Greatness

{faith, hope, love}

An Easter of Hope

I first published this post ten years ago: April 4, 2010.

My how times have changed.

There’ll be no church service this year, no big family gathering at which to eat entirely too much food, hunt for eggs, and cheer on The Masters.

Rather, Easter of twenty-twenty will be a rather unassuming affair. Which, given the one whom we celebrate, just might be perfect.

So, as we quietly celebrate Good Friday, Resurrection Sunday, Easter Monday, and beyond may we find ourselves a little less like the disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, too worn out with the goings on of the day, to focus on what truly matters . . . a little less like Peter, too quick to attack those with whom we disagree . . . and a lot more like Joseph of Arimathea, continuing on, doing what we can, where we are, with hope in our hearts.

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As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus . . .

Matthew 27:57

There were many that day who watched Jesus die. Some mourned, others laughed and scorned. There was one man, however, who stood from the crowd. He was among them, yes, but he was different. And it was more than his place in society. 

Joseph of Arimathea was a rich man–a man both well-off and well respected. He was a member of the Council, of the ruling body of the Jews.  He was associated with those who condemned Christ to die; yet he was a follower of the very man they so despised. He stood with the Council as they made their demands; yet he did not share in their convictions. Joseph of Arimathea had convictions of his own. Though he feared the men he ruled alongside, he knew they held no power over death. Though he knew his Messiah would be killed, he believed He would rise again.

That’s where he differed from other believers. 

He watched Jesus being beaten, spit upon, laughed at, and hung upon a cross. And while it pained his heart, he refused to lose hope. You see, he did not focus on the here-and-now. He focused on the words of prophecy. He believed Jesus was who He said–and that meant He would rise again. So as Jesus uttered his final words and breathed his last . . . as His followers held tight to one another and wept . . . as the dark clouds gathered overhead and panic began to spread throughout the crowd . . . Joseph sneaked away. 

Gathering every ounce of courage he possessed, he approached Pilate.  He asked–he pleaded–for the body of Jesus. When his request was granted, he stole the limp body of his Savior away. He did not bury him with the guilty, as the Council would demand, but buried him in a new tomb. He did not wrap Him according to burial custom, as the believers would demand, but wrapped him in fresh linens.

Then he waited for the third day . . .

As we go forth from this Easter season, let us be like Joseph of Arimathea.  Let us truly believe in Christ and His resurrection power. Let us shake off our sackcloth and rejoice–for the tomb, my friends, is empty! 

Among the brightest of women

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No doubt we would have been preparing to celebrate Phoebe’s birthday this weekend. While the actual date of her birth fell on February 20, her calendar of festivities filled rather quickly. I imagine this year would have been especially so, being her one-hundredth celebration and all.

Alas, she bid her final farewell at ninety-nine. And for most of those ninety-nine years, we knew nary a thing of this girl from Riverside, California  . . .

We knew her not when entered this world in 1918; when she graduated from Kuna High School in 1935; or when she attended Pioneer Business College in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1936 . . . when she worked in military communications during  World War II; or when she married the love of her life in 1948 . . . when she lived in New York; or when she returned to Boise, into that grand old house on twenty-second street . . . when she worked for the tax commission; when she raised show dogs; when she traveled about, amassing one adventure after another.

No, we knew nary a thing of her until she joined the “old girls” at “the home.” By that time she’d be quick to shoo away a camera for fear it would make her look old; and she was more than ready to accept her boarding pass to the great beyond–to be reunited with those she loved most of all.

But unlike some who tire of this world, she rarely complained; instead, she chose to make the most of each day. And despite the years that layered one upon another, she continued to have a youthful gleam in her eye.

Perhaps its one of the things that made us fast friends.

Despite our age difference, we shared a love of laughter. We shared a love of clouds and the myriad of ways they dance upon the sky. We shared an understanding that the ache of some disappointments (never holding a baby of your own, for instance) never truly goes away; that you can (and most certainly should) make the best of the hand you’ve been dealt, but a twinge of pain continues to tug at your heart.

I imagine if we had been born in the same place, at the same time, we’d have been inseparable. Instead, she paved the way; she showed me how to grow old . . .

In the few short years we knew her, she taught us the importance of looking your best–even when you can no longer wear the shoes you love, or it takes hours to prepare; that wit remains timeless; that friends and family are your anchors–that you should hug, and say “I love you,” and accept those invitations for as long as you can; that age does not have to dim your spark.

Phoebe, brightest of women–she certainly, lived up to her name.

