Iron Mountain ski jump

Iron Mountain ski jump

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

ALONE 5-31-17


CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith and Life from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter

Today Helen and I start our 59th year of marriage, so it seems like an appropriate time to repost this from 5-31-2012. I have updated the numbers.

ALONE      5-31-17

“One of you will die first.”

That’s what Jeanette Ericson said the day she and Darrol went with Helen and me to ride the riverboat. It wasn’t much of a boat, and not much of a river, but we had a good lunch, and it was fun. Until Jeanette told the truth, when I said “If one of us dies first…”

Well, of course. Either Helen or I will die first. It is highly unlikely that we shall die together. We have done all else together, but this we cannot. Today we start our 59th year of marriage, but at some time after all these years together, one of us shall finally be left alone.

Within our circle of friends, the wives die first: Dianne Bass, Jean Cramer-Heuerman, Eileen Wilkey, Ruth E. White, Joyce Peacock, Ila Fisher, Darlene Barrett, Dee Lemkau, Rose Mary Shepherd, Eunice Snider, Phyllis Graham Parr, Linda Soper, Jan Rossow Brown, Betty Dees, Mardel Nestler, Jerri Travelstead, Pat Keller, Catherine Smith, Barbara Shipley, Betsy Linneman, Marian Ekin…

We, of course, have friend couples where the men have died first, but mostly it’s been the men who have been left alone.

This has been sobering. For many years, insofar as I thought about it at all, I assumed I would die first. That is the way it goes in general. But now I see so many of my men friends living alone, and I realize it could happen.

I have tried my best for 58 years to keep the vows–for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in [relative] rich or in poor. Now the time is closer for until death do us part.

Certain members of our family think that I will be remarried in 6 months if Helen should die first. Not so. I shall be hugely lonely for HER should I be left alone, but I shall not be lonely in general.

Those family members think I would HAVE to remarry because I need a caretaker. They think that I cannot take care of myself because in 58 years of marriage I never have. [As Helen famously said, “Men enter assisted living the day they get married.”] I do have someone who takes care of me, but I don’t NEED someone to take care of me. I can LEARN to cook, to do the laundry, the taxes, etc. [I’m not asking for a show of hands on this.]

That’s not really the major issue, though, is it?

Paul Tournier says: “You are never too young or too old to give your life to Christ; after that, what else is there to do to get ready to die?”

I think that’s true about aloneness, too. You are never too young or too old to give your life to Christ. After that, what else is there to do to get ready to be alone? Because after that, you are never alone.

JRMcF

The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer! We moved from there to Bloomington, IN, where we were married on this date so long ago.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

THE IMPORTANCE OF FIRST GRADE TEACHERS 5-30-17

THE IMPORTANCE OF FIRST GRADE TEACHERS    5-30-17

Both our daughters love to read and write. Part of that is because they grew up in a reading home, but much of it is due to their first grade teacher, Edith Hufford.

She did not start to college until she was fifty years old. Her sons were going to the local university, Illinois State, so she decided to keep them company. It took her ten years, but she finally got a degree, and a job teaching first grade at Oakdale School. She taught only five years, but those were the years Mary Beth and Katie were first graders at Oakdale.

Mrs. Hufford was almost more grandmother than teacher. I observed her classes on several occasions. It was clear that the children loved her. If a little boy fell off his chair to get a laugh, the way little boys do, she laughed right along with everybody else. It wasn’t a distraction; it was entertainment. Because she loved the children, they loved her back. If she said “Read,” they only said, “How long and how fast?” This inexperienced old teacher’s classes rated the highest for their grade level in the state.

We don’t get many Mrs. Huffords anymore, of any age, because teachers are so disrespected. They are the enemy, because they belong to unions, and we have to pay taxes because they want to be paid a salary and have health care and pensions instead of donating their time.


Besides, we don’t want people to be able to read and think, because readers and thinkers are harder to control. We can’t convince readers and thinkers to vote against their own best interests so that people who already have too much money can “legally” steal what little the ignoramuses have by convincing them that the people who are actually trying to help them are not patriotic or Christian enough.

Younger daughter, Katie Kennedy, has turned that ability to read into writing for others to read. She is a highly successful author of Young Adult novels. In her new one, that comes out July 6, 2017, one of the characters is named Edith Hufford. How’s that for a thank-you for learning how to read?

JRMcF

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

Saturday, May 27, 2017

REMEMBERED AS ONE WHO WAS FAITHFUL 5-27-17

 CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a place of winter For the Years of Winter…

I first posted this on this date six years ago. I find that one of the best things about old age is getting to remember old friends, again and again…

 REMEMBERED AS ONE WHO WAS FAITHFUL 5-27-17

The story is told of the little boy who was taken, quite reluctantly, to kindergarten. Later in the day, he was upset. His teacher thought it would help him if he could talk to his mother, so she called her. When the mother answered, the teacher handed the phone to the boy. “Who is this?” the mother asked. “This is your son; have you forgotten me already?” he wailed.

No one is remembered for long, unless you are a shaker or mover. We understand that, but we want to be remembered by those who know us, in whose lives we have played a part. In winter, we look at the snow that covers up the reminders of spring and summer and autumn, and we wonder. Who will remember me? Especially, how will they remember me?

