Author: Ken A Locke

I live in Wichita. I worked as an air traffic controller over 25 years. I retired from that into this new life of writing. My wife and I spent over 2 years in the Peace Corps to start our marriage. Our 3 amazing kids have turned into actual amazing people. This blog gives me a place to share with you what matters, and somewhere to put my spirit into words.

I choose MORE

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You may remember the concrete wall we sat on in Glenmere Park, many years ago, on which I asked you this question: “Will you be married to me?”  Even then, I used an active verb with a present tense – I think we both knew it would be forever.

I can’t help but think of all the lost opportunities I missed to make our marriage better.  I should have DAWDLED in that Belgian Chocolate Shop with you, instead of finding a European cell phone to call Robyn on.  I should have listened to the Nils Frahm music you were in love with for a while, instead of assuring you that “I’d get to it soon”.  Why did I not listen better when you said you are truly an introvert and parties with more than a few people were seriously exhausting?  I still am not sure how much art gallery time I have in me, or art museum capability I have, but I say to you now that I want to TRY IT with you.

On the other hand, I can think of many invaluable moments we HAVE SHARED that we didn’t pass up.  Remember when we opened those wall-sized windows in our canal house in Amsterdam, above the Noordemarket?  The smells of fresh bread and the sounds of that city will stay with me forever.  We were together that day; we walked the streets, watching people, watching our kids, SOAKING in that cachet.  Our time at the Eiffel Tower is well documented through all our pictures, but the sheer amazing steps into reality that we took together on that rain-splattered bridge is indelible to me.  We stood together under Niagara Falls – and grinned ear-to-ear at each other in wonder.

We’ve come to love time together, just sitting; sipping wine, spilling wine, poking at the coals in either the fireplace or the chimenea (depending on the season).  Now that our kids are taking off into the world with brave faces, we can see how precious all those days, years, moments with each child are.

Had someone told us, on that concrete wall so long ago, how much WORK this relationship would take and how much we’d have to trust and forgive and talk and listen, I don’t think we would have believed them.  As you said recently, we were just BABIES back then.  We had barely invented ourselves, let alone examined each other to see who we really were.  We loved – that was enough.

What I NOW love is that we have chosen to RE-INVENT ourselves WITH EACH OTHER as we start this phase of our lives.  This “third act”, as I guess it’s called.  This time of “get to, not have to”.  It isn’t like we’ve lived in a desert for the last 27 years, but, right now, it FEELS like we’ve just been DRENCHED in a spring rain over the desert because our growth and flowering and blossoming and RIPENING has been so completely deep and transforming.

I stand in exultant mountain pose, with my heart wide open.  You could slay me where I stand – instead you embrace me, hold me, buoy me, and cling to me.  We rescue each other, even though we’ve only come to be rescued.

On this occasion of our celebration of 27 YEARS OF MARRIAGE TO EACH OTHER…

I choose MORE.

A jeweler’s hammer

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“One line of a poem, the poet said – only one line, but thank God for that one line – drops from the ceiling.  Thornton Wilder cited this unnamed writer of sonnets: one line of a sonnet falls from the ceiling, and you tap in the others around it with a jeweller’s hammer.”

This from Annie Dillard, in her essay, “The Writing Life”.

I puzzle at how to start, or, more accurately, RE-start my writing life.  I realize, after listening to her speak to me in her essay, that MY inspiring phrases may indeed be like the poet that moved Thornton Wilder who in turn moved Annie Dillard.  Who am I to question the pedigree of this bounty?

Many years ago, in another phase of my life, I filled several pages of a journal with snapshots, vignettes, thoughts, glimpses of stories that I needed to flesh out with words.  I know that book is around here somewhere, but it’s surely dusty.  I’ll bet the spine will creak when I open it to find my store of treasures.

I’ll go take a look.

Back in College

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Recently, I travelled with my wife to her weekend intensive college course.  She is doing the work to earn a Master’s in Library Science.  I, and our daughter, went along for the ride, partly because it was our 26th wedding anniversary, partly because there was a party for her classmates the next day, and partly because we wanted to check out the mighty metropolis of Emporia, Kansas.  Believe me, you need to be RESTED when you hit Emporia, because it is ‘full speed ahead’ and a ‘no off-button’ kind of place.

