Category: Life

Posted in church, Life

My own personal parking spot

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Gerrie van der Walt on Unsplash

I parked the car about one hundred yards from the front entrance of the church yesterday morning. After I dropped off my wife, I had to drive the entire length of grassy overflow parking area, past senior and guest parking spots, to find a spot.

I guess that’s what happens when your arrive ten minutes after the service starts. Worship was at 9:00, but we arrived for the bible class that starts at 9:15. Hey, I don’t mind the walk.

In fact, I used to pull my car into in the most remote corner of the parking lot on Sunday mornings. It was, unofficially, my designated parking spot. Why did I do that? Well, I figured my day would come and I would need a handicapped spot. Until then, since I was able to walk the distance, I would take the furthest spot.

What about rainy mornings? Yeah, they were a challenge. But once I got to the first building, I could use the covered walkway. If my car wasn’t there, everyone knew to welcome a guest preacher that day.

Who doesn’t like to see a church parking lot filled past capacity? On my way in, I commented to another walker, “I think I’m going set up a table about halfway to church and give out free water. We both chuckled. But you know what? When the summer sun is beating down, I’ll bet a lot of people would appreciat that.

When I went to the church where I used to be pastor, I saw that my spot was empty. I don’t think people were avoiding it in memory of me. Instead, worshipers are simply looking for the closest spot.

If the day comes when I guest preach at my old church, I’ll be sure to park in my spot.

Posted in Life

Behold, behemoth

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by I Made Krisna Udiana on Unsplash

I didn’t just hear it. I felt it. A huge whomp shook the entire house. Just imagine an elephant (or a hippo) jumping off the roof and landing in the front yard. It was that kind of a whomp. Dogs barked inside and outside of the house. Knick-knacks rattled on the shelves. A voice from the other room called, “What was that?”

Great question. The last time I felt such an impact was during a hurricane when a thirty-foot pine tree fell in the lot next to us. It missed our house and fence but sounded like an explosion.

When I stepped out front, I saw immediately what was up. Even though it was only 7:30 in the morning, a crew had arrived at the construction site just a few lots up the street. I watched as an operator “eased” the other half of a giant excavator off of a trailer with a second impressive whomp. I don’t think they knew how to put the ramps down. The rental company loves it someone uses their equipment with the finesse of the previously mentioned elephant (or hippo).

At first I thought it was the crane to raise the roof joists into place. But it was an oversized excavator trenching out space for the water main. After those initial whomps, we were treated to an hour of backup beeping as they dug the hole.

An hour later they were gone. But another behemoth will shop up this week for the roof work. Whomp!

Posted in Life

The worst mailbox in our neighborhood

Posted on by William Douthwaite

This mailbox has been bent, twisted, and zip-tied for over six months now. I pass by on dog walks and can’t help but wonder, “How is it still standing? Why haven’t the residents repaired it or straightened it up?” I tell myself, “I’m sure they’ll replace it soon.” But months have gone by and nothing has changed. Why not?

  • Those are hand-painted flowers decorating the side. This mailbox is one-of-a-kind. You can’t just go out an buy another one at Home Depot. It’s irreplaceable. It stays.
  • Maybe it’s not their house. “Not our problem.” Some tenants leave every repair to the landlord. And some landlords rarely come by the property to make repairs.
  • Perhaps a neighbor backed into it, nearly knocking it over. Or a stranger sideswiped it. Did a kid’s bike crash into it? Did an over-zealous mail carrier pull away too quickly? They broke it; they’re going to fix it!
  • This mail box is close to where a tornado touched down. It could be a testimony to the power of those winds. The storm came and went in a moment. But the memory of it remains.
  • I’m not sure anyone lives in that house. Some empty homes do not have a for sale sign out front. Maybe something happened to the person who lived there. Maybe he’s in the hospital, or worse, he’s dead.
  • Or, the people who bought this mailbox just aren’t that good at putting something together. Just about everything comes with assembly instructions. But not everyone is adept at following those instructions. So this is what you end up with.

