Category: Life

Posted in Life

Thanksgiving: a path to joy?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Tucked away in a pile of ideas to write about someday I came across this quote: “If gratitude leads to joy, joy is never out of reach!” I searched and could not find the source or the author. While those aren’t my words, they seem like an appropriate place to start writing on the day before Thanksgiving.

From my experience, gratitude always leads to a good place. It melts my heart to hear a little two-year old voice say, “Thank you.” I’ve yet to meet someone who didn’t appreciate receiving a thank you note. Gratitude makes you feel noticed. Gratitude leads to generosity for it usually reminds us that we have more than we need. And the gratitude of one healed leper led him to the feet of Jesus.

So what about joy? Would you agree that joy is different than happiness? I think so. I think happiness is a moment, while joy persists. Happiness comes and goes, depending on the circumstances, while joy is independent of what is going on around you. Happiness is an emotion, while joy is independent of your feelings.

Perhaps joy is a gift. We know it’s a fruit of the Spirit. We know Jesus left it behind for his disciples. We’re filled with it in God’s presence. There is joy in heaven. Nature expresses joy. John the Baptist leaps for joy in utero.

And that brings us back to thanksgiving. Or Thanksgiving. Why do we do this? Why do we feast like no other time of the year? Why do we travel to gather with family? Why do children dress up like pilgrims and native Americans for school programs? Why are front yards in my neighborhood lit up with inflatable turkeys or a wiener dog wearing a pilgrim hat?

Somewhere deep down, we know we need Thanksgiving. We need to express our gratitude, because it leads us to an elusive joy. A joy we can only find when we give thanks to the Lord whose steadfast love endures forever.

Posted in Life

Learning how to worship…again

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by MART PRODUCTION on pexels

“I had to learn how to worship again.”

Those were the words of a retired pastor friend of mine who began attending our church after about fifty years of ministry. I appreciate his candor, but I really didn’t understand what he meant.

Until now.

Now I am retired from full time pastoral ministry, and for the first time in thirty-six years, my wife and I have had to pick a church to attend. We did not move after my retirement. We have a lot of family in the area, plus we already live in a place where many retire to (Florida). My denomination asked that we not attend the church I retired from, to let the next pastor and congregation get used to each other.

So for the first time in forever, we got to pick where we worshiped on Sunday morning.

Here is the challenging part of this whole experience. I have found it hard to not critique the preacher, music, facility, and experience in the places where we have gone to worship. I have always wanted God to be the focus of worship. But when I walk into a church, he’s the last person on my mind.

Were the people friendly? Was the preacher engaging? Was the sermon biblical and applicable? Was the music well done? Did I know the songs so I could sing along? What would people say if they knew I worshiped at this church? What did this church believe, teach, and confess?

I had so many questions. And you’ll notice, none of them had anything to do with the one I was there to worship.

Did I encounter the one true God? Was my mind renewed? Did I offer up a sacrifice of praise? Was I assured of God’s grace? Did Christ’s love compel me to love, serve, and witness to others people? How was I encouraged? How was I challenged?

When I was the preacher, I was occupied with the logistics, the message, and connecting with those who came to worship. Now, as the worshiper, none of those things were on my plate. Now my job was to listen, confess, repent, and live a new life.

In hindsight, I now realize that I should have taken more time off to be a worshiper in the congregation. I should have taken time to remember what it was like to listen, to question, to take God’s word to heart, and set out to live a new life. I believe a sabbatical would have been an asset to my ministry.

So I am learning how to worship again. I am forgetting what is behind – a career of pastoral ministry – and pressing on into retirement as a listener, a worshiper, and a member.

Posted in family, grandparenting, Life

The Thanksgiving scavenger hunt

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It wasn’t a game for these two. My five-year-old grandson and nearly five-year-old granddaughter took my Thanksgiving scavenger hunt seriously. With the picture list in hand, they were focused on the quest. No item would be left unfound.

This year’s scavenger hunt pictures

I started the scavenger hunt a few family gatherings ago to keep the kids busy while the grownups talked and ate appetizers before supper. (We celebrated our Thanksgiving the Sunday before this year, so that all the families could be with their other families.) These two grandchildren are still “pre-readers,” with a few sight words in their quiver. So I make a page of pictures of things to find in our home.

I originally set up the scavenger hunt for all four grandchildren who would be present, but the two-year-old and the eight-year-old weren’t interested. I collected four of everything on the page and “hid” them at preschool eye-level in our living room. I painted the yellow happy face rocks and folded the paper boats. Everything else was off the shelf in our home. A few things were in drawers, but the rest were in plain sight. I warned my wife ahead of time: “If you see anything unusual lying around the house, it’s for the scavenger hunt.”

Interestingly, they began by opening side table drawers and various cabinets. They quickly found a few that way. I had to give them some hints for the others. “Look by the television.” “Check by the front door.” “Did you look up high and down low?” “Oh, look, over there by the window – what’s that?”

