Posted in movies

A lonely night at the movies

Posted on by William Douthwaite

“Are you sure their open tonight?”

After parking in front of the local movie theater, we walked towards the darkened ticket office sitting between two entrances. There was no line of people buying tickets and no one was selling tickets behind the window either.

“They better be open. I already bought our tickets online.”

When we walked inside, all the lights were on but no one was home. There wasn’t a single person in the lobby. No one was collecting tickets and directing people to their theater.

We were the only ones there.

I was prepared for this. You see, we had come a few weeks before. On that occasion, I didn’t buy my tickets in advance. So when we arrived, I had to negotiate a five by three foot touch screen kiosk. It wasn’t hard to find my movie, pick my seats, and pay with credit card. But the printer was out of paper, so I had to track down a human to print out my tickets on another machine. Then that same human ran back and scooped up a bag of popcorn for me. I kidded her, “You must be the only one working here!” Now I always buy my tickets online before I leave to go see a movie.

So, with my cell phone in hand, with my ticket bar code on the screen, I walked right in. At least there was no line at the unattended snack bar. No, we didn’t just help ourselves. We could have. But then a teenager appeared from the back and got my small popcorn for me. I wondered, “Is he running the whole place by himself?”

When we got to the theater showing our film, we were the only people there. Even though we had picked our seats in advance, I could have sat anywhere I wanted. In a younger life, I might have moved around and watched the movie from many different vantage points. But on this night I behaved and stayed in my assigned seat.

I’ll bet it doesn’t take more than one person to run the whole theater on a weeknight. From what I’ve read, projectors are now run by computer, so no humans are needed. A single person could unlock the doors, turn on the lights, pop some popcorn, sell snacks, and then lock up after everyone has gone home. Maybe there’s someone else around, napping in the back room. Who knows?

Posted in garden

An afternoon working on the yard

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Jared Muller on Unsplash

After a few morning activities, we got home about noon. A few clouds drifted by, the temperature reached eighty, and there was just enough breeze to jostle the palm branches. It was a perfect afternoon to do some yard work.

I really enjoy getting out to work in the yard. Yes, you read that correctly. I’m a big fan of gardening, yard-ening, and firing up small engines to cut and trim and prune and tame the relentless growth of a northeast Florida yard.

After a smear of sunblock, picking out a hat (Phillies cap), and cleaning my sunglasses, I yanked on the lawnmower starter cord. One pull and it started right up after six weeks of rest and relaxation. As the first day of the vernal equinox approaches, more and more sun reaches our front yard, so it’s growing well. The back yard will catch up soon. It only takes about half an hour to cut the deep green front yard. It looks so much better when it’s all the same length. A few more passes up the west side of the house and I was done.

I topped off the string trimmer with some two-cycle gas and made a mental note to mix up more this week. Ten pumps on the bulb and three pulls on the starter and it roared to life. The edges of the property and gardens hadn’t grown much, so it only took fifteen minutes to trim. Three pulls on the blower started that engine, too, and I blew away all the grass clippings and pine needles from all the walks, driveway, and patio.

While cutting the law, I spent a lot of time dodging low hanging palm branches, so I decided to trim them, too. I grabbed my leather work gloves and pole saw, cut the lowest dozen branches off the canary palm tree, and set them off to the side. I’ll cut them in thirds and put them out on Wednesday, waste collection day.

Next, I raked a whole bunch of pine needles out of the gardens, pulling a few weeds along the way. I’ll need to add some cypress mulch this year. I pumped up my weed sprayer and hit the smaller weeds that are harder to pull.

Since I had protective gear on, I grabbed a hand-trimmer and cut back all the thorn-covered bougainvillea branches along the back yard fence. Everything looked so much better and I felt a few raindrops on my arm. Perfect timing. Enough for today. Plenty to work on another day.

I find yard work relaxing. Songs go through my head. The sun can’t decide whether to warm my skin or duck behind a cloud to let me cool off. Both feel nice. I love the smell of freshly cut grass. Unruly grass yields to a string trimmer. Soon I’ll wander through a nursery, looking for flowers to paint the empty spaces.

I am so glad I had a chance to work outside today.

Posted in bible, faith

All-you-can-eat all-the-time?

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Jill Sauve on Unsplash

Is it possible to do too much bible study? At first, it seems the answer would be, “Of course not!” How could anyone get too much of God’s Word?

