now heard so many times I have them memorized (thankfully), "Our Heavenly Father, we pause to give you thanks, for the MANY, MANY blessings you have provided to the families represented here today. Be with my wife (in heaven), and be with my son and daughter. And now, be with me in ALL that I do and ALL that I say. In Jesus name, Amen."

Hearing Gene say these words as he holds my hands is powerful. I can't help but think that something "happens" when he does this. It makes me wonder if there is another reason to hold on to each other. It feels almost like a kind of faith transfusion. I hope it takes.

Switchfoot Pics

A Day with Davis (and Switchfoot)

Sunday was a great day. Davis and I drove to Abilene, met his cousin Garrett, a freshman at ACU, and went to watch Switchfoot. We arrived early and watched the soundcheck and met the band! After the show we drove back home and arrived just before midnight.

I hope Davis had as much fun as I did. At first I thought a rock concert 2.5 hours away was a great excuse for me to spend the day with Davis. Later, I realized that it probably gave Davis an excuse to spend the day with me. I am the one who listens to music and goes to concerts. He was willing to do what I like to do, just to be with me. I guess it was a great excuse for us to be together.

Anyway, Switchfoot was awesome, and so was Seabird,the opening act. We were sitting so close to the stage that my video doesn't have great sound. I'll post some more photos of our trip and the show, but for now here is a studio version of Davey's favorite Switchfoot song... Hello Hurricane.

For You

After just a couple of posts, I can tell that writing, for me, is difficult. Now that I read what I have written, I am surprised at how what came out isn't exactly what was inside me. I wonder if authors and artists have the same problem. In other words, I wonder if what they produce is what is "inside" them. It might be the case, but I am often amazed by the fact that what they produce is what is "inside" me.

For example, the song below by Snow Patrol, says much of what I feel about the people I have been blessed with in this life. It says it in much the same way I would like to say it. If you are reading this, in Knightstown or Lubbock, Elkhart or Alaska, Bristol or Nashville, Grand Rapids or Cincinnati, Hanover or Jesup, The Dominican Republic or Ransom Canyon, Pennsylvania or Indianapolis, then this is in some way about you and to you. When I hear it, I think of you. "There's not a single doubt, when I can see your faces."

Give Me Strength

I choked back tears today because I can’t begin to say

how much you've shaped this boy, these last ten years or more.

My friends we've seen it all, triumphs to drunken falls

and our bones are broken still, but our hearts are joined until,

time slips its tired hand into our tired hands

we've years 'til that day and so much more to say.

You give the strength to me, a strength I never had,

I was a mess you see, I'd lost the plot so bad,

you dragged me up and out, out of the darkest place,

there's not a single doubt when I can see your faces.

My friends we've seen it all,

when it made no sense at all,

you dare to light my path

and found the beauty in the aftermath.

Let me hold you up like you held me up,

it's too late to never say this,

you must know I've always thought,

You give the strength to me, a strength I never had,

I was a mess you see, I'd lost the plot so bad,

you dragged me up and out, out of the darkest place,

there's not a single doubt when I can see your faces.

You give the strength to me, a strength I never had,

I was a mess you see, I'd lost the plot so bad,

you dragged me up and out, out of the darkest place,

there's not a single doubt when I can see your faces.

When Worlds Collide

Two Worlds

Sometimes it feels like I am living in two different worlds. Actually, much of the time, it feels like I am living in two different worlds. Though they mostly remain separate, these worlds can dance around each other, run parallel, and even be tangled. However, even though they are so close, one can almost make me forget the other is even there. And when I am aware of both, it seems difficult or at times impossible for me to make them join. They can both be felt in the middle of the same conversation, in family function or dysfunction, between friends or enemies, in good times and bad.

It also isn't just me. I hear everyone I know describe these worlds as they describe their lives. The first of these worlds is made of frustrations about unmet deadlines, downed web sites, too much distance (geographical or otherwise) from those we love, and inabilities to say what we really feel. There are obstacles and opportunities in this world, but they can be hard to differentiate. Filling this world are anxieties over appearances, worries about what might be, and feelings of insecurity and shame. This world is at times controlled by or caused by accidents, addictions, and abuse. Sometimes it festers with misunderstandings, diversions, complacency, boredom, to-do lists, financial statements, family conflict and fear, lots and lots of fear. The fact that we can see at least some of these things in the lives of every person we know, and in many of those we don't know, makes it easy to forget that the other world exists.

But the other world does exist. I experience it. We experience it, though less frequently than we would like. This other world is one of honesty, joy, hope, happiness, and forgiveness. It also is the home of truth, justice, love, compassion and grace. It can be touched in social gatherings, small group discussions, dates with my wife, and in counseling sessions. I can see it smack dab in the middle of the other world in an act of hope and compassion in the midst of tragedy and loss. It is the place of peace in the world and peace in each of us. It is the world where life itself and the way it is lived take on significance. We are reminded of it occasionally by a good movie, or an inspiring book. Music can awaken glimpses of it in me at almost any time. It can occupy the same house, office, and relationship that the other world does. It can be at the same time so close and so difficult to grasp. It can simultaneously inspire, challenge, and comfort. It feels like home but at times its ways are so foreign I can't recognize it.

