The Torch Passed

The Torch Passed

By John W. Vander Velden

There are events burned into our essence, brands we carry for the remainder of our lives, and among them, for most, is the passing of the torch.  For when the torch is passed, all is changed.  It is a dramatic instant, a life altering event.  Though facts known – strength – mortality -- the reality of it seems distant, lurking in the mist, beyond our reach out of our thoughts, and when the moment arrives, we are never prepared. 

The torch is held out to us and as we grasp the flame, for the briefest of instants an equality exists, for only then the heavy burden is shared.  The instant vaporizes as we fold our fingers, firmly grasping the flame for the first time, and the time has come for us to carry the torch alone. Some may yearn to feel the heat of that flame so near.  Some will turn away from that bright light and the obligations demanded.  And some know they are not ready, understanding their weakness, and yet, ready or not, do their best to grasp the torch held out to them.

I was deeply wounded by the fire when it came to my hands.  A time the flame seemed to burn low, nearly extinguished, dropped at my feet, and none other could step forward.  It was not my fingers singed that morning, but my heart.  Even today, after ten years, those unhealed scars remain, as day by day I carry the fire.  I know the flaming beacon is but loaned to me for an interval, for the torch belongs to time eternal.  I recognize the privilege, the honor in the obligation, and understand one day I will leave it for another to carry.  I only hope that I do the “fire” justice as I transport it on this part of its journey, as proudly, above my head, I carry the torch passed.

(315 Words)                5-18-2015

The World Reawakened

The World Reawakened

By John W. Vander Velden                          

The snow, the blowing and drifting snow, the pristine pure white that melted into gray mushy snow, has become a memory, another winter in my past.  The world about me is changing.  Yesterday’s rain has left its traces.  The dreary gray clouds blown aside as the sun shines down from a sapphire sky, filling the tiny drops that yet remain with diamond fire.  The sparkles blaze brightest from the drops that cling on the butter yellow petals of my daffodils.  I am surrounded by the fresh and new, infinite shades of green, the grass at my feet and the brand new leaves on every tree.  Flowers in bed and roadside, pink, white, and blue, all around vivid colors replace the dull tones of grays and browns that have been revealed by the snow’s retreat.  The song of the Blue Bird floats upon the breeze scented with the lilacs that bloom across the road. 

The day’s glory draws me away from my labors, a few moments must be spared, a walk of leisure, a time immersed within a world so alive, reminds of days past and prepares for days yet to come.  Overcome I whistle, a tune that forms within, stirred by the beauty that surrounds, notes clear and loud that mingle with the Blue Bird’s, Redwing’s and Robin’s symphony.  I have my place among them.  I have my place here in the open country.  It feels good to remember the connection; the connection to sparkling raindrops, fresh young leaves, the daffodils, songbirds and the scents of wildflowers.  I am connected to the world that surrounds.  

In this season of renewal, I find a moment of peace.  I know that the world is larger than these few acres that delight my senses.  I know my connections broader that the nature that this morning wraps its arms around me.  Work awaits, as do bills, and all the people that make up the core of my life.  But those connections do not grow weaker by these precious moments, but rather stronger as I spend this time with the reawaking world.  I am like the grass, the flowers, the trees, and the birds that sing, revitalized, and prepared to face a new season.  Yes, the glory of this spring day fills me with optimism, places a smile on my lips, and lightens my steps.  For I am part of this reawakening world, reenergized to do my part and ready to face the unknown changes and challenges that lie before me.

(416 Words)                4-4-2015

Lucky Alex

Lucky Alex

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Alex raced up the stairs to his room.  His mom had just brought the boy home from baseball practice, and he couldn’t wait.  He knew he was a luck guy, because of the robin’s nest outside his window.  Each day he would sit quietly and watch the birds so close at hand.  Just this morning he had witnessed the first baby as it escaped its powder blue prison, and hoped that in his absence the others had joined.  As Alex tiptoed across his floor and took his seat in the chair by the window, he did not notice that this toy trucks had been gathered from their scattered abandonments and placed carefully away.  While he looked awestruck at the nest’s new additions, his stuffed bear watched him from its place on the perfectly made bed.  The lad remained motionless as he considered the labor the nest’s construction had required.  He remembered how day by day mud and straw woven, a home for the babies’ birth and growth.  He smiled as he watched the mama Robin land upon the nest’s rim tilt her head, the young stretching upward with mouths open.  She stuffed her gift into a hungry mouth and flitted away. 

