Author: William Douthwaite

Posted in Life

Not even close

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Readers will ask me, “How do you come up with ideas for your blog posts?” It’s not hard. I see them every day. Scenes and situations that make me wonder, “What in the world is going on here?”

So this guy didn’t even try. He’s driving a very small SUV. He’s parked in an extra wide handicapped spot with extra room on the side, and he’s missed it by a mile. I don’t see a handicapped card hanging from his rearview mirror. I can’t really see the license plate clearly, but I’ll bet it’s not a handicapped plate. It’s just a guy or a gal who doesn’t quite understand how store parking lots work.

I’m pretty conscientious about how I park. If I get out and see that I’m not straight inside of the lines, I start the car up and straighten it out. That’s just me. If a car is a little bit off, no problem. Just try to get inside the lines.

In fact, I believe that’s one of the things required in the rest for a driver’s license. You have to get your vehicle in the spot without hitting any of the four cones on each corner.

Can you imagine if this guy or gal had to parallel park? Where I grew up, that skill was essential. Not so much where I live and drive now. But every once in a while, I’m glad my dad and driver’s ed teacher taught me how to do that with a big old late-60s Ford Fairlane station wagon.

I wonder if it’s acceptable to call someone out for this kind of behavior. We shy away from that, don’t we? When half the population has a concealed weapon, I don’t want to provoke anyone to anger.

Maybe I could come at this from a Good Samaritan perspective. How about I finish parking your car – inside the lines – while you mozy into the store for a sub, an energy drink and a few lottery tickets.

If you take another look at the picture, you’ll see that other parking-challenged customers were in the store that day. And this isn’t even down by the liquor store entrance.

I like to park far away from the entrance of the store, far away from folks whose driving skills match their parking abilities.

Posted in Life

Go ahead, take a swing at me

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I heard my dog’s low gutteral growl long before this guy startled me one morning. At first I thought it was a live person standing outside his home. Wait a minute. No arms, no legs. It’s a boxing mannequin. I’ve seen standing and hanging body bags, but never a punching dummy like this. Especially not in our neighborhood.

Of course, you can buy your own on Amazon. And he gets great reviews. Once you fill the base with a few hundred pounds of sand or water, he can take a lot of abuse. I wonder how many of these the delivery guy has dropped off at homes?

What do you think? Would you rather take out your aggression on a cylindrical heavy bag, or something that looks like a real person? I’ve never done any boxing or fighting. I’ll bet some find it very satisfying land punch after punch and work off the day’s stress.

I’ve got a few young grandchildren who are learning Tae Kwon Do. So far they’ve just practiced forms and broken a few boards. But as they move up in belt color, it won’t be long before they will have to spar. That’s got to be a whole different experience. Hitting someone or being hit by someone is where it gets real.

Thinking back through my career, I don’t remember ever really wanting to take a swing at someone. I am sure my professors at the seminary discouraged that kind of pastoral care. However, I imagine there were some who wanted to get “real” with me. The prophets always took it on the chin, right?

I prefer running to martial arts. I’m sure I could have outrun any overly-aggressive parishioners.

Posted in Life

That mailbox didn’t have a chance

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Red marker next to mailbox? Check.

Reflective sticker affixed to the post? Check.

Post firmly embedded in the ground? Check.

Obnoxious, clearly noticeable color? Check.

When I saw the remains of this mailbox on a walk around the neighborhood, I thought, “There’s got to be a great story here.” A little tap from a car backing out of a driveway didn’t do this. A hurried mail carrier didn’t slam the door too hard. I don’t think we’ve had any earthquakes in Florida lately. Someone nailed this mailbox. They showed no mercy. They took it out.

  • The lawn guy was late. For what, I don’t know. He slammed the gate shut on the trailer, jumped in the truck and floored it. The trailer began to fishtail back and forth, almost out of control, until it swung through the mailbox. “What the heck was that?” Glancing in the mirror, he saw it and skidded to a stop. Looking up and down the street and seeing no one, the lawn guy carefully stacked the pieces and took off, a little slower this time.
  • He was pissed. The neighbor’s dog had visited his yard one too many times. Enough is enough. “I knew that baseball bat would come in handy.” He didn’t take any warmup swings. It was like swinging at a fastball right down the middle. It was the most satisfying hit of his life.
  • “Watch out, you’re too close to the side of the road.” “I know mom, I know…oh my gosh, what was that?” “I’m going to let your father teach you how to drive.”
  • “A backup camera? I don’t need no d*** backup camera.”

