“Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb, when I made the clouds its garment and wrapped it in thick darkness, when I fixed limits for it and set its doors and bars in place, when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt’? ” Job 38:8-11 NIV
It has been nearly four years since the first blog post on this site. I will explain why it came into existence in a bit. However, I am going to post a small excerpt from a story I wrote over 10 years ago to provide the context for those comments. This excerpt will be a little long, but I trust not uninteresting. Only a small amount of editing has been done since it was first written including a little bit last night and just now.
…They had all been happy once.
He remembered the happiest time they ever had. They had had a particularly hard year that year and Emily suggested they go to see the ocean. This came as a complete shock to Russell who had never dreamed of doing anything like this in his whole life. So, mister nose-to-the-grindstone objected by explaining all of the reasons they couldn’t just drop everything and go. Emily gently reminded him that he had plenty of leave time stored up and whatever couldn’t wait until they got back would just not get done. So, with a shrug of his shoulders Russell gave in, put in a request for and got the requisite time off.
Their family had never been more than a hundred miles from home and this 700-mile trip scared Russell to death. With fear and trepidation, he eased out of their driveway and headed for I-40 all the while thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong over and over. Meanwhile, Emily and the children oohed and “ahhed” their way through the “tater hills” and continued to do so as they mounted the Cumberland Plateau. This unseemly behavior continued as they cruised through the foothills and finally into the Great Smokey Mountains. After a breathtaking ride through the Smokies and other mountain ranges, they found their way back to the flatlands of central North Carolina finally arriving at their lodging in Fayetteville around ten-thirty that evening–without incident.
The next day as they made the pilgrimage to the coast the weather was less than conducive to their plans. Driving through the woods on the way to the beach, lightning ripped across the sky with rain alternating between torrential downpours and drizzle. Emily insisted that they listen to a Christian radio station as they drove, but it too was being buffeted by the storm as it kept going off and on all the way there. Their spirits were dampened by the storm as well and even Emily was beginning to believe that their trip was going to be a washout.
Emerging from the woods after what seemed an interminable amount of time, they felt a little like Dorothy and friends must have felt emerging from their woods on the yellow brick road. However, it wasn’t an Emerald City that buoyed these intrepid travelers up but the Golden Arches. All were hungry and discouraged as they descended on the fast-food establishment. It is amazing though how a good dose of unhealthy food has a way of reviving the famished, the discouraged and the downtrodden and as they had not heard any thunder since they arrived, they opined that at least they could make their way to the beach without fear of being zapped by lightning.
Map in hand, they headed toward the shore. Russell Jr. who was fourteen, had a strong desire to see a lighthouse but Pamela who was twelve just wanted to get to the beach. Emily studied the map as Russell drove and found a lighthouse very near the particular portion of the beach they were going to. She skillfully guided him to the road it was on. Then at the moment they rounded a certain curve they all let out a collective gasp. There to their right was the ocean and it was so high up that all but Emily (whose gasp was the most exuberant of them all) thought they were going to be swept away by a tidal wave.
Emily laughed at them for, though she had never seen the ocean, she was a student of the Word of God and quoted from the book of Job, “who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb, when I made the clouds its garment and wrapped it in thick darkness, when I fixed limits for it and set its doors and bars in place, when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt’? “
They continued to gaze at the sea until the tall sandstone shape of the lighthouse usurped their attention. They pulled into the small parking area next to it and emerged from their automobile. For the first time they noticed the salty tang of the air and weren’t sure whether the warm wind-driven spray that was stinging their faces was from that huge ocean just across the way on the other side of the fence or drizzle left over from the storm. A glance across to the Coast Guard station adjoining the lighthouse revealed a roused group of sailors wondering about their intent so after one last walk around the edifice and a wave to the sailors they took to their car again and turned their attention toward the beach.
When they found their destination, they found not only a bit of beach but also an ocean side gift store. The store with its faded gray clapboard siding looked perfect in this setting. It also had a large deck in the back that ran out to a pier over the ocean off of which men with deep sea tackle were fishing. The rain and drizzle had miraculously stopped leaving in their wake a kaleidoscope of clouds driven along by a fierce wind. The sea reflected the kaleidoscope–sympathetically giving it a dark moody cast.
Pamela, who knew no stranger (and had to be watched closely because of it), befriended an older gentleman with a grizzled beard, leathery complexion and a seaman’s cap who might have been a ship’s captain for all she knew. But she was delighted when after landing a baby shark, he let her hold it, see its teeth and finally let her throw it back into the ocean. While this was going on Russell and his namesake hiked up the beach aways and back.