Not really.

But seriously, the town does have a lot of charm and innocence.  I’m sure there’s a gritty part of Emporia, but we didn’t see it.  Maybe we’d have to drive around some more to really dig into the darker layers of that little prairie town.

I KNOW that I don’t have the focus or attention span to spend 6 semesters working on a master’s degree.  I’m doubtful that I even am interested in anything enough to find an area of concentration.  Everything I can think of seems to involve a lot of MATH, which I have sworn off of permanently.  Ever since high school, where letters took on a huge role in algebra, geometry, and algebra 2 (why isn’t it ALL algebra???), I was hopelessly lost.  Matter of fact, in college, I tried to major in chemistry – because I DO love that periodic table – but couldn’t do the math involved in any of it.

My point:  citizens of this country (which includes my wife, Angie) who voluntarily return to student status to earn a higher level degree in ANY field are mentally tougher than I.  No amount of cajoling – financial, mental, or physical- could drive me back into the halls of learning to pursue greater knowledge.

There may come a day when I am ready to face the task of dedicated, focused learning about a topic that fascinates me – but that day is not today.

Bravo to all of you who challenge the dragon of college! May your fortunes increase and your resolve never waver.

Asking for the Truth

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I recently asked a friend to tell me the truth.  He, in turn and in part, asked me, “Do you think you’re BETTER than everyone else? Do you think you have to PROTECT everyone?”.  I spend lots of time thinking about my answer to that question.  My responsibility to answer isn’t to satisfy him.  My responsibility to answer is so I KNOW where I stand on these (at least) 2 issues.  Do I think I am better? Do I need to protect people?

I am a plain-old, garden-variety, flawed guy who is making his way through fatherhood, husbandhood, self-discovery, self-worth, self-doubt, professional effort and fatigue, the same as most other humans on the planet.  Maybe not everyone spends much time on the “what is my worth/value/magnum opus” issues of today.  I DO spend time on that – whether it is evident or not is very hard to say. We all have our individual journeys, but at our essence, we are much the same.  I think the difference is that I expect MORE from MYSELF.

I am a sarcastic SOB sometimes.  I don’t mean to be cruel with my wit, but I too often catch myself wishing I hadn’t said what I just said.  My understanding about the line between humor WITH someone and humor AT someone is paltry.  I speak to score the laughter before I really process WHY we will be laughing.  Conversational popularity is more important to me than the resulting damage, until I see the blood seep from the nick of the blade.  I need to stop doing that.

I am, however, good at recognizing and am sensitive to bullying,  browbeating,  heckling,  hazing, humiliating.  I probably see it in the “target” more than I see the initiation by the “perpetrator”.  I’m not good at seeing where the arrow CAME FROM, as it were, and am even worse at understanding WHY the arrow was fired in the first place.  I feel a responsibility to steer us away from thinning ice before we hear the cracking of a soul or spirit, for instance.  And I’m careful to couch my answers in calming words, rather than divisive rhetoric.

My philosophy and belief system start with “everyone deserves dignity”.  If that element of dignity is absent, deliberately or otherwise, I immediately stall in my understanding of any given situation.  My brain, when I listen to the better angels of my nature,  doesn’t move past the person or group of persons suffering.  It’s the golden retriever in me.

Another by-product of the golden retriever in me is a need to know how everyone around me FEELS.  “How do you feel about that?”, I’ll often ask.  Not so much as a counselor with a client, but as a curious observer of my world.  The good part of this drive is that I get to hear how people feel; they tend to open up, let down their guard, and share.  We, the five of us, had a wonderful conversation about spirituality and eternity with our children the other day.  No judgment, no guilt, no expectations – just ‘where are you’ and ‘tell us more’.  Driving together, after dark, seems a really safe place to have that conversation.  Dark takes away those ‘non-verbal’ cues that I tend to be hyper-aware about that indicate dissension or disagreement.  Truth dies when non-verbals take over.  Also, bathing a tough topic in grace lends itself to a truth and honesty that can co-exist with differing viewpoints.

