My birth place was the home where my grandparents lived next door to the little Methodist mission church where they served in Bunch, Oklahoma – in the midst of the Cookson Hills surrounded by the Cherokee peoples. As a result I was blessed with an early education of the Native American understanding of creation and spirituality.

Before I tell my story I think it is appropriate to offer some words that reflect the social understanding into which I was born. The following is from A Native American Theology by Clara Sue Kidwell, Homer Noley, and George E. “Tink” Tinker (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2001).

In American Indian cultures human beings are not so privileged in the scheme of things; neither are humans considered external to the rest of the world and its functions To the contrary, humans are seen as part of the whole, rather than apart from it and free to use it up. Yet there are expectations of human beings. We do have particular responsibilities in the scheme of things, but, then, so do all our other relative in the created realm: from bears and squirrels to eagles and sparrows, trees, ants, rocks and mountains. In fact, many elders in Indian communities are quick to add that of all the createds, of all our relations, we Two-Leggeds alone seem to be confused as to our responsibility towards the whole (38-39).

Respect for Creation, the whole of the created realm, “all our relations,” is vitally important to the well-being of our communities. It is mot readily apparent in the general philosophy of balance and harmony, a notion adhered to by all Indian communities in one form or another. Respect for “creation” emerges out of our perceived need for maintaining balance in the world around us. Thus Indian spirituality is characteristically oriented towards balancing of the world and our participation in it both in every-day personal and family actions and the periodic ceremonies of clans, societies, and whole communities. When the balance of existence I disturbed, whole communities ay a price that is measured in some lack of communal well-being.

The American Indian notion of reciprocity is fundamental to all human participation in world-balancing and maintaining harmony. Reciprocity involves first of all an understanding of the cosmos as sacred and alive, and the place of humans in the processes of the cosmic whole. It begins with an understanding that anything and everything that humans do has an effect on the rest of the world around us (40-41).

Each nation has some understanding that they were placed into a relationship with a particular territory by spiritual forces outside of themselves and thus have an enduring responsibility for that territory just as the earth, especially the earth in that particular place, has a filial responsibility toward the people who live there. Likewise, the Two-Legged people in that place also have a spatially related responsibility toward all people who share that place with them, including animals, birds, plants, rocks, rivers, mountains and the like. With knowledge of such extensive kinship ties, including a kinship tie to the land itself, it should be less surprising that Indian peoples have always resisted colonial pressure to relocate them to different territories, to sell their territories to the invaders, or to allow the destruction of their lands for the sake of accessing natural resources. Conquest and removal from our lands, historically, and contemporary ecological destruction of our lands have been and continue to be culturally and genocidally  destructive to Indian peoples as peoples (45).

This explanation will help my description of events that I remember so well from my childhood to be better understood by people who did not have the enrichment of their early years thourgh such a cultural and spiritual understanding.

More to follow

The next several posts will focus on several periods from the earlier part of my life: 1) the Oklahoma years – birth through 5th grade; 2) the first Kansas years – 6th grade through high school graduation; 3) undergraduate college; 4) serving in the United States Air Force; 5) first graduate school experience and following first employment.

For each of these five periods of time I plan to briefly discuss autobiographical details, but, more importantly, write about things that happened during that period of time that have proven to be important in my development as a human being. As you might imagine some of these experiences had a profound and lasting influence on my life – both positive and negative. Other experiences seemed extraordinarily important at the time – but the passage of time and life has either relegated them to less important or other experiences have provided important new understandings of who I am and who I was created to be.

A few years ago, I encountered a book that I continue to believe to be the most important book I have ever read and re-read and re-read. The book is Addiction and Grace authored by Gerald G. May, M.D. (San Francisco: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1988). The following words, which continue to profoundly influence my day to day living, are from the beginning of this marvelous book:

I am convinced that all human beings have in inborn desire for God. Whether we are consciously religious or not, this desire is our deepest longing and our most precious treasure. It gives us meaning. Some of us have repressed this desire, burying it beneath so many other interests that we are completely unaware of it. Or we may experience it in different ways – as a longing for wholeness, completion, or fulfillment. Regardless of how we describe it, it is a longing for love. It is a hunger to love, to be loved, and to move closer to the Source of love. This yearning is the essence of the human spirit; it is the origin of our highest hopes and most noble desires.

