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“. . . the same yesterday and today and forever.”  — Hebrews 13:8 

One of the spare bedrooms in our home is designated as the grandkids’ room, furnished with bunkbeds, decorated with children’s type artwork, shelves filled with children’s books, and toys and games galore.  It has served its purpose well, except now our grandchildren are growing up, either teenagers or fast approaching, so the weekend sleepovers have all but ground to a halt.  Recently Tee asked our middle granddaughter, Corrina, age 13, how she would feel if we converted that room back into a normal adult bedroom.  Corrina glared sternly at her grandmother before responding in no uncertain terms, “Grantee, don’t you dare change that room!”

I get it.  Certain things represent stability in our lives, things we can count on, that make us feel safe and keep us grounded.  Had she not asked I’m not sure Tee and I would have realized that grandkids’ room in our house represented that in our grandchildren’s lives.

When I grew up we lived in the same house we moved into when I was two years old.  My dad was the second-generation owner of a family business founded by my grandfather that perpetuated for sixty years.  I graduated high school with the same classmates I had had since first grade.  My parents were married almost sixty years, and likewise Tee and I have been married almost fifty-four.  Stability is something I have always known, and I realize more and more how it has served to keep me grounded.

Stability is not as common as it once was.  The average family, they say, moves about every three years.  “The median length of employment for workers between twenty-five and thirty-five is 2.8 years,” according to Steve Cadigan in his book Workquake.  And no wonder, as Cadigan also reports, the average “shelf life” of today’s job skills is less than one year due to rapidly changing technology.  It is a rapidly changing world indeed!

So, where do we find stability in today’s world, and how can we find ways to provide it for the younger generations?  Everyone needs something and someone they can count on, that makes them feel safe and keeps them grounded.  Yet, even that grandkids’ room will change – eventually.  There is One, though, I have found who never changes, He’s “the same yesterday and today and forever,” and the only true stability – for all generations. 

“If one falls down, his friend can help him up.” – Ecclesiastes 4:10 

“Pushing down hard with his fists on the table-top he heaved himself up to where he was standing.  For the first time we saw he wanted one leg.  It was gone from the knee down.  He was hopping sideways to reach for his stick in the corner when he lost his balance.  He would have fallen in a heap if Brendan hadn’t leapt forward and caught him.  ‘I’m as crippled as the dark world,’ Gildas said.  ‘If it comes to that, which one of us isn’t, my dear?’ Brendan said. . . The truth of what Brendan said stopped all our mouths.  We was cripples all of us. . . ‘To lend each other a hand when we’re falling,’ Brendan said.  ‘Perhaps that’s the only work that matters in the end.’”  (Excerpt from the novel Brendan by Frederick Buechner)

We are cripples all of us, and there is no better reminder than those times when we are forced to admit that we need a helping hand, if not a rescuer.  Recently, high winds in our area blew down a portion of our wood fence creating the need for some temporary emergency repairs until we could find professionals who could fix it properly and permanently.  Being the “rugged individualist” that I am, I thought surely I could shore it up myself, until I quickly realized that at my age I lacked both the strength and the agility that I once had, crippled in a sense by my aging body.  Thankfully, two of my good neighbors recognized my plight and rushed to my aid, toolboxes in hand, much the way Brendan leapt forward to save Gildas from falling in a heap.

We are cripples all of us, physically, developmentally, mentally, or emotionally; some from birth, others resulting from accidents, traumas, or diseases.  But I wonder if for many of us we are not even more crippled by our own arrogance, refusing to admit our weaknesses, convincing ourselves – and trying to convince others – that we are smarter and stronger and more capable than we really are.

“I’m as crippled as the dark world,” Gildas said, making no pretense of being otherwise, to which Brendan blurted out in response, “Which one of us isn’t,” thus silencing the whole room, revealing a deep and ancient truth dating back to the Book of Ecclesiastes. “Two are better than one,” it says.  “If one falls down, his friend can help him up.”  “Perhaps,” Brendan pondered, “that’s the only work that matters in the end.”

“Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life.”  – 1 Thessalonians 4:11 

“He seemed quite content with who he was – pretty much unknown beyond the city limits of our small community,” I once wrote about my beloved junior high school principal, B.F Jordan.  “Why is it, then, that I remember him?” I then asked.  “Could it be the quiet way he touched the lives of the many young people he taught?”

I knew the answer, of course, because B.F. Jordan was one of those special educators who had touched my life with his wisdom, wit, character, and passion for teaching.  Yet not just me, but scores of others who happened to have the good fortune of crossing his path on their journey through the education process were equally impacted by him.  Modest though he was, what a remarkable influence he had on the students who passed through his school!

