Category: Moments of grace

Posted in Moments of grace

An early morning drive: alone or not?

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Alejo Reinoso on Unsplash

I looked up ahead and saw…no one. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw…no one.

No cars. No trucks. Nothing. Just darkness.

I was out here on the highway…alone.

My flight was delayed. I landed at 1:30 in the morning. Caught my shuttle to long term parking. Got on the toll road, then the interstate. Forty miles to go. It’s nice at night. No trucks on my tail. No lights in my mirrors blinding me. No slow drivers to pass. No cars weaving through car-filled lanes. Just me.

It’s surreal. I’m not prepared for this. There’s always red tail lights to follow. There’s always the glare of oncoming headlights. There’s always someone merging onto the highway. There’s always Amazon trucks, car carriers, fuel trucks, and trailers laden with boats.

Not tonight. Tonight it’s just me.

This moment is peaceful. Almost hypnotic. A dream? No, I’m awake. I slept on the plane.

But what if. What if there are no other drivers? What if I’m not just alone on the road, but alone in the world? What if I get home, and there’s no one there?

A lot of weird things go through my head at 3 in the morning. Alone in a car, alone on a road, alone in…the world?

I can go as fast as I want. Or slow. I can stop right here if I want. I can turn around and drive in the other direction. I can swerve from lane to lane. No one to see, no one imposing limits, no one saying, “Stop!” no blue and red lights in my rear view mirror.

My speed is seventy-ish. I’m in the center lane. In an instant, I see lights behind me and lights ahead of me. My exit approaches.

I am not alone. Many others are out here driving. Driving like no one else is on the road. Eighty-five. Lane to lane. Disappearing from sight around the curve.

And I am alone once again.

I really hope someone is home, waiting for me.

Posted in memories, Moments of grace

The guys who showed up

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Clockwise from the top: Charlie, Eddie, Fred, James, Jerry, Dick, George, Bob, Mort, Gene, Richard, me, Harvey, Jack, Dale, Gerry, Terry, Kent, Bob.

I scrolled past this picture in my photos today. The moment brought back sweet memories of this faithful group of men who met every Thursday morning for bible study. This picture was taken about twenty years ago (early 2000’s). Since then, thirteen of these nineteen men have gone on ahead of me to heaven. I was privileged to officiate their funerals.

Some of these guys started the Thursday morning meeting several years before I arrived. Most of them were there every single week, rain or shine. We studied just about every book of the bible, prayed for just about everyone, broke in a few pastoral interns (vicars), and ate more than a few mediocre breakfasts at Perkins, a restaurant that would be torn down to make room for the Chick-fil-A.

This group includes two men who helped start the church, a rear admiral, a naval commander, the project manager who oversaw the construction of our new church, numerous elders and church officers, musicians, and one of the youth leaders.

We were blessed to have this room to ourselves each Thursday. That being said, we endured some challenges. The AC either blew arctic cold or barely at all. Water dripped from all the vents. Who knows what we breathed in through the ductwork. The whole building had to be torn down just a few years later.

New managers blew through the restaurant on a regular basis. The only constant was our waitress, Jenny. The rumor was that those on their way out were assigned to this restaurant. Six months later, and they disappeared. One manager was arrested and taken away in handcuffs.

The food? Acceptable. Usually lukewarm. Edible. Always good pie, though. For breakfast? Why not? George would order a piece of pecan pie with a cup of coffee. Life is short; have dessert.

All these years later, I remember so much about these men.

  • Charlie was a banker who endured the savings and loan crisis of the 1980s and served well as treasurer for many years. My favorite quote of his is: “Figures lie and liars figure.”
  • Eddie’s wife was my first funeral when I arrived at this church in 1996. He cut the church lawn for many, many years.
  • Fred had a beautiful tenor voice in the choir and for solos.
  • James was a navy chief, a neighbor, and close friend of Mort (coming up soon).
  • Jerry was a church elder for many years.
  • Dick served as elder and musician.
  • George was church president, elder, and tireless community volunteer. He ordered the slice of pie for breakfast.
  • Bob spent half of his year on Stagg Island, Canada, and half in Palm Coast.
  • Mort was a retired rear admiral. He flew just about every kind of plane off a carrier and had endless stories from World War two and his later job at the Pentagon.
  • Gene was the comedic relief. He post-humously paid for me to fly to the Bahamas to perform his son’s wedding.
  • Richard was a founding member of the church and part of the committee who called to come and be pastor.
  • I’m the guy with the white shirt and tie.
  • To my left is Harvey, a founding member of the church, a faithful elder, a great golfer, and the other comedic relief of the group.
  • Jack wasn’t even a member of our church. He was friends with some of the guys and was a faithful attender on Thursdays.
  • Dale was the construction manager, with plenty experience from building Epcot at Disney World. He was the no-nonsense guy.
  • Jerry was an elder for many years and a great friend. He always took me out for my birthday.
  • Terry was a youth group leader for a number of years. An ex-prison guard and ex-biker, we all felt a little safer with him around.
  • Kent was a World War two vet who looked out for the “old” guy, Bob, sitting next to him. Bob was a naval commander and one of those who welcomed me to the church when I first arrived. He didn’t make it to 100, but Kent will this spring.

