Tag Archives: stories

When the Well Runs Dry

Therefore with joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. Isaiah 12

Several years ago, during an infrequent return to northern Vermont where I grew up, Jeanne and I took a quick detour from Route 5 South to drive past the old homestead, the house in which I lived until age eleven. It was in poor repair, and seemed far smaller than when I was a kid. Most surprising was that Smith’s pasture, the cow pasture across the road that was the site of many childhood adventures, was gone. A tangle of trees and underbrush now grows where the gate to the pasture was. I’m hoping that if I had pushed through the brush I would have found Smith’s pasture on the other side, sort of like finding Narnia on the other side of the wardrobe. Because it was magic.

Growing up in the sticks has some definite plusses—how many city kids have a cow pasture at their disposal? Smith’s pasture was one of several unofficial playgrounds for my brother and me. Many were the summer mornings when my mother would pack us a lunch and we would climb over the fence into the pasture, limited only by the general directive to be back before dark. The generous Mr. Smith, whom I never met, gave my family free access to his pasture, while the evil Mr. Cole, who owned the adjacent pasture just down the road (and whom I also never met), refused such free access. Hiking, war games, superhero exploits—Smith’s pasture was the natural stage for just about anything two kids reaching double digits in age could come up with.

Vermont cow pastures bear little resemblance to the idyllic, flat pastures that bovines in other parts of the country enjoy. Smith’s pasture was a hill—a mountain in my childhood imagination—that  rose sharply from the road to a high plateau whose back boundary my brother and I never found. Large boulders and innumerable trees of all sorts were thickly spread across the hundreds of pasture acres. The slopes in portions of the pasture were steep enough that I often wondered what the dairy cows, not generally known for their mountain climbing abilities, thought of having to eke out their bovine existence in a less than congenial landscape.

Smith’s pasture was more than the regular locale for boyhood adventures. It was also the source of our annual Christmas tree. Each year in early December my brother and I would trudge up the hill in snow that was often waist deep, searching for the perfect tree. One year we returned at dusk with a tree so wide that it took us close to an hour to stuff it through the front door and so tall that our living room ceiling bent the top foot and a half over when we stood it upright. Only a special early infusion of Christmas spirit kept my mother from having a fit as we sawed off the bottom two feet in the middle of the living room rug.

It was only many years later that I put two and two together and figured out why Mr. Smith was so generous with access to his pasture. He may or may not have had a soft spot in his heart for children needing a place to explore—the real reason we had access to his pasture was the artesian well, located several hundred yards past the fence, which provided water for our house. A well-understood task accompanied our frequent treks into Smith’s pasture—don’t forget to check the well. It was my brother’s job to lift the hinged lid as high as he could—I was too small to do it—while I peered into the dim recesses below. “It looks fine!” “It’s a bit low!” or, one fateful afternoon—“It’s empty!!” This was distressing news, producing visions of no baths, no clothes or dish washing, and general aridness. The spring had widened a minor crack in the well wall into an exit route—it was many dollars and dry days later before the water was coaxed back into its proper location. When wells misbehave, life changes significantly.

One does not get very far reading in the Bible without encountering a well. In a largely desert landscape, of course, wells were both the source of life and the center of community activity. Isaac and Rebekah met at a well, as did Jacob and Rachel as well as Moses and Zipporah. Joseph’s older brothers threw him into a dried up well after he offended them one too many times. Jesus’ conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4  is one of the most fascinating texts in the New Testament. Battles were fought over wells. They are so prevalent and necessary in stories from a nomadic, arid land that it’s easy to imagine that they are natural parts of the landscape. But they aren’t. A well is a human attempt to harness the power of something very necessary but also very powerful—a spring of water.

As I learned at an early age in Smith’s pasture, springs do not always cooperate with our attempts to control and tame them. In ancient texts, springs and sources of water are sacred. This is not surprising, because water is necessary for life. A spring—an oasis—stands for life, for rest and refreshment. But it is the random power of a spring that most directly brings the divine to mind. Springs are as resistant to our attempts to control them as they are to our expectations.  Just when we think that we have the water under control, it decides to go somewhere else. This is the deepest secret to its living water: it transforms every obstruction into a new expression of itself: It turns every apparent barrier into a new channel..

This would be a good thing to remember every time I think I have God figured out, whenever my path to a frequently visited well becomes a bit too frequently traveled. But the divine spring has a mind and will of its own, apparently, and if I don’t pay attention, I will find my well, so carefully built to contain the spring, empty one day. And this is not a good thing—as Peter wrote, “these are wells without water . . . to whom the gloom of darkness is reserved forever.” It is easy to forget that the divine spring was never intended to be contained permanently in any external well, whether a building, a book, or any specific location. The good news, as Jesus told the woman at the well, is that the divine spring is “a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” And that well is me. And you. It’s a great idea—portable wells containing the most life-giving water ever imagined. I need go no further than where I happen to be to find out what the divine spring is doing.

