Author: Mack Ames

            The sky was gray with tears of glowing sunlight ripping through the gloom. Dreary buildings stood in a backdrop of freshly fallen snow, a dusty powder that coated the ugly brown of late fall, teasing the possibility of a white Christmas one week hence.

            Meager melting had ensued. Periodic drips from the roof plummeted to the ground, while thin sheets of ice molded themselves to barrels and railings in the yard. Flurries appeared briefly in defiance of the emerging sun, chased away by the persistence of the greater orb of the day.

            Under foot, the slush of melting snow and hardening ice was mixed with sand that was shoveled for safer perambulation. This is not a place to be without boots, nor without snow tires for the car, for that matter. One wrong move on foot or on the roadway could spell pain, misery, or both for the walker or driver. 

            For two hours, the room remained nearly silent, as no one attended the midday tutoring session. When students arrived at last, none needed assistance in English nor social studies, so boredom set in fully for the teacher. That was not entirely unwelcome, however, as antisocial mood and ill feeling had settled into the body, and an early departure seemed the best course of action for the day. 

            Natural beauty of creation met human nature’s discomforts.

~December 18, 2019

There are days when I don’t know where I am.
When I charge ahead, heedless of others and their needs.

There are days when I don’t know where I am.
When I wander thru the fog, seeking comfort or direction.

There are days when I don’t know where I am.
Nor do I really care to know; I just want to heal the hurt I see.

There are days when I don’t know where I am.
I laugh and I cry, never sure of my place or my role in life.

There are days.

Originally published at: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3458821/there-are-days/.

I’m not so sure that this is the biblical application intended, but I did experience pride and a fall yesterday morning. 🙂

For the last several weekends, I have endeavored to rise and shine, as they say, by taking our dog, Thumper, for a brisk walk at early light either up or down the roadside. He seems to enjoy the alternative watering or fertilizing locations to the usual yard, and I like the exercise it offers me, especially on the return trip when he’s done his business and is ready to motor.

On Sunday morning, we’d finished the routine and had arrived on the south side of our property, where I unbuckled his leash and said the magic word: “House!” He sprinted for the door, pausing at the corner of the house just where the wooden walkway passed it, waiting for the old man to catch up.

As I hoofed along in my pride of life, thrilled to have had two days of morning walks, I failed to negotiate the step onto the wooden walkway. In a blink, I realized that I was too far from the house on the left to catch myself there, and the shrubs to the right were too weak to help me. Uttering words I shall not relay here, I went down hard, skinning and twisting my right knee. Not wanting to spend my day so close to misery, I rolled over, struggled to my feet, and saw Thumper looking at me with what I deemed to be a mixture of pity and confusion. “Human, are you coming or not?”

“Go on, now, Thumper. Go to the house.” As we passed the bay window, I caught a glimpse of concern on my wife’s face. I stepped much more carefully onto the deck, up the steps, and into the house.

“Did you fall?” she asked. I nodded. I pulled off my jeans to check the damage; two patches on my knee were scraped clean of skin. I applied ointment to soothe the discomfort, and noticed that my left knee also had a scratch or two.

“Well,” I said to her, “I was getting rather proud of myself for walking two mornings in a row. Pride goeth before a fall, you know.”

Some Like It Lukewarm

“What’s it like to teach in a prison?”
“Are security guards with you all the time?”
“It must be so scary; how can you stand it?”
“Nope; it’s just me, by myself, six-to-one.”

Teachers start with a briefing. Who’s new to each class
and which day to begin them; hope he’ll work hard and pass.
Period 1 starts at 8, so my only real chance for the morning
is to get coffee before, piping hot, for tongue burning. 

Some like it scalding. Some like it hot.
I take what I can get from the community pot.
Not terribly picky, it’s the caffeine that I crave.
I’ll take it lukewarm or cold to make it through my day. 

But as for the teaching, it’s really the best
situation I’ve taught in all through my career. 
Men getting a new lease, returning to society
with education, vocation, more prepared for life’s tests. 

So, if I have to drink my coffee when it’s gone past its prime
because I’ve been tutoring this one,
or prepping that one in writing,
My reward is his success: I’ll drink when there’s time.

As previously noted, I work in a correctional facility. To the surprise of no one (I would hope), the language frequently used there is typically salty (think Dead Sea as opposed to Atlantic Ocean). MFW (Most Favored Word) status has been granted to the “F” word, which passes for nearly every part of speech needed. I reached my limit yesterday and wrote the following tongue-in-cheek “poem.”

Every effing day I effing go to my effing wonderful job,
where I effing listen to effing grown-ups who don’t effing seem to effingknow how to effing make an effing sentence without effing using the effing eff word every effing other effing moment.

My effing students say the effing eff word so effing often that they don’t effing realize that they’re even effing using it; it just effing slips out. 

So, when I say, “No, thank you,” they stare at me blankly. 

“What the eff?” they ask.

