David Lee

I’m not exactly sure of the year, but sometime around 1980 I made a purchase that defied explanation.  I had seen her several times and admired her, not thinking that she was available.  And then that day came; a “For Sale” sign appeared on her windshield.  I passed by several more times, thinking that the price was probably much too steep.  I finally stopped by to give her a closer look and fell even more deeply in love.  I decided to inquire exactly what amount of money it would take to gain ownership of the blue beauty.

The owner was a well-known realtor in town, who also happened to have a love for classic cars.  I asked to take a test drive and was amazed at the power and ease of the ride.  When I inquired about how much the vehicle would cost, he stated $750.  I had saved up some money from my part time job and decided that it would indeed be mine.  When I returned from the bank with the cash and told him I would pay for it in full, he reduced the price to $500.  A quick trip to get the title transferred and she was all mine.

She was manufactured in the same year I was conceived – 1958.  She was Carolina Blue in color and in remarkably excellent shape for a car of that age. The car was built in an era where the chrome was a prominent addition.  Although I had a primary car to drive, she quickly became my favorite mode of transportation.

Now there were those, who shall remain nameless, that didn’t particularly care for her appearance.  Some would dare to call her a “clunker” or a “Batmobile.”  But to me she was a rare beauty.  The large steering wheel and spacious interior were just two of the features that had won over my heart.

And then came that fateful night….snow-covered roads and those that had braved the elements.  I was working at my job when the snow began falling and by the time I was able to leave, it had covered much of the road.  I was stopped at an intersection in the middle of town, in front of the fire station where the fireman gazed at the falling snow from a second story window.

It was like it happened in slow motion through the falling snow,,,,one car sliding through the intersection, hitting another.  That car then headed straight towards me and there was nothing to be done but brace for the impact.  The damage had been done; she would be driven no more.  Thinking back on that night and seeing the damage done to the other vehicles involved, I have no doubt her bulky mass had prevented me from being injured. She was eventually towed to a family owned home and sat there for several more years before I finally sold her for parts.

In the years that followed, I tried my luck with other classic cars, but never quite had the same feeling about them that I had with her.  I remember the day of the accident I had just received a personalized license tag that said “’58 Olds”.  Perhaps it was a sign of the tragedy that would occur later that evening, I will never be sure.

From time to time, I’ll see a picture of a similar car of that era….very few are actually on the road these days.  But she was indeed my first classic car love and the memories of her I’ll always keep.

David Lee 

I recently enjoyed a week-long trip to the North Carolina mountains to enjoy the scenery and get away for a while.  I normally stay at the same quaint motel and decided this time would be no exception.  The twelve rooms were tucked into a small corner of the town and the time I spent there was both quiet and enjoyable.

Upon my arrival, I was given the room key on a green key fob that simply bore the number “11.”  I usually requested room twelve, but it had already been taken by a couple visiting from Australia.  So room eleven it would be.

On the last full day of my adventure, the sun was scheduled to rise at 7:16 a.m.  I decided early on that morning to go the the nearby Blue Ridge Parkway to try to get some pictures.  Although it was quite chilly that morning, the decision to go was a good one.  After warming myself with a large cup of coffee, I headed out and got some really scenic pictures of the sun rising.

I continued my journey afterwards, venturing to several small nearby towns to see the sights and get some more shots.  When I finished the sixty mile round-trip, I was disheartened to find that I couldn’t locate the room key.  I searched in my car and it was nowhere to be found.  Thinking I had perhaps left it in the room, I got an extra key from the innkeeper and scoured the room looking for it.   No key was to be found.

After pondering awhile, I figured the only solution was to retrace my steps and see if I had dropped it somewhere.  I was thinking one of the several shops I had visited would perhaps have had someone turn it in to them.  The first stop that day was at an overlook to get the sunrise pictures.  I really didn’t think it would be there, but thought that was the most logical place to start.  All the while, I kept a positive frame of mind, knowing that keys just didn’t float into thin air.  But I also realized my chances of finding it weren’t that great.

Upon arriving at the overlook, I examined the ground on the area I had walked and it was nowhere to be found.  I then remembered I had crossed the road over to the other side to get some early morning pictures from there.  Imagine my pleasant surprise to see the green key fob emblazoned with the number 11 that was attached to my room key.  I breathed a huge sigh of relief with the realization that I wasn’t going to have to retrace all of the many stops I had taken that day.