The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Isa. 58:11

The Times They Are A-changin’

spring forwardI’m going out on a limb here—way out. I like time changes. This year Daylight Savings time began on March 13, shifting the clock to provide an extra hour of light in the evening and ended ten days ago on November 6, with the shift providing an extra hour of light in the morning. I have lived most of my life in the northern latitudes where, once DST ends and we change to standard time, it starts getting dark before 5:00, with nightfall earlier each day as we inch toward the winter solstice. I like that. I like falling back (and the extra hour of sleep once a year) and also, for entirely different reasons, I appreciate springing forward on the night DST begins (even though I lose an hour of sleep that night), because it is the harbinger of summer evenings when it will be light until close to 10:00. Perhaps because I come from stoic Swedish stock, swedish chefI don’t recall anyone in my family or our friends complaining about DST in my youth—it’s just something that happened, sometimes producing humorous situations such as the people who showed up for Easter Sunday services two hours late one year when the change to DST happened to fall on Easter; they turned their clocks back an hour instead of ahead. Spring forward and fall back, morons!

Over the past year or so, I’ve noticed a marked spike compared to previous years in the number of people complaining about DST and the inconvenience of twice-per-year hourly shifts. The complaints haven’t been just about inconvenience or because someone forgot and was an hour early for a meeting or for church—for the first time I learned that for some people the spring and fall time changes are among the most disruptive events of the year. After reading one person proclaim that “DST is total bullshit” and another post that “It’s the twice-yearly jet lag and sleep disruption that is so hateful,” I thought that perhaps a voice of reason needed to inserted into the discussion. Minor sleep disruption, yes (although one extra hour of sleep is hardly disruptive), but jet lag? Hateful?What, do you get jet lag flying from New York to Chicago? Please. So I innocently posted “jet lagTo be honest, I’ve never understood how a mere one hour difference can be such a source of disruption, dismay, and angst for so many people.” Boy, was that a mistake.

In short order I was informed that if I was not “physically afflicted” by the time change, I was not only lucky but also was “very rare.” Now I have no problem with being very rare (when I ate beef, that’s how I ordered my steak), but in this case I got the impression I was being called “very rare” as in “mutant” or “non-human.” I responded that I have an extensive network of family and friends (a bit of an exaggeration) and knew of only two who claimed to be bothered in any way by one-hour time changes, to which I received “Whereas I have only a couple who claim they don’t.” One of us is clearly full of shit—and it was on.

I posted the following on my timeline: A quick informal poll for my Facebook acquaintances–how many of you suffer from sleep deprivation, jet lag-like symptoms, or other such maladies because of the twice per year time changes? I don’t, but from what I read and hear many people do. How about you?

And as is so often the case with virtually any issue that people can disagree on, about 45 or 50 acquaintances split right down the middle. There are those like me, who not only suffer no negative effects from DST changes but also suspect that those who do are exaggerating, suffering from psychosomatic symptoms, or just like to whine. dog and childThen there are the other half who not only suffer various symptoms from DST changes but who also get quite defensive when someone reveals that this is not a universal affliction. One person wrote that “some people have small children and dogs,” implying that insensitive persons such as I should have some sympathy for persons such as she who have a houseful of DST-sufferers of various species (I wonder about how fish or turtles would do in her house). I probably did not help by responding “Of course—I have had two small children and now have three dogs, none of whom were ever effected.”

I’m sure that most everyone has had such conversations about DST as well as other issues that sharply divide human beings from one another, from politics to food preferences. For instance, a guy on Facebook recently was pissed at people piling on with negative comments about fruitcake. fruitcakeApparently fruitcake is one of his most pleasant childhood holiday memories, and people such as I promulgating negative stereotypes about fruitcake are shitting on his youth. Facebook is wonderful for generating such intractable and endless arguments, because often the people communicating have never met and know nothing about each other beyond the sound bites and bumper sticker pronouncements that are the heart and soul of social media.

There is a greater truth in play here—each of us is driven by the default assumption that our preferences, tastes, and experiences are the default setting for human normality. protagorasTo slightly paraphrase Protagoras, each of us believes that “I am the measure of all things.” Other human beings are normal to the extent that they appreciate what I like and reject what I dislike. Hence the need for real human interaction rather than colliding sound bites—there is no better corrective to “I am the measure of all things” than to find out on a regular basis that one person’s absolute is another person’s “whatever” and that my “no brainer” and “go to” in any area of experience whatsoever is something that has never even risen to the next person’s “Top 1000” things in importance.

Although I do not suffer from DST-related symptoms and do not understand those who do, I admit that one thing about DST has become more difficult in my adulthood than when I was a child—adjusting the clocks. Digital time pieces are far more challenging to move forward or back an hour than good old non-digital watches and clocks. I still puzzle for several minutes twice per year trying to remember how to change the time on the microwave and stove, and forget about the Bose machine. Our Bose machine downstairs tells time accurately six months of the year—the rest of the time it is an hour fast.