All of the mailboxes in our neighborhood look different. Some are brand new. Others are weathered. Many stand straight and tall. A few, like this one, are precariously leaning. Very few actually look good out in front of a home.

But they aren’t going anywhere.

Posted in Life

The first one is turning thirty-eight

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My son turns thirty-eight tomorrow, and I’m trying really hard to remember life as my wife and I were about to have our first child. I didn’t start journaling until 1989, so I don’t have any written record of those moments. His birth also predates the ubiquitous phones that digitally capture every moment. So with a little help from my wife, it’s all going to have to come from memory, which thankfully, is still pretty good.

The morning before his birth, my wife and I were sitting in a rental house in Ft. Wayne, trying to come up with names for whoever would show up that afternoon. She was full term, but he didn’t get the memo. He hadn’t dropped or turned. An x-ray revealed that he as sitting upright with his legs crossed. So the doctor scheduled a caesarian section.

Our house struggled to keep out the bone-chilling Indiana winter as we talked through our short list of names. We were fans of the TV series “Spencer for Hire,” so Spencer was a possibility. In the end, Adam won out. It just sounded right. But what about a middle name? Another biblical name? There are plenty of them. Paging through the gospels we came across Nathaniel. We liked how that sounded. Done.

But what it it’s a girl? Back then, gender reveal happened on your birthday. I asked my wife if she remembered any female names we considered. She didn’t, and neither do I. We had a fifty-fifty chance of not needing one. We took our chances.

At the hospital, while the nurses prepped my wife, I put on a yellow gown, cap, and gloves. When she was ready, a nurse ushered me into surgery, pointed to a stool, and said, “Sit there.” It all happened very quickly. Surrounded by the doctor and nurses, I couldn’t see much until the nurse briefly showed me my son, and then took him to clean him up. My wife had a little trouble breathing due to the spinal anesthesia. But I had to trust they would take good care of her as they quickly ushered me out of the room.

I got to see my wife and we got to hold Adam about an hour later. My in-laws came up that night and got to see him as well. He was a little jaundiced from blood type incompatibility, so he spent the next five days basking under a UV light in a tiny bikini diaper and miniature sunglasses. My wife was able to stay at the hospital with him the whole time.

When it was time to go home, he exploded, as babies often do, ruining the only outfit we brought for him. So he made the trip home wrapped up in a bunch of blankets.

Any birth is miraculous. Holding a new life in your arms is powerful, especially when it’s your child. But the other miracle is that we didn’t have to pay a penny out of pocket for anything related to his birth. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Our seminary-sponsored health insurance cost us $100 a month and covered everything.

So to the best of our recollection, that’s the story of our oldest child’s birth. He’s married with four kids of his own. We’ve got hundreds of pictures of those little ones!

Posted in Life

A happy ending? Not yet.

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Juri Gianfrancesco on Unsplash

“Hey, Bill!”

I turned my head and saw a young man coming out of the coffee shop behind me. My face must have announced, “Who are you?” so he called out, “It’s J.”

I’m good with names and don’t forget faces, but he looked a lot different than the last time I saw him. His head was shaved and his beard was about three inches long. Was it his eyes? Or his smile? Suddenly I recognized him. It had been at least two years since I had talked with him and his wife.

“Wow,” I said, “How have you been?”

He kept smiling but I could tell from the look in his eyes that it was going to be tough to answer that question.

“Well,” he began, “J. (his wife) and I had a son. His name is Josiah. He is amazing.”

He paused and I had the feeling his story was about to take a turn for the worse.

“After Josiah was born, J. had postpartum depression. She was in the hospital for a month. Then she had a really bad day, and she took her life.”

J.’s words hung in the air. I had no words. All I could do was look into his eyes, listening, trying to imagine how much strength it took to speak about that loss.

I thought about the young couple who had wandered into our church one Sunday morning. I remembered their hospitality when they invited me to their apartment for supper. I thought about the baby who would never know his mother. I wondered how J. was dealing with a life no one envisions.

I asked, “So, how are you?”