Modern theology describes this desire as God given. In an outpouring of love, God creates us and plants the seeds of this desire within us. Then, throughout our lives, God nourishes this desire, drawing us toward fulfillment of the two great commandments: “Thou shalt love thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself.” If we could claim our longing for love as the true measure of our hearts, we would, with God’s grace, be able to live these commandments.

But something gets in the way. Not only are we unable to fulfill the commandments; we often even ignore our desire to do so. The longing at the center of our hearts repeatedly disappears from our awareness, and its energy is usurped by forces that are not at all loving. Our desires are captured, and we give ourselves over to things that, in our deepest honesty, we really do not want. There are times when each of us can easily identify with the words of the apostle Paul: “I do not understand my own behavior; I do not act as I mean to, but I do the things that I hate. Though the will to do what is good is in me, the power to do it is not; the good thing I want to do, I never do; the evil thing which I do not want – that is what I do.”

In writing these words, Paul was talking about sin. Theologically, sin is what turns us away from love – away from love for ourselves, away from love for one another, and away from love for God. (1-2)

And then just a couple of pages later Dr. May writes:

Understanding will not deliver us from addiction, but it will, I hope, help us appreciate grace. Grace is the most powerful force in the universe. It can transcend repression, addiction, and every other internal or external power that seeks to oppress the freedom of the human heart. Grace is where our hope lies. (4-5)

Until next time – may grace and peace be yours!

My memories of this dilemma had faded over the years – until I retired! That was when I was shocked to remember that my driver’s license, my passport, and many other documents and records listed my birthdate as February 9, 1947 – but – Social Security listed by birthdate as February 2, 1947. Suddenly I realized that a problem was looming in the very near future – how could I receive my social security and my retirement pension benefits with two different birthdays. With great concern I called the office that administers my pension benefits with my question: “What do we do now?” They responded that the best way to solve the dilemma was for them to change their records to match the information at Social Security. Problem solved.

It quickly became a fun game to go to doctor’s appointments. When they inquired if anything had changed, I responded “Yes – I have different insurance – and – by the way – I also have a new birthday.”

Then I would tell this story – which is true: When I was growing up I celebrated my birthday on February 2 – because that is what my birth certificate said. During those years I opened my Social Security account and got my first driver’s license – in Kansas.

A few years later I needed to secure a Passport for a college choir tour to Europe and was not able to locate my birth certificate – so I requested another certified copy from the State of Oklahoma. When it arrived – I remember being very surprised – the 2 in the date of my birth had been crossed out and replaced with a 9 with initials approving the change – so without concern I moved to celebrating my birthday on February 9.

However, I do remember asking my mother which date was correct – and – much to my surprise she responded: “I don’t remember” – my response (which I did not speak out loud) was: “Weren’t you there?” Again – problem solved – or so I thought.

Recently – during the admission process for both my heart catheterization and my eye surgery – the discrepancy again posed an issue – my primary ID (driver’s license) and my date of birth for my primary and secondary insurance coverage listed two different numbers for my date of birth. Now – once again – I realize the need to locate my birth certificate which clearly indicates both numbers – even though one is crossed out – and begin the process of getting the numbers to be the same on all of my documents.

Over a year ago we did locate a newspaper article that carried a very brief article about my birth – it stated: A seven pound son was born to Mrs. Doris Mitchell, Sunday evening. He has been named Thomas Eugene. The article was printed in a weekly newspaper in the little town of Stilwell, Oklahoma located about 45 minutes from Bunch where I was born. This edition of the paper was published on Thursday, February 13, 1947 on page 7. So if Sunday evening refers to the previous Sunday evening – then February 9 would be correct. However, this requires that the news of my birth in 1947 made it from Bunch to Stilwell in time to be included in the coming edition of the paper. This seems highly unlikely to me. I believe that Sunday evening likely refers to the previous Sunday evening which would have been February 2 – so – the dilemma is unsolved.