The down side to wanting to hear it all is that sometimes I hear that I am the problem.  Sometimes my actions made the conflict worse.  Sometimes my words forced an issue that was better left alone.  Sometimes I charged up a hill of an issue that I didn’t need to attack, or that wasn’t my issue to force.  Although there are lots of instances where there is more than one truth, sometimes the stark reality is that I, indeed, even WITH my golden retriever need for peace and my negotiation superpowers, made things worse.

This truth in love  doesn’t always happen when I talk with people I care about – don’t get me wrong; it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.  That’s ok – peace and blessings and live and let live.

All this is prologue to my real point of this writing:  I can be afraid to hear another person’s truth and bottom line.

Because what if I can’t reconcile it to my world belief?  Or what if I can’t find a way to please us BOTH with our respective realities?  What if it’s a DEAL-BREAKER???????

Ultimately, I still want to know, “How do you feel?”.

Who’s right?

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See?  My problem is, when trying to figure out who has the “right” interpretation, is that EVERYBODY’S heart is in the right place.

If I go into a discussion trying to gather knowledge or understand a differing viewpoint better, I usually trust that the person I’m talking with is “arguing in good faith”.  That is, genuinely trying to exchange ideas and not just trying to score points or barrage me with facts or overwhelm me with data.  I don’t do a ton of research on ANYthing, so it’s easy to just throw facts at me to get me off-topic.

That’s ok; I still think the person is coming from a place of sincerity in his or her position.

The PROBLEM is – what if we totally disagree????

What if we are on totally the opposite sides of an argument?  How can there be no right and wrong?  I can see that this happens politically all the time.  But it happens SPIRITUALLY, too.  How can 2 English-speaking believers in Jesus Christ read the Bible and come to 2 different conclusions about any given topic?

And, just to be mildly controversial, here are a few things I’m most confused about:

1.  Are Muslims going to infiltrate the USA and ruin it? Or are they going to move to the USA, worship as they please, and live in peace with me?

2.  Can we afford 4 more years of President Obama’s financial system? Or are we going to go bankrupt? Who do we blame for racking up all this national debt anyway?  Why do people on either side point fingers at the OTHER side?

3.  Gay marriage – what’s the big deal?  It doesn’t affect the strength of MY marriage at all.  Everyone should have a chance to love someone.

So, since MY heart is in the right place, and I try to be discerning about what God wants from me on His behalf, I ask you…

How do I tell?

Thankful

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I am thankful.

As I rode my Bianchi out in the flat Kansas countryside yesterday, I realized I needed to say this.  And describe why.

I am thankful to my friend Robin for telling me that ‘no one can take away my peace’, and that ‘I am responsible for protecting my peace’.  I haven’t been peaceful all the time this past month.

We took a truly ‘once in a lifetime’ trip to Europe with the kids this past July.  We saw stuff we’d dreamed about since gradeschool, where they make you study pictures of old churches and famous paintings and little cafes and those long sticks of bread and people who actually can rock a beret.

I am thankful for that time with my wife and three children.  We always get to have that set of memories; no one gets to remove that from us.  Seriously, we stood on the Eiffel Tower – at night, in the rain – and made an indelible memory together.

I am thankful for the health and ability to ride my bike, do pushups, jog (slowly), do pullups (right now 2 sets of 1 1/2).  I glare at myself for not doing these things more often, but I love that I still CAN.

I am thankful for my girl Angie – who has such energy and vision for this new graduate degree she’s working on.  Ask her about it; she’s loving it.  I don’t think there’s any way I could work that hard.

I am thankful that all three of our kids have a vision for what they want in their future.  I am thankful that they are taking responsibility for following their dreams and making them happen – and not waiting for someone to hand it to them.

I am thankful for my job.  To be employed, gainfully, isn’t a ‘given’ anymore.  To be challenged and to flourish with friends who started as co-workers is a bonus.  I appreciate being able to work hard when there’s work to do, and laugh heartily when we have a free minute or two.

