Robert Hruzek asked high calling bloggers and middle zone muse-ers to write about what we learned from government.

After a bit of research, I’ve learned that government should not about power but control. There’s a difference. Thankfully, the American government has once again peacefully transferred control from one leader to another. Beginning today a newly reshuffled government is already charting our country’s course for the next four years.

I use a sailing metaphor on purpose. According to my superlative dictionary (the OED), the word “government” comes to us through old French from the Latin guberno. Latin I used to teach Latin, so this sort of thing brings back fond memories of students wearing togas and reciting Caesar.

Guberno means to steer. Steering a Roman ship was no small task, even the small navis lusoria. This video makes it look easy, but as Publius Cyrus said in the first century, “Anyone can steer the ship when the sea is calm.”

According to some of the material I read, early Roman ships didn’t have rudders as we understand them. (They had quarter rudders.) Practically speaking, this meant that the pilot/gubernator was not just sitting at the till. He was shouting commands to the oarsmen to steer through their combined efforts. The gubernator alone had little power to change the ship’s direction. Only when the oarsmen listened to his voice and followed his lead, could the ship reach its destination.

No matter what the weather, a good gubernator would give good instructions and steer the ship well.

An ineffective gubernator was another matter. In calm weather, he might slow things down a bit. In harsh weather, he could lead everyone to a watery grave.

That’s government. The word itself contains a picture of what it means. Good government steers the efforts of a people—directing their spirit and will and strength. The primary source of power lies with the people.
Without our cooperation and support and (dare I say it?) continued engagement, the government has very little power. It can sit and twist its rudder all day long to little effect.

We need people to be engaged in the world—working, listening, acting, and responding to our leaders. Whatever we think of the gubernator, he’s setting the vision. If we don’t listen and respond, we go nowhere.

But if we listen… if we engage… if we take responsibility for our lives and our families and our work and our goals and our hopes and our faith and our future…

HighCallingBlogs.com and Robert Hruzek of MiddleZoneMusings.com are joining forces again to talk about what we’ve learned from stress. (The project is still open, just visit that link if you want to participate.)

Here’s what I’ve learned. I’m totally stressed out right now. Maybe there’s a lesson on the other side–at least that’s my hope.

Doing Too Much Causes Stress

And maybe you’re like me. You can see midlife coming, so you try to cram in all of your big dreams while you can. Write a novel about zombies. Write more and more poetry and submit it for rejection from your favorite lit mags. Write blogs and comments and social media stuff. Write another series of skits for my church.

And forget about what people want to read. I mean, who cares about the reader, right?

And forget about why I’m writing at all.

And forget about who I’m writing for and working for–the big editor in the sky.

Hang in there with me on this next part. It comes back around to stress.

Stress Causes Self Doubt

My pastor and I talked about some skits I wrote last night for a church event next month. He was wondering if the production we had planned was right for the church. I’ve wondered that myself. Some people have said, “God told me to be part of this production.” It’s hard to argue with statements like that.

And I asked him if that kind of comment made sense to him. “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but God doesn’t tell me stuff like that.”

This is a recurring puzzlement for me. Lots of Christians hear from God, and I don’t know what they mean when they say, “God spoke to me.” Too often, I don’t feel like God speaks to me at all. I mean, I have a Bible. I hear from Christian friends and pastors. But there aren’t any burning bushes in my backyard. There’s no handwriting on my wall. God and I don’t wrestle in the wilderness.

These are the kinds of thoughts and doubts I have when I’m totally stressed, you see.

Stress Makes Me Impatient

So this morning, I figured I should stop writing, writing, writing (and here I am writing) and spend some time in study. We’re teaching the seventh and eighth graders Experiencing God right now at our church, so I opened up the book and read yesterday’s lesson a day late.

Here is this week’s memory verse: “He who belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God.”

Ouch.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hear these words of Jesus from John as some kind of condemnation that I do not belong to God. But rather that I need to stop doubting that I hear from God just because I’m stressed out. Instead, when I’m stressed out, I need to get to the root of my stress.