Most of the mailboxes on our street look like junk. Anything that gets them replaced is a good thing.

Posted in dogs, Life

Neighborhood walks and aggressive dogs

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Delphine Beausoleil on Unsplash

I think I’m becoming less and less popular amongst the dog walkers in my neighborhood. I’ve finally gotten my dog – Winston the Westie – to behave when we pass other dogs. But the other dogs haven’t gotten the memo.

I felt horrible the other day as we approached an eighty-plus year old neighbor walking a tiny chihuahua named Queenie. She saw us forty-yards away and was beyond excited. She started for us as he lost control of the retractable leash. I moved to the other side of the street, but the owner had to wrap his arm around a utility pole to keep from being dragged through the water-filled swale. His persistent obscenity-punctuated cries of “Queenie! Queenie!” fell on deaf ears as she fought the leash and lunged ahead.

There was nothing I could do. Whether I turned back to walk home another way or scooted past them as quickly as I could, Queenie wouldn’t give up. Winston was interested, but on a short leash with a prong collar, reminding him to pay attention to me, not her. We made it past and the aggressive barking subsided, but I didn’t want to look back. Next time, we won’t take a chance. I’ll go back home the way I came.

Another neighbor owns two Labrador retrievers, one yellow, one black. I haven’t seen them out walking, but they were out the other evening as Winston and I headed up the street from my house. Once they spotted us, the barking started, followed by frantic pulling to come and check us out. It was all the owner could do to restrain the two eighty-pound bundles of muscle and energy. I would have turned back to go the other way around the block, but when I looked, there was another person walking a German Shepherd I didn’t recognize. Between a rock and a hard place, we walked around the corner to get out of sight.

As he heat of the summer subsides, more and more neighbors have their dogs out for walks. I’ve worked hard to leash train Winston. He’s not perfect, but attentive and manageable. The other dogs? I’ve met a few well-behaved Golden Retrievers and one chill Rottweiler. The rest are out of control. Either they don’t go for many walks or they haven’t been trained.

It’s annoying. I know I’m the one who needs to adjust my route because I’m the one who took the time to train my dog. But I want those dogs to get out and see the world. I don’t think they get out much, and there is so much to smell out there (at least Winston thinks so)!

So, come on, everyone. Train your dog and enjoy some walks!

Posted in Life

He drove past three just for iced tea

Posted on by William Douthwaite

So, you know everyone loves Chick-fil-A. I’ve met people who claim to eat there every day. Many who bemoan the fact that they are closed on Sundays. Plenty of folks love the chicken sandwich. Others really like the coffee. Some are fans of the sweet tea.

A few weeks ago, a friend shared with me that he drove past three Chick-fil-A’s to get to the one who had the best sweet iced tea. Hmm. I had no idea. I assumed that the menu, food and drinks were consistent from restaurant to restaurant. The few times I search for fast food, I go to the nearest one. Okay, one might like the fries at one place better than another. But come on, iced tea? How many variations could there be?

I’m just not that sophisticated. What kind of wine do you like? Red. What kind of coffee do you prefer? Black. Beer? Yes, please.

That’s the world we live in. I will got way out of my way to satisfy my personal taste. A family might drive past dozens of churches to attend one that they connect with. In Dallas, TX, where Tex-Mex food abounds, everyone has their favorite that is worth the drive. I can save a few bucks at that grocery store, even it it is farther away from my home.

For what else do we go far, far out of our way? I’ll go out of my way to eat at a restaurant I have a gift card for. I drive further to the airport where I get a lower priced flight. I’ve driven on back roads to avoid traffic or for a more scenic drive. I’ve taken longer routes to avoid toll roads.

As much as we enjoy convenience, we’ll go out of our way to get what we want, crave, or prefer, won’t we?

Posted in Life

Sold! The dopamine rush

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Sticker Mule on Unsplash

I picked up my phone, it came to life and greeted me with an eBay notification, “Your item has sold. Ship now.”

So I sold a book for a couple of bucks. No big deal, right? Who knew something so simple could produce such a dopamine rush?

