Category: Life

Posted in Life

Door-to-door sales

Posted on by William Douthwaite

One of the signs of the end of the Covid-19 pandemic was the reappearance of door-to-door sales. It had been years since anyone was dropped off to knock on doors in our neighborhood. Even the Jehovah’s Witnesses resorted to handwritten letters rather that risk being exposed to disease. To be honest, I didn’t miss them.


Suddenly, like a weed that pops up in the garden overnight, they were back. The first wave offered pest control for my home. The first man wore a branded polo shirt, and started his pitch with the standard opening, “We’ve been servicing the homes of many of your neighbors and thought you might be interested in our monthly program.” I glanced at the logo on his shirt and then back at him. In my mind, I thought, “I haven’t seen any trucks or cars with that company name on it in our neighborhood. I doubt you’ve got much business here.”


“Do you have anyone treating your home for insects? There are lots of ants in this neighborhood. We are offering a really good deal today.”

“Actually, I do.” I shared with him how much I paid for monthly pest control.

His eyes widened. “They come every month for that much? Hey, I can’t touch that. Sorry for your time.” (Oh, and by the way, I’ve never seen an ant in my house.)


The second wave was selling security systems. One gentleman pulled up to my front door on a hoverboard and tried to ring the bell. I disconnected my doorbell because someone always seemed to ring it just when I or a grandchild had laid down for a nap.


I didn’t know anyone was at the door. But my dog Samson did. He went nuts, growling and barking and baring his teeth in the window.


“All right, Sam, let’s go see who it is.” I held him by the collar as I opened the front door just a crack. The salesman’s eyes widened, he took three steps back and pleaded, “Don’t let him go!”


“Samson, sit. Stay.” I stepped out onto the front porch, leaving Sam behind the closed door.


I smirked when he said, “I’m in the neighborhood today for XYZ security systems. Have you heard of us?”


I could hear Sam growling behind the door as I said, “No, I’m not familiar with that company.”


This guy then launched into a fast-paced presentation that lost me after about fifteen seconds. He knew he didn’t have much time, so he compressed his whole pitch into about three minutes. Switching back and forth from iPad to phone, he showed me equipment, plans, surveillance videos, and pictures of neighbors who had recently installed their equipment. I didn’t recognize any of the attractive couples he claimed were my neighbors. He quoted a monthly price and asked, “I’m only in town today and tomorrow. Would you like to sign up?”

I played the, “I need to talk to my wife first” card.

“OK. I stop back tomorrow, but then I’ll be headed for some other town. Here’s my card.” With that, he segued off to the next house.

I later heard from a neighbor that a sales rep from that company had been arrested a few streets over. Turns out he got into a yelling match with a woman who called the sheriff. When they checked him out, he had warrants for his arrest in three states. LOL, maybe I need a security system because of people like him!


Next up, the tree trimming guys. “Hi, we’re in the neighborhood and see you have a few dead trees. We can take care of them for you in the next few days.” After I point out that the trees in question are on neighboring lots, not mine, they leave a card and are on their way.


I’m surprised anyone does door-to-door sales anymore. I imagine many people look at their doorbell camera and ignore whoever they see at the front door. We don’t open up to strangers anymore. We’ve heard too much about home invasions, diseases, and scams.


As much as I dislike door-to-door salespeople, I have bought their products. At the exact moment when we had decided we needed a lawn service, someone stopped by with a deal. I signed them up on the spot. We hired a crew to trim our palm trees who just happened to be in our neighborhood. We had our roof replaced by a company that was working down the street. We’ve bought magazines from teens from who knows where to earn a trip to the Bahamas. Neighbor kids selling the world’s best chocolate bars always make a few bucks at our front door.

Maybe that’s the key. Bring chocolate.


Posted in Life

These blueberries are delicious

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I just about choked on my food when I heard the comment. If they only knew.

The season-opening meeting of our small group included a “breakfast for supper” meal ahead of the discussion. With about twenty members, the group had outgrown “small” status, so everyone would bring something, sharing the meal prep load. We signed up for pancake toppings, which our host said should include syrup, whipped cream, and blueberries.