“You said I should ‘eff this’,” I reply. “No, thank you. I’d rather not.”

For one or two effing moments, they effing realize that their adjective, verb, and exclamatory vocabulary has been reduced to variations of the same effing word, but then they resume their effing, and the effing teaching moment is effing lost.

It effing drives me effing crazy!

It’s October 31, 2019, and I’ve already had four conversations about how I “celebrate” this day of the year. Is it Halloween or Reformation Day? In the words of President Obama’s first Secretary of State, “What difference does it make?”

In some ways, I suppose it doesn’t make much difference at all. That is, in decent weather (which today is not), my kids dress up in costumes, go door-to-door, and politely say the magic words–“trick-or-treat” and “thank you!”–to collect exorbitant amounts of candy from willing homeowners in neighborhoods around local towns, or they participate in trunk-or-treat events at their school. We remind them that this is not an event to celebrate evil, and they understand that.

In other ways, though, we make a point of teaching our kids and reminding one another of the importance of Reformation Day. A coworker asked me this morning, “Which reformation day?” Noting that she and I are on “opposite sides of the ecclesiastical fence,” I said, “Martin Luther’s.”

“Oh,” she replied. “Well, same God. Same Jesus, same Holy Spirit.” And she’s right, but…

In 1517, when Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses, or discussion points, to the door of the church in Wittenberg, Germany, to initiate a conversation with church authorities regarding teachings that seemed in contradiction to God’s Word, he was met with resistance from the establishment. He had been reading the Bible for himself, and he’d found that Official Church Teachings about salvation were not in line with the Word of God. Concerned that the Church was in error and needed correction, he attempted to initiate discussion on the apparent inconsistencies, hoping to reform the Roman Church from within.

Among the teachings that concerned him were the selling of indulgences as a means of earning salvation, a practice most heinously conducted on All Hallows’ Evening (October 31), which deprived the poor and illiterate populace of any hope of forgiveness of sins, while falsely promising them such. Luther had found in the book of Romans that forgiveness of sin was a gift God’s grace, not something to be purchased by money: “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23)

Rather than conversation, he was threatened with ecclesiastical charges for heresy for daring to challenge church traditions. Luther stood firm, though, declaring the Bible as the only infallible and authoritative Word for life and practice. His actions ultimately triggered the Protestant Reformation of the Church, defined by the understanding that salvation from sin is by Grace Alone through Faith Alone in Christ Alone: “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, ⁹ not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9)

So what do we celebrate on October 31? For me, it is a hallowed Reformation. It is a remembrance of the men and women throughout history that have walked with the Lord, faithfully proclaiming his Word to this lost and fallen world. By the grace and mercy of God, I have been called into the kingdom of Christ. It is my humble duty to pray for my fellow travelers on life’s road, believer and unbeliever alike. That the former will remain faithful to Christ our Savior and know his love and sustaining power in their lives, and that the latter will be drawn into saving knowledge of Jesus, forgiven of their sin, and live as part of the body of Christ.

My wife grew up in Massachusetts, for the most part, and I grew up in Eastern Maine, for the whole part. She attended Messiah College in Grantham, Pennsylvania, where she met a woman from Baltimore with whom she struck up a friendship that has flourished to this day. I attended Covenant College in Lookout Mountain, Georgia, where I met a man from St. Louis with whom I struck up a friendship that has flourished to this day. (In truth, I have several friends who match that description–met at Covenant, are from St. Louis, etc.!) Those two particular friends, though, have a significant role in our lives that I’ll get to in a moment or two.

Now, being as old as I am, or as distractible as I am, I’ve forgotten where I was headed with this post, so you might just have to bear with me while I try to find my way. I remember one of the points I intended to make, and I recall a subpoint that presented itself, but my main thought has gone right out of my head, likely never to return.

The friend that my wife made was from a church in Baltimore that belonged to the Orthodox Presbyterian Church denomination, formed in 1936 as a response to the loss of fidelity to the Bible as the inerrant Word of God in the mainline Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). After college, her friend invited my wife to go with her to Japan to serve the OPC as a missionary associate, a lay worker that assists full time missionaries. Laurel, who did not grow up in the OPC or any church like it (but did grow up in a Christian family) agreed to go for a year, and arrived in Japan in 1992. After a year, her OPC friend left, but Laurel stayed.

Like her friend, I grew up in the OPC. In 1987, my sister Judi and her husband Paul went to Japan as missionary associates for three years. When I graduated from college in 1993, the Lord provided the opportunity for me to follow in their footsteps, and in early September that year, I arrived in northern Japan. The next day, I met Laurel.

Her OPC college friend, Gail, takes a little tongue-in-cheek credit for Laurel and me meeting. While that’s cute, Laurel and I are directly responsible for Gail meeting her husband. The college friend I referenced earlier was pining for love for someone living in Baltimore that had turned down his affections, and he had written to me about it. I was in Japan with my new bride, Laurel. He had a witty way about writing, and my bride and I enjoyed his letters so much that when he lamented losing out on a “blonde from Baltimore,” we turned to each other and said, “WE know a blonde in Baltimore!”