Time passed.  Alex did not notice the scent of homemade soup drift up the stairs and into his room. He watched as Mr. and Mrs. Robin came over and over again, feeding one, then another, their labor unending.  Transfixed, he did not consider the clean clothing that waited him in closet or drawer, and barely heard the call to dinner.  Moving away from his chair with care he headed down.  Yes, Alex was a lucky boy, perhaps one day he will know just how lucky…

(286 Words)                  5-5-2015

 

Courage

Courage             

By John W. Vander Velden

Each of us has our own definition of the word courage.  Many center their thoughts upon the brave that stand the front line upon the battlefield.  I can agree with that.  But I have witnessed courage in the lives of what most might consider ordinary folks.  There are many difficult situations, aren’t there?  Too often we overlook others that battle each day, fighting wars no one sees, against foes that they know, in the end will overcome.  Does fear only come with the sound of explosions?  And does facing a personal terror take less grit than a public one?

Sooner or later living requires courage.  The only other option is surrender.  Too often, it seems, some flee from life’s contentions, racing toward an artificial release, a fleeting escape that in the end brings its own battles.  Each will face a monster, some must face many, whether they stand or run at those times reveals the truth.  How important to remember that tears do not wash away courage.  Tears do not dilute the actions of the brave.  Times they provide the fuel to reach places unreachable.  Sometimes their flow carries the heart to the source of Love and the needed strength that can only be found there.

How does one face the test of principles?  On what ground do those stand whose values are shaken by the shifting winds of current opinion?  Some might not notice the demands upon them.  Few see how difficult holding onto what is truth, when most others proclaim those things invalid.  How easy to simply give in, to follow, to forget.  But the courageous are not afraid to question, for the truth remains true.  And when at last the test has passed, the brave with an open mind determines the place they stand, and with courage state, this is where I stand, this is what I am!

So what is your definition of courage, and who do you call brave? 

(324 Words)

Sometimes It's Just Red

Sometimes It’s Just Red                         4-18-2015

By John W. Vander Velden

During an interview an artist was asked, why he had, in his landscape, chosen such an unusual color for a house.  “Did you want to express anger or passion?”

The artist blinked, sat an instant, and replied.  “I painted it because I liked the color, it’s just red.”

There are things that happen in our lives, and we look for deeper meanings.  The roof leaks and we wonder what we did wrong.  The car won’t start and we believe that a hex has been placed on the old Dodge, or whatever it is.  A teacher’s note gives us reason to spectacle whose child had been exchanged for ours all those years ago.  Surely all these things are ganging up on us, a conspiracy driven by forces beyond our knowledge, affecting our lives.  Friends, the roof leaks because it needs new shingles, the Dodge needs a battery, the teacher is just doing his or her job, and sorry, it is your kid.  It is life, with its bumps and bruises.  It’s just red. 

When we interact with others, we think about all the possible meanings of words or actions.  The world seems so filled with drama, and we are certain that all around us everyone has an agenda, some sort of hidden purpose.  Surely the actions of our acquaintance, family member, spouse, co-worker, or boss are driven by more than the obvious, perhaps anger, vengeance, or passion.  We feel they have acted out of spite, or self-service.  But friends, most times it is what it is, pure and simple.  Sometimes it’s just red.  Throwing ourselves into the task of finding hidden meaning is often a waste of energy and time, not to mention a bane on our relationships.  Not every thing is meant to undo us.  Not every thing is subverted to cover hidden secrets.  Sometimes what you see is what you get, no more, no less.  Sometimes it’s just red!