I think I will request another certified copy of my birth certificate just to see what the current version might list as my birth date – hopefully, it will still be either February 2 or February 9. As a result – one of the funny things that happened on the way to the pulpit is that I do not know for sure the date in February, 1947 that I was born – but – I do know that it was on a Sunday evening.

First the health report – on Tuesday, October 28 I had an outpatient surgical procedure to repair a macular hole in my left eye. I then had a follow-up visit with the surgeon the next day and he told me that all had gone very well and that I seemed to be doing just fine – even though I really had very little vision in my left eye at that time. This Wednesday morning I will see the doctor again for my one week follow-up appointment, and I am happy to report that all continues to go very well and the vision in my left eye is improving with the passing of each day. I have deep gratitude for the multitude of caring and skilled health professionals who now are able to fix things that in years past would have become something that a person just had to learn to live with as the problems continued and the condition would likely continue to deteriorate.

I know that I have promised to write more about the dilemma over my date of birth – February 2 or February 9 – and – I will do that in the next post, but since I am already into a discussion of vision I will continue that discussion and – at long last – get to the birthday dilemma in my next post.

It seems to me that everyone who is biologically related to me wears glasses – many of us since we were young children. Before I understood what was happening it was easy to observe that most of the females in the family wore very thick glasses while most of the males wore glasses that were not as cumbersome as the ones required by the females. I later learned that almost everyone in the family was or is myopic (nearsighted) – the females all seem to be extremely myopic while the vision of the males was not as compromised as that of the females – but – all of the males were also afflicted with some degree of astigmatism.

Around the time my daughter was two years old I learned that all of this is caused by a genetic problem that causes extreme myopia in the females – often combined with some degree of macular degeneration. I also learned that the males in the family are the carriers of the genetic problem and are the reason that all of the females have the extreme vision problems.

Somehow this seemed to be a good subject to write about as I return to this blog from my recovery from the repair of the macular hole.

One other matter that continues to make me curious – I have had two heart catheterizations and within days of each have developed a problem that required eye surgery – the first time for a detached retina in the right eye and this last time for a macular hole in the left eye. Numerous medical professionals have assured me that there is no connection between the two – but – I am still not convinced. If any of you are aware of people with similar stories I certainly would love to hear them – but – in the meantime I will just assume that I have experienced strange coincidence on the only two occasions of my life with similar circumstances.

Just so you won’t be concerned – both heart caths went very well. During the second one a stent was placed in my left anterior descending artery. We are very grateful that it was not until after a successful placement of the stent that we learned that this problem is often referred to by those in the know as “The Widow Maker.”

Next time – the birthday dilemma!!!

All going very well – had follow up appointment with doctor today.

More early next week!

I will resume posting in early November as I am scheduled for a surgical procedure to repair a macular hole in my left this week.

Grace and peace

Tom

My story – my beginning – happened in February, 1947 in Bunch, Oklahoma. Most people would be able to also provide the date of their birth – but, alas – that is probably the first of the funny things that happened to me on my way to the pulpit. It is not a complete guessing game, however. We know that it was either February 2 or February 9 – we just do not know which. Even when I asked my mother – her response was, “I don’t remember” – even though I am fairly confident that she was present. More details of this situation will provide the basis for my next post.

When people inquire where I was born I generally reply in the Cookson Hills of northeastern Oklahoma. I am surprised how many people are content with just that answer. When people desire more specific information I generally go through a list of names like this:

Oklahoma City – if they nod in the affirmative I move along to – Tulsa. For many people that is the end of their knowledge about the communities in Oklahoma, but for those who are still with me I continue with Muskogee or Tahlequah. If either of those get an affirmative response I move on to Sallisaw or Stilwell.If a person is familiar with either of these smaller towns then there is a good chance that they also already know the location of Bunch. However, if needed, from Sallisaw I move on to Marble City before finally arriving at Bunch – or – from Stilwell I move on to Cookson before moving on to Bunch.

