Gentle on My Mind

With the new addition to the family, we knew it was going to be interesting to see how Eilidh and Eoin would behave around the new baby. And it has turned out that Eoin is especially fun to observe as he interacts with his little sister. It has been pleasantly surprising to notice just how especially gentle he is with Maire for being such a boyish toddler. He doesn't speak much but he sure says alot when he comforts her with a smile and pats her on her tummy, and he always reminds us that he needs to give her a goodnight kiss before going to bed. While my most fervent prayer for him is not that he would grow up to be Mr. Sensitive, I do quite often pray that he will grow up to have the strength and wisdom to control his strength.

Last night, I came home well after the kids' bedtime. I walked in the door only to hear Eilidh in her room, crying in bed. As I opened her bedroom door, I thought, likely to scold her for disobedience, she asked me to lie down and talk with her. I did and we talked about Momma and Eoin and Maire. Then we talked about Papa and Gramma and the other Papa and Gramma. We went on talking about the stars outside her window and Homer the dog and Ferris the cat. When she asked me where the cat is, I told her that he isn't coming back. She asked about the bright red star outside her window and began to cry again because, apparently, her fan was blowing on her toes. I took her out into the living room for her to settle down a bit.

As we sat down together on the couch in the living room, I asked her if she had ever dunked cookies in milk. She gave me a look like I was being silly or something. Momma soon brought four cookies, two for each of us and a cup of milk. Even with as little experience and practice as I have had, I successfully taught my own daughter how to dunk her cookies. She quickly resumed her meandering conversation and wandered into asking about the cat again. She asked about where he is and where he went until she asked, "Is he dead?" And, of course, "Yes, he is, honey."

It wasn't necessary that I tell her how or why the cat died, but it was necessary that I know and care for her enough to know how guide her understanding. She doesn't really care about the cat and, well, neither did I. But she knows I and her Father in Heaven certainly do know her and care for her.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 11:36 PM       

You Are So Beautiful

Almost every day, Eilidh asks if she may go for a ride with her daddy in his truck. This morning she was granted this wish and rode shotgun on a trip into town to the hardware store with Daddy. As we started back up Walker Mountain on the way home, Eilidh said to me, "Remember, Daddy, this is our mountain." Now she says a great many cute things. But this was not one of them. This was profoundly beautiful to my ears.

That which is cute is necessarily temporary and fleeting. It is artificial and immature. When Eilidh sings "You Are So Beautiful to Me" staring into my eyes with her hands on my cheeks while I push her in the buggy down the grocery aisles, this is blushingly cute. But her reminder to me this morning is the early fruit of a determined labor of her mother's and mine to cultivate some permanent things.

When Eilidh says, “This is our mountain,” she does not know whether that means that this place belongs to us or means that we belong to this place. The beautiful thing is neither do I. And this particular ambiguity is quite deliberate. More important to me than this place staying the family for generations is that she learn to have an eye for true beauty and an ear for beautiful truth and that she teach this to her own ones and do it all for the glory of our Father.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 11:56 PM       

Give the Fiddler a Dram

He is one of those guys you would never notice in a small crowd, but if you ever had the opportunity to talk with him, you’d never forget him.

I was surprised to see him at the barn dance the other night. And I told him what a surprise it was and that I had only earlier that day been thinking of him and his family and wondering how they were. Eilidh had been talking about his daughter, too. It was good to see him. In the busy-ness of the dance he mentioned that he had brought me something from Kentucky. I was too distracted by the surprise of seeing him and my responsibilities for throwing a dance party to remember much. I was, however, paying attention and glad to hear that he would be joining us for worship with St. Peter on Sunday.

After worship on Sunday, he said he had something for me. As he handed me a brown bag, he said that he remembered that I had a taste for Kentucky bourbon and that this one was made about 45 minutes from his home. As I peeked into the bag, he asked if it was a good bourbon. “Yeah buddy! Knob Creek is a fine small batch bourbon.” It was very kind and so very unnecessary, yet much appreciated. Here’s to God’s great gifts, the good earth, and good friends. Thank you, Buddy.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 2:24 PM       

Dance All Night with a Bottle in Yer Hand

A friend asked me why we were having a barn dance instead of one of those confederate balls that are becoming popular in the South. She said she would love to dress up for one sometime.

Nothing wrong with a good confederate. Or dressing up. But we dance like this because it is real dancing. We are not pretending to dance. We are not reenacting history – we are making history. We dance in the here and now just as those before us did. We are not dancing for novelty or nostalgia. And we aren't pretending to celebrate – we are celebrating. Wallflowers, all promenade.