Emily meanwhile had separated herself a bit from the rest of the activity though she did keep an eye on Pamela who was busy entertaining the “old salts” on the pier. She had found a seat on the opposite side of the deck. While the family had hoped for and talked about a sunny day when they planned their excursion, this day of bluster and beautiful black and purple clouds punctuated now and then by shafts of golden light satisfied some deep-down desire in her soul. She watched with a quiet joy as sea gulls dive bombed the brooding ocean surface in search of food. The breeze with its salty tang invigorated her and she stared at it so long and so quietly that Russell, who had arrived back from his adventure and sat down next to her, began to be a little concerned.
“Are you alright Emily?” he asked, touching her shoulder gently and speaking softly.
“Oh, this is so wonderful, “she answered him reluctantly withdrawing from her reverie, “yes, I’m fine but you know I don’t think this visit would have been nearly as inspiring as it is had it just been a sunny day. There is a turbulent peace here if you can imagine such a thing. There is a kind of poetry in this scene, ” she said pointing out to sea, “that would be crude and jerky if it were reduced to mere words. God is here too.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“I don’t mean it in the sense of His omnipresence of course because He is always here in that way, I mean that He himself is here, now, at this moment personally speaking to my soul in words I can’t hear or comprehend but whose meanings are clear and comforting. Maybe by making this trip He is preparing us for some great blessing… or for some great trial. Maybe both. I don’t know but I hear Him speaking peace to me in the fierceness of the wind and the crash of the sea against the shore,” she answered as she lapsed again into her reverie to listen to see if the Lord she loved might yet gently speak more peace to her heart. She was not disappointed.
Russell roused from his trip into the past. Tears were in his eyes as he remembered vividly those prophetic words. It wasn’t long after that before the storm with its tidal wave crashed into their lives. Russell Jr. was their compliant child and was never a problem to them. He even earnestly sought their counsel as to whether or not to join the Army. His plan was to serve his country and earn a hands-on education before settling down to find a wife and raise a family. Pamela on the other hand was their strong-willed child and was champing at the bit to leave home by the time she was thirteen. And so, it was she upon whom the storm crashed with the most violence, who made life very difficult for them from then on until Emily’s death.
By this time in the story, Russell’s wife Emily has died of a lingering illness, Russell Jr has moved to a lonelier home in a colder, narrower place having been killed in military action and Pamela has rebelled out of fierce, irrational hatred of her father and who, though she had been beautiful and is an eminently successful career woman, is now dealing with the consequences of acting out her hatred through moral debauchery.
While all of these characters are fiction and do not refer to anyone I know, and this story was, as I mentioned at the outset, written over 10 years ago, the trip to the beach itself is somewhat autobiographical and does actually represent in part our first trip to the beach on our first visit to Cindy and Andrew’s home in Fayetteville when they were stationed there with the Navigators and an earlier trip we took to the Smokie Mountains. The scene at the beach is described exactly as it was when we were there the first time.
Note:
All of this was written before Gary died. (Our oldest son.)
All of this was written before Gail’s lingering illness began. (My “Emily”)
All of this was written before Gail died.
The story goes on to tell of Russell losing his job when the economy collapses.
This was written long before the parting of the ways that took place nearly a year ago when I left WNKJ Christian Radio after nearly 40 years of full-time employment. Though the impact of my departure was not as dire as what Russell experiences in the story, the psychological implications of leaving were certainly as real as any he might have experienced.
Gail’s lingering decline lasted for about four years and was complicated near the end by our not being able to visit her until just over a week before she died because of Covid though she never contracted it. She entered the hospital the first time about the middle of March 2020 and died on June 13th– five- and one-half hours short of what would have been our 5oth wedding anniversary. Since this Covid isolation had never happened before, I could not imagine Russel having to face such a challenge at the time.
When this blog was started it was to encourage Gail who was taking on-line classes with Lysa TerKeurst (former wife of a Christian group vocalist) who was helping women in her new station of life find ways to make income while raising their children at home. (I featured Lysa in a delightful Faithful Reflection about adoption.) As we sat in Gail’s hospital room where she was being treated for a blood clot in her lung, I acquired the internet address she wanted to use–StillAGroovyGranny.com. (She had had GroovyGranny.com earlier on but let it lapse and it had since been taken up by someone else.) I of course chose GrumpyOldIntrovert.