Bob and Lois Teague were our neighbors in Normal, IL when our girls and theirs were little. We moved onto Fairchild Avenue, next door to each other, at the same time, the first houses either of us had ever bought. We lived side by side for six years. Bob and I did not have a lot in common, except we were both trying to raise little girls, and provide for our families, and fight dandelions, but we were good neighbors.

Years later, when we were in our mid-fifties, he called up and said something that shocked me. “I always admired you and wanted to be like you,” he said. I had no idea that he had ever felt that way.

Then he said, “But I have taken it too far. I’ve gotten cancer, too, just like you.”

Months later, when Bob was dying, he and Lois asked me to officiate at his funeral service. I made a trip to Normal to spend some last time with him. I asked him how he wanted to be remembered. “I was faithful,” he said.

Now it was my turn to admire and emulate. I wanted to be like Bob. I still do. I want to be remembered as one who was faithful.

JRMcF

The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!

Thursday, May 25, 2017

OLD DISCS 5-25-17

OLD DISCS 5-25-17

I have old guy discs
in my neck
as well as in my CD player
which means I have a pain
in the neck.
As long as it is low
and dull, this pain,
I relish it, like the bitter
taste of pickled blossoms.
It reminds me that yes,
I am still alive
and see your face.
When the pain is gone,
so am I.
Pain tells me to pay
attention, to fix
what must be fixed
and tells me when it becomes
too high and sharp
instead of low and dull,
that now is the time
to slip into the player
that Tom Paxton disc
that says “I can’t help but wonder
where I’m bound…”

JRMcF

No, I’m not writing again. I have said all I know to say about Christ In Winter. This is just today’s closer.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

WHEN I READ THE POEMS OF OTHERS 5-23-17

WHEN I READ THE POEMS OF OTHERS   5-23-17

When I read a poem
by William Stafford, about a wagon
track or wolf or gust
of wind, or lines by Billy
Collins about a lazy daughter
or a lanyard or a gust
of wind, or stanzas by Shelly
about a long-lost statue
in the sand, brushed by a gust
of wind, all I can think
to write is about a lanyard-
wearing wolf walking on a statue
in the sand, and a gust
of wind.

JRMcF

[No, I’m not writing again. I’m still fasting from being a professional Christian, trying to be a real Christian. But I start most days with a poem—unedited, just the way it comes off the top of my head--just because I want to, and because I need to write. You don’t need to read it, though, and I have told no one that I am posting in CIW again, so if you have stumbled in here by mistake, and think there will be something worthwhile to read, I apologize. JRMcF]



Wednesday, May 17, 2017

ONE FLOATS FREE, 5-17-17

ONE FLOATS FREE, 5-17-17

The world will stagger
And need our prayers for mercy
Mercy for the moment
And all the lonely moments
Yet to come
One of us must stay
And one must go
The soul goes on and leaves
The body as a useless husk
One of us must stay in flesh
While one floats free

JRMcF

[No, I’m not writing again. I’m still fasting from being a professional Christian, trying to be a real Christian. But I start most days with a poem—unedited, just the way it comes off the top of my head--just because I want to, and because I need to write. You don’t need to read it, though, and I have told no one that I am posting in CIW again, so if you have stumbled in here by mistake, and think there will be something worthwhile to read, I apologize. JRMcF]

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

POET IN A COFFEE SHOP, 5-16-17

POET IN A COFFEE SHOP, 5-16-17

I decided that I needed
To be a poet
In a coffee shop
This sunny morning
So off I went
To the Pour House
And got myself seated
On a hard and soul-worn bench
With the darkest of the dark roasts
In a red-striped mug
On the scarred table before me
Alas, without my pad for poems
Which watched forlornly
From across the street
In the back seat of my car
So I watched my coffee colleagues
The nerdy but pretty woman typing
At a small high table
The tall and pleasant young man
Behind the counter
Dispensing coffee and politeness
In equal measure
The lone wolves with their laptops
As far away from one another
As Scylla from Charybdis
Two middle aged faculty women
Discussing some arcane topic
Before the empty fireplace
The four bright grad students
Here only for the summer
Studying together for some project
Each just finished with the first
Year of teaching school
Now back for greater learning
how to teach English and arithmetic
While hoping for sex and beer
They all make me smile
I’m glad I forgot my poet pad


[No, I’m not writing again. I’m still fasting from being a professional Christian, trying to be a real Christian. But I start most days with a poem—unedited, just the way it comes off the top of my head--just because I want to, and because I need to write. You don’t need to read it, though, and I have told no one that I am posting in CIW again, so if you have stumbled in here by mistake, and think there will be something worthwhile to read, I apologize. JRMcF]

Saturday, May 6, 2017

CHASED BY A HEADLESS CHICKEN 5-6-17

CHASED BY A HEADLESS CHICKEN

Most little children were chased
By a headless chicken
If they were born between eight thousand B.C.
Or whenever chickens and butcher knives
Had both been invented
And the end of the greater war
That followed The Great War
And ever set foot on a farm
Because adults were intent on cutting
Off the heads of chickens in the presence
Of little children so they could watch
And laugh their fool heads off
As the tiny tykes scrambled and screamed
while the headless chicken
chased them ‘round the yard
Which is why there is a still greater
Great war coming…


JRMcF