The hunt kept them busy for a full fifteen minutes, which is a lot of time for a preschooler. They worked like a team on a mission. And were they ever proud when the found the twelfth item! They put many of their finds in the nine-ounce plastic cup, gathering up the extra quarters no one else wanted, and planned to take them home.

I also put together a clue-driven treasure hunt the eight-year-old. Each clue sent him in search of the next, hidden in a different place in the house. I thought I my clues were clever, but he reported, “It was easy.” Okay. Next time, we level up.

I think I have more fun preparing the scavenger hunt than the grandkids who take on the challenge! It’s a classic win-win. Keeps us all busy for a while.

Posted in Life

Poking that watch into submission

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Luke Chesser on Unsplash

The other night when my small group met, I noticed a lot of Apple watches in the room. I don’t typically check out people’s wrist wear, but tonight the watches made themselves known. Notification sounds punctuated the dinner conversation, bible study, and prayer time. Each required a glance, a poke, and a scroll.

By a poke, a I mean a series of insistent jabs to make something happen. No one really buys into the idea of a touch screen. Most believe harder taps with more pressure will force the device to submit and respond. That and harsh words that I will not include here.

Apple touch screens detects electrical charges on your skin. There is more to it than that, but that’s the general idea. Sometimes, if you press slightly harder, a menu may come up for that app. A special stylus may also work. By the way, hitting the keys of your laptop keyboard will not get a quicker response, either.

I suppose some folks still remember hitting the side of the television (or computer monitor) to clear up the picture. Or a little smack on the bottom got them to behave.

It just doesn’t work that way anymore.

Posted in Life

Some laughs with Lefty the barber

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Caio Coelho on Unsplash

I had a new barber cut my hair yesterday. Same shop, just a new guy who started with them a few months ago. He was talkative and very witty. It was an unusual day, a rainy afternoon, and I was the only one in the shop.

According to his business card next to his clippers and combs, his name was Lefty. He starts out with, “So what are we doing today, Mr. full head of hair?”

I replied, “The guys usually use the number five attachment on the clippers for the side, then blend a little off the top. Tapered in the back. Not too short so I can still comb it.”

He said, “So, some bulk reduction, shape it up, got it. You know, I wish I could say that to my girlfriend. I love her, but she could use a little ‘bulk reduction.’ For some reason I always end up with bigger than usual women.”

He went on, “When I met her, she asked my last name. I told her it was Kaplan. She said, ‘Wow, I never met a real Jew before!'”

I shared that I had a lot of Jewish friends at college. I was always a little envious of all the Jewish festivals they got to celebrate.

“Yeah,” he said, “There’s that. But the food is terrible. Try choking down some gefilte fish mixed with matzah balls. No thanks.”

Changing the subject he asked, “So what do you do?”

I told him I was a retired pastor. He said, “I guess I better watch what I say.” And then he told me a few jokes about priests and nuns.

I said, “Now that I’m retired, I get to hear all the good jokes no one would tell me before.”

Lefty told me he was a stylist in Miami for most of his career. He retired and moved up here, but he was still cutting hair a few days a week. He did a good job, and his standup routine is pretty good, too.

Posted in dogs, Life

No instructions? No problem!

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Daniël Maas on Unsplash

I recently helped my daughter, husband, and two boys move into their brand new home. After moving all the heavy stuff in from a trailer, there were a few things to put together, like the boys’ beds.

With the help of a cousin, I assembled bed number one, the bigger of the two, without any trouble. Bed number two was more of a challenge. A few months ago, their golden retriever puppy had chewed up the corner of the box. No parts of the bed were damaged. But he managed to obliterate the instructions.

Since I’ve assembled more than my share of IKEA furniture, I felt confident this would be a breeze. Come on, it’s a just a twin bed with headboard and footboard. An uncle and I opened up the box and got out all the parts. Hmm. Many of the parts looked the same. The legs had lots of holes that had to match up with other holes. It wasn’t obvious which pieces were for the headboard and which were for the footboard.

Thankfully, enough of the box was intact and my partner could look up the model name and number. Once he brought up a picture of the bed from a shopping site, we knew what we had to do. All the screws were the same size, so we didn’t have to guess which ones went where. When we were done, the bed looked just like the picture.

I’ve had plenty of puppies chew up plenty of things in my home. My Labrador retriever Gabriel had a fondness for the heels of shoes and my roommate’s candles. Our chocolate Lab Rachel chewed up the legs of a borrowed rocking chair. We currently find teeth marks in the grandkids’ plastic toys. After a few ripped up rolls of toilet paper, we now keep the bathroom doors closed. The same pup who ate the bed frame instructions stole a couple of uncooked meatballs off the kitchen counter.

A friend of mine lost the cover of his bible to an enthusiastic pup. Just about everyone I know who wears hearing aids has lost one to a curious canine. It’s all part of the fun of being a dog owner.

