Flying the Flag: A Tribute to Tradition and Memory

I’ve always enjoyed watching the flag of the United States of America unfurl and flow in the sky. I often feel a little patriotic pride whenever I pass a Perkins Restaurant as their large flag waves at me. While there isn’t a standard “Perkins flag size,” they often go for the most massive flag possible, at times exceeding 30 x 50 feet. It’s just beautiful! Additionally, my father’s military service fostered a sense of patriotism as he enlisted in the Navy in WWII and continued as a reservist for 25 years of military service. The flag given to my mother by the Navy Honor Guard at my father’s graveside is in its display case in my home.

My fascination for the U.S. flag likely developed from my grandfather coming to live with us when I was eight years old. He moved from California and must have left a flag behind. As a result of Big Pop’s request, my dad put up a rudimentary flagpole fashioned out of galvanized steel pipe with a pulley mounted on top and the halyard laced through it. He set the pole in a concrete-filled post hole, and a sturdy, stitched, 100% cotton flag flew from that 8-foot pole. Every morning my grandfather raised the flag and lowered it each evening. I often sat with him on the front porch and enjoyed our conversations, watching my Toy Fox Terrier chase squirrels and feel the gentle breeze as it lifted the flag in our shaded front yard.

We headed for church one Sunday morning before Big Pop raised the flag. A short time later, a church member arrived and, having passed our house on the way to church, asked if everything was okay at our home. Confused, my mother said, “Yes. Why do you ask?” He responded that the flag was flying upside down, a sign of distress. Mom quickly called to check on my grandfather, and the flag was right-side up when we returned home. In his remaining years, Big Pop never made that mistake again. After he died in 1969, we continued to raise the flag, but not with the consistency he did.

In my late twenties, I took a church position in Memphis and had the opportunity to