It’s addictive. What else can I sell? We don’t have to throw stuff out to “minimalize” our home. We’ll just sell everything! Books, shoes, clothing, kitchen utensils, knick-knacks, jewelry, picture frames. It’s like having a garage sale that goes on for months rather than just a Saturday morning.

I’m not making a whole lot of money. A couple of bucks here and there. But I love packing up an item, labeling it and dropping it off at the post office or shipping store. I’ve started collecting boxes, padded envelopes, bubble wrap, and packing tape. I’m ready.

Most days, nothing happens. Sometimes nothing happens for a month or two. Just when I think, “Well, I guess that’s not going to sell,” a buyer pops up. I don’t know that person. I don’t know why they’re buying my merchandise. Who cares? A complete stranger triggers that rush that makes me look and think, “What else can I sell?” On trash collection day I see items on the curb and think, “I wonder what that would sell for?”

It’s easy to find out. I can “shop” for just about anything on eBay and find it for sale. We had an antique wooden butter churn that too up too much space amongst out farmhouse decor. I knew nothing about it. I searched eBay and found a dozen just like it for sale. I priced mine a few bucks cheaper and sold it in a week. I’ve sold a yucky looking five gallon lard can (another antique), a gently-used instant-read thermometer I didn’t need anymore, collections of toys the grandkids weren’t interested in anymore, costume jewelry, and cheaply made clothing not worth returning to somewhere in China.

I’m not the only one who’s into selling. There’s a special bin at the post office for pre-labeled boxes and it’s usually filled to the brim. Many of the items are in eBay envelopes and boxes.

I’ve bought a few things, too. Again, there’s that rush when you get a thirty-dollar book for a buck plus shipping. Or when you win an auction and get those once-worn hundred dollar shoes for $19.

It’s like a game with over a hundred million players. Whether buying or selling, I feel like I’m winning!

Posted in Life

Look at all those cardboard boxes

Posted on by William Douthwaite

On my early morning walks I’ve been impressed with the amount of cardboard in recycling bins in my neighborhood. I’ve learned a lot about my neighbors ands they’ve probably learned a lot about me.

We do a lot of shopping, and just about everything comes in a cardboard box. So I know who’s just bought a new TV, vacuum cleaner, printer, or set of put-it-together-yourself furniture. I know who gets meal kits delivered. Diaper boxes reveal who has babies. Homes with dogs have Chewy boxes on the curb. Toy boxes announce weekend birthday parties. I know what kind of beer and seltzer you drink, whether you prefer Costco or Sam’s Club, and the sugary cereal you feed your kids (or consume yourself). I never realized how much privacy you surrender when you conscientiously recycle!

Not only does everything come in a cardboard box, but everything usually comes in a large cardboard box. I know you’ve purchased small items online that were delivered in boxes ten times their size, padded with yards of paper or plastic bubbles. I imagine it’s easier to ship items that way rather than have many different sized boxes on hand. It just makes it more challenging to get all that cardboard broken down and fit into a modest recycling bin.

I’ll admit that I’ve been putting less cardboard into my recycling bin lately. That’s because I’ve been reusing all my boxes to ship items I’ve been selling online. I’ve discovered the demand for used books, toys, and household goods, so I’m thankful for all those cardboard boxes delivered to my front porch each week.

Cardboard boxes aren’t a new thing. The first cardboard boxes were used in England over 200 years ago. Why does it seem like there are so many more of them? We’re buying more and more stuff!

Posted in Life, Moments of grace

Focus on the good stuff

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Why is it so easy to see the negative?

I just sanded, stained, and sealed a butcher block counter top for an island in our kitchen. Rather than enjoying the finished project, I spent way too much time noticing the little imperfections. Every time I looked at it, I could see spots where the stain was too light. Or a rough spot wasn’t sanded smooth. Or the sealer didn’t quite cover an edge.

I know. Perfection is always just out of reach.

  • When you listen to live music, you hear the mistake rather than the thousands of correct notes.
  • The lawn looks so good, except for that one weed.
  • The stylist has done a wonderful job, except for that one hair you have to trim at home.
  • When you look in the mirror, the only thing you see is that pimple.
  • One misspelled word ruins a wonderfully written essay.
  • Rather than enjoying your detailed car, you only notice the ding in the door.

