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Curiosity drew me to see this film. The trailer caught my attention several times. It was odd that no one in my circles had been talking about it.
Nevertheless, my far-from-perfect instincts would prove worthwhile on this occasion. I saw the movie on an outbound business flight. It moved me.
During a typical working weekend, I found myself reminiscing over episodes from the story between Dr. Shirley and Tony. Some of those thoughts were reflective. Others were humorous. Yet, others found me marveling.
I deliberately chose to watch the movie a second time, just a day later, on my homeward bound flight. Certain that my initial reflections were reenforced, I recommended it to my wife. We watched it together. That was my third viewing in a week’s time.
When the key characters lived through many life moments, tension ratcheted up. Each individual, except Dolores, had glaring shortcomings. Bigotry was layered in both men. Insecurity leaked out in triggered scenarios. Scarred personal identities became more apparent over time.
Comic relief eased the natural uncomfortable crescendo in this racially charged story. Repeated moments similar to these took a quiet but powerful tone. Relief emerged as transformation. Personal prejudices genuinely eased as friendship emerged. Acceptance was easier than could be imagined. Courage was shared, winning respect. Long suffering grew stronger.
We could only wish for this story line to be repeated as a national or international phenomenon. At least it was true for these two men. It was after all a true story.
Maybe the truth in story on film will touch others to wonder about the possibilities. Perhaps more friendships will stir because of it. Friendship is a powerful human link. There are subtle movements of love, Christmas, letters, and romance that add dynamic texture to the narrative.
I for one could applaud this film and highly recommend it. The story is sure to touch the souls of many. Quite possibly could it shrink the ugly tide of racism to a noticeable degree?
Obviously a film cannot do much to transform the landscape of wicked human behavior. But, people might be attracted to the hope of such change and join in it themselves. Who knows what miraculous moments can happen when genuine friendship discovers true love and righteous people mix it up with a true story.
photo credit: Google image
It is the day before I step on to a stage in a church where I have never been. Most likely I will never return to this church in the years to come. Such is the pattern of this unique speaking circuit.
I am a preacher. There was a calling in my life when I was in college. God moved in my soul to step out in faith to be a teacher of his Word.
Yes, I have always had a day job. More accurately it was a regular job. Many times it was related to the church or supportive of the church.
Then, the invitations came. Churches needed a retreat speaker. Pastors needed a Sunday pulpit supply. Conferences needed a keynote speaker. Organizations need someone to speak at their annual convention. Every request was an honor.
By far the most were one-off invitations. The friendships that were begun ended with an email exchange, an occasional Christmas card, and once in a while a renewal gathering in some city far away from home.
This weekend is another one of those special honors. Hundreds of men are gathering at a church tomorrow. They are hungry for a word that will stir their souls. Many will come searching but will not have the words to express that longing. It will be up to me with the help of the Holy Spirit to put words to those feelings.
I am looking forward to that task. It is the greatest privilege to be a part of the eternal work of the Spirit of God and to realize that it is happening at the moment that it is. Nervous? Eager is more like it.
Google image
He used to be so strong. When the clan gathered, he was at the center of the family photo. His smile was broad enough to claim six children, six in-laws, a passel of grandkids, and a growing number of great grand children.
Now, life was catching up with him. Age was held at bay for decades. Once he was resilient for the crazy, noisy family reunions.
The world races by outside. It is oblivious to the inevitable march dominating the building that was home for an ever-expanding brood. 93 years have passed under his bridge.
Lines on his smile carried stories that filled those years. Busy activity around him showed the care of his children who handled business, studied medical options, listened to his waning memories of stories from years ago and far off places around the world. Sadness crept in for us all.
The light of life was growing dimmer. Energy from his perpetual youth was slipping away. Once a proud man, now we would help him to do the very basics of life, ignoring the cry for personal dignity.
With humility needed for the many of life necessities his head dipped and the functions were performed without fanfare. Old is a merciless shadow that drains even the strongest from the pedestal of zest. Aging bodies cannot do what it was designed by the great Creator to do.
Now, younger lives, children return the favor of a parent. The child is now the one who gives what once was lavishly given. Life roles have now changed.
Processing the dramatic reversal of energy, independence, and animation made sense in my mind. Sensing it and reacting to it was very different. Getting old is not kind.
Aging is brutal. Life should not be so painful, agonizing, and difficult. Inconsolably sad was how I was feeling.
Reaching out my hand and lifting a once proud man up from his cushioned chair just to make a move to the dining room table required a conscientious effort. The loss of mobility rang a hollow call from the emptying spirit of the head of this home. The sadness grabbed me deeper in my soul.