Whipped cream? To me that sounded more like dessert for dinner, but I went with it. I picked up bottles of sugar free syrup and a can of aerosol whipped cream. Who knew whipped cream had gotten so expensive? Since I’ve had blueberry syrup on pancakes at restaurants before, I scanned the breakfast shelves for some of that. I couldn’t find anything other than maple flavored. Where could I find some kind of blueberry sauce?

Maybe I could find something in the ice cream aisle. If not that, then strawberry, right? Nothing but fudge and caramel. Great toppings, but not for this event.

I know. Blueberry pie filling. I made my way to the baking aisle. There it was. Perfect. I didn’t think many would choose that as a topping, but it was the cheapest one of my items.

When we arrived at the meeting home, the hosts quickly took my bags of toppings and set them out on a serving table not far from a mountain of plate-sized pancakes. A warm pan of scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy, and fruit salad were all lined up and ready to go. I passed over the pancakes that night, opting for all the rest plus a second helping of biscuits. I was astounded at how much food some piled on their plates. I watched as several loaded up a few pancakes with syrup, blueberries, and whipped cream. The food was great and we all got to know each other a little better.

From the end of the table, I smirked at the comment, “These blueberries are delicious! I wonder who made these? I need this recipe.” I put on my best poker face and said nothing. I don’t know what it is, but something in that can full of processed blueberries made them delicious. I’m sure it was the sugar.

In that moment I recalled a soup supper from years ago at our church. Each week in the spring, families took turns bringing in their favorite soup recipes along with bread and butter before we gathered for some Wednesday worship. One week Erwin brought what he labeled his “famous” chili. It was really good chili. But it tasted familiar. Sure enough, as I helped clean up, I noticed numerous Hormel chili cans in the trash can. I chuckled and thought about how unrefined our palates really are. Bring some processed food with lots of salt and additives and everyone will praise your cooking!

We used to call them “cardboard” cookies. They were cheap store-brand cream-filled sandwich cookies, chocolate on one side and vanilla on the other. They really weren’t that good, yet we went through giant packages every week. It’s embarrassing to admit how many times I reached for a few of those over some homemade cookies. In the same vein, a package of Little Debbies snack cakes will disappear in no time, regardless of who you’re feeding.

I’ve tried some copycat recipes over the years. Glazed lemon cake from Starbucks. Chicken Marsala from Olive Garden. New York style pizza crust. Biscuits from scratch. Homemade ice cream. It’s never quite the same. I don’t know if it’s my ingredients, my oven, my lack of culinary skills or a lack of additives, but theirs is always better than mine.

There are a few things we make better than the store bought versions. My wife’s homemade pie crust is so much better than most of what we find at grocery stores or bakeries. Her cheesecakes taste as good as any we’ve ordered at restaurants. We’ve tried ceviche at several restaurants, but prefer mine, since I can include all the ingredients we prefer. It’s nearly impossible to beat homemade chocolate chip cookies. And we also prefer home-brewed coffee to most we find at coffee shops and restaurants. (We like it very strong and dark.)

Someone figured out that if you add enough fat, sugar, and salt to just about anything, people will keep coming back for more. They may even rave about your recipe!

Posted in Life

Let’s go for a drive!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

From the deep recesses of my childhood memories, I recall saying to my dad one Sunday afternoon, “Let’s go for a drive!”

I don’t know where I got the idea that is would be fun to go for a drive. It must have been a nice day, perhaps in the fall when colored leaves were still on the trees lining the streets of Delaware County (Pennsylvania). It must have seemed appealing since my family really didn’t go anywhere except school during the week and church on Sunday. We must have gone for a drive sometime before that, just to get away from suburban Philadelphia and enjoy some of the rural areas not yet developed by housing additions and shopping malls.

I remember my dad’s response. “Why?” Throughout his career my dad commuted an hour to work and back Monday through Friday either in a car or on trains. For him, the weekend was finally a chance to be home, catch up on chores, listen to a ballgame, and be with the family.

My dad’s follow up question was, “Where do you want to drive to?” I had no idea. All I knew is that miles of road were out there just waiting to be driven. We would get a chance to see the world in color rather than on black and white television. We would see farms and woods and creeks and houses and fields. Where? I don’t know. Anywhere sounded exciting to my brother and sister and I. Although, we thought that the hour-long drive to the Jersey shore was unbearable, so we really didn’t like driving that much.

