Coveting the embers...

“A man’s true wealth hereafter is the good he does

in the world to his fellow man. When he dies,

people will say, ‘What property has he left

behind him?’ The angels will ask, ‘What

good deeds has he sent before him?’”

- Mohammed

When we were kids, we spent part of our summers in Canada. My father took the month of August away from the church to the woods of Central Ontario and the crystal-clear waters of Lake Joseph. These were memorable family times. There were no phones, no television; we just had each other.

The family property sat along the southern shores of Whalon Bay. Along that shore was a broad and bare granite rock that gently sloped to the water. It was a perfect place nestled in the woods to safely build a fire near the water’s edge.

We weren’t the only ones on the family property during those times. There were cousins with their own places on the sides of the bay and folks that often dropped in. When a campfire was announced, there was plenty of family and friends who showed up to cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows on small tree branches. While the fire warmed everyone, it was only the vehicle to bring us together. Sharing lives with one another was what really mattered.

In those days, I learned that the combination of graham crackers, Hershey's chocolate bars, and crispy marshmallows made the addictive treat called s’mores. The name suggested it all. One couldn’t (or didn’t want to) eat just one but wanted some more!

Eventually, on those chilly Ontario nights with clear starlit skies, the fire would begin to burn down, leaving embers that were pleasing to the eye but not quite enough to stave off the night chill. Folks would drift away one or two at a time to places of rest, satisfied for having had an evening well spent.

On the occasions I was last to leave, I watched those embers until they were nearly gone, pulling my jacket a little closer against the nippy night air. Finally, water bucket in hand, I doused the soft glow, leaving blackened ashes, the residue of a once brightly lit fire.

While these events are distant in my past, I've been thinking about those campfires...metaphors for the brightly burning glow of life warming me all these years. I've thought of so many people with whom I spent time sharing experiences, hopes, and dreams – remembrances that bring warmth to the chill of the approaching night air.

Some of those souls have drifted away; others are preparing to retire to their places of rest. And yet, the embers still burn, maybe not so brightly but nonetheless meaningful.

I am reminded of the quote by Lénonor d’Allainval...my life has been (and continues to be) “L’Embarras des richesses” (an embarrassment of riches).

Time is undoubtedly moving on. Nonetheless, I'm counting on the embers of my life to continue for some time to come. But I do find I’m pulling my jacket a little closer against the impending night air.

- ted

Stopping on a dime...

“Experiences never end. They’re just semi-colons

where the story takes a break…”

- Anonymous

The request came unexpectedly. The spring semester was barely over, and I was thinking about what I might do during the summer. I listened politely but wasn’t sure I wanted to take it on.

The topic at hand was a five-week accelerated Anatomy and Physiology course that would cover sixteen-weeks of material. It would be taught virtually and was the healthcare track, prepping students for nursing or other health related careers. It is one of the toughest courses we teach.

“It’s only five weeks,” said my department chair. “I thought it might be a good fit and it’s not like the material is brand new.”

Yes, but it would be five weeks of irregular sleep and interfere with my social life. Wait, I don’t have a social life!

On the other hand, I have more frequently said yes to the partially or completely unknown, often providing me with meaningful life experiences.

Quick aside…

When the college went virtual in the middle of the semester in 2020, it wasn’t a model I was keen about. A people person, I love the classroom and the interaction with students. Virtual? I wasn’t so sure. As it turns out, however, by the second semester from my computer to theirs, I found it quite enjoyable.

Back to the five-weeker…

Trying to understand what this class entailed, I contacted several colleagues. I was looking for some insight and to see if any of them had a syllabus I could review. I was surprised by the feedback:

“No, I haven’t taught this course and never would!” and “The college shouldn’t offer this class in that time frame!” and“You couldn’t pay me to teach that material in five-weeks!”

One brief ray of hope was a senior faculty member who said the five-week summer class was one of his favorites. He did have a course outline somewhere but was leaving on holiday the following day – sorry.

While it was true, I had taught this course several times but never in this timeframe. It was a dilemma.

I called a retired colleague who had mentored me through the first semester I returned to the classroom. She invited me to her home, listened to my pros, cons and angst. Her input like the others, was that she would not teach this course. BUT she did have a lot of material, along with some video lectures that she would give me. The decision was up to me.