I always notice the imperfections in the things that I write. Others don’t see it. But I always do. Every time. Why is that?

In a similar vein, it is all too easy to see and point out the goofs in the work of others.

  • A speaker who keeps saying, “Um” or “Uh.’
  • A painter who missed a spot.
  • “That was stupid.”

We live in a world of perfection. Every photo is retouched. Colors are enhanced. Videos are edited. Grammarly scans our paragraphs. Actors repeat scenes 10, 20, or 30 times to get it right. Auto-tune makes vocals sound amazing.

When Covid hit and the church closed its doors, it was so hard to livestream my sermons. Even though I was used to live preaching, the camera in front of me made me aware of every flaw, miscue, and mistake. In those moments there’s not editing, do-overs, or mulligans. You just put it out there. Never perfect. Deeply flawed.

Think about it. A tiny flaw can make a coin or postage stamp valuable. Imperfection is coveted. Why doesn’t every one value our errors?

I had some friends who loved to show off their car. It was a beauty for sure. One day, they came and told me that they had won a car show. But they had only gotten 99 out of 100, because of a speck of dust beneath a speaker cover. Wow. My car has never been half that clean!

I took my car to a car wash place to have it detailed before I went to trade it in for a new car. The detailers did an amazing job. The dealer hardly looked at it at all. Does it run? Does the AC blow cold? Let’s make a deal.

I remember talking to someone whose dementia was robbing them of their memories. The things they remembered included regrets and failures instead of amazing stories about adventure, friendships, and experiences.

I’m glad God reminds us to focus on those things that are pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy (Philippians 4:8). Otherwise, we’d spend way too much time focusing on the negative and forget all the good stuff God has given us!

So today, take a few moments and ask yourself, “What made me smile today? What brought me joy? What blessings did I receive?” Focus on the good stuff.

Posted in memories, Ministry

Visiting: Not as easy as it looks

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Image by Freepik

I wish I had kept count of how many people I visited in hospitals and nursing homes as a pastor. Very few weeks went by that I didn’t have someone to go see.

Some of those visits were very hard to make. I had to jump through a lot of hoops just to get in a building or room.

Like Ray, who was in a nursing home during the pandemic. When the doors finally opened for visitors again, I had to call and make an appointment to come and see him. One visitor per day. Period. When I arrived, I had to take a Covid-19 test. Once that read negative, they took my temperature and had me complete a health questionnaire. A nurse took me into a bathroom to show me how to and then watch me wash my hands properly. And this was for an outdoors visit. I sat at one end of a folding table set up in the front yard of the facility, wearing my mask, while Ray was wheeled out to sit at the other end. Conversing from eight feet away was okay, as long as there wasn’t too much traffic on the road. I confess, when I thought no one was looking, I snuck over and gave him Holy Communion.

Or Wyatt, born at the twenty-sixth week of mom’s pregnancy. I had to scrub in like a surgeon before I went into the neonatal intensive care unit with his mother. I was covered with gown, cap, booties, gloves, and a mask. He was covered with all kinds of wires and tubes. But I got to hold and pray over a little guy who came into the world three months before his birthday. When I saw him last year, he was a handsome thirteen year old young man.

I’ve only made a couple of visits to the jail. First, the person had to put my name on a list as an approved visitor. Then I had to make an appointment on his only weekly visitation day. Upon arriving, I had to put my belt, ring, watch, wallet, and keys in a special locker assigned to me. All that just so I could sit on the other side of thick glass window and speak to someone over a telephone handset for ten minutes.

Another visit during the Covid-19 pandemic was to Mark, hospitalized and in bad shape. He was in a room in a dedicated Covid wing. He could only have one visitor per day at a designated time. His wife surrendered her usual visit so I could go and see him. This visit required I sign a waver that I understood the risks I was taking. I then dressed in a sterile gown, cap, booties, gloves, mask, and protective goggles. I had to pass through two special sets of doors before I got to the hallway where his room was. After the visit, I had to take off all my protective gear in a special area before leaving that isolation wing.

Every visit was interesting, nerve-wracking, and educational. I left each place with a greater appreciation for health-care workers, prison guards, medical technology – and Jesus. After all, this is the exactly world he stepped into so he could be with, love, and save us.