Best I can figure, I had dropped the key out of my pocket while taking pictures that morning.  I’m still not quite sure how that happened, but it certainly did.  Someone else on the trail that day must have seen it and wanted to make sure the owner got it back.  But the fob didn’t contain the name of the motel, only the room number.  So this person decided to leave it there, on a rock where the person who had lost it would easily see it.

I’ll never know who it was that found the key and placed it on the rock that day….All I know is that I was so very grateful that whoever it was had decided to be of good nature and place it where it would be easily seen.  They must have, in some way, known the person that had lost it, in this case me, would return to try to find it.

There are times in life when we lose things of value to us…perhaps it’s a key or card of some sort….or just perhaps it’s a person that was an important part of our lives.  We can go in search of those things lost and may or may not find them along the way.  But I know for certain that if I hadn’t taken the action to find the key that day, I wouldn’t have found it.  I had to keep the faith that I might just find it and all the while realize it might be lost forever.  Such is life.

David Lee

It was a little over five years ago, June 14, 2010, that I taught what I thought was my last class in a public school.  I had carefully considered my options and decided that it was time to look at other options, or so at least I thought.

I took off the mandatory six months before even considering substitute teaching.  It wasn’t long after that when I started taking one day sub jobs at several schools.  Although I did enjoy the variety of assignments, it still wasn’t like being in the classroom full time.

One summer day I received a call from an elementary principal wanting to know if I’d be interested in an interim position for a teacher that would be out on maternity leave the following school year.  I decided to take the position and enjoyed the six weeks that I spent with her class. It was a bit more involved that the regular sub jobs I had gotten used to, but then again there was always that light at the end of the tunnel.

That interim for a maternity leave was followed by five other such offerings.  Three of those were for maternity leaves, one for a teacher out for eight weeks at the beginning of the school year due to surgery, and the latest, a teacher that had decided to retire at the end of the third month of school (which, by the way, was supposed to be a nine week interim that became a rest-of-the-school-year, twenty-seven week assignment).

Each of those interim assignments carried with them the responsibility for teaching on a regular basis, the same as I had when I worked full time.  There were papers to be graded, parent conferences to be held, faculty meetings to attend.  I still felt like a substitute teacher in many respects, but considered myself more of an interim teacher than anything else.

I’m currently preparing to complete my seventh and eighth interim assignments…the first is a six day job for a teacher that will be having surgery, the second a maternity leave assignment for the same teacher I did the first one.  I’m looking forward to both assignments, especially given the fact that the first is at the school I retired from and the second at the same elementary school where my daughter teaches.

The bottom line is that although I chose to retire five years ago, I’ve still remained active in the teaching profession. I nearly neglected to mention the interim position I held at the local community college for six weeks one summer. I feel like I’m being led to what I’m destined to do with my life.  This extends far beyond my chosen profession, but it clearly offers the most concrete example.  The same can  be said for personal and familial relationships.

I ask God each day to give me the guidance, wisdom, and strength to do those things He would have me to do.  I have developed a faith to know that if I stay connected to Him, things will be exactly as they are supposed to be. Yes, there are some detours I’ve had to take….some roads that appeared to be on the right track that eventually closed.  But even those are following the words of Jeremiah 29:11 – “For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord; ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans for a future and hope.”

Today is the second consecutive day of staying away from the world of Facebook.  I had decided that I was spending way too much of my waking day glued to the computer or FB phone app, so I decided to start weening myself from it.  Yesterday morning after I had posted my two inspirational readings for the day, I vowed not to log on again for the remainder of the day.

I multiple times was scrolling across my cell phone screen and very nearly keyed the FB icon…several times I started to hit the bookmarked tab on my computer.  But each time I reminded myself of the pledge I had made at the beginning of the day and followed through with staying away.

The phone icon didn’t help matters a lot, with the number inside the orange circle telling me how many notifications had gone unnoticed…climbing ever so slowly from five to ten to the eventual thirty-one I had received by day’s end.  My mind played all types of tricks on me in attempt to get me to give in:  “What if it’s a really important FB email from a friend that needs my immediate attention?” I would ask myself.