May God’s mercy sustain all who feel the constant creep of aging stealing so much from their lives. Keep looking up, dear ones. The God of the Ages is watching over you and promises to give back so much for all eternity for those who know his son, Jesus the Christ.
photo by bruce w. fong photography
Every Thursday morning at 6:30AM I need to be at church for a gathering called Warrior’s Heart. Several men volunteer to do the parking signs, breakfast food, coffee, table setup, name tags, registration and greeting. My part is to teach the Bible lesson.
Since I live a good distance away, I have to leave for our gathering point by 5:25AM. That means I need to wake up by 4:45AM. If I do not go to bed early the night before I am going to suffer.
Many times I go to bed at the proper time but I experience a restless sleep. My mind is going a mile a minute thinking about the lesson and making sure that I have all of my thoughts clearly sorted out. Of course my computer for projecting the lesson on the two huge screens is essential.
When I choose to use my computer, I have to remember my power cord, my projection adapter, my remote control. Of course I need to bring my reading glasses along as well. I wake up periodically in a fitful fog wondering if I have forgotten something or worse, if I have overslept.
Finally, I am wide awake at 4:40am waiting for my alarm clock to start its early morning chiming. Impatient, I just reach over and shut it off. The next thing that I realize is that I am in the shower and do not remember getting into it.
Glancing at the clock I smile. At least my routine has me on schedule and ready to fend off the anxiety from running late. My wonderful bride is ready to go. We enjoy the commute together.
We carry on a great conversation on the way to work. It is a 23 mile drive. Neither of us remember what we talked about but it was fun while we drove into town.
I am the first to stumble walking across the street. No, neither of us have ever been drunk but this is what it must feel like. That is when I tell myself to pick up my feet, point my body in the direction of choice and then I can begin putting one foot in front of the other.
No one in my situation even bats an eye at this sleep walking. We catch up on at least three extra winks before engaging people for the day. God helps me to forbid myself from signing any important papers until the weekend. Are my eyes open or closed?
photo credit: brucefong photography
Sharing time with my bride is a blessing. During our busy days I eagerly look for opportunities for us to merge our schedules into fun times together. Some times I even take her shopping.
Yes, that is a perfectly allowable choice. It is in the fine print on my “Man Card”. The explanation is under point 27, subsection 12, footnote 75.
We entered a specialty store. The exclusive product was women’s accessories. There might even be a subset of specialty stores that describes this venue better, but I frankly do not know what it is.
My bride made her rounds. Women have a peculiar shopping technique. The must bond with the products by tactile interaction.
When a woman touches a product she is sensing something about a possible purchase. Some just use glancing tips of their fingers. Others grab and others hug the items.
Then, there are those who hold the product up in the air. Maybe they are attempting to get different lighting angles to help them make their decision. Yet, others pat the product as if to assure it that their decision NOT to purchase is not personal.
My eyes widened suddenly. She was coming to me with several products in hand. “Yipes! She is going to ask me my opinion.” I force myself to remain calm and act confident.
She assumes the role of a TV Show Hostess Spokesperson. In turn she displays one choice, shows me the features, talks about the pros and cons. I listen, acting as if I am tracking with her.
While uttering a timely “Um” or thoughtful “Ah” I miss the transition to a question. My “Uh huh” is obviously misplaced. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. I was thinking about this one here.”
It is a clumsy recovery. I have been discovered. Yes, I am a dolt. I do not understand colors.
In fact I was getting dizzy staring at the wild patterns and countless colors. How does anyone know how to describe these items? For me to give an opinion is like throwing dice and calling out whatever numbers happen to land on top.
Knowing what the numbers mean is the trick. But, I can’t get past my panic attack that feels like being asked a question by a professor in front of my learned classmates and I haven’t a clue as to the answer. Now, the sweat starts to pour off of my head. Help! I feel nauseous! Really!
photo credit: brucefong photography
Busy men always discover the elixir of a momentary break from the heavy responsibilities of their work. Getting away into the country, the woods or the lake can do wonders to rejuvenate the male soul. Hardworking men also learn that joining other men to find that relief is very effective.
It has been three years since I have been able to pal around with a special group of Michigan friends. My life took a surprising turn when I was recruited to my present position of higher education. The newness of the position and the long list of responsibilities were great so I stayed close to my job for two years. Finally, it was time to reconnect with great guys.