I don’t think I ever took my own family out for a “drive.” Once I became a dad, it was academic. As the one who paid for the gas and maintained the car, driving around for the sake of driving around wasn’t in the budget. We owned a couple of cars to get from one place to another. We drove to work, to the store, to visit family, to school, to dance lessons, or to some other destination. But we never just went for a drive.

However, I discovered that in the early 20th century, when cars were a new form of transportation, people actually went for Sunday drives. It was mostly an American thing. The car was a form of entertainment, not just for transportation. In a time when most stores and businesses were closed on Sunday, there wasn’t much else to do.

When gasoline prices climbed later in the century, the custom all but disappeared. Even though there are more roads than ever, there are also more cars and trucks on those roads than ever. Even in the most beautiful of areas on a beautiful afternoon, it’s just not that much fun to sit in traffic.

When I lived in New Jersey, I was just a couple of towns away from Ocean Grove, a small beachside community that prohibited automobile traffic on Sundays. If you were headed north or south, you had to detour around this town. I don’t think the law is still in place, but I guess no one who lived there went for a Sunday drive.

Over the last thirty years or so, I’ve gotten to know a lot of people who drove forty-five minutes or more to go to church on Sundays. Their Sunday drive was to the place where they wanted to worship.

I’ve gone for many of walks with my wife, dogs, children and grandchildren. I’ve been on plenty of bike rides, too. I’ve also been on boat rides, horseback rides, carriage rides, kayaking and paddle-boarding. I enjoy any and all of those so much more than going for a “drive.”

Posted in Life

“Whatcha doin’?” “Nothing.”

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I went to the library a few weeks ago for the first time in a long time. I’ll bet I hadn’t been there in two years. With a little more (retired) time on my hands to read, I decided to see what was on the shelves.

When you think to yourself, “I want to spend more time reading,” you have to address the next question, “What do I want to read?” I don’t know. Best sellers? Great writers? Classic novels? Biography? A real page-turner? I really don’t know.

I put my library card in my wallet and drove to the library, a couple of miles from my house. The sign on the automatic-opening front doors read, “Masks recommended.” Lol. No one in the library was wearing a mask, except for the front desk staff who stood behind plexiglass shields. Just an observation.

I immediately went to the new arrivals shelf. They were filled with a large selection of fiction, non-fiction, young adult, biography, and audio books. I remember someone saying that I should be reading biographies, so I started there. I scanned the shelves and spotted an autobiography by Dave Grohl, a musician with Nirvana and Foo Fighters. He wrote it during the Covid-19 concert shutdown. It looked interesting. Why not?

New fiction was two steps to my left. James Patterson? Plenty of those. Right next to his, a new crime novel by Thomas Perry. The main character was all about being chased, disappearing, and going off-grid. Looks good to me.

Two books should be plenty. I don’t want to overdo it. Wandering out from the stacks, I paused to look at some of the other people in the library. This was the most interesting part of the day.

Who spends time at the library? I saw a sheriff’s deputy filling out a multipage application for something. A woman used one of many computers to look up something online. A young lady texted friends on her phone. A mother walked her young son to the children’s library.

I also noticed a man sitting at a table doing absolutely nothing. He wasn’t reading. He wasn’t looking at a phone. He wasn’t having a hushed conversation with a friend. He wasn’t studying for a test. He wasn’t writing. He was just sitting.

Then, I saw a second person doing the exact same thing. Just sitting, at a table, in the library, doing absolutely nothing.

I was fascinated. I can’t remember the last time I just sat and did nothing. Actually I can’t remember anytime I sat and did absolutely nothing. I’m always looking at my phone. I always bring something to read. I write. I draw or doodle. I have hushed conversations. I eat snacks.

But I never, ever just sit and do nothing.

I’ve spent a lot of time the last few decades reading about and learning how to be productive. I know how to get more done in less time. I’ve mastered the 1-3-5 system to get important stuff done first. A Kanban board in my office kept me on task each week, filled up with “to-do,” “doing,” and “done” sticky notes.