We introduced them to each other via email. Their correspondence began, and a year later, they got married. They’ve been married 20 years now, and remain dear friends with us.

I have no idea what made me think of this Throw Back on this Thursday, but there you have it. That’s enough for one day. My brother and his wife, and two of their sons and one son’s fiancee are in town and I need to see them.

I think I’ve written about my commute before.

There’s a small house in the town of Kenduskeag, situated just north of the town center on Maine Route 15. In typical Maine-speak, it’s just past the big red barn (with the blue-tarped roof) that got torn down last year, and just before a row of three mobile homes. I haven’t the faintest idea who lives there, other than the fact that it appears to be a family of five: Mother, father, and three elementary-school-aged children.

What has caught my eye about this house is the presence of Tonka Trucks in the front yard; a grader, a front-end bucket loader, and a large dump truck, much like the ones I had as a young boy. It also hasn’t escaped my notice that the three children seem to play well with each other with these toys whenever I’m driving by on my way to work, regardless of the weather. I especially observed that during the winter last year. Big snowbanks or small, dry ground or great mud puddles, they were always out there, talking, laughing, and playing, under the watchful eyes of their parents. They live on a busy road, but they respect the boundaries.

Of the dozens of kids of all ages that I pass on my commute to work, they are having the most fun. Rain or shine, these children act their ages. Their parents exercise appropriate supervision; not hovering, but not disinterested. It’s refreshing, and they’ll never know what this commuter thinks, because stopping to tell them would be weird and would probably freak them out.

On Saturday, October 19, our family went to Richmond, Maine, to attend a fall-themed open house that was being hosted by friends of ours that used to live closer to our neck of the woods of Maine. They’d moved down to Richmond a couple of years ago so that he could work for LL Bean corporate office, and it has made a better life for them in many ways. She and Laurel are good friends, their kids and ours get along well, and he and I are friends, so it’s always refreshing to spend time with them.

They had invited a couple of other families from the Bangor area, but we were the only ones to make the trip. The rest of the invitees were from the church that she and the girls attend in Portland. Two of the families that came are cousins of mine, and the other two families represented are friends of the hosts. I’d met one family previously. I’m not using names to protect the innocent. 🙂

The hosts live on a quiet street corner in a residential neighborhood. They have a pleasant back yard with enough room to play cornhole or Kuub, both of which took place while we were there. There is a public ball field and park behind their home, so the kids could play there, too. A couple of the kids played on the playground for a little while.

Our friends have set up a good concrete patio, complete with a sturdy firepit, and there was ample space for a dozen or so chairs to fit around the patio and pit. Hot soups and stews were supplied for our supper, along with homemade breads and biscuits. There were chips, veggies, and dips, cheese, crackers, and grapes for snacking. And for dessert, there was a S’mores Station: graham crackers, fudge-stripe cookies; Hershey bars, Cookies’n’cream bars, Reese’s PB Cups, and Nestle Crunch bars; standard-size marshmallows and giant marshmallows. Plus, there were beverages for all tastes: water, soda, cider, hard ciders, beer, and seltzer water.

The day was filled with conversations and laughter. That laughter was great medicine. We reunited with our relatives and friends, but we also strengthened newer friendships and established a brand new relationship. How humbling it was to meet our new friend, T, who introduced herself by saying, “You’re the people we’ve been praying for! I’m so GLAD to meet you!”

And that is something we’ve been hearing frequently this year. It demonstrates how intertwined the body of Christ truly is. We hear of a brother or sister in the Lord that needs prayer, so we pray. In God’s providence, we may meet him or her later on, and we see for ourselves the power of God at work. It’s an amazing experience that pierces the hardness of our hearts and fills us with fresh gratitude for the love, mercy, and grace of our Savior. We find ourselves saying once again, to God be the glory!

Do you remember Y2K?
The panic we all felt?
Everyone was going nuts
Expecting the world to end.

Computers ran the world “they” said,
And as the day drew near,
“All numbers will return to zeroes,
Crash all systems—we’ll be dead!” 

No one knew how to respond,
So, we prepared for emergency;
stashed away food, water, batteries
Then partied like t’was 1999
and waited to be Y2Ked. 

Didn’t happen, we panicked for nothing.
2000 came and went.
It was all a big, fat, nothing-burger 
Until last week; and then

Wednesday, 10/2/ Twenty-Nineteen,
When they checked the power at work,
Our wireless routers didn’t like it–
quit working just to be mean.

For three days and countless hours
Chef instructor/IT man scrambled
To find out what was wrong with our routers
To learn why our network was dead.

Try after try, while we waited and prayed,
Late on the 4th connections were made.
Nineteen years too late, router clocks were all zeroes, 
We finally found out, we’d been Y2Ked!