I found as the day went on that the desire to log in to my FB account got less and less. It was finally around seven p.m. that I reasoned I was going to be able to fulfill my pledge and not log in for the day.  I had made it through the first day without accessing that social media account.

I will admit that I checked in to my Instagram account and did post several pictures…I even look at Pinterest and created a few pins there, but for the most part I was able to stay away from social media for the day.

Now I’ve made it half-way through the second day of my self-imposed FB sanction.  I see the notifications are starting to build – I have ten thus far.  And I really wanted to take a picture of my granddaughter at lunch to post to my page,,,but the temptation was not enough to make me go back on my word.

You never truly realize how much of a stronghold something or someone has on you until you consciously decide to do without it for a while.  I’m thinking this will get easier as time goes on and that I’ll be able to use that time formerly spent in the alternate reality world of social media to do something much more productive.  For right now, I’m just getting used to doing without.

David Lee

Risk Being Alive 

“I know nothing is going to last forever,” Charlie said. “But the key to life and being happy is acting as though it is.”

Many of us have had our illusions about security and permanency shattered.  The longer we’re alive, the more it gets beat into us that nothing is forever.  We can plan on many things, but the only thing we can plan on with any certainty is change.

At some time in our lives, we may have convinced ourselves otherwise.   We surrendered ourselves to that job, that project, or that relationship with all our hearts, only to have it crash to an end.

Some of us may have decided, after enough cycles of beginnings, middles, and endings, that the way to deal with this was never to fully give our hearts to any person or circumstance, never to let ourselves fully be present and enjoy the moment.

If I don’t get it completely, I won’t get hurt when it ends, we think.  Maybe.  But you won’t experience the pleasure and joy, the rick, sweet, full taste of those moments, either.

Okay, so you’re wiser now.  You know nothing lasts forever.  You know the moment something begins, the ending has already been written, too.  People are born.  They die.  A job or project begins.  Then it ends.  But there’s an entire luscious middle waiting, inviting you to jump in fully and see how sweet life can be.  Besides, when the ending does come, you’ll also have been given enough wisdom, courage, and grace to deal with that too.

What are you waiting for?  Go ahead…. Stop holding back…Jump in…Love your life.

 

From “More Language of Letting Go” by Melody Beattie

Two Layers of Synchronicity

I recently accepted a job to substitute teach for a seventh grade social studies teacher.  It just so happened that he was also the boys’ basketball coach.  While the day progressed, I noticed he had the team’s white jerseys all neatly-folded inside a large plastic container.  I decided to take a glance at the jerseys and thought perhaps I could see the #23 jersey without disturbing the rest of the stack.  Lo and behold, the jersey I was looking for was on the top. 

I decided to take a picture of the jersey and then posted the find to my Facebook page.  Not too soon afterwards, a FB friend who lives in Nova Scotia posted the following comment: “It was a year ago today that a young man in our community was killed in a tragic car accident – he played #23 for the high school basketball team – and here you’re posting another team’s #23 – sync again!!”

So I considered it quite remarkable that the #23 jersey just happened to be on the top of the stack of jerseys. And to then have it revealed that  it “just happened” to be the anniversary of a fateful event in the life of a friend who lived so far away with a connection to the same sport and jersey number.

Quite remarkable indeed!

 

I was substitute teaching in a fifth grade classroom on November 22, 2013.  It was exactly fifty years ago on that day when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas.  How are the two events even remotely related?  Read on…

During the course of the school day, a student approached me with a penny, saying he had found it on the floor.  I thank him for turning it in, without really thinking much at the time about it.  A bit later in the day, I examined the penny, seeing that it obviously was a bit older than most.  And what, to my surprise, did I find out?

The penny was dated 1963…the year that JFK was assassinated.  And it was fifty years to the day that a penny bearing that date was found in a classroom and turned in by an industrious student.  Several questions ruminated in my mind over the next while:  What are the chances most eleven year-old children would bother to pick a penny up, much less turn it in?  What are the chances the date it was found and turned in would be such an historic date in our country’s history?  And perhaps most-importantly, doesn’t this seem to indicate that events far removed and brought to awareness are signs of connections we may never totally understand?