I do understand that it can be a beautiful thing to watch others dance, but it is not as beautiful as dancing, knowing that you are part of the beautiful dance. Which is part of a larger and more beautiful story. And on and on.

Six months ago, St. Peter Church and the Highlands Study Center held its first dance. We said then that we had gathered to celebrate God’s mercy toward His people in the Reformation. And we are not done celebrating Him or His work in the Reformation. We just keep on dancing. And on and on.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 2:22 PM       

The Memory of Old Sammy

This week, I had the best tasting beer that I can ever remember drinking. Actually, it was two beers. And maybe that's why. It was in the evening after loading and hauling stone nearly all day in the sun. Katie brought me an ice cold Sammy Adams lager and wrapped my hot and aching fingers around it. Then she brought me another.

I remember - in fact, I cannot forget - a paragraph in Berry's The Memory of Old Jack. "And he watches Lightning whom he does not love. That one, he thinks, will be hard put to be worth what he will eat. For he is one who believes in a way out. As long as he has two choices, or thinks that he has, he will never do his best or think of the possibility of the best." Immediately, and ever since, I cannot help but question whether I, myself, am worth what I eat and drink and what that means.

Now, more than ever, I know that I didn't deserve the best beer in the world. Objectively speaking, I know that Sam Adams Boston Lager is probably not the finest beer, but it was a gift given to me. And knowing how far I fall short is what makes that and all great gifts so great.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 10:37 PM       

Through Old Eyes

I can't say that it has been a recent temptation, nor has it really ever been a particularly strong one. But more than several times in the last couple of years, my wife and I have been ecouraged to go out and purchase a video camera to film the kids. "They grow up so fast." I don't remember being tempted lately, but I am recently again encouraged that the choice and reason not to live behind a viewfinder has been wise.

We are always talking about our children. We talk about them to each other, to friends, to people we don't know, and to people we know don't care. I'm afraid that we tempt some to boredom with it all. And we always tell stories. All this is not at all unlike the way we talk about our parents. I think I still tell my father's stories more than I tell my own. And, yes, his stories are my own. Memory tells me that my parents and grandparents were constantly telling others the stories of their children and grandchildren.

So, we do not record the childhood of our kids with a camcorder. We don't pretend that we could. In very real terms, we can't afford a video camera and we wouldn't have time to use it. I do want to remember my children as children, but I want to remember them. I don't want to think that we can someday sit around a television and play back some videotaped moments and be satisfied that I have better remembered mine and my children's lives. I want our stories to work their way through memory. Mine, my wife's, and my children's. I want our stories to be passed on with meaning and wisdom. Video has no soul. At very best it has sentiment and irony. At best.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 11:49 PM       

Speechless

Son, resist the temptation to speak when you have nothing worthy of being said.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 1:34 PM       

Helping Hand

Eilidh asked if she could "get tools" for Daddy. Then she wanted to know what "color" tool I wanted. "You want a red one, Daddy?"

From under the trailer, I could hear Eoin crying like a little girl because he couldn't go outside and work like a man. "Yes, Eilidh Bear."

"Here, Daddy. I got you a red one. You like red ones?"

"Yes, Honey. Can you throw it to Daddy?" The small screwdriver landed almost six inches in front of her boots.

"Honey, you throw like a girl." She wasn't offended. "Can you hand it to Daddy?"

She didn't have to duck all that much to walk under the trailer. "It's dirty in here."

"Yes, Eilidh, it certainly is."

"Daddy, what are you doing?

"I'm fixing the pipes so we can have water again and you can take a bath."

"With bubbles?" She sat down on my knees and started tapping the drain pipe with a tubing cutter. "What is that fuzzy stuff?"

"That's called insulation."

"Daddy, what color is it?"

"I don't know, Honey, what color is it?" I wasn't really looking to see where she was looking.

"It's pink. But some of it is yellow."

"That's right, Eilidh."

"It's very yucky," she said as she surveyed the underside of the house. "Daddy, you get hurt, huh?"

"No, Honey, I just make this face when I'm working. Your face looks like this when you're working, too."

It didn't take much longer to finish that pipe connection. Or it didn't seem like it, anyway. As I gathered tools, I could feel my feet were starting to fall asleep. Eilidh walked and I crawled out from under the house never finding that tubing cutter. Katie had supper waiting for us when we walked in the door.

After supper, I fixed the furnace and later that night I finished working on the pipes. We had running water again for the first time in a week.

JD

posted by Jonathan Daugherty 11:07 PM