All that has changed. I have retired. I no longer have to be productive. I have no weekly deadlines, presentations (sermons), scheduled meetings, classes to perpare for, phone calls to return, visits to make, or conflict resolutions to worry about. For the first time in forever, I don’t have to do anything. In others words, if I so choose, I can do nothing.

Nothing? Oh, come on. You have to do something. You need a hobby. Friends. An avocation. A purpose. A direction. A mission. You’re not dead yet. What are you going to do?

That’s the question everyone asked when I announced and embarked on my retirement. “What are you going to do?” My answer then was, “I don’t know.” In a sense, I am still answering that question.

About five months into retirement, my days have not consisted of “nothing.” My daily to-do list is filled with gardening, painting, grand-parenting, and travel planning. I spend time each day exercising, reading, writing, and playing music. I have more time to talk with my wife, try a few new things in the kitchen, and sell things on eBay.

When you are young, everyone wants to know what you want to be when you grow up. But then, for most of our lives, we identify ourselves by what we do. Once you leave the work world, though, it’s now about who you are. It is very interesting when you start thinking about yourself untethered from a career.

I haven’t done that for a long, long time.

Posted in Life

What is that smell?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

When I opened the car door, I caught a whiff of something unusual and recited Will Smith’s line from “Independence Day” when he pried open the alien spaceship to welcome the alien who had come to destroy the earth.

“What is that smell?”


Rolling my eyes, I leaned in to smell the child seats in the back. Someone in potty training must have leaked. I wasn’t taking any chances. I took the seats out, took the covers off, and threw them all in the washer with an extra dose of Buff City laundry detergent. They came out smelling so nice. I reinstalled the car seats and left the windows open for the day. Problem solved.

The next day the odor was back. There must be old food in the car. The grandkids leave a lot of crumbs and uneaten snacks in the back. I’ll surely find something under the seat. I thoroughly vacuumed the car, finding lots of crumbs, lollipop sticks, and snack wrappers, but nothing very offensive. No rotten cabbage or open ketchup packets. No dirty diaper. I drove around with the windows open that day, and much of the smell went away. Mission accomplished.

One day later…

“What is that smell?” It was worse than ever. I can’t drive around like this. I’ll pass out. I had just had the car in for some routine maintenance. For the first time in a few oil changes, I took it to the dealer. They always check the cabin air filter and usually try to sell me a new one. No one mentioned it this time, so I just assumed it was OK.

After watching a YouTube video on replacing the cabin air filter, I unhinged the glove box, popped off a few clips, and exposed the cabin air filter. When I pulled it out, it was covered with white fuzz and bits of black foam rubber. Strange. But as soon as I pulled it out, I knew this is where the smell was coming from.

I threw it out and headed to the auto parts store. When I got home, I went to slide the new filter in but noticed there was still a little bit of fuzz in the slot. So I began to pick it out. There was more than a little bit. It looked like all the filling from a stuffed animal had been packed in, probably by a mouse who thought this would be a nice place to build a nest. The mouse had also chewed off some black foam rubber insulation for extra comfort.

After I pulled out some mouse fur I came across some internal organs. So that’s why my car smelled like someone had died in there. Someone had died in there. I am not an expert on mouse anatomy, but I think I saw a liver and a little bit of intestine.

I thoroughly vacuumed out the filter compartment. I reached inside and pulled a bunch of dried leaves and pine needles from beneath the fan blades. I sprayed the new filter with Febreeze and slid it in. I clicked the glove box door back into place and ran the AC for a little bit. I may have caught a whiff of dead mouse, but it quickly went away.

I don’t remember seeing any mice running around our house or yard. My across-the-street neighbor had plenty of them running around in his attic before a rodent-control guy caught them. He had mice because my other across the street neighbor thought it was fun to throw peanuts, bread, chips and other leftover food into nearby vacant lots to feed the wildlife. Unfortunately, the wildlife near us includes rats and mice. Thanks a lot. Yes, I’ve asked him many times to quit. That plea goes in one ear and out the other.
In addition, I drive that car just about every day. We don’t leave it sitting in the driveway more than a day at a time. So either the creature worked all night to build a nice little nest. Or he came back repeatedly to finish the project.

