Category: Life

Posted in Life

We’ve got to reschedule. Again.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

We’ve been waiting to get a sliding screen door installed for our garage. It will give us both ventilation for garage workouts, while preserving a little privacy. When we signed the contract and put some money down, we knew they were scheduling installation about ten weeks out.

Last week, they called and set up an installation appointment, a few days earlier than I expected. Sweet. Well, kind of. I had to move the basketball hoop from in front of the garage. I had forgotten just how much sand and water I put in the base. It must have weighed three hundred pounds. I did manage to get it out of the way.

Very early in the morning, I got a voice mail from the company. “Three of our techs called in sick today, so we will call you to reschedule.” Three? Sounds fishy, but hey, that’s their problem. Just let me know when you’ll be here. I’m flexible.

They called the next day and set up another appointment. That morning around seven, I got a voice mail. “We apologize for having to reschedule your installation. The tech who was going to do the work is on the way to the hospital with a broken bone.” Ouch. Once again, just let me know when you can come.

Later that morning, I answered a call from them, “I’ll bet you wish you had a few healthy techs!”

“Yeah, it’s been brutal rescheduling every day.”

When you’re scheduling your installations nearly three months out, business is good. But it’s got to be hectic making sure you have enough (healthy) workers to get the jobs done on time. I’ll bet not everyone is as patient as I am. But I’ve learned that being patient is worth it.

Posted in Life

How about an upgrade?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

One of the email newsletters I receive on a weekly basis includes an invitation to “upgrade yourself.” I receive the free edition, but a paid subscription promises “exclusive content, access to an online community, hand-edited podcast transcripts, ad-free everything, early access, and more.” It’s a clever tease. I’m not asked to upgrade my subscription, but myself. Who doesn’t want to be a better version of themselves?

I live in a world of upgrades. I upgrade my phone iOS, computer macOS, and web browsers several times a month. (It only seems like every day.) I have to. I dare not skip a security update. I need the newest features. And I hate seeing the little round circle on an icon reminding me that I am not up-to-date.

The encouragement to upgrade myself suggests that I could be better, happier and more productive than I am right now. Didn’t I just write about continual improvement? If I’m not improving, am I getting worse? I don’t like the sound of that.

What if I’ve already been the best version of myself? I know I’ll never run as fast as I did in my twenties. I have more scars than I used to. My hair isn’t dark anymore. My shoulders keep saying, “Hey, don’t do that!” I’ve already upgraded my eyes (cataract surgery and implants), my teeth (caps on molars), and my skin (the dermatologist cleaned up a few spots here and there).

So what would be a better version of me? It’s probably looks like someone else. Someone who’s smarter, happier, wealthier, more attractive, and has more friends. But that’s not me. That’s them.

The best version of me? I’m the only version of me, for better or worse. I don’t need an upgrade.

Posted in dogs, Life

A magical moment: learning to feed the dog

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It’s a magical moment when a child learns to feed the family dog. No one teaches this skill to the child or the dog. It comes naturally.

A lot of life precedes that moment. The infant is old enough to sit up by his- or her- self in a high chair. A couple of teeth have appeared on top and bottom so that they can negotiate some solid but soft food. The little one has also mastered the art of grasping a Cheerio, a pea, or a chunk of hot dog.

Not every morsel will make it into the mouth. Some fall to the high chair tray. Others tumble into their lap. Still others drop to the floor.

The observant pup springs into action, eating the crumb and licking the floor clean for good measure. As more pieces of food descend like manna, the dog figures out the source. It’s that little person. Why wait for the food to hit the ground? If you sit in just the right spot, you can catch it on the way down.

The observant child marvels at how quickly the escaped food vanishes without ever touching the floor. And if you reach your hand out towards that black nose, the food will disappear even faster. A tail wags, the giggles begin, and both are delighted!

Dogs know this is their way of helping keep the floors clean. Children remember this trick for the future, when mom or dad prepares food they don’t like. A win-win, right?

Posted in Life

A crowded gas station: no rebate for you

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It was the perfect storm. I’m a big fan of filling my tank at gas stations where I can get rebates from apps on my phone. Seventeen cents per gallon back to me in cash? I’m on my way.

I couldn’t even pull into the parking lot of the convenience store. First, I encountered a garbage truck waiting to get to a dumpster blocked by a parked van. Who knew when that driver would come back out?

A jeep was parked in the middle of three pumps, blocking one side. A couple of guys with tools were working under the hood. They weren’t going anywhere soon.

On the other side of the pumps, a pickup with a trailer full of lawn-cutting equipment blocked off two of the pumps. Beyond him was yet another pickup and a person doing something with the underground fuel tanks.