I remember all these guys like it was yesterday. Their names and lives are imprinted in my mind. There’s a moral there. Most of the time, all you have to do is show up. You’ll make a difference. Your presence will encourage others in their walk with the Lord. You won’t be forgotten.

Posted in Life, Moments of grace

It’s not over yet: A little bit of green

Posted on by William Douthwaite

They weren’t dead after all. I got down on my knees, dug through the mulch and saw a little bit of green. There is still some life here!

The winter in northeast Florida had just enough freezing days to knock the life out of a lot of my yard plants. I thought I lost my hibiscus and crotons. They were nothing but brown sticks standing around the house. I needed to replace them.

I was not prepared for the high prices at the big box garden center. Inflation is alive and well. Nine dollars for a bag of dirt? Five dollars for a blooming quart sized annual? Six dollars for a pepper plant? Nine bucks for a croton? That was the small size. A big one will set you back $16.

I went back home to rethink my garden strategy. I went back out to the front yard and looked at the sticks in the ground. Being a glass half full kind of guy, I got up close and personal with them to see if there was any sign of life at all. And there was. Little tender green shoots were just beginning to reach up from the base of the sticks. I pulled back the mulch to give them better access to sunlight. I poured on some water and a little liquid fertilizer. I think they’re going to make it!

I’m going to start a lot of my own plants from seeds now too. I did a little research and it’s not hard to propagate crotons or just about any other plant. Remember putting a seed in a cup of dirt in kindergarten to grow a flower for mom? There’s another early education lesson that pays off later in life.

A lot of my neighbors don’t even try. I don’t see many colors in their yards when I go for a walk. Just green and brown. I’m not going to be that guy. I’ve got my sights set on the whole rainbow.

It’s Holy Week. I’m not preaching this year, but my garden is. The Creator cleverly embedded the message of resurrection in his creation. Nice job, God!

Posted in Grace, Moments of grace

From despair to hope in five minutes

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Skica911 on Pixabay

I was happy to see hardly any line when I pulled into Five Minute Oil Change. Every bay was full, but there were only two other cars ahead of me waiting to pull in. Sweet. If you’ve ever been, you know it can take over forty-five minutes to get that five-minute oil change.

Suddenly, the guy who waiting to pull into the first bay ignored the “don’t get out of your car” sign and jumped out. He shouted at the crew, “Hey, I’ve been waiting longer than any of these people! Are you going to get me in or not?”

The savvy manager rearranged a few cars and had him pull into the middle bay. I don’t know how long that customer had been waiting, but from that moment they got him out in about five minutes.

As I sat there and watched, I thought, “This could easily escalate into something much worse.” News stories of road rage and mass shootings have conditioned me to imagine that most people are carrying guns. All I have to do is look cross-eyed at them and they’ll try to use it.

Reality is much different. Everyone else at Five Minute Oil Change was either patient in line or working hard under the cars. A savvy, well-trained manager knew how to deal with the situation. Unruly customers are served and directed out of the bays as quickly as possible without further incident.

My four-year-old grandson was sitting in the backseat, looking through books we had just gotten at the library. I’m sad that he has to grow up in a world like this. I’m also hopeful because he can be someone who can make it a better place.

Posted in garden, Moments of grace

Amaryllis Blooming: A Reminder to Slow Down and Enjoy Life’s Simple Pleasures

Posted on by William Douthwaite

They are sneaky. You forget all about them for most of the year. Then suddenly, one day, BAM! There they are. The amaryllis.

I didn’t even notice as the plants began poking their heads through the pine needles and bark much. Even when they were a foot tall, they blended in with stalks of hibiscus and other plants that had died when the temperature dipped below freezing for a few days. The perfect disguise.

One afternoon, walking through the backyard, a tiny glimpse of red caught my eye. I couldn’t ignore them any longer. They had blown their cover. They weren’t coming; they were here.

The next day it looked like someone had run through the garden with leaking buckets of bright red paint. Flames shot out in every direction from the stems. The colors shouted from the brownish-gray backdrop, “It’s spring!”

The brilliant hues make me laugh out loud. I can’t contain the joy inspired by sudden spring color. I have to stop and look and look and look again. They are beautiful.

The red ones are the first wave. The big pink ones won’t be far behind. And then – the lilies!

Posted in Moments of grace

The joy of a sandbox

Posted on by William Douthwaite
In the sandbox with my grandson

I never had a sandbox as a kid. Don’t feel too sorry for me. I had dirt. I got to dig tunnels, create mountains, and build roads for Matchbox cars in my backyard. I tracked plenty of dirt back into the house when I was done.

I never had a sandbox, and maybe that’s why I’ve always enjoyed playing in a sandbox with my children and now with my grandchildren.

The sandbox is magic. In it, you are a god. This is your realm. You create and destroy. You become one with the medium, shoveling, dumping, molding, and smoothing with your hands. It yields as you sweep it aside. It sifts through your fingers. It blows away with your breath.

Mountains are first. The pile rises higher and higher with each shovel full of sand. Some of it runs down the sides, defying your efforts to make something taller. But you have an ally. Water. Just the right amount of water stirred with sand becomes the substance of a “dribble” mountain. As you let the mixture slowly run out the bottom of your fist, spires ascend where there were none before.

Suddenly, this is no longer just a mountain. It is a castle. The dribble forms walls and windows, towers, turrets, and battlements. Inspired by this sight, I fill buckets with moist sand. Turning them upside down, I carefully lift them to create cylinders upon which to dribble more sand.

Roads are next. Roads that pass over the hills. Roads that slice through the mountains. Roads that circle the castle. Roads that are smooth, packed down, and ready for small cars and trucks.

Sometimes the mountain will not have a castle. Instead, a crater will be hollowed out of the top. It will be a volcano. Dormant for now, it may just erupt at any time. Cars or figures that wander too close to the edge may find themselves at the bottom, or worse, buried! Anything buried becomes treasure to dig for or a rescue to engineer, so it’s all good.

Whether topped by a crater or a castle, the side of my mountain is perfect for a cave. A shovel handle is the perfect tool to excavate a passage into the side of the hill. How deeply can I burrow into the sand before it begins to collapse? Can my tunnel reach one started from the other side? There’s only one way to find out.

Most of my efforts are leveled by small feet and loud giggles. Children find it nearly impossible to resist stomping on a mountain, a castle, a road, or a volcano. Our young are by nature bent on destruction. They delight in the power they have in the world of a sandbox.

Just like me.

Posted in Moments of grace

A box of rocks

Posted on by William Douthwaite

So this post is both a product review and a story of unexpected grace.

On our way to fast food for lunch and the community center playground to burn off some energy, my wife and I took our grandson to Hobby Lobby for craft supplies. We had spent the morning creating art with uncooked rice and penne pasta glued to cardstock. We wandered down a craft kit aisle hoping to level up for the afternoon.

He decided on Sea Life Rock Art distributed by the Horizon Group USA out of Warren, NJ. The painted rock on the box with a dolphin caught his eye and that’s what he wanted to make. The box promises everything you need, including two pounds of premium stones, paint (even some that glows in the dark!), a paint brush, and easy-to-follow instructions. We couldn’t wait to get started.

We did get a nice bag of rocks, but they looked pretty average to me. No matter, we were going to paint them anyway.

When I pulled out the paint pots, I realized we weren’t going to be able to paint a dolphin. We didn’t have any black to mix with the white to make gray or paint an outline. But we could paint the rock in a background color first. I scooped out some blue onto a mixing tray and tried to add some red to make purple, but it had already dried up in its little pot. No problem, we’ll just paint the rock blue. It took a while using the world’s smallest brush, but we got it done. But we used all the blue we had to barely cover one medium-sized premium rock.

While the first rock dried, we tried to paint another rock glow-in-the-dark green. 4.4 ml is not a lot of paint. And it didn’t really cover the rock. We did what we could and set it aside to dry.

Okay, maybe it’s me. Maybe I should read the instructions. I looked in the box and found a small piece of paper. No pictures, no patterns, no diagrams. Just these instructions:

  • Work on a flat surface.
  • Paint the rocks with the brush.
  • Let the paint dry overnight.
  • Show your creation to your friends and family.

By this time, I realized we weren’t really going to make any sea life rock art today.

But here’s the moment of unexpected grace. My grandson was enamored by the rocks. He picked out his favorites and set them aside. He sorted them by size, by color, and by shape. He gathered up his favs and took them outside to play with in the yard. Then he brought them inside to play with alongside Pokemon characters. Just a few premium rocks kept him busy all afternoon. Now that’s a win!

I’m going to get some actual acrylic craft paint and some sealer and we will make sea life rock art next week, including a dolphin, sea turtle, and starfish.

Every hear someone say, “Dumber than a box of rocks?” Don’t believe it. A box of rocks turned out to be pretty clever way to spend the afternoon.

By the way, the box had this tiny invitation. I’m going to contact them and give them some feedback. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Posted in Moments of grace

Open the door (it might be someone with fudge!)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Bang, bang, bang, bang, BANG!

I thought I was pretty clever, disconnecting the doorbell to avoid the pleas of door-to-door salespeople. No longer did midday rings wake me, the dog, or my grandkids from our much-needed afternoon naps. However, this post-pandemic breed of street vendors is passionate. No audible ring? No problem. Five or six knocks on the door, each one louder than the last, should get my attention.

Wrong. My two cars are in the driveway. The garage door is open. The dog is snarling. I can see your form through the frosted front door window. But I’m not even looking up from my book. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested. Better luck at the next house.

But today, something feels different. Maybe it’s not a stranger. Maybe it’s my neighbor. Let me sneak a peek out the kitchen window. Yep, it’s my friend from across the street. When I open the door, he’s holding a plate of homemade fudge!

Sometimes a check arrives in the mail. Other times, the sun breaks through the clouds after a thunderstorm. And once in a while, someone shows up at your door with fudge. Suddenly, it is a very, very good day!

I wanted to make sure I fully experienced the moment, so I immediately ate a couple of pieces. A milk-chocolate piece had some walnuts. The dark-chocolate variety had none. Both were delicious.

In the wake of this day-changing moment, I said to myself, “Perhaps I should open the door more often. Who knows? It might be someone with fudge!”

Sure enough, ten days later, I heard a knock at the door. It wasn’t a loud knock, nor did it sound urgent. But I had my radar on. In fact, I had casually mentioned to my neighbor just a few days before, “I’m all out of fudge.” Without hesitation, I answered the door and there he was, my friend with two small bags of fudge.

How many life hacks have I read over the years? Hundreds. How many micro-habits have I adopted to become the best version of myself? Plenty. How many insights have I stumbled upon that I could share with others? Very few. In fact, this might be the first one,.

So rather than callously ignoring the irritating knock at my door, I’m going to remember this moment. I know, it could be another security system salesperson hoping my dog isn’t as vicious as he sounds. It might be another pest control company warning of an impending locust plague in my neighborhood. It could be someone with new religious insights to share with me.

But it might be someone with fudge!

Posted in Moments of grace

What if no one shows up?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I usually get to church about 6:30 on Sunday mornings. I like to be there early to run through my sermon once, make sure everything is set up for the morning and enjoy some quiet before the church comes alive when everyone arrives.

The first wave of people to show up is usually some of our musicians, followed by other volunteers who help make Sunday mornings possible. But yesterday, 7:30 am arrived and no one had arrived. No one was tuning, warming up or setting up music. I was the only one here.

7:35. No one has arrived. This is really strange. Now the thoughts start racing through my head. Is someone sick? I check my phone. No calls or texts. Is my watch right? The time on my phone matches. It’s not the fall equinox, when if you fail to turn your clock back, you are an hour early. It is Sunday morning, right? My guitar is at home. Are we going to have to sing a cappella this morning?

7:40. The bass player arrives with news that dozens of police cars had closed off the interstate and one of the main thoroughfares through town. He had to take several miles of detours to make it to church.

7:41. Music director arrives with a similar tale of diversions and detours.

Soon after, others arrive, all of them taking different routes to church.

When our church was closed for COVID quarantine, I had indeed worshiped all by myself in front of my iPhone set up on a tripod. But that was over a year ago. A weird flashback to a time I hope we never have to repeat.

Later that afternoon, I learned that the highway and bridge going over it were closed as sheriff’s deputies rescued a suicidal woman attempting to jump. They saved her and made it a much better Father’s day for her family.