Time to choose…

Due diligence complete. It was time for the decision. I have a time-tested two-step process for this - little prayer and consultation with the boss. Molly reminded me that when my hands are idle, I am not the happiest of campers and that I have a habit of doing whatever it takes to get projects done. With some positive meditation and an attaboy from my girlfriend, I agreed to teach the class.

Now the work…

To put this in perspective, teaching a full semester’s material in five weeks means the following:

1. Four hours and twenty minutes of contact time, four days a week (Mon-Thurs).
2. New physiology systems taught almost every class rather than one per week (e.g., endocrine, heart, digestion, etc.).
3. Frequent, manually graded homework assignments.
4. Labs and quizzes due daily rather than weekly.
5. Weekly rather than monthly unit exams.
6. Fridays through Sundays spent constructing exams and grading homework/labs.

An upside, the class was virtual. Meaning the commute was from the kitchen to the office in the next room. In addition, the quizzes and exams were automated, meaning, once constructed, they were administrated and graded via a computerized learning system. An elegant online lab program provided students the ability to image anatomy in three dimensions. Thus, students could zoom in and out, rotate 360 degrees, and dissect whatever anatomical structure we were studying (e.g., heart, kidney, lungs, etc.).

Then there were the students themselves. The course began with twenty-four of them. My introductory comments came with the admonition that this material was going to be very challenging. For the next five weeks they would need to eat, drink, and sleep anatomy and physiology.

I think it is human nature for people to overestimate their capacity to get things done. Some of the students thought the course would be easier because of the short time frame. Others were pretty sure they wouldn't really need to put as much effort into the material as I suggested.

By the beginning of week two, six students had dropped the course, and by late in the third week, another five slipped into the ether. I was left with twelve disciples, all of whom finished the course exhausted, but relieved that they (and their instructor) had survived the gauntlet.

It’s always the end of a thing, isn’t it? From the class introduction it was game on. Five weeks later to the day, it was full stop! To use a theatre expression, we ‘struck the set’ at the final examination and went our separate ways as though we had never met. I always feel a little melancholy when the ‘play,’ the hard work, and the intimacy of the game, ends. But that’s just the way it is every semester.

The good news is that there will be another day where I will follow the familiar two-step process: a little prayer and consultation with the boss!

ted

A glimpse of the future...

“Life is an incredible adventure into

the mysterious unknown future.”
- Debasish Mridha,

Physician, philosopher

The boys were running down the street, one in pursuit of the other. As you can see, they are young and full of life.

“Full of life.” It is the cycle; you know one generation has a run, full of breath and adventure, and before you know it, the stage manager from the darkened house shouts, “Exit stage right." It's time for the next scene.

Man, it seems the play has just begun, but other actors are waiting in the wings. They are ready for their '…time in the sun…'

What advice can be given to those just entering the game? They don’t know what they don’t know…the look of enthusiasm in their eyes belies the ‘…don’t know…’ part.

I might share a thought from the twelfth-century Persian poet Hafiz, “Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive.”

  

What would I like for them to tell me, had they a breadth of thought? Perhaps they would quote Mohammed. “A man’s true wealth hereafter is the good he does in the world to his fellow man. When he dies, people will say, ‘What property has he left behind him?’ The angels will ask, ‘What good deeds has he sent before him?’”

The angels…yes indeed. It's hard to know, isn't it? I mean, what is it we should say? What is it we want (need) to hear?

Confession helps…

I have harbored a sense of disappointment as I look over my shoulder, and as I look forward to a time when I step off the stage and into the wings – angels I hope (pun fully intended).

Disappointment may be too strong a word. Maybe it’s a longing to know, clothed in the realization that I never will. Ah, the blessing and the curse…

The blessing? Belonging to a species arriving on the planet with three astonishing tools in our kit: faith, curiosity, and imagination. The curse? The same as the blessing.

On the one hand, the promise of a yet unlived future. On the other, regret for all that wasn't done…was not said…was not loved. I am not disingenuous enough to pretend I have not experienced both.

A simple thought experiment…

People often ask one another if they had an opportunity to dine with anyone in history, who might that be. The question, of course, is a fool’s errand, irrational. And yet for some reason, many folks find it tantalizing.

In truth, you are only alive as these words pass your eyes and into your mind - the single breath you are taking at this very moment. What you have read to this instant is irrevocably in your past, the next sentence and paragraph still unread.