Every parking spot in the front of the store was occupied, and construction trucks were parked on the sides of the road out front.

I watched for a few minutes as the driver of the garbage truck impatiently waited to pull in, the driver of the truck with the trailer tried to back out, the guys working on the jeep crawled underneath to get a look at what was going on, and no one was coming out of the store.

This out-of-the-way store rarely has customers. That’s why they offer larger rebates. Forget this. I’ll find another place to fill up.

Posted in fitness, Life

Little additions, big gains

Posted on by William Douthwaite

One and one quarter pounds. That’s all it was. I know, it doesn’t seem like much. But what a difference!

I was pretty excited when I spied these little bitty plates at the gym. They were bright yellow; impossible to miss. Yet, dwarfed by racks fulled with forty-five pound plates and fifty pound dumbbells, they were easy to overlook.

Before this, the smallest plates were two and a half pounds. That meant you had to go up at least five pounds in weight if you want to lift more. Maybe it’s all in my head, or maybe it really is a physical thing, but it’s hard to add another five pounds onto a bar that already feels like all you can push or pull. But two pounds? That doesn’t seem like much at all. Of course I can lift another two pounds!

They make even smaller plates, so you can go up as little as a half-pound if you want. Those small, incremental gains will add up to big results over time.

This is only one application of the 1% rule that someone wrote about somewhere. If you do just 1% more each day, then you will be thirty-seven times better at something in a year. I think it’s called the art of continual improvement.

Let’s say you have time to read one page of a book per day. Tomorrow, read one page plus one more line. The day after, read two extra lines. Before you know it, you’ll be reading four or five pages a day.

Add one-hundredth of a mile to your mile walk each day. Get up (opr go to bed) one-half minute earlier each day. Write five more words in your journal than you did yesterday. Eat one more bite of something green.

What’s your one percent?

Posted in Life, sermon

A little sermon on grace

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I heard a great sermon on grace this morning, preached as I walked my daughter’s golden retriever, Rex.

First, there was the sunrise as the night sky gave way to the day. I remembered something Jesus said about the sun rising on both the evil and the good (Matthew 5:45). Experiencing a new day was a gift from God, completely independent of how good or bad (most likely bad) I was yesterday. That’s grace.

All kinds of birds were singing as we walked past the neighbor’s flower gardens, a reminder of God’s provision. Jesus also said that if God feeds the birds and adorns the flowers, then we don’t have to worry about what we’ll eat or drink or wear. An anxiety-free day? That’s a gift from God. That’s grace.

Warmed up, we walk faster and my breathing gets a little heavier, a reminder that I am alive. Jesus, too, was a living, breathing person, walking just like me. He walked and taught, walked and healed, and walked to the place where he was crucified, the ultimate expression of love and grace.

It’s cool the way God can sneak a little sermon into a walk around the block!

Posted in Life, memories

Summer memories

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Limor Zellermayer on Unsplash

I’m a summer kind of person. While most of the people around me in Florida are complaining about the heat, I’m enjoying the warmer weather. I love the feel of the sun on my skin, getting sweaty while walking or working outdoors, and warming up after I’ve left a frigid air conditioned room. I know, I might feel differently about this if I cut lawns all day or roofed houses. Maybe not. I’ve always like summer.

A newsletter recently asked its readers to share their favorite summer memory. Summers are when there’s no school and families often take vacations. I have some great summer memories.

In junior and senior high school, my music teacher directed a summer band program, open to anyone of any age who wanted to come and play. We weren’t preparing for a concert. We got to play a lot of different music. Early on, you got to play with the big kids, musicians who were much better than you. When older, you got to show the noobs how it was done. It was just a lot of fun and the days and weeks were never long enough.

I spend most of my high school and college summers working concessions at Veteran’s Stadium in Philadelphia. That meant I got to see a whole season of home games and get paid for it. Most of the time, I was a cashier on a level that looked out over the field from behind home plate. Customers came in-between innings, so we got to watch most of the game. Oh, and eat whatever mediocre stadium food we wanted.

One year, instead of taking us away on vacation, my dad put up a swimming pool in the backyard. Our yard was a hill, so we first had to level out an area. I think the was only about twelve feet across and maybe three feet deep. Not olympic-sized, but we didn’t care. My brother, sister, and I spent a lot of that and the next few summers in that pool.

Band camp before my senior year in high school is burned into my memory, too. That was the first year of a week-long sleep-over camp devoted entirely to preparing a halftime show for the fall. Music and marching all day, volleyball games in the off times, and way too little adult supervision in the cabins. Perfect formula for summer memories.