My Leading Man

As the director of a large interdisciplinary program required of all students during their first four semesters on campus, I am quite used to hearing both students and their advisors refer to the required sixteen credit hours in the program I direct, the centerpiece of my college’s rather extensive core curriculum, as something that students need to “get out of the way” before they are free and clear to start their real education in their major. I have spent a great deal of energy and time over the past four years trying to change that attitude—with mixed success. MitchBut I must confess that I had something like the “get it out of the way” attitude in place last Sunday when it came to Easter church duties. When our friend Marsue was rector, Trinity Episcopal provided only one super-celebration on Easter morning at 9:00, but Mitch, the new rector guiding the congregation through Holy Week festivities for the first time, scheduled 8:00 and 10:00 services on Easter morning. I’m an early morning person, Jeanne said she would join me at the early show, and by slightly after 9:00 AM our Easter church duties had been gotten out of the way. Priceless.

cinderellaI suppose it reveals my latent barbarian and irreligious tendencies to say that our real Easter activity last Sunday was going to see the new Disney movie version of the classic fairy tale “Cinderella.” But think about it—there are actually some Easter related themes there—redemption, transformation (pumpkin into coach, lizards into coachmen, goose into coach driver, mice into horses), unconditional love. Cinderella and Easter are both “feel good happy ending” tales. Even the life mantra Cinderella learns from her mother—“Have Courage, and Be Kind”—before her mother dies sounds like some versions of Christianity I’m familiar with. Not convinced? courage and kindnessNeither am I, but it really was a lovely movie with great CGI effects, good acting by Rose and Daisy from Downton Abbey as Cinderella and wicked stepsister #1 respectively, and a good time was had by all.

As fairy tales go, I prefer Cinderella over Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, but in a recent foray into Facebook/Internet personality quiz-taking revealed something quite accurate and appropriate about me.Snow White

Which of Snow White’s Seven Dwarfs am I?

I’ve always thought Snow White to be a radically chauvinistic tale, since the main reason the little guys love Snow White is that they finally have a woman in the house to cook and clean for them, but I was still intrigued. I used to know the names of all seven of the dwarfs (couldn’t produce them all now), but my result makes perfect sense.

docYou are Doc! In a chaotic world, you’re the one who keeps everything grounded. You’re a natural-born leader, even if you don’t always find the right words to get your vision across. You are a caretaker and a control freak at heart, but you go weak in the knees for life’s more beautiful things!

Those all sound like the qualities that I’ve had to rely on (even though I didn’t know I possessed many of them) in my now decade-long foray into academic administration, first as chair of a large department, then director of a much larger program. Except for the weak-in-the-knees business. The only thing that does that to me is an unexpected victory by the Friars or the Red Sox.

Continuing with the personality quiz theme related to movies and television, a while ago I came across a perfect quiz:

Which British Detective Are You?

This one might not work for you, but Jeanne and I are Anglophiles of a cosmic order when it comes to television detective shows. Sherlock? Lewis? Morse? Barnaby? This one knocked it out of the park.Tennison

Your result: Congratulations; you are Jane Tennison (from ‘Prime Suspect’)!

Ever since she played Morgana in Excalibur back in the early 80s, Helen Mirren has been one of my favorites, and her role as Jane Tennison in “Prime Suspect” is brilliant. I can’t say, though, that much of the description fits me.

Your life and career is a long and bitter tale of struggle and injustice, stretching back as far as you’d care to remember. And of course, that sort of thing leaves a mark. You’re no longer sure if you became good at your job because of natural talent, or because no one thought you could do it and you had to either prove them wrong or leave. Whatever the reason, all of this battling has brought out the best in your personality. You’re tough, strong and ready to fight your corner whenever adversity comes your way. excaliburThis does make it hard to drop your guard sometimes, and of course it won’t protect you from heartache because in order to admit you have feelings, you have to be vulnerable. And nothing hurts like betrayal. But woe betide the person that crosses you. LOTS of woe.

That sounds a lot more bad-ass than I consider myself to be, but I’ll take just being in the same paragraph with Helen Mirren—channeling Jane Tennison’s bad-assery is something I will work on. Maybe a sabbatical project. And by the way, Jeanne and I saw Helen in her newest movie “Woman in Gold” last evening. She’s as great as ever.

I’m a great lover of movies and good television, almost to the point of addiction. Of the dozens of online personality quizzes I have taken (I guess I’m addicted to them as well), I anxiously awaited the results of

Which Actor Would Play You in the Story of Your Life?ddl mohicans

I had taken this one several months ago but forgot to record the results—this time around I won’t forget.

Daniel Day-Lewis has been cast to play you! Daniel Day-Lewis’ onscreen personality and character traits: Passionate, fiercely intense, wise, unafraid of a little insanity, romantic, intimidating, fearless, able to speak other languages, ddl my left footintimate, up for any challenge, cosmopolitan, adaptable, proud, forceful, powerful.

With roles ranging from Christy Brown in My Left Foot through Hawkeye in The Last of the Mohicans to Abraham Lincoln in Lincoln, the only actor who has won three Lead Actor Academy Awards, this guy sets the bar higher than I could aspire to in my corner of the world. Of the various words and phrases in the description above, less than half of them sound like me. But there’s something about this that I relish—if the chameleon-like Daniel Day-Lewis and the brilliant Helen Mirren had a love child, it would be me!ddl lincoln