Describing the men that I shared a few days of adventures on the plains, in the mountains and through the woods is simple. They are a collection of different kinds of bucks. A men’s retreat described like a herd of wild animals is saying that they are just a bunch of guys.
There are the young bucks who hurried into the cabin. They are a lot of fun, full of energy, always moving, taking on new challenges no matter what the risks. When it is time to eat they have a voracious appetite that defies the possible space of a normal human stomach.
Then, there are the seasoned bucks. Their greying hair or loss of it identify them. They move slower. But, their deliberate speed is not to be confused with weakness. There is an ancient Chinese proverb: “Age and treachery will always win over youth and inexperience.”
The dominant buck is the one who speaks and everyone stops to listen, both young and seasoned alike. He gives direction, outlines the rules and cheers on the accomplishments of the recent activities. While dominant he is the hardest working, doing whatever it takes to insure that all of the other bucks enjoy their time away from busy lives.
Then, there is the most favorite buck of all. All of the bucks know him. He gives fodder for years of stories to be retold and redacted. He is the “little buck”.
From him comes the lesson for all men going to retreat with other men: Don’t make a mistake or the other bucks will never let you live it down. It is all in good fun. God has given each of us His amazing grace and the joy of being eternally forgiven so we in turn give that gift of forgiveness to our brothers from different mothers.
photo credit: brucefong friend photography
Tuesday night there was more than thunder rumbling through my adopted city of Houston, Texas. Michigan buddies rode their motorcycles into town for a visit. That is over 1,000 miles of road warrior travel just for the sake of the ride and good memories.
These residents of the Motor City were introduced to a metroplex with a penchant for individual vehicle transportation. Everyone drives in Houston. You cannot live here very easily without a vehicle, preferably a pickup truck.
Some have even assessed our city culture and suggest that a vehicle equals or in many cases surpasses the choice of a place to live. Is that extreme? Most of us who live here would at least suggest that there is some merit to that assumption.
My motorcycle buddies at least have that thought planted in their minds. They were introduced to Houston traffic after a long day of riding. Add to the stop and go traffic of I-610 a major thunder-storm and it really gets dodgy.
Not only was the rush hour traffic horrendous and the thunderstorm unpleasant but construction with narrow lanes and debris added to the tricky negotiations of motorcycle riding. Of course those occasional out-of-state transplants who speed and cut annoy everyone. Too many in traffic jams are on their phones texting and drift over their lane lines and squeeze a motorcyclist.
Aside from the hazards of riding our fellowship was amazingly fun! The rain kept pouring down so we parked the bikes under the hotel eave and piled into my pickup truck for a tour of the NASA Johnson Space Center. It was a perfect day to visit.
Schools were not bringing in bus loads of children and the tourist season had already ended. Without the crowds we could see everything and did not wait in lines. The displays and historic moments were easy to enjoy and take in for our easy riders.
Standing next to the massive 747 and Shuttle we felt our diminutive size but also sensed our enormous pride in what our nation has able to do. Our smart phones have capacities that old computers in the past could not do. Yet, our nation launched men into space, landed them on the moon and brought them safely home.
Our little band of bikers took in the size and sights of NASA’s greatest accomplishments. Mostly, our time was about our journey through life, friendship, past rides and fun adventures. Ron, Richard and Scott are great friends and even greater buddies with shared memories.
photo credit: brucefong photography
What is a man to do when he takes his beloved shopping and there is a long stay in Cosmetics? It is time of masculine analysis and testosterone boosted creativity. Do not panic, do nothing that is rash, speak little and remember these pointers.
First, put yourself in “hunt” mode. This means that a you must have a fixation on your prey. God created all men with this capacity.
This means that you must always hunt the wind. Just as you puff your talc bottle to keep your scent from becoming adversarial you must also steel yourself against the overwhelming fragrances that cloud the Cosmetic Department atmosphere.
If you hold your breath you will pass out. Concentrate on a distraction. It is possible to overcome with the right desperate focus.
Second, think of your objective. It begins with knowing your prey. What is your intended target. Fixate on that and never let it go.
Your first priority is to find a chair. Do not worry. There are always plenty of seats in the Cosmetic Department.
You have to exert great confidence and certainty. If the feeling surges that you should not be here, arrest that thought. Own the place and exude your strength as “unchallengeable.”
I sat in a chair that I selected. It was in an out-of-the-way part of the foo foo displays. Few of the fairer sex were in that area.
Once I staked my claim, I felt safe. Using highly tuned and skillfully trained observation skills, I scanned the area for curiosities. That is when I felt that unmistakable feeling of being watched.