Cause of death? I don’t know. The mouse may have gotten stuck and starved to death. He or she may have gotten chopped up in the fan. Carbon monoxide poisoning? I don’t know.

But my car smells so nice.

Posted in Life

Cash

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by lucas Favre on Unsplash

My errands for the day included a trip to the farmer’s market for strawberries and the barber for a haircut. For both I would need cash, so my first stop of the day was the ATM.

Cash? Oh, yeah, I remember cash. Paper money, green ones, fives, tens and twenties. I have a place for them in my wallet, but rarely is that place filled. I hardly ever have cash. And neither do many of you, I’ll bet.

I pay for everything with a credit card that I pay off each week. Gas for the car, food at the grocery store, restaurants, dog food, big box home improvements, coffee shop, prescriptions, car repairs. I give to my church online, pay all my bills online, and do most of my shopping online. Why carry cash? For strawberries and a haircut, and a few boxes of girl scout cookies.

When I have cash in my hand, the money feels real, the transaction feels real, the expense feels real, the product feels real. Electronic banking, giving, buying, investing, paychecks, and bill pay seem surreal. Like it’s not even happening. So much of what we give and pay for, by and receive is virtual, a service, and not even tangible. It’s a strange world, isn’t it?

Cash is for babysitters, tree trimmers, churches I visit, Christmas and birthday presents, a roadside fruit stand, a football team fundraiser, and a kid’s roadside lemonade stand. For all the things that are real.

Posted in Life

How does God “lead?”

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The words of Psalm 23 easily roll off my tongue. The Lord “leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake” (Ps. 23:3). I’ll join in with the prayer of Psalm 5:8, “Lead me, O Lord, in your righteousness…make your way straight before me.

But what does that mean exactly? What does that look like? How does God lead me?

It was easy in the wilderness. “The Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to lead them along the way, and by night in a pillar of fire” (13:21). Pretty basic. When the cloud moves, you go. When it stops, you set up camp for a few nights.

But that was a long time ago. You’ve probably noticed that when there’s a big decision to be made there aren’t any arrow-shaped clouds directing you. And when you are lying awake at night wondering what to do, someone must have forgotten to light the burner on that column of flame.

The primary way God will always lead me is with his Word. The “path of your commandments” (Psalm 119:135) will always lead me in “what is right” (Psalm 25:9). The light and truth of his Word will always direct me (Psalm 43:3). Rather than simply wondering what God wants me to do, I can spend a little more time meditating on his Word, letting it either narrow down my choices or reveal what I ought to be doing.

God’s kindness also leads me – to repentance (Romans 2:4). Another day of sunshine or rain is a reminder that I’ve been blessed not according to my behavior but because of his steadfast love. I often need to be led back to him. Not down a path or towards an opportunity. But to my God. I’m grateful he does that like a Shepherd guiding me to food and water rather than a Cowboy driving cattle into the barn!

And then of course, “Christ always leads us in triumphal procession” (2 Cor. 2:14). When you are in the parade celebrating God’s grace, you never have to wonder. With eyes fixed on Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith, I’m always on the right path. It’s amazing how clear the path is when he reminds me of who I am at the water of baptism. I’m reassured of my way when he reminds me of who he is at the altar, where I enjoy pasture of grace.

If you are afraid of making the wrong decision or stepping outside of God’s will, remember that if you stray he always comes looking for you. He always runs to embrace you when you realize you’ve made a bad choice. He still loves you and you always get another chance.

In fact, if we are declared righteous by faith, doesn’t that mean he’s already made all the right decision for us? That is a very freeing reality.

I believe it says a lot about God that he hasn’t made all our decisions for us. Instead he lets us discover what it’s like to taste something new that we might or might not like. He lets me decide to sleep in or get up early. I can choose any pet I want, change the station to listen to different music, and eat an extra cookie. I can choose to retire, go say hello to a stranger, add chocolate chips to my pancakes, sit silent in worship or sing my heart out. I can give a few bucks to a beggar or few hundred to my kids.

You know, when I think about it, it’s people who always seem to have more to say about my decisions than God does. Other are quick to question and condemn, not God. He’s slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. That must be why the writer of Ecclesiastes states, “There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil” (Ecc. 2:24). It’s all a gift from God!