Synchronicity at its finest in my book…

.

Dear Sunday morning pedestrian at LRU,

   First of all, let me say I was impressed that you had arisen so early on a Sunday morning when most of your college cohorts were perhaps still sleeping the morning away.  I assume you were going to get some breakfast at such an early hour, or perhaps going to a church service even.  But there is something I feel the need to share with you about some of your walking practices.

     The intersection you were crossing at does tend to be quite busy.  There are any one of a number of motorized vehicles traveling that road at any time during the day.  I feel that’s one reason the college has chosen to put in crosswalks with lights to aid students in getting across the road.  They have even gone to the trouble to have detailed instructions posted on how to cross safely, including how to get the crosswalk light to change to allow crossing.  (Although I will say as an LRC graduate, I find it quite humorous that it would be necessary to have instructions for a college age student to be able to cross the road safely.)

     This morning you were walking across the crosswalk while the approaching traffic had the green light for travel.  The phone call you were having was of, I am sure utmost importance, but next time you’re crossing, you might want to consider giving the oncoming traffic your undivided attention.    I am sincerely glad that the three cars in front of me saw you crossing and decided to come to a complete stop despite having the green light.

        The reason I’m writing you is just to let you know that not all Sunday morning drivers are as alert as we were this morning.  They may or may not be paying full attention to what’s going on in front of them.  Perhaps they woke up a little late and are in a rush, maybe they’re taking a call or heaven forbid texting, or in some cases, maybe they had one-too-many night before and are still in the process of overcoming that inevitable hangover.  Bottom line is that I am afraid they may not be able to avoid you like we did this morning.

       I’m not one to tell others how to live their lives, but for future walks to the campus, you might want to consider following the indicated pedestrian signal:  red is for stop; white is to go….and the countdown numbers tell you how many seconds you have to safely cross the street. You also may want to think about waiting for that phone call until after you’ve crossed the road.   I just don’t want your time to be up forever.

 

Signed, 

Concerned Sunday motorist

Dear Sunday morning runner,

     I applaud you for the effort you’re putting forth to take care of yourself by getting out and jogging/running at 7:45 a.m. on a forty degree morning.  I only wish I had the determination and drive to do the same.  But there is something I feel the need to share with you about where you’re choosing to do your runs.

     The five lane road we were both traveling this morning was meant for vehicular traffic, aka – cars.  I saw well in advance that you were choosing to run in the middle of the right hand lane that I was traveling in the opposite direction.  I was also glad that you made the decision to move out of the middle of the lane and to the edge of the road.  But at the same time, I noticed there was a sidewalk that you could just as well been using for your morning jaunt.  

     Now I know I’ve read somewhere that the black asphalt pavement is supposed to be better to run on, but as I said earlier, I think that’s mainly designed for motorized forms of transportation.  I would have even been a bit more understanding if you had chosen to at least move over to the curb.

     The reason I’m writing you is just to let you know that not all Sunday morning drivers are as alert as I was this morning.  They may or may not be paying full attention to what’s going on in front of them.  Perhaps they woke up a little late and are in a rush, maybe they’re taking a call or heaven forbid texting, or in some cases, maybe they had one-too-many night before and are still in the process of overcoming that inevitable hangover.  Bottom line is that I am afraid they may not be able to avoid you like I did this morning.

     I’m not one to tell others how to live their lives, but for future runs, you might want to consider using the sidewalk for its intended purpose.

 

Signed,

Concerned Motorist

from Melodie Beattie’s More Language of Letting Go

The magic of a story lies in the spaces between the words.

When we read a novel, we often find that the writer vies us only the barest elements of a scene, and yet our imagination fills in all the blank spaces from our experiences, our hopes, our dreams.  We don’t need the author to give us all of the details.

So it is with life.  Often we are given only the barest outline of the path that we are to follow, and yet if we are silent and listen to our hearts, we can hear all the details of our path spelled out for us, a step at a time.  There is no need to have everything laid out for us beforehand.  If it were, there would be no need to take the trip.  We could simply read about it.

Get up.

Live your path with your heart. 

Fill in the blanks yourself. 

God, Give me the strength to find out how the story ends by living until the end of it, instead of wanting it read to me beforehand.