Weekend Discernment

"Then he told them a parable: ‘The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, “What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?” Then he said, “I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” But God said to him, “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich towards God.’"

-Luke 12: 16-21

"Jesus said to him, 'If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.' When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions."

-Matthew 19: 21-22

Lots to discuss after a busy weekend.

As usual, we drove up to the Cliff after work on Friday, this our last weekend trip for a while because work in Florida will have me back there most of the time for the next several weeks.

Saturday morning arrived grey and threatening. We had one simple task for the day: change the oil in the Chris Craft. To that end I'd purchased a hand pump, because the old oil must be removed through the dipstick hole. I offered to go handle it myself while Peg lounged on the couch, figuring it would take twenty minutes or so.

I was, as it turned out, quite wrong about that.

These old Chris Craft motors have no oil filter, the idea being that the fines and other contaminants will adhere to the oil and end up in the sump, where they'll be pumped out at each oil change. And this was break-in oil, specifically designed to allow wear in some places and not others, meaning more glop in the sump.

Getting all that goo out of the engine with a hand pump, through a half-inch dipstick opening, entailed well over two hours of pumping on this thing.

And it was Florida hot, Florida humid out there. I alternated between feeling like I was going to wretch and faint, sweat dripping off the bill of my cap as I kept pumping while Peg made sure the patient was properly intubated, hanging over the side into the engine bay for two hours.

But finally we got it finished, patted ourselves on the back for not giving up, and then pumped probably twenty gallons of water out of the bilge. We're both a little worried about what to make of that.

So, our first discernment moment of the weekend came when we realized that, while it's nice to say we've owned an antique wooden boat, the Capri probably isn't the right fit for this phase of our lives. It's good for showing off--every time the boat is out from under the tarp and on the water people ooh and ah at the sleek mahogany---but if our goal is to easily launch for a day of picnicking and swimming in the lake, it would be hard to find a less practical choice.

Sitting on the balcony over the weekend watching boaters whizz back and forth below us led to this epiphany about why we wanted a boat up here.

A lot of folks seem to find pleasure in simply driving their boat back and forth all day. I see the same ones repeatedly. And if driving back and forth is your thing, the Chris Craft is an impressive vehicle for that purpose, with an engine that growls so loudly you can hear it a mile away, and sleek lines cutting through the water. But P and I are usually going somewhere, and driving around for the sake of driving around is not our thing. P wants shade, and to be able to lounge and read a book, maybe drink a glass of wine with her little feet kicking in the water while she sits on the swim platform the Chris Craft lacks.

So we'll be in the market for a new boat, but that's a problem for next summer.

Saturday night we hosted friends for supper, then were to bed early after a very full day.

Sunday promptly at 8:18 I heard an alarm clear as a bell in my head. But there was no alarm; I'd only dreamed it. I took this as Elohim's way of kicking us out of bed for church; with summer services at St. John's moved up to 9 a.m., we literally could not have slept another two minutes and arrived on time. So I nudged P awake, made a couple travel lattes and drove down into town for Rite II.

St. John's is in the early innings of a search process for a new rector, so the celebrant was a nice lady from nearby Palmyra. In the rarest of moments since we quit going to Holy Nativity regularly, her message from the pulpit called us up short. The homily flowed from John 6, the lectionary's Gospel offering for the week, the theme being that we should focus on larger things than stuff, than bread. The priest talked about her recent fifty year class reunion, and the question posed to each participant regarding what they were most proud of at the end of their working lives. The list provided by most was a stream of accolades, advanced degrees, promotions, and the like, as well as the material comforts that were a byproduct. She left us with a question: what are you the most proud of?

She also quoted something from Mother Teresa about what one could do every day to bring about the Kingdom of God. The questioner expected some grand profundity, but Teresa answered simply that we should be kind, should be the light of the world through how we treat people, should feel every person's private pain and try to relieve it. That's it. That's the whole drill.

All this led to an extended discussion as P and I drove down the hill to Corning that afternoon. What are you most proud of? For P it was pretty simple: raising Issac in the face of extended adversity. I had to ponder a little. The low hanging fruit would be something about military service or maybe law school. I was proud of raising the boys, but unlike P I was an average-at-best parent, just trying not to be my own father.

Most proud? I reckon it would be leaving behind a life I'd built over decades with pretty much the shirt on my back when I realized I couldn't picture a day without Peg, and knowing all the while that the attendant losses would in many ways be permanent. That moment took courage, I guess. And it underscores why ministry probably wasn't the right path in the end--those with a genuine call demonstrate their commitment by walking away from material wealth and professional accomplishment for a life of discipleship. I always tried to keep my foot in both boats, to have it all, which was never going to work. But this leap of faith with P seems to have been an inspired moment.

So there's that.

Today's the thirtieth anniversary of my last flight in the F-15. Maybe I'll write about that tomorrow. Or maybe by then I'll have a damage report from Hurricane Debby, the eye of which is passing directly over the farm as I write this. The second direct hit in less than a year, in a part of the state that had gone decades without seeing a hurricane. Maybe there's some discernment to be had there as well.