Doing Too Much Causes Stress

What? I already used that subheadline? Well, read it again. It’s important. Toward the end of this morning’s lesson, I underlined this sentence, “Don’t try to skip over the relationship to get on with doing.”

Ouch again.

When I skip relationships in order to do more stuff, geuss where that leads? Stress.

What have I learned from stress?

Slow down.

Do less.

Wait.

Listen.

Stop and smell the relationships.

My dog ran out
to chase a motorcycle
speeding through
the neighborhood.
Never expected
to catch it
with her puppy head
and a short yelp
that left her
breathing slow
looking scared.
On the back porch
we wrapped her
in black plastic
we had bought
for grass clippings,
but I didn’t cry
until I carried the bag
to the curb for the dead
animal pickup
and felt her inside
the three ply trash sack
furry and cold and stiff.
I had touched death before
on my waxy grandma
but death took a puppy
to touch me.

Normally, I offer comments and analysis on the poetry I put here. Not today.

This poem is part of the What I Learned from Animals group writing project hosted by Robert Hruzek and HighCallingBlogs.com. Go to those sites to read some happier stuff.

…and Children, Television, Recreation, Relatives, Food, Pets, Automobiles, Bugs, and Bibles

You see, Robert Hruzek is hosting a group writing project where people write about a mash-up of 18 fun topics. I added bugs and Bibles to his list just for good measure and polished up a poem for his group. He says it’s the first ever poetry entry. Yea, me!

First, the poem itself. You can hear me read it on the Evoca recording, but you’ll have to skip ahead to 1:20 remaining because I get long winded in my intro. (Be sure to check out my sweet musical intro/outro. Royalty free audio is fun!)

Welcoming Summer

Two love bugs mate on my leg
Until I draw them off with this
#2 pencil. The pair crawls past
my thumb as I write—then up
to the pink eraser which must taste
funny to tongue buds on their feet.
They fly away, black-legged snow-
flakes. We think of Christmas specials
where painted children catch snow
on tongues to welcome winter.
“Open wide, kids,” I say. “There’s
never snow in South Texas.”
My son plays along and we run
up and down the blacktop lot—
heat rising in waves around us—
we must look a pair of Baptist Johns,
prophesying protein in the desert.
A voice of two calling between
parked cars: “Prepare the way
for summer bugs. Make straight
your tongues for them.” Push that
play too far and bugs become God.
All mankind finds salvation in bugs.
And why not? God can raise up
children from rocks and bugs—
even cars with bug-splattered bumpers.

Second, here’s how the poem fits the mash-up rules.

A few weeks ago, we drove (automobiles) to a family reunion (relatives) where my children and I found ourselves surrounded by bugs on our little vacation (recreation) to decorate the graveyard at the Hebron Baptist Church. In fact, the bugs were so thick, we talked about how it was like a blizzard of black snowflakes with legs. My son loved this because he keeps bugs as pets (which means he puts them in bug cages over-night and holds a daily funeral for the ones who don’t make it). You can see from the picture above what so many bugs do to a white car (automobile—again). The snowstorm made me think of the peanuts gang catching snow on their tongues (like food) in the television Christmas special. At that point, my mind took off, and I started writing this poem.

I have to ask, though. Who uses the word automobile anymore, Bob?

Also, Gordon, you asked about W. P. and decoration. I provide a long answer in the audio file above. And you can see W. P.’s grave there on the right. He is my kid’s great-great-great-great granddad. Or maybe just great-great-great, I can never remember.

One last thing about poetry. Bob’s project “What I Learned From…” suggests that I’ll have answers for you here. But poetry isn’t very good at providing answers in the traditional sense. Nevertheless, I hope you’ve found some things to think about in my mash-up of mashed-up of bibles, bugs on my windshield, the subsequent discussions that followed us that weekend, and Writing, Children, Television, Recreation, Relatives, Food, Pets, Automobiles.