It had been six months since her death. J.’s chiropractic practice was doing well. He was working out at the gym two times a day six times a week. He had a strong network of doctors and pastors who were walking with him through this chapter of his life. At least for that moment, he was doing well.

Then he said, “Oh, and I have to tell you. If you have a chance, try the egg, ham, and gouda breakfast sandwich here. It’s is amazing.”

I know, a bit off topic. But I was still in shock, so I went with it. “Does that fit in with your nutritional guidance?” J. was bit into holistic health, especially eating right.

He chuckled and said, “Well, my bodybuilding workouts require 4,500 calories a day. This might not be the best, but it helps me towards that goal.”

I want to reach out to J. and learn more about his journey as a mourning husband and single father. I’ve written a few hundred words here. But he could write a whole book, right?

A happy ending? Not yet. But you never know.

Posted in faith, Life

A distant memory: the incandescent light bulb

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Every morning I draw a small picture in my journal about something that stood out in my daily devotions. I usually copy something I’ll find online. Today, since I read Matthew 5, I looked for a drawing of salt and light. I found many to choose from.

Today I noticed that most of the sketches about being the light of the world are incandescent light bulbs. You remember incandescent lightbulbs, don’t you? They feature a filament with enough resistance to glow and fill a room with light. They burn hot, too. Let them cool before you replace one. Incandescent bulbs were banned in the US in last year (2023), although you can still buy them online.

They first gave way to compact fluorescent lightbulbs (CFL). They came in all kinds of spiral-y, twisty shapes to fit where incandescent bulbs once did. It usually took a few moments for them to reach full brightness. I think we still have some in our home, probably in the ceiling fan lights. They were cool to the touch. They were discontinued because of disposal and recycling challenges.

Light emitting diodes (LEDs) are what we uise today. They are smaller, use less power, glow in different colors, and last a long time. Our world is lit with LEDs.

When Jesus said, “You are the light of the world,” his audience would have thought of a flame that burned from the wick of an oil lamp. It would be about 1,800 years before the invention of a lightbulb.

So since you are (according to Jesus) the “light of the world,” what kind of bulb are you? Old school Thomas Edison incandescent? Curly avant-garde CFL? Cutting-edge LED? Ancient oil lamp?

It doesn’t matter. Just be light.

Posted in Life

I live here: walks around the neighborhood

Posted on by William Douthwaite

When we brought Winston home last June, I started taking him for walks around our neighborhood every morning and evening. An eight-month-old West Highland White Terrier puppy has energy to spare, so we explored every street in our corner of the community.

When we brought home puppy number two, a Great Dane, our walking habits changed. At eight weeks, Willow wanted nothing to do with leashes, walks or the neighborhood. She was content staying close to home and exploring the back yard. Both dogs still get plenty of exercise wrestling with each other and chasing each other around the yard.

When I took Winston out for a walk around the block last week I realized how much I missed those walks. Those walks around familiar streets make me feel part of the neighborhood and the community.

I enjoy watching the progress of lots being cleared and houses being built on the last wooded lots. Boxes along the curb or a rental truck in the driveway announces who is moving in our out even before a realtor puts a sign up in the yard.

I’ve gotten to know a lot more of my neighbors and on my walks. They are working in the yard, on their car, or getting some exercise themselves. We always pause at the bus stop so the kids have a chance to pet Winston. Plus, we get to know the other dogs who live near us. Some bark at us from inside of their house, while others are out for walks, too.

I enjoy everyone’s Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas decorations. I’m amazed at the weekly piles of mattresses, appliances, and furniture on trash collection days. Squirrels, bunnies and cats watch as we walk by. If we time it right, we get to hear the owls talking to each other at dawn or dusk.

One neighbor has a garage full of birds singing in cages. Another is restoring a car from the 1940’s. Some greet us with heavy Russian or Hispanic accents. Many have gotten a new roof in the past year. One had the roof torn off by a tornado. Lots of cars parked along the street announce who’s having a party. A walker in front of one garage door hasn’t been moved in months.