You are only alive at the moment you read these words as was I when I wrote them. Maybe this is a little too granular a digression.

The thought experiment as to who you might want to share a meal with, will at the very least, cause you to dig into your memory banks for events and people of whom you have heard.

Let the games begin…

If I’m gonna play, I know exactly with whom I would have dinner. It would be my father. By the time the sound and fury of my early years finished and my working life began, he was gone. He slipped out past the footlights and into a waiting limousine that whisked him away, taillights disappearing into the darkness.

My mother was less of an enigma, yet also mysterious.  But she did take the time and effort to teach me many things. From her, I got tools to navigate new places, new people, new experiences, all with the intentional foundation of faith. In private, she taught me that fear was a state of mind and not be afraid to step into life’s unknown adventures. In public, she chose the life of a minister's wife and as such, was a quiet and supportive spouse. People that knew her loved her. If they had known how fiercely independent and competitive she was, they would have loved her more!

It wasn’t until my father was gone that I discovered he was a nuanced, well-read thinker, and collector of written thoughts. In saved correspondence and sermons, I discovered his humanity, frailty, and passion. It wasn’t until he was gone that I realized I had never wondered about his mind. We did what I suppose most fathers and sons do, we newspaper reported our lives…the who’s, what’s, where’s, when’s and how’s. By the time the meaningful questions arrived, well, the library was closed.

The future of the unknown…

What about the going forward? With whom would I like to nibble away over mindful conversation and a table of healthy calories and drink?

It would be my great-nephews or newly arrived great-niece. You see, to them, I am an old fellow who plays with them some and tells them he loves them. With the pandemic, it happens virtually through the internet. Well, not the playing part.

 

Maybe if I am lucky and my health survives the COVID and their teenage years, I might see their lives beginning to emerge…just beginning to emerge.

If it is not too strong a word, I feel some melancholy that I will never know these kids as they become fully formed human beings. Don’t misunderstand, it is not about seeing these boys and girl grow up - although that would be pleasant. It is the desire to see them fully formed.

I would love to be able to freeze my life, let them experience the future as it comes to them at lightning speed. Then when the wine barrels of their lives have matured, find a small café, a quiet place, and plumb their minds. I suppose I would be interested in what they had done, but like my paternal eating partner, I would want to know what and how they thought. What touched their souls? Who had been their mentors? How had the serendipity of life, intervened to bring them to this table and this conversation? If they could turn back the clock in their imaginations, would they want to have dinner with their dad and mum? 

Imagination indeed…

Both of these meals, the one looking back to my father and forward to my great-nephews and niece, are figments of my imagination, prompted by an unrequited curiosity.

On the blessing side of things is the ability to create anything in our mind's eye that we like. So many things to be curious about…so many things.

The circle? I have faith…

This leads me to return to the tools with which we arrive on the planet: faith, curiosity, and imagination. Considering the thought game above, I have required a well of curiosity and the imagination to 'see' my father as I would like to have known him and the boys and girl as they might be.

The third tool in the kit: Faith.

In the New Testament scriptures, the book of Hebrews says: "…Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen…" (Heb 11:1)

We know these words to be true because of our empirical experience. The houses in which we live, the cars we drive, the food we eat and the clothing we wear were nothing more than thoughts in someone's mind. They 'saw' something that was 'yet not' and brought from naught the things above because they believed enough to act and bring their thoughts (unseen) to fruition (things seen). We are, as the comedian Steve Martin so aptly put it, "...thought machines..."

In that same way, I have faith in a kind of substance - this substance…I will know my father, mother, great-nephews, and niece in a time and space that is not yet seen. I will know my late sister and others I have loved the same way I knew and loved them in this dimension.

Genuine love comes from a place of mutual resonance…harmonies in the music of the spirit – who knows how? It is not the color of the eyes, nor the dimples in the cheeks. It is the unspeakable but true language, the communion, of two hearts. That is what causes the bond, that is what makes them an essential part of our lives in this dimension and it is what will strengthen that bond in the next.

A thought game or enigmatic exercise? The unknown? Sure. It’s one I have played my entire life…one that I fully embrace…one to which I look forward.

Finally, lest this piece sounds somewhat maudlin, I should be clear it comes with considerable enthusiasm of mind. When the stage manager calls for me to exit stage right, making room for a new act, I look forward to hopping in that limousine and finding those souls past and those things yet to come.

- ted