Sadly, though it is nothing new I suppose, the voices of such quiet influencers as B.F. Jordan – and you have probably known some in your own life – are often drowned out by the loud voices of those in the public domain, politicians, entertainers and the like.  Every generation has had them, for better or worse, throughout history.  Only in our own age with modern technology and nonstop media sources, those voices have been amplified to a higher decibel and the audience sizes multiplied to such an extent that we tend to overlook, and sometimes forget, the impact of those quiet, behind-the-scenes influencers.

How many baseball stars, for example, made it to the major leagues without a little league coach who taught and encouraged him, or even a dad who played catch with him in the back yard?  And who was that little league coach anyway except some generous soul who stepped up to volunteer in his local community?

I wonder if the solutions to many of our society’s problems today lie not in those with the loud voices and big ideas, rather with the B.F. Jordans, the little league coaches, scout leaders, Sunday School teachers, and others making a difference.  And they lie with each of us in being living examples, something as simple as helping or encouraging somebody else.  Even small quiet acts can make a big difference.  “Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life . . . so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders.”

“That the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn; that they in their turn might tell it to their children.”  – Psalm 78:6 

Everybody seems to claim being just a wee bit Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day.  Wonder why that is?  Maybe it has to do with the revelry that takes place, a tradition rooted in, of course, celebrating the patron saint who brought Christianity to Ireland, later carried on in America in the old neighborhoods and communities where Irish immigrants first settled generations ago.  When everyone saw how much fun the Irish were having they decided to crash the party, joining the parades, pub crawls, and wearing-of-the-green.

For me, the claim is true.  My paternal grandmother, who we called Munna, was born in Ireland on July 14, 1889, the second child of my great-grandparents Robert and Nancy Boyle, who migrated to America only a few months after her birth, where they had acquired some land in northern Texas and established a sheep ranch.  And it was in that North Texas community of Vernon, Texas where my grandmother married and lived out her long life.  So, yes, I am indeed a wee bit Irish myself.

I never knew my great-grandparents.  They had died long before my time.  But I do know enough about them to feel a connection to my roots.  For instance, I have pictures of them hanging in our home amongst a cluster of other family photos, and every morning I spend time sitting in an old rocking chair that belonged to my great-grandfather where I am told he sat and read his King James Bible, which I also inherited.  Though generations removed, his life has nonetheless influenced my own in some meaningful ways.

And perhaps that is the real, deeper reason everybody wants to claim being just a wee bit Irish each year, our human desire to have roots and feel connected to history in a way that guides our lives in meaningful ways and that will guide our children and our children’s children.  Or as the Psalmist says, “that the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn; that they in turn might tell it to their children.” 

I do not know what motivated my great-grandparents to relocate to America, except for a dream of better opportunities and a better life for themselves and their children.  It’s a dream we should all have, so our children too have roots that will guide their lives.

“For dust you are and to dust you shall return.”  – Genesis 3:19 

My dad’s business depended on a fleet of delivery trucks to distribute his products.  Because they were (and are) expensive my dad saw to it that his trucks were meticulously maintained.  On any Saturday, when the trucks were out of service, you could drive around our small town and spot one or more of his trucks in the service bay of a local service station getting washed, tires checked and rotated, oil changed, and so forth.  He needed to keep his trucks in tip-top shape for as many years as possible.  Even at that, eventually they would wear out and need to be replaced.

Only after I was grown and began to learn more about business, car and home-ownership, and life in general did I begin to appreciate my dad’s meticulous care of his trucks and other equipment.  It rubbed off I suppose because I’ve always been a bit obsessive about maintaining things, for example following the manufacturer’s guidelines in maintaining our cars, and having the HVAC systems in our home regularly cleaned and inspected.  Yet, things still breakdown, and eventually wear out and need to be replaced.

I try to be that way with my body too, exercising, eating right, and having regular health checkups with my physician.  I remember a few years ago when my doctor informed me that one of those “numbers” they look at – cholesterol, glucose, blood pressure, I don’t remember which – was elevated, and I objected.  “No way, I do all the right things that should prevent that from happening!”  “You’re looking at this all wrong,” my doctor replied.  “Just think how much worse it would be if you didn’t do all those ‘right’ things.”

One of the great traditions Christians have been observing over the centuries is the season of Lent, the forty days before Easter commemorating Jesus’ wandering in the desert being tempted by Satan.  Traditionally, Christians give up something, fast in some way – give up sweets, coffee, meat, or alcohol – or perhaps add something like daily reading of scripture or a devotional.  Lent, you might say, is a time of maintenance for us, like my dad’s trucks sitting in those service bays on Saturday afternoon.  Eventually we know we’re going to breakdown and wear out, scripture makes that clear – “For dust you are and to dust you shall return,” it says – but observing Lent is sort of a cleansing and oil change that helps keep us spiritually in tip-top shape, and drawing us closer to God.