Wikipedia offers the following words about Bunch: Bunch is an unincorporated community in southwestern Adair County, Oklahoma, United States  It was named after a Cherokee vice-chief named Rabbit Bunch who lived in the area in the 1880s. Nestled in the Sallisaw Creek valley, Bunch is bisected by the Kansas City Southern Railroad, which was built in the 1890s. Bunch is in the Cookson Hills area of eastern Oklahoma which are a part of the western area of the Ozark Mountains.

The same Wikipedia article includes the above picture of Bunch – clearly a booming metropolis. I am told that on the day I was born that the population of Bunch was 27 – of course – that does not include the multitude of Native Americans, primarily Cherokees, who live in the surrounding area.

I was born in a white frame house within sight of the Kansas City Southern Railroad tracks that pass through the middle of Bunch. This house was the home of my maternal grandparents who served the area at the Methodist mission church that was next door. I know exactly where the church and the house are in this picture – but – they cannot be seen because of the mountain that is to the left in this picture. The church building is still there although the outside has been updated while the interior is very much as I remember it, but the house burned several years ago.

Enough for today! I would love to receive the stories of others who were born in interesting places – please join in the community discussion.

On October 3, 2014 I wrote a post that hoped to follow with an additional post at least one time every other day. I have missed that goal but I promise to strive for more frequent posts as we move forward.

Before I begin the story of my life – my beginning – I want to offer some words of wisdom written by an extraordinary communicator, colleague, and friend as an introduction to the beginning of my story. These words have provided comfort for me on numerous occasions – so I offer them with deep gratitude for their author Robert Ball.*

Human beings are of unconditional and incomparable worth. We all affirm it, but we don’t believe it, especially not about ourselves. We want to matter. That need is unrelenting within us because the truth of the universe is that we do matter. To matter and to know it and to live it are our birthright, our authenticity, our hope. More than anything else in the world, we want to matter – and we do. But we fear that we do not. So we spend our lives in futility of trying to prove something that is already true but that we don’t really believe. Furthermore, the reality that we matter is something that cannot be proven. It is, finally, a matter of faith. The only way to know that we matter is to believe that we are capable and loved. What I felt when I looked at my sleeping kids is a reflection of eternal truth, a breakthrough from the world of fear to the world of love. Those experiences were small, recurring reminders of the way God feels about every human being in the whole world. The “good news” of the gospel is that God loves and values every person in the world. We are all unconditionally and eternally loved and precious to God – capable, needed, important, forgiven, valued, wanted (15-16).

Now I am ready to begin to tell you the story of my beginning . . .

*Ball, Robert. Walking on Water: Self-Esteem and a Journey of Faith. Palo Alto, CA: Science and Behavior Books, Inc., 1992.

The last new beginning of this blog had wonderful intentions – but – as most people already are aware – sometimes life happens. Yes, life happened and maybe sometime will be the right time to talk about that – but – this is NOT that time.

This is the time for ONE MORE NEW BEGINNING and I fully intend to continue to make at least one post every other day. Hopefully, life will allow me to keep that schedule.

As many people are aware – one of the things high on my list of things to do once I retired was to write a book. Well before long (at the end of this December) it will have been two years since I retired – and – the number of books that needs to be written is now up to four.

It was my intention for my first book to be Human Beings Anonymous – a twelve steps book for people who mistakenly believe that they are able to live without any addictions. Early in the process I realized that this book – which does indeed still needs to be written – and soon – is not possible to write without me first telling my own story – a story of life filled with twists and turns, steps forward and backward, attempts at self sufficiency followed by lessons of realizing that I am not in control. I am still a firm believer in the power of the twelve steps – because they are a very important part of my continuing path toward wholeness and healing.

But – first I need to tell my own story. This post begins the journey of writing that first book so that I might be able to actually write the second one.

First, however, a little background is required.

In 1962, Stephen Sondheim’s A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum won several Tony Awards, including Best Musical and Best Author of a Musical. Later, the show was made into a successful movie starring Zero Mostel, the original lead in the Broadway production.