Speaking of Gabriel (he’s the baseline against which we measure all our dogs), he once tore into a Christmas box my mom sent to us in Connecticut. The box arrived by UPS, and we knew it contained presents for the family. Gabe tore into the box and found the gift for him, a large, carefully wrapped rawhide bone. We came home and found him eagerly chewing on it. He didn’t bother, chew, or rip open anything else in the box. He just knew there was a gift for him in the box and he knew which one it was.

Posted in Life

Vivid backyard memories

Posted on by William Douthwaite
My childhood backyard from the bottom of the hill

The moment my daughter and her family moved into their new home, her boys were outside, running around and playing in the yard. They kicked soccer balls around with their cousins and threw balls for the dog to retrieve. The two previous houses they lived in had little yard to play in. This is so good for them!

What a blessing to have a yard to play in. The home I grew up in had the biggest fenced in backyard on the block. The yard included a big hill with flat areas at the top and bottom. We could roll down the hill pretty fast, crashing into the fence at the bottom. We had enough room to play baseball and football even though we had to climb over the fence to retrieve hits and kicks. In the fall, the maple trees left behind plenty of leaves for huge piles to jump in. In the winter, a little snow made our yard the best sledding hill around. By building a small ramp, we could get airtime with a saucer sled. We ate a lot of mulberries from the trees at the bottom of the hill. My friends and I build a great fort at the bottom with some wood my dad got from a salvage yard. The dogs we owned over the years loved to chase balls thrown from the top of the hill all the way down to the far corner until they were exhausted. We set up giant games of croquet that covered our half-acre.

As I write this, I am amazed at how vivid my backyard memories are from fifty-plus years ago!

Posted in Life

Whose house is this, anyway?

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash

The small group we’ve been a part of for the past year meets twice a month, rotating through the members’ homes. Last night, we met at a home I haven’t been to before. I had directions to the H******, but I had no idea who they were. I only know most people first names.

I thought I would be clever. I figured that I’d be able to pick up clues at the house and figure out who in our group lived there. I pride myself at noticing things, so I was confident it wouldn’t take me long to figure it out.

However, when I arrived and began looking around, the home had none of the usual clues. First there were no pictures of anyone on the walls. No pictures of children or grandchildren. No framed family pictures from an old church directory. No pictures of fishing trips or cruises or other adventures. Absolutely nothing. Nothing on the refrigerator. No calendar on the wall.

Okay, I guess that would have been too easy. If I keep looking around, I’ll pick up on a hobby and be able to connect the dots. While the home was nicely and simply decorated, I didn’t find any sign of their interests. A Willow Tree nativity sat on a shelf high above the television. The table where we ate was decorated with starfish and sea shells. There were no bookshelves in the living room. There was an electric piano in the dining area, but that didn’t help me.

I watched everyone’s body language. Who acted most at home here? It was hard to tell. I let myself in when I arrived, so no one was working the front door. Lots of people were working in the kitchen, arranging food for supper. Several people sat in the very comfortable chairs in the living area. The family dog greeted everyone with the same enthusiasm.

Finally, I resorted to a process of elimination. One couple arrived late, so I knew it wasn’t them. I realized I had been to the homes of three of the other couples. So this was the home of the fifth.

I enjoy playing games like this, gathering enough clues to solve the puzzle.

Posted in Life, Travel

The darkest darkness

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by David Gabrić on Unsplash

For our autumn getaway, see some color, enjoy some cooler weather trip we found a remote cabin on a hillside in western North Carolina. To get there, we had to drive to the end of a twisty mile-long gravel road, where there was no one else in sight.

Each night I made sure we were back from hiking or small town exploring by dark. The access road was difficult enough in daylight. No way I was going to tackle it at night.

But each evening before bed, I did have to take the dog for one last walk. On one occasion I switched off my flashlight just to see how dark it was. It was dark. It was the darkest darkness I’ve ever experienced. Cloudy skies hid the moon and stars. No far off light from a nearby town reached this area, because there was no nearby town. I couldn’t see the road I was standing on. I couldn’t see the trees around us. I couldn’t see the cabin. It was around the bend. I couldn’t see the white dog at the end of a leash. I couldn’t see anything.

I remember thinking, “If my flashlight quits, I’m not sure how I’ll find my way back.” On subsequent walks, I made sure I had my phone in my pocket for a backup flashlight. Maybe my eyes would have adjusted. Maybe I’d be able to see a little bit. Maybe not.

I remember asking a group of middle school students, “What is the darkest hour of the night?” It was one of the few times they said, “That’s a good question.” It is a good question. Poetic wisdom says it’s always darkest before the dawn. And how do you measure darkness, anyway?

Anyway, the darkness was impressive. Not eerie, not scary, just complete. Where else is it really dark? A cave. A closet. Inside a refrigerator with the door closed. When the power goes out at night. When you shut your eyes at night?