I am thankful for having a true choice in my political choices and my spiritual choices – lots of places in the world just don’t trust their people with that kind of freedom.

I am thankful for all my relatives, many who I get to see quite a bit, and some that I don’t get to see.  All of them are really important; and I appreciate having them to cherish.

Nanny

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I stood behind a woman in church the other day that reminded me of Nanny. My mom’s mom, my grandma, but who we’ve always called Nanny. She’s in heaven now, but as I age I think more and more about her. And who she was to us grandkids.  Nobody has a perfect family, and every memory is full of emotion; some good, some bad.  But it’s family.  And it’s who we are.  And this is what I thought about during that service.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on WHY this woman reminded me of Nanny.  I think it was a combination of things.  Her coat, which was a London Fog-type of raincoat, which she kept on throughout the service.  She stood both proudly and a little stooped at the same time.  She had a young adult granddaughter with her, who was emotional.  I could tell that this woman was worried about the granddaughter because when the younger woman left the service, the Nanny-person kept looking back to see if she was coming back.  This woman’s face, though, had the most impact on me.  Her skin was gentle but wrinkled, her smile was quick to appear and transformed her face, and her worry evaporated when she smiled.

Although I cry at lots of stuff these days (so it’s not all that unusual), tears stung my eyes as I murmured the words of the praise songs the congregation was singing.  The tears started because I watched this woman worry about her grand child even while she carried on with the business of worship.  I could tell she had a vested interest in the girl, and wanted her both at church and by her side, because then she’d know she was safe.

All this makes me miss my Nanny.  I miss her little laugh that could turn into almost a cackle of delight whenever we grandkids goofed around.  I miss her cooking with love – which she did to show us she loved us.  I miss her little rain coats, which she usually kept on whenever she left the house.  Some of you may remember her black shoes; she also had a tan pair.

Bags of Weaver’s chips, tupperwares of chocolate-covered peanut butter balls, that weird toast they used to make.  It was like thin-sliced bread and some brand that we never bought in Hastings.

Thanksgiving dinner with a bunch of us.  At the stretched table at 4400 High Street.  Thanks, Nanny; I love you.

What Humble means

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I try not to be too serious, but I think sometimes that’s bad for me. At my place on the trail, in my 40’s,
it can’t be all fun and games and jokes. I have 3 marvelous children. Marvelous – as in I marvel at them. Whether they think so or not, they look to/at me for guidance and direction and approval. I matter to them, and what they do matters to me.

So, I resolve this year to be a student of humility. I need to work harder, do the ‘big-talker’ thing less, but at the same time, make my words mean something. Clete Doyal once said, in a sermon, “the richest heads of barley hang lowest to the ground.”

Keep an eye on me; help me out.

Windfall Profits

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We had the best time tonight with our visitors!  Sarah, Ann, Kerri, and Matt came over to goof off and catch up on old times.  Angie and I were youth workers at church with Sarah, Ann, and Kerri, back in the early part of this decade.  The “aughts”, as I like to call them.  As in, “aught-three”, which would mean 2003.

We had taken two mission trips together.  2001 to Honduras and 2003 to Ciudad Juarez.  It is impossible to describe how bonding those two trips were and still are to me, to Angie, and to all of us.  Just how bonding is more clear than ever after we spent time together tonight.  We laughed non-stop from 7ish to after 10. I’ll tell you more another time.

Anyway – when I ask myself, “Did we waste our years working in youth ministry?”, I can add this night’s gathering to the loudness of my “NO”.  Now THAT is a good kind of humble.  THAT is a good kind of love.

pretty cool.

Shall We Gather At The River

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No hymn causes my eyes to sting with tears faster than this old classic.  My Aunt Kathy sang it once for a recording, don’t remember where, and whenever I even see those words in print I hear her voice lining those words.  Moving water hypnotizes me, and water that flows right by where God sits (“that flows by the Throne of God”) brings bright hope to even the most dreary of days.

Music, in one phrase, can remove the dry wood surrounding my heart and replace it with living, vibrant, hopeful spirit.  It readies me to face the day and raise my chin with assurance.