There are some magical moments when those two worlds become one. Sometimes they seem to slowly unite through a conversation with a fearful patient, an unexpected lunch with a friend, or an afternoon of fun with the boys. At other times the two worlds collide violently, as in the tearful, forgiving embrace of Holly after an argument that was too long and too bitter. It can break into the first world in the text message or phone call from a friend that becomes the voice of encouragement and love replacing the one of insecurity and shame. It is the outstretched hand of another human that we grasp when we feel as if the other world is pulling us down. At times, it is the simple presence of a coworker, colleague, spouse or friend in the midst of the other world that tethers me to this one and reminds me that I (and we) are never really alone, in either world.

Unfortunately, I need constant, frequent reminders of this second world. Fortunately, there seems to be a limitless supply of these reminders. It continues to show up in people and ways that amaze me. I wonder if spiritual disciplines have been discovered and shared for thousands of years, because they are ways people have found to remind themselves of this other world. Any activity or relationship that reminds me of this second world, now seems to me to be a spiritual discipline. I have long realized that running, music, and the company of certain people had special importance to me. These things, in various ways, keep me in touch with this other world.

My efforts to unite these two worlds are rarely tied to their connection. In fact, it sometimes seems that the harder I try, the farther apart these worlds become. Frustration, criticism, and guilt are frequently the result. Evidently, "the end" doesn't justify "the means", and equally important, "the means" justify "the end" only if "the means" are the correct means. A dear friend (spiritual guide, counselor) has helped me realize that when those two worlds seem to meet (and even when they don't) I am being "carried". It is a term I don't understand, but a reality that is becoming more difficult to deny.

When I trust that I am being carried, the two worlds seem to move toward each other. When they get close, it frequently makes me try to force the first into the second or vice versa. I realize that my power is at times as limited as my perspective. Finally, I am left with the obvious realization that it isn't up to me to complete the joining of these worlds. If I am being carried, maybe I am being being carried to some place or to someday when the merger of these worlds will be complete. I am beginning to believe that this is in some way what we are asking when we say, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."

Undone Again

The moments in life that reduce me to tears seem to come far more frequently these days. I don't consider that a bad thing. In fact, I am grateful for the ability to feel the weight of this life and of the relationships of which it is composed. This morning was just another example.

The boys had gotten up early again, in order to be dressed and ready for school with as much time as possible to play the Wii. Eli however, had been up "attacking" his brothers well after bedtime last night and was sound asleep on our bed even after I had dressed him, shoes and all. Holly had left for work and Ranger was roaming the house and running from me every time he even thought I was going to put him in his kennel.

As I began my juggling act of herding kids downstairs, brushing Eli's teeth between his cries and chasing the dog, the clock ticked down towards the last minute before it would be too late to stop for breakfast with my boys, a ritual I have grown to love. I could feel my anxiety begin to build and my patience growing thin as one more thing followed one more thing and the boys were more concerned with blaming, whining, and fighting, than with zipping, sitting, getting along with each other, and buckling. I remember only the camel's back breaking, not the straw that broke it. I launched into one of my classic tirades making the ride to McDonald's quite unpleasant for everyone, especially me. Total silence filled the van as we left the house.

The first miracle, though not the one that undid me, happened on the way to McDonald's. I was given the ability, or prompted, to see things differently. An inaudible voice let me know that I was guilty of selfishness, impatience, and of losing my temper just as my boys were. It helped me to see that I wanted my kids hearts more than I wanted their behavior, though my actions had been telling them just the opposite. Even more amazing is the fact that I was given the ability to turn around, in my heart and in my seat and ask for forgiveness and for a chance to start over, to try again. Instead of verbally beating myself up for having verbally beaten them up, I was able to let it go, quite possibly the biggest miracle. Their response was like my own internal one, awkward, but clearly an awareness of a change in direction, almost a hope that things would get better, less heavy, more fun, and relaxed.

Things did get better. Breakfast was filled with laughter and sharing (good times and food). By the time we left McDonald's it was a new day and hundreds of geese flew over as we walked out and climbed into the car. I turned on the CD player and this song came on...

I could feel gratitude, hope and joy welling up inside as we drove to school with the volume turned up. The boys were laughing and head-bobbing to the beat. I thought we were all singing along and I imagined them being as moved by the words as I was. I was thankful for the tearing down of the walls that had held me inside.

Just then, Clayton said something to me, and that is when it happened. I adjusted the rear view mirror to see him in the back seat and caught a glimpse of Davis out of the corner of my eye. Davis was sitting all the way in the back with a look of total happiness. He wasn't singing along as he usually does, but instead had a smile of delight from ear to ear complete with dimples. It took me a moment to realize the source of his happiness. His eyes were fixed on me, or rather, on my reflection in the mirror. It was as if seeing "Dad" having so much fun and being so care free with "the guys" was the best thing he had seen in a while. The look of happiness on his face from seeing me in a moment of laughter and joy instead of anger and frustration was more than I could take.

As I continued to sing and laugh with them, I came undone. I don't know if they noticed the tears that came or not. I would guess that Davis probably did as closely as he was watching. His joy said a few things that hit me, one after the other. Some of them were questions like: If he is that happy when I am joyful with them, how painful is it for him (and his brothers) when I am the other way? How deeply does he (do they) feel my criticism, and likewise, my praise and encouragement? How do I walk the fine line of correcting behavior while protecting and caring for their hearts? However, these questions were accompanied not by anxiety, but rather by a strange sense that I would be carried through this entire process, that things were going to be okay.

Those thoughts quickly gave way to joy, love, hope, and gratitude for second chances, for my boys, for the other people in my life, for the voice that I am beginning to hear again, for music, for moments like this, and for the ability to see, feel, and appreciate them.