Sometimes the answer’s right in front of us

            I need an Advent devotional, I said to myself one year while still in the choir at Salem UMC. My BFF Dot collects, edits and publishes an Advent Booklet each year and asked me for an entry. Something/someone––Muse and/or Holy Spirit––hit me between the eyes and said, Duh! You have a folder full of Advent anthems on your lap. Surely …

              “Advent Processional” (words from scripture, music by Anna Laura Page) begins with Isaiah’s proclamation to prepare the way of the Lord. And––anthem-like, prophet-like, parent-like–– the phrase is repeated, drummed, as it were, into our feeble and flighty brains.

But how to prepare lo these many eons from Isaiah’s tongue lashings? Rejoice … sing … give praise to God! Does that mean feed the hungry, clothe the cold, build houses for the homeless?

Who, me?

             “Creation will be at peace,” our director’s favorite Advent anthem, uses scenes from Isaiah 11. In the holy mountain of the Lord, creation will be at peace … all war and strife will cease.

It’ll have to be in the future, because it’ll never happen on this planet! At least literally. Not the way we act today.

                In that blessed day, wolves, lambs, cows and bears will be friendly to each other and they will be led by a child. The child Jesus? The child God? The sick children among us? The beauty pageant child? It defies belief.

          “Come like the snow,” words by Herb Frombach, is a plea from our point-of-view, always about Jesus:

Like the snow … he will wash us clean … he will drift into our hearts (set on earthly concerns) and bring us peace…

There’s that wish for peace again. Surely … that’s to be found only “in the mountain of the Lord,” in the days after Jesus comes again. Surely not here and now!

Unless …  Perhaps another level of Isaiah’s meaning is that today, we are to be instruments of peace––among ourselves, our churches, our neighbors, those we meet in the office, in school, in the market, on the highway, at Fred’s, the bank, the cafe …

You think? … That should be doable.

c 2017 PL

       

               

An update on—and happy birthday to -- Kid Billy

Pat Laster

On Tuesday, March 19, my grandson Kid Billy a.k.a. Billy Joe Paulus, will turn the ripe old age of 23. Gee-whiz, it seems like only yesterday he was 8 months old and asleep on a woman’s shoulder in a foster home somewhere in rural Clark County--on a 72-hour hold from Human Services.

Still asleep, he was moved from one shoulder to another—mine—placed in a newly-purchased car seat and was driven to Benton in Saline County. We were both unaware of what our future together would bring.

Seventy-two hours? How about twenty-three years? His first six years were spent in Benton on West Sevier—across the street from Our Lady of Fatima School. At only $135 a month, the tuition was worth my walking him across the street to (the late) Mrs. Debra Cloud’s classroom and back again after school. He loved Mrs. Debra.

In September of 1997, after the beginning of Billy's first grade, I took a job in Arkadelphia. Before I could secure a house there, I drove back and forth. The Fatima teacher and principal wanted to medicate him for ADHD. I actually asked the teacher (whose son I’d had problems with in middle school) if she wanted me to take him out of school right then. She backed off and said no, so we were good for a time.

I found the perfect house in Arkadelphia on North 15^th Street with great neighbor-landlords. They had a son a little older than Billy. And cats.

Sure enough, Dr. K. the pediatrician, watched Billy for 10 minutes and decided yes, definitely ADHD. He prescribed Ritalin.
 

But that was then and this is now. On the first day of March this year, I watched him sing with both the Henderson Concert Choir and the Chamber Chorale. He stood stock-still for long periods. His hands held the music folder up so that his eyes could flit from score to director without obvious head movement. Focused? Focused? I’d say so!

After the concert, he introduced me to the friend who’d asked him to go in with some others and rent a house in town for next term. I wrote out his part of a down-payment (in addition to paying his on-campus apartment rent: what we do for love) on the spot.

Thanks go to Dr. Jim Buckner, who five years ago, offered KB, from Benton High School, a band scholarship to HSU. Thanks also to the former choral director, Dr. Eaves, who accepted KB into the select choral group, and to Dr. Ryan Fox, present director, for being a supportive friend and excellent—no, superior--choral man. KB is one of only two or three non-music majors in this group. Which makes Grandmother extremely proud.

Two trumpets lie somewhere in our residences unused. I’ll offer one to another grandson who, besides being in a Conway middle school’s orchestra this year (violin), wants to play also in the school band next year.

This “fifth child” of mine is why I don’t volunteer. I think 23 years of raising a grandson should be considered my volunteer work.

As well as my passion. Happy birthday, son.    #