(320 Words)

4-18-2015

Which Moment

Which Moment

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Does a moment arrive when we think of our children as mature adults?  The tiny person that arrived into our lives, with God’s help, grows, day by day.  Years have passed and holding the crying infant but a memory.  The first steps with its bumps and tumbles are long ago.  We reminiscence about the times when each new thing, stars and moon, trees and flowers, or rumbling trains and tractors, filled him with awe.  Our eyes may see the grown, but the heart cannot comprehend.  The house feels empty and strangely quiet.  As parents, we are pleased by our children’s growth.  We are pleased by all the milestones passed.  We are pleased by signs of maturity.  But the task has been all encompassing for so many years…that now as we stand on the sidelines we wonder about our purpose.  Our children are our children.  We do not call them our adult equals…though the time will come when they may very well be our guardians.  When we must rely upon their wisdom and compassion.  And even then I wonder which moment I truly understood that Nick had become an adult…

(191 Words)

Down and Back

Down and Back                    

By John W. Vander Velden

 

The morning’s sun reflected in the brilliant frozen crystals of the snow that covered fields, blinding the eye and giving no hint to the thermometer’s much sub-comfortable reading.  Bundled near the point of being unmovable Chas walks the country road.  He does not trudge as he wanders, rather steps lively on his morning march.  Each day he ventures out no matter the weather.  Two miles he walks out his driveway and east or west as the impulse leads on Jones Road.  Though he is a busy man, he would have thought retirement would have made him less so, the tall man forces time for these jaunts.  It clears his head.  The neighbor Tom Dellard waves as he passes Chas in his old green Ford Pickup truck.  Tom knows the drill the old man follows and would be more surprised at Chas’s absence than the sight of tall man striding, best he is able on the road.  This is Chas’s neighborhood, if a scattered collection of farms dotting the land could be called one.  Born just down the road and living here all his years, except his stint with the army, the man has seen his far share of changes.  These walks give the old farmer time.  Time to think.  Time to remember.  Maybe even time to prepare.  He walks because he knows he can, and fears the time he cannot.  “The world changes.” He mutters to himself, the frosty mist of his words floating away upon the breeze. Chas wonders how he fits in, what his purpose is, and if he really matters. 

Martha’s passing hit him hard.  Oh how, he had relied upon that woman.  He bites his lip at the word woman.  No, Martha was much more than “some woman”; she had been his whole life.  On this frosty morning he wondered if she knew just how much of his existence his beloved had been.  Maybe that’s why he was walking today.  How easy it would have been to decide that it was just too cold -- to miss one day – this day – that it made no difference.  But he felt close to her when he was alone – which was most of the time – and closest as he walked Jones Road.

Here in the country, alone and away, surrounded by familiar but open spaces, the void in his life apparent.  The weaker would avoid these reminders – the tearing at the scab of un-healable wound.  But Chas finds the strength and strangely a comfort in the emptiness.  The pain might remind of the loss – the terrible loss – but the loss reminds of what has slipped away, and what was, and what he had.  He had a great deal.  Memories connect one thing to another, and in memories Martha lived.  Yes, here on Jones Road his heart knew that she would always be a part of him, more than his wife, more than the mother of their five children.  She was more than a friend – so much more than words could possibly express.  Only his heart knew just how much – and his heart felt Martha so near on these hikes, down and back.

The thermometer showed little red as he had glanced while leaving the back door of the farmhouse.  Ten below was ten below.  In years long past the younger man would scarcely blink, it was January after all, and January can be cold.  Yes, in his eighty-seven years Chas had seen cold weather and blinding snows.  He had also witnessed blazing summers, thunderstorms like the one that had taken the old house.  And he had shared those times as well as spring’s plantings and autumn’s harvests with Martha.  So many years they did without, yet as a team they had struggled but survived, and in the end prospered.  Together they had made the journey.  That is why he walked each day, for he knew that together they had gone down and back.

(655 Words)

            1-13-2015