Inspired by the farces of the ancient Roman playwright Plautus (251-183 BC), specifically  “Pseudolus,” “Miles Gloriosus,” and “Mostellaria,” the musical tells the bawdy story of a slave named Pseudolus and his attempts to win his freedom by helping his young master woo the girl next door. The plot displays many classic elements of farce, including puns, the slamming of doors, cases of mistaken identity (frequently involving characters disguising themselves as one another), and satirical comments on social class. The title derives from the line that vaudeville comedians often used to begin a story: “A funny thing happened on the way to the theater” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Funny_Thing_Happened_on_the_Way_to_the_Forum).

With all of this in mind – and with deep admiration for the work of Stephen Sondheim – I have decided to title my autobiographical book A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Pulpit. As time moves along you will discover that the plot elements described above have all contributed to my life story.

In my next post I will describe the beginning of my life in the beautiful Cookson Hills of northeastern Oklahoma, and then our journey will continue.

The life of a blog is only sustained by people who read and then join in the discussion of things written by the author of the blog. Please join the community of discussion and invite others to join us as well.

More valuable words from Wayne Muller:

When I gather with friends and colleagues for Sabbath retreats, those courageous few who manage to carve out a day or a weekend for quiet reflection often arrive thoroughly exhausted. By the afternoon, some inevitably fall asleep right in the middle of our meditations. When they awaken they quickly apologize for their spiritual transgressions; they feel ashamed and embarrassed. I reassure them it is good when they sleep. It is a sign of trust, that they feel safe enough finally to let go and surrender to their weariness.

And what a great weariness it is. Most of us do not realize how tired we really are until we go away on vacation or retreat, and cannot even keep our eyes open.

When we think of Jesus, we usually think of him teaching, healing, or being accosted by the hordes of sick or possessed who sought his touch. But Jesus would just as often send people away, or disappear without warning, dismissing those in need with neither excuse nor explanation, and retreat to a place of rest.

One translation of the biblical phrase “to pray” is “to come to rest.” When Jesus prayed he was at rest, nourished by the healing spirit that saturates those still, quiet places. In the Jesus tradition, prayer can be a practice of simply being in the presence of God, allowing the mind to rest in the heart. This can help us begin to understand one aspect of Sabbath time: a period of repose, when the mind settles gently in the heart.

Who is it that can make muddy water clear? asks the Tao Te Ching. But if allowed to remain still, it will gradually become clear of itself. The invitation to rest is rooted in an undeniable spiritual gravity that allows all things at rest to settle, to find their place. There comes a moment in our striving when more effort actually becomes counterproductive, when our frantic busyness only muddies the waters of our wisdom and understanding. When we become still and allow our life to rest, we feel a renewal of energy and gradual clarity of perception.

The practice of Shabbat, or Sabbath, is designed specifically to restore us, a gift of time in which we allow the cares and concerns of the marketplace to fall away. We set aside time to delight in being alive, to savor the gifts of creation, and to give thanks for the blessings we may have missed in our necessary preoccupation with our work. Ancient texts suggest we light candles, sing songs, pray, tell stories, worship, eat, nap, and make love. It is a day of delight, a sanctuary in time. Within this sanctuary, we make ourselves available to the insights and blessings that arise only in stillness and time (Muller, 23-26).

To these words I am only able to say “Amen” (So let it be) or in the words of the Lakota and Dakota peoples, a phrase used in all their prayers that aptly illustrates the Native American sense of the centrality of creation: mitakuye oyasin – used to end every prayer, and often it is in itself a whole prayer (For all the above me and below me and around me things) . . . it is the understanding of inter-relatedness, of balance and mutual respect of the different species in the world, that characterizes what we might call Indian peoples’ greatest gift to Amer-Europeans and to the Amer-European understanding of creation in this time of world ecological crisis (Kidwell, 50-51).

Muller, Wayne. Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives. New York: Bantam Books, 1999.

Kidwell, Clara Sue, Homer Noley, and George E. “Tink” Tinker. A Native American Theology. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2001.