I have one negative summer memory. I was in fourth or fifth grade, and my dad took us to Ocean City, New Jersey for a week of vacation. At that time and in that place (suburban Philadelphia), families vacationed at the Jersey shore. He didn’t even get to pick the week. He got vacation when his company shut down for two weeks.

Anyway, my parents enrolled us in a vacation bible school that week to get us out of their hair every morning. In hindsight, they were geniuses. But in the moment, we thought it was cruel to drop us off with a bunch of strangers while they enjoyed their vacation. That VBS was actually a two-week program, so we got off easy. I know how exhausting one week is. I can’t even imagine doubling that!

In the summer, families get to spend more time together, and I’ll bet that’s what forges some of our best memories.

Posted in God, Life

Time for a new battery

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Rowl-rowl-rowl-rowl.

Uh-oh. I know exactly what that sound means. I’ll give it one more try.

Click.

Yep, I knew it. Battery’s dead. “Battery’s dead; I’m going to get a new one.”

“How do you know it’s the battery?”

It’s usually the battery. Life in the Sunshine State means your car will need a new battery every three years. It works fine one day, and it’s DOA the next.

Has it really been three years already? I rummaged through the glove box. Yes! I knew I saved the receipt. It’s a little faded, but I can still read it. It was a three-year battery. Of course, the three-year replacement warranty ran out last week.

The good news? The car was parked in my driveway, right next to my other car, well within jumper cable distance. I opened the hoods of both cars grabbed my jumper cables and got to work. I’ve done this lots of times, but I paused and decided to glance at the owner’s manual. Which car do I hook up first? On which car do I clamp onto the engine bracket? I just wanted to be sure. I have a lot of respect for that little black box I trust to start the car each morning.

That morning I had just read about God’s presence on Mount Sinai while Moses and Israel camped nearby. They were told to keep their distance. Don’t touch. Don’t even get near. I thought to myself, “I probably fear this small black battery in my car than I fear God.”

I’ll bet that’s true for most folks. We have little fear of God. He’s a friend. Compassionate. Merciful. Slow to anger. Abounding in steadfast love.

All of that is true. But God is also holy. Isaiah took that for granted until he found himself in God’s presence (read Isaiah 6). Then he feared for his life. After that, he got a very clear view of God’s mercy.

The holiness of God not only reveals the depth of our sinfulness, but also the depth of grace. We need both to grasp how high and wide and deep and long is the love of God.

Posted in Life, memories

“I got to watch a delivery!”

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Craig Pattenaude on Unsplash

I sat in on a nursing school labor and delivery class yesterday. The professor was my wife, so I had permission to be there. Just before the lecture began, I listened as the students talked about their clinical experiences.

“I got to watch a delivery!” Timing is everything. There is no guarantee that a baby will arrive during your birth center clinical hours, so not everyone gets to witness a birth.

“I got to hold a mother’s leg to help her push.” Even rarer is the chance to assist in a birth. The nurse you’re following may want to watch from over there and stay out of the way. Or, they may give you the chance to be a part of the moment. You never know.

I smiled and whispered to my wife, “I got to watch three!” The memories of the births of my three children are vivid. I may have written about this sometime in the past, but it’s worth remembering again.

My oldest was born in the dead of winter on a snowy February day in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Sitting upright and cross-legged within my wife, he wasn’t going anywhere without surgery. When we arrived at the hospital, I was told, “Put this on, sit there, don’t move, and don’t touch anything.” In a yellow gown and cap, I sat on a stool just to the left of my wife. I sat up really tall and could just see into the sterile field as the doctor made an incision and suddenly I was a dad.

Number two, a daughter was born less than two years later in Manchester, Connecticut. She also didn’t get the memo about turning to be head down for her birthday. While the doctor knew how to turn a baby in utero, she too was born by c-section. In scrubs this time, I got to sit a little closer and had a better view of the birth. When the big moment arrived, the doctor said, “Get your camera; here we go.” I took a whole roll of film to capture her birth. In a few minutes, I was ushered out of the room, but not before the nurses handed me my cleaned-up and wrapped-up daughter and said, “Hold her while we take care of your wife.” Gladly! I rocked her for forty-five minutes until my wife was ready to meet number two.

Our youngest arrived eight years later. In the late-90’s, before lawyers got involved, vaginal birth after caesarian (VBAC) was encouraged. With a week to go, my wife was induced and I got to be an active part of a delivery. About eight hours in, it was time to push and I got to help hold my wife’s legs and hands as she pushed. Another daughter arrived, I cut the cord, and watched as she met her mom face-to-face for the first time.

I’m blessed to have experienced these moments, too!