Every hunter knows the feeling of being hunted. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your eyes race back and forth, looking for anything suspicious.
That is when I locked on to the source of my feelings. Two men in bright red T-shirts were looking me over from 10 yards away. Their shirts announced that they were in-store security.
The game was afoot. Never show fear. Do not move unexpectedly.
My eyes locked on them. They looked away. With determination I knew that eye contact was aggression in the woods where wildlife thrives. Here in the domesticated section of the population, this same technique operates on the same plane.
There was nothing else to look at so I bore down on my observers. Caught, they were uncomfortable. They melted away in the crowd. I remained in hunt mode until my bride smiled and had finished her priority business.
photo credit: brucefong photography
It has been months since I was able to move into the swimming pool without discomfort. Getting old is no fun. Doing it gracefully is a daily challenge.
Gingerly I held on to the hand rail and descended into the warm waters of our club lap pool. Of course in my mind I was bound and determined to look “cool” while doing it. I stubbornly refused to surrender to any image of “old man coming in!”
Yet, I could only cover so much. Turning my head too much wrenched my back. Twisting my hips too much nearly paralyzed me with pain.
OK, I’ll admit it! I am turning into an OLDer man. It is worth fighting to remain young in mind and give the appearance of youthful-like mobility and foster the illusion as long as possible. Age is mostly a mental state, right? I do not think that last composition of words came out right.
Water buoyancy is a friend to our aching bodies. God gave us water to show us how gravity can be modulated for a brief moment. Lifting the weight momentarily relieves the pain.
Deftly I set myself for my first voyage since the diagnosis of four herniated disks. “Slowly” was my operative term. Pushing off the wall gently, my gliding moves propelled me through the water.
Just like riding a bike, you never forget how to swim. The strokes were pain free. While it was tempting to push my rhythm, experience and terror kept the cadence deliberate and intentionally relaxed.
Lap after lap my mind was beginning to sense progress. Treatment for my pain-riddled body had brought me back to functionality. Now, I could fill my lungs with air, grow back some stamina and feel invigorated again.
Still I would go easy. After several more trips to the pool I would still move deliberately and slowly. Each time I added more laps. Finally, I upped my time in the waters of recuperation and knocked off 48 laps.
I did that much just because getting out of the pool is so hard. After a good swim I use the hand rail to pull me out of the waters and feel the stinging reminder of a back that can no longer to do spinning Karate kicks or double front Kung Fu snap kicks or oblique wrestling leg sweeps.
In my early youthful days I promised myself that I would not whine about aches and pains when I inevitably grew older. So, the sounds of shrieking that you might be hearing are simply the exhaling of breath practicing a newly discovered soprano vocal range.
photo credit: brucefong photography
Some time in my past a revolution took place. I was completely unaware of this swirling massive historical moment in my culture. It made me feel out-of-touch.
My awakening took place in a moment in time. There was a need for me to shop for a new pair of kick-around shoes. They would be for times when the weather was hot and shorts were in order.
Color was a feature that did not particularly enthrall me. I just wanted these new shoes to match the colors of Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall. What surprised me was how much my expectations were to be stunned and shocked.
Normally, aesthetics are not a forte of mine. I leave color choices to those who have a knack at design and color coordination. These people never cease to amaze me.
They explain why they chose certain colors to match with others and it perfectly makes sense. Or least I am so confused I nod in agreement just to expedite the conversation. After all, grey and black are colors too are they not? Even fancy color names can handle the never ending conversations around design. Names like gunmetal, battleship grey or raven black make a lot of sense to me.
My hunt for a new pair of kick-around shoes began at the local sporting goods store. When I arrived at the Men’s shoe department, what filled up my senses almost took my breath away. Colors of the rainbow stunned my visual senses.
Frankly, I looked for a sign to verify that these were in fact men’s shoes. Every color especially bright and pastel selections dominated one shoe or another. Florescent colors were very evident too.
Maybe the bright colors were to shield your eyes from the prices. I wanted a new pair of shoes not a second car. Who on earth can budget for shoe money like these?
Dominant colors were not the only surprises. Pastels were all over the selection grid as well. Pink was even a highlight for some shoes.
It took a while for me to find some options. Two sales personnel asked if they could be of assistance. They were young kids asking out of obligation.
“Point me to the MEN’S black shoes with silver highlights,” I requested. They both looked dazed as if I had asked them to solve the problem of world hunger. Oh well, after poking around I found my new shoes in basic silver with black highlights and in my size off in a lonely section of the store. They were not on sale.
photo credit: brucefong cellphone photography
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