At her memorial service, her niece read aloud one of her favorite poems:

Life owes me nothing. Let the years
Bring cloud or azure, joy or tears;
Already a full cup I’ve qualified;
Already wept and loved and laughed.
And seen, in ever-endless ways,
New beauties overwhelm the days.

Life owes me nought. No pain that waits
Can steal the wealth from memory’s gates;
No aftermath of anguish slow
Can quench the soul fire’s early glow.
I breathe, exulting every breath,
Embracing Life, ignoring Death.

Life owes me nothing. One clear morn
Is boon enough for being born;
And be ninety or ten,
No need for me to question when.
While Life is mine, I’ll find it good.
And greet each hour with gratitude.

Anonymous

Words she obviously took to heart. And if her life is any indication, it would behoove us all to do the same.

Thank you

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Today, we celebrate our veterans.

It was President Woodrow Wilson who first proclaimed it Armistice Day:

“To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations.” (November 11, 1919)

In 1945, it became a day to honor all veterans, whether living or dead, serving stateside or abroad, in times of war or of peace.

As for us, this year will be a bit more solemn. This year we’ll be preparing to say goodbye to two of our own.

The threat, you see, is never far removed.

And yet, they serve.

So to the men and women of the United States Army, Marine Corp, Nay, Air Force, Coast Guard, Army National Guard, Army Reserve, Marine Corps Forces Reserve, Navy Reserve, Air National Guard, Air Force Reserve, and Coast Guard Reserve, we salute you. And we offer our deepest thanks . . .

veterans-day-pics-2014

Imagine: Lincoln

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You may have seen the idea floating about on Facebook–people posting their first blog post. It’s a fun little exercise. After all, how many of us have been around the blogs we read since their early beginnings? I, for one started blogging at the end of 2005. I had just lost my job at a family foundation–a job where I could make a difference. A job I loved. I was floundering a bit, so I decided to write a series about inspirational folk. Titled ‘Imagine,’ it would be a look at the hardships great people endured. I still think it’s a good idea; it would behoove us to stop every once in awhile and consider what makes a life great. After all, greatness is often only recognized as such when you look back.

So without further ado, my first blog post, originally posted November 26, 2005 . . .

Imagine a boy, born into a poor, illiterate family, in a dirt-floored, one-room log cabin, in the backwoods of Kentucky. His own father ridicules him for wanting to learn–for taking precious moments between chores to read.  Yet even though his formal education is sparse, he continues to read, borrowing books from neighbors, and reading by firelight at the close of the day. Only at twenty-two does he begin to learn the basics of math. He works as a clerk for a small country store. A year later the store goes bankrupt. He and a friend purchase a store of their own. It too falters, leaving behind a mount of debt. He becomes Captain of a military company, but the company soon disbands. One woman he loves dies, another turns down his proposal. At times he battles severe depression. He obtains a patent. Yet nothing becomes of his invention. He runs for Congress. He loses. He runs for U.S. Senate. Again he loses.

No doubt many of us would take the hint.  Enough things go wrong, what’s the use in even trying?  Besides, what good could possibly come of such a life? What good indeed . . .

Through wit and devotion this boy became a man of friends. Through dedication and integrity he put himself through law school and actually became known as an honest lawyer. Through perseverance and conviction, he became one of the most influential people of all time. Sure, he may not have won the senatorial election, but he won enough votes to become the 16th President of the United States of America–helping to create our national currency, fighting to keep the union together, and most importantly, beginning the process to end slavery.

Next time we face one too many setbacks let us think of Abraham Lincoln. A charmed life his was not. Yet he continued to live out his convictions; he chose to continue to fight, even when the battle seemed uphill and his heart was breaking. If, despite everything, he still managed to make a difference, chances are, so can we.

abraham_lincoln

It’s never really out

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school2

School’s in. At least it’s right around the corner.

Away on business, a friend could not make his kids’ first day of school, so he sent his wishes on the wings of Facebook:

Have fun. Be awesome. Give something. Help someone. Be kind. Respect your teachers. Question appropriately.
You can be anything you choose and that starts with good choices now.

Good advice for us all, really. After all, the days of musty smelling classrooms and old, cumbersome textbooks may come to a close, but the school of life is never really out. There’s always something to learn, always a problem to figure out. And just when we think we know all the answers, life throws a fast one, circumstances change, and we must learn it all anew.

So as we start a new week–whether it be school, or work, or play–let’s determine to have fun, to be great–even in the little things. Let’s give a little something, offer a helping hand to someone in need, and show a little kindness. Let’s look for those who can teach us a thing or two, and give them our respect. Let’s continue to question, to try something new, to learn, even now.

By doing so, who knows? Life just might turn out better than we had ever dared imagine . . .