Posted in dying, Life

The best and the worst

Posted on by William Douthwaite

After two worship services this morning, I headed out to Stuart Meyer hospice house (in Palm Coast, FL) to see Kay. By the grace of God I last saw Kay on Wednesday, the last day she was awake and aware. I was glad to talk with her, give her communion and pray with her. Within hours, the doctors found a brain tumor and plans were made for hospice care. From that time one, she was unconscious.

Early this morning, I realized I’ve known Kay for more than twenty years. Before we built a new sanctuary, and before we paid someone to be an office manager, she was a volunteer, answering phones and helping me get ready for Sunday morning. I did the memorial for her husband ten years ago. I will soon do hers.

A lot of pastoral care happens on the extremes of life. I am there at birth and baptism, and then at death and funerals. In between I get to be a part of weddings and marriages, confirmations and graduations, and birthdays and anniversaries. I get to share in the best of life as well as the most difficult times.

That’s what makes this job pastor so unique, interesting and rewarding. I get to ride the waves of celebration, wade through the muck of disappointment, cradle a new life in my arms and hold a hand one last time before their last breath. The words of encouragement, hope, strength and comfort are always my Lord’s and never my own as I represent Him in times of both life and death, beginnings and ends, joy and sorrow, and laughter and tears.

I began my day by holding a newborn baby in my arms and welcomed her into God’s family. I ended it by holding the hand of a child of God about to take her last breath in this world. What a privilege to experience both!

Posted in death, Life

Don’t be sorry.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

When my Dad died three weeks ago, the news quickly spread and I cannot begin to tell you how many people said to me, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I understand the sentiment behind those words. In fact, I’ve spoken them to those grieving the death of a loved one. But as I heard those words spoken to me, I thought, “Why are you sorry?” It’s not like you did something wrong. Are you sorry that I have to go through this? Are you sorry that I will no longer be able to go and visit my father? What is it that you regret?

I’m pondering this because I really didn’t feel that sad about my Dad’s death. Mom died fourteen years earlier, and I know that he’s been lonely since then. He lost some of the ability to care for himself about six years ago when we (his children) sold his house and moved him in with my brother. His kidneys failed three years ago, but after we gathered to be with him, he recovered. He didn’t want to eat anymore about two years ago, but after we gathered to be with him, and with a few bowls of ice cream, he regained his appetite. So in some ways, it’s been a long, three-year goodbye. Rather than being sorry he’s gone, I’m actually a bit relieved. I’m glad he fought the good fight of faith. I’m glad he finished the race (for him it was a marathon!) and finally crossed the finish line. I think we should be cheering rather than crying!

The last time I went to see Dad, he was basically unconscious for three straight days. We talked to him. We talked about him. We read scripture and sang songs for him. Not much response. I couldn’t help but wonder, “How long?” You just never know. A body created to live isn’t going to easily give up. All you can do is wait.

My memories of Dad are good ones. I remember the things we did together, the things he taught me, and the home and education he provided for me. I treasure the name he gave me (he was Junior, so I got to be the Third). Instead of feeling like I lost something, I feel like I gained so much. His ninety-five years were filled with family, love, church, work and hobbies. Rather than feeling empty, I feel so full of all the things Dad gave me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve lived near Dad. I’ve lived most of my life pretty far away and only got to see him a few times a year. So I don’t miss his presence, not like those who daily spent time with him. Instead, his death makes me more aware of all the parts of him that shape me.

A few folks have shared with me that they were a wreck for months after their father died. Some can barely hold back the tears when a departed loved one’s birthday comes around, or the anniversary of a death. I feel bad that I don’t feel worse, if that makes any sense. Maybe it’s my British (not Vulcan) heritage that enables me to contain my emotion.

The one thing that occasionally brings a tear to my eye is the mental image of my Dad seeing Jesus face to face. That had to be and is going to be the best moment ever, and that’s what makes emotion swell up in me. Oh, and imagining the shout of the archangel, the sound of the trumpet and then the resurrection. I always tear up when I think of that day. But rather than sadness, it is overwhelming gladness.

So you don’t have to be sorry. You can cheer along with me. You can be thankful along with me. You can share that joy with me.