So that is the background information.
Not all postings on this blog (should I actually continue do them or do them more often than every four years) will be this serious in nature.
I might blog about the game Satisfactory which I have been playing almost non-stop since last May. That may sound excessive, but it has helped me through many hard days and in the process, I have learned some things other players of this game who refuse to look at the documentation like me might find useful. I prefer the serendipity of discovery myself.
I have revived my interest in playing some of the musical instruments I have played in the past as well as adding a couple of new ones and may share about that.
I still have technical interests that I hope to turn into projects and possibly market on a limited basis someday. That may show up here (the making of them not a sales pitch). Also, I still have a persistent interest in Amateur Radio which has run in parallel with my professional career. Some of that may wind up here.
I made a couple of trips to San Diego via Southwest Airlines in 2021 (not the least reason of which was to celebrate the birth of our first great-grandchild Norah Lynn Gail Phillips a few days before what would have been Gail’s and my 51st Anniversary) and so some of my thoughts about the flights and some of my impressions of southern California may find purchase in this venue. As may something of my interest in computer-based aircraft flight simulators.
And last but not least…
(Or should that read, “But wait, there’s more!”)
I have started rewriting the story referenced at the beginning of this blog. For those of you who read it 10 years ago it was called A Christmas Story in Three Parts. The story was actually novella length then so I suppose this one will be novel length as I am adding a more compelling story line and will be drawing from a much deeper pool of life experience.
The new version of the story is titled, Christmas at Shadowlands’ Edge.
The Shadowlands’ Edge world (though it did not have a name at the time) first came into my mind in the early ’90s and has lingered there for most of the time since then except for rare occasions when it spilled out onto paper in the form of stories. Since its inception the concept behind the title has been to bring what the early Christians experienced into the context of our modern world.
The tag line for Shadowlands’ Edge is, “Stories set in the not-distant-enough future…” and represents a dystopian world we seem to be careening towards.
Christmas at Shadowlands’ Edge represents a revival and new approach to the old stories written in the past. Whether any stories will be forthcoming after this one is written remains to be seen. But this story will distill the essential message that has been on my heart for all of these decades into a form that at least conveys the seriousness of the days that lie ahead. In fact, it depicts briefly the very beginning of the Shadowlands’ Edge era. Though not as focused on those details as earlier stories, it does provide the vehicle for the rewrite.
Christmas at Shadowlands’ Edge is primarily a story about a broken-hearted father and his prodigal daughter.
The original story also includes an element that, for lack of a better term, has haunted me since I was a small boy, 12 years of age, selling papers on street corners in downtown Clarksville, TN wearing inadequate if not quite thread bare clothes at Christmas time to make money to pay for school lunches for myself and three of my four brothers and to have a little something to put under the tree of our family of seven. This was because poor health had forced my father out of the workforce and forced him to stay home so he could not earn any income to speak of that particular Christmas season. That I was doing this is not the issue and I was glad to do it at the time, but something related to this time lies at the very heart of the reason for writing it. That element is the main reason for the writing of the original story and will remain.
The main reason I want to rewrite the story now is that Gail would want me to. It is one of my greatest regrets that I did not do so with the energy and focus I am planning to now because she was constantly encouraging me to do so. On the other hand, work and her situation at the very least kept me so distracted that I am not sure I could have done so anyway. Now that I am mostly retired (having reunited with WNKJ Christian Radio as a consultant where I now work exclusively from home) I have more time to do with the story what I feel needs to be done to make it right.
For those who remember Deena, Matt, Carla, Mike, Lydia and the other characters from earlier stories (and whose stories lie at the heart of the Shadowlands’ Edge era), I would like to rewrite those as well and bring these wonderful people back to life. (And yes, my characters are very real to me and are just as contrary to what I want them to do at times as you might have heard other writers talk about and which is wonderfully exaggerated in the movie “The Man Who Invented Christmas.”)
And just to put your minds at rest, most future blog posts will not be nearly as long as this one has been. This has been a reset of the blog and reflects a reset of life and because of that garners this excessive amount of verbiage.
Expect an eclectic mix and hopefully I’ll be able to deliver it.
So, goodbye for now (and 73s to my fellow amateur radio operators).
Don Griffey, KE4JD
And to quote Red Skelton who remained a Jew all of his life as far as I know but in what seemed to me to be unfeigned humility would end his program with the most eloquent and heartfelt two words I have ever heard spoken, “God Bless.”