When I go for walks, I feel alive. I think of stories to write. I think of prayers to pray. I find coins on the street. I check out what’s in people’s recycling bins. I whistle back at the birds. I feel like I live here.

Willow is coming along. She was willing to walk on a least around our front yard today. Just a few more steps every day and before you know it, she’ll be walking me around the block, too.

Posted in Life

I guess we only need one car

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Marius Christensen on Unsplash

It’s been a while since we only had one car. Just about forty years to be exact. My wife and I each brought a car into the marriage and we’ve always had at least two. Until today.

With both of us working and three kids to raise, we drove off in directions more often than not. As a nurse and a pastor, my wife and I spent a lot of time driving to hospitals all over northeast Florida. When our three children attended three different schools, they needed rides to dance classes, band rehearsals, sports practices, and friends’ houses. When they learned to drive, we parked three cars in the driveway.

All of that has changed in retirement. Without daily trips to church, hospitals, nursing homes, and members’ homes, I drive a lot less than I used to. Most of the time, one car sits idly in the driveway. So why do we have two? Good question. Could we get by with just one car?

About half the homes in our neighborhood have more than two cars parked in the driveway. Few can squeeze a car into their junk-filled garage. My neighbor has two Corvettes in the garage, and another two cars in the driveway for him and his wife. Around the corner, another neighbor has four cars parked in a circular driveway, two of which haven’t budged in over two years. I believe single-car households are the exception rather than the rule.

Here is our strategy for owning just one car:

  • Keep and frequently check Google calendar to avoid conflicting appointments.
  • Work towards going to the grocery store once a week, rather than every day. The trick will be better lists and better planning. How often have you had to start a new shopping list as soon as you started putting away the groceries you just brought home from the store?
  • If we put our minds to it, we can bunch our errands together into one outing rather than several.
  • When I need something at the store or I want to go to the library, I can always ride my bike. Many of the places I drive are just a couple of miles away. In a pinch, there’s always Uber or Lyft. Or a neighbor.

Cutting car expenses in half is a welcome improvement in our budget. Gas, insurance, maintenance, and payments can consume large portions of our income. Or not, if we don’t have as many vehicles.

So we’ve got one car parked in the driveway. We’re going to give it a shot.

Posted in Life, time

Right on time: we missed all the excitement

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Stan: https://www.pexels.com/photo/car-side-mirror-showing-heavy-traffic-191842/

As I came down the highway exit ramp, I saw the red flashing lights off to my left. I saw the police car first, then a car with a smashed in driver’s side, and then a pickup truck up against a tree. I shifted lanes to pass by, noticing more lit-up police cars approaching from both directions. Within a quarter mile, two fire engines, three more police cars and an EMT flew past us. A response like that means a fatality. Just a few minutes later, the radio reported all lanes closed in both directions.

We missed it by a minute.

If we had left the house one minute earlier, we might have been the ones involved in the crash. If we had left the house one minute later, we would have been stuck in stand-still traffic.

We didn’t experience either. We left at the right time, drove at the right speed, and missed all the excitement. Coincidence? Providence? Who knows. Grateful? Absolutely.

In some cultures, time isn’t relevant. On mission trips to Haiti and Kenya, morning departure time for the clinic was when the trucks arrived. Lunchtime? When the food showed up. What time should we be ready for supper? When we no longer heard the sound of chickens from the kitchen, there was still time for a nap before washing up.

The inner city church where I interned started the worship when it looked like most of the congregation was present.

In my grandchildren’s world, it’s always snack time. It doesn’t matter if only been minutes since lunch or just a few moments before supper, they’re trolling for snacks. With the last bite of a snack in one hand, they are already pleading for the next.

In other settings, time rules. I remember family members missing a baptism because they showed up ten minutes late for worship. Leave those spritz cookies in the oven one extra minute and the bottoms are burnt. If I don’t check in online exactly twenty-four hours before my flight, I’ll end up sitting in a different row than my wife.

Early? Late? On time? In retirement, it doesn’t seem to matter as much. Except when I miss all the excitement at the scene of a crash.