I’ve discovered that you can overdo it. More is not always better.

A few weeks ago, I feel I overdid. First, I attended a Sunday morning bible class before worship. On Tuesday, I prepared for and participated in a Bible Study Fellowship zoom group discussion. That same Tuesday night, my wife and I gathered with our small group, which included bible study. On Wednesday night, I attended a men’s bible class at our church. In addition, I read scripture devotionally every morning. My wife does all of that too, prompting us to say, “It feels like too much.”

The thing is, I really enjoyed all of those moments. I look forward to my morning reading, journaling, and prayer. We’ve made great friends in our small group. The fellowship and support of the men on Wednesday night has been a blessing. Sunday mornings are great, worshiping with a larger group of believers.

But is it too much? Can a person taste and see that the Lord is good and get carried away, putting on a few too many spiritual pounds?

A colleague told me of a time when he invited a neighbor to come to church. His neighbor did, but didn’t return the next Sunday. He didn’t come the week after that, either. When he asked his neighbor, “Why haven’t you come back,” he replied, “I’m still working on all the great stuff I heard in the sermon three weeks ago!”

Perhaps we need time to process, ponder, and practice what we learn before we jump into the next chapter, study, or topic. Let it marinate overnight. Let the dough rise. Set it aside and then take a fresh look at whatever you read or listened to. Without that, you’re skimming across the surface of the water without ever considering what’s below. Don’t we need time to consider the “so what” of a passage?

Imagine reading a stack of owner’s manuals without ever driving the car or using the appliance. Imagine reading through a cookbook without ever preparing one of the recipes? That would get old real quick.

In 2011, Thom Rainer and Eric Geiger wrote Simple Church, encouraging Christians to pare down church involvement to one worship gathering, one bible study group, and one mission/service involvement per week. Doing too much church can detract from actually being the church. Good food for thought.

In the Old Testament, unless you were a rabbi or a scribe, you would hear God’s Word once a week in synagogue on the Sabbath. Recited daily prayers were taken from scripture. That was plenty for them. Maybe it’s enough for us, too.

I’m sure that someone can argue that most believers spend far too little time in God’s Word. You’ve got a point. But should we approach it as an all-you-can-eat buffet? That’s doesn’t sound healthy either.

Like many other things in life, it’s all about balance. What about the Goldilocks philosophy? Not too hard and not too soft. Not too hot and not too cold. Not too much and not too little. Just right.

Posted in Ministry, pastor, retirement

Just a regular guy

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by cottonbro studio: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-in-white-shirt-and-green-pants-4066296/

Somehow I managed to fly under the radar for about a year and a half. Rick was at my table at bible class last night, along with Dick, Michael, and Jay. The lesson that night, from John Stott’s book The Radical Disciple, was about nonconformity. Disciples of Jesus need regular reminders not to slip into ethical relativism (where the lines between right and wrong are blurred). Our standard is God’s Word.

I shared with the table that ninety-five percent of the weddings I’ve performed were for couples who were already living together. Counseling and marrying them was a step in the right direction.

Rick looked at me and said, “Wait a minute. You did weddings?”

“Sure, lots of them.”

He asked again, “Really? How could you do weddings?”

Dick, sitting to my left, chucked, “He was a pastor for twenty-six years just up the road before his retirement.”

Rick was incredulous. “You were a pastor? I thought you were just a regular guy!”

I assured Rick, “I am just a regular guy. That was my occupation for thirty-six years.”

Rick and I have been friends for about eighteen months. I guess my previous occupation just never came up. And that’s OK. I enjoy being a regular guy. It’s fun love flying under the radar.

Posted in senses

Ah, the amazing smell of cedar

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I smelled it before I saw it. It was woody and a little like a newly sharpened pencil. It was woodsy, like a damp day on a hiking trail. It was the distinct smell of cedar.

Since it was yard waste pickup day in our neighborhood, I didn’t pay much attention to the sliced up tree along a driveway. Streets are cluttered with trash cans, plastic bags, and cardboard boxes full of palm fronds, sticks, pine needles, and leaves. Most of the logs are from palm trees or pine trees, cut into liftable lengths. Every week, the waste collection people gather up the piles left by the side of the road.

But as soon as I smelled and saw the sliced up logs, I knew it was cedar. The dogs and I paused our walk to enjoy the wonderful fragrance.

A few years ago, we had a cedar on the adjoining lot leaning towards our house. I decided to bring it down before a storm blew it onto the roof. With the help of a few neighbors, it was easy to bring it down safely. As I cut it into pieces that I could drag to the curb, I felt like I was in a cedar closet. The fragrance filled the yard for a couple of days. One of my neighbors took some of the trunk to cut into boards. He brought me a few slices that I could put in my dresser drawers. For a few weeks, everything I pulled out of the drawer smelled amazing.

What is it that makes cedar smell so good? According to an article I found on FootFitter,c contains the compound thujaplicin (nope, can’t pronounce it), which has antioxidant, antibiotic and anti-inflammatory properties. Cedar also absorbs moisture, and is used to make shoe trees and boot shapers to extend the life of quality footwear.

My parents had a cedar chest. I think everyone of their generation had one. All I know is that they stored a bunch of old stuff in it. And it weighed a ton when we were moving it out of my dad’s house.

The Amish still make cedar chests in the United States. They aren’t as expensive as I thought, and I’ll be they last for generations. And, of course, they smell great!

Posted in Life, neighbor

Of course it’s private property

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It feels strange to call a house “lonely,” but every time I walk by, I think, “What a lonely, gray house.” Maybe it’s the signage that has scared everyone off. There’s not just one, but three of these signs on all sides of the house, announcing Private Property: No Trespassing.

Why would you put a sign like that in your yard? It’s not like we’re in the middle of nowhere and someone might wander through and decide to hang out for a while. This is a residential area. All the property is privately owned. Random door-to-door sales people may walk up, but I’ve never thought of that as trespassing. And if someone did want to break and enter, they wouldn’t pay attention to a sign like that.

When I’ve gone to visit some folks who live in the rural, unincorporated parts of the county, there’s often a sign like this on the front gate of a long driveway. Out in the woods or among hundreds of acres of farmland, it’s hard to tell where one property ends and the next one begins. If you don’t know where you’re going, you don’t belong here. I always called ahead to make sure they knew I was coming. There was a good chance I’d be met by someone with a shotgun if I just showed up.

Actually, a sign like that makes me wonder what someone is hiding in that house. I’m curious. What are they making or distributing or storing up in that house? Who was the last trespasser? Whatever happened to them? It is a little creepy. There isn’t much landscaping.

Such a sign doesn’t add to the curb appeal. Along with signs like No Soliciting, No Pooping (even though dogs can’t read), and a sign about who just repaired the roof, it makes the neighborhood look trashy.

But what are you going to do. It’s their property. It’s their private property.

Posted in running

Victory! 5K run with the granddaughters

Posted on by William Douthwaite

An ocean of people stretched out for a hundred yards in front of us and even further behind us. In just a few minutes we would hear the starting gun for the Synovus 5K for charity run. My wife and I were walking/running this shorter race with three of our granddaughters, while their parents ran the longer Gate River Run 15K in Jacksonville, Florida. I pushed a stroller with the oldest of the girls (age 5), while my wife had a double stroller containing the younger sisters (ages 3 and almost 1). The downtown street was thick with 1,600 runners, so it took us over a minute to move through the starting gate. Even before we did, my granddaughter was urging me, “We’re going to have to go faster, Grandpa!”

We were able to walk at a brisk pace for the first mile or so. We passed one runner dressed up like a giant chicken, another couple dressed as Mario and Luigi, and a few firefighters in full gear. Before long, the participants were spaced out enough that we could run for hundred yard stretches, weaving in and out of walkers and slower runners.

Not too far into the first mile, at 9:00 am, we counted the nine bells of an old church carillon. At the halfway point, we drifted over to the right to grab a cup at the water station. I took a sip of the lukewarm liquid and handed the cup to my granddaughter. I asked, “How’s the water?”

“It’s delicious!”

Once we got to the two mile mark, my granddaughter saw some police car lights keeping traffic at bay and wondered out loud, “Is that the finish line?”

I explained, “No, we can’t see it yet. I’ll let you know when we’re we getting close.” We had that same conversation three times in the next half-mile.

For most of the race, my wife was a few yards ahead of us. This was a concern. “Grandpa, we need to go faster. LeeLee (her name for my wife) is going to smoke us!”

Finally, as we turned onto a slight downhill stretch, I could see the finish line ahead of us. I said, “There it is!” I ran the last quarter mile into the fairgrounds, and said, “Put your hands up in the air!” She did and proclaimed our victory (over LeeLee) as we crossed the finish line with a time of 43:11. My wife with her two riders finished just behind us. We didn’t get smoked after all.

I’ve run lots of 5Ks, along with an assortment of 10Ks, five mile runs, and a few marathons. But I’ve never finished a road race pushing a stroller.

Posted in retirement

Letting go, fading away, and free to be

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Richard Stachmann on Unsplash

In her Medium article “Retirement: The Benefit of Letting Go” Marlane Ainsworth wrote that in retirement, we start to fade away. No one waits for our arrival before things start happening. We are no longer needed for meetings, planning, permission, or consultation. Previous significance wanes with alarming speed.

I know, that sounds a little depressing. Until you consider the positive side. It’s freeing. In retirement, I’ve shed expectations, assumptions, and demands like a snake sloughing off its skin. Something happens when you are no long defined by a job description. When you are less insignificant in the work world, a different part of you emerges.

Anyway, her story made me think about things things I did as a pastor simply because they were part of the job description and expected of me. If that surprises you, let me assure you, it surprised me too. Yes, it’s a calling. But it’s also an occupation.

  • Going to visit the same homebound person for sixty months in a row gets old after a while. I think that was my record. One person was on my visiting list when I arrived at my church in Connecticut, and I was still going to their home when I took a call to the next church five years later.
  • No one explained how many meetings I would have to go to. My calendar was full of them. Few were short. Few were productive. No, I do not miss them, not even a little bit.
  • Conference and convention attendance was mandatory. While I enjoyed spending time with other clergy from around the country, the agendas were filled with boring speakers addressing irrelevant topics. When asked, “Why do you keep going to those things?” I had to confess, “I have no idea.”
  • The experts told us annual stewardship messages would increase giving. These were my least favorite sermons. No matter how you dress up the appeal, you aren’t fooling anyone. It’s the big yearly ask. I was so glad when each campaign was over.
  • Part of the job was tracking down people who hadn’t been coming to church. I hated that. For some reason I didn’t like seeking out unhappy people to find out why they were unhappy. And I couldn’t simply ask, “Where the h*** have you been?” I had to be nice to them. I just wasn’t very good at looking for wandering sheep.

Okay. Enough of that. Don’t get me wrong. I loved going to seminary and I loved being a pastor. I loved teaching, preaching, and leading worship. I loved the music, ancient and new. I loved holding the babies, sitting on the floor with children, and running around with the youth. The stuff I loved doing far outweighed the burdens. But to do the things you love, you have to do the other stuff, too.

But not anymore. Having stepped out of that world and into retirement, that part of me starts to fade and other parts of me surface. Ainsworth wrote, “Letting go of things lets a part of us out that we kept corralled for a long time.” Keep in mind, I’m only eighteen months into this, so I am still discovering those parts.

I write more, read more books (mostly mysteries), take more walks (usually with dogs), get to know more of my neighbors, bake sourdough bread, practice music, attend bible studies (as a student), take trips, do some yard work, and constantly work towards a minimal-ish life. Along the way, I often reflect on my years in the ministry as well as these away from it. I may be fading, but the memories aren’t. Not yet.

Posted in dogs

I didn’t realize how noisy a morning could be

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Marcus Saylor on Unsplash

A gentle rain began to fall about a quarter mile into our morning walk. It was just enough to warrant a head-to-toe shake from the dogs every ten minutes.

As we walked, the pup (Willow, our fourth-month-old Great Dane) paused in her tracks, perked up her ears, and turned towards every little noise. For her, every sound is a new experience, and this morning was full of them.

  • Rain hitting the garbage bags lining the street, waiting for pickup.
  • A truck gently splashing through a puddle.
  • The staccato of raindrops hitting a sunroom’s metal roof.
  • The mmreep of a frog hiding in a drainage swale.
  • Heavier drops of rain hitting the ground when the breeze kicked up.
  • The drip of a leaky gutter.

I didn’t notice any of these sounds until she slightly tilted her head and wrinkled her brow, trying to figure out each one. What I thought was a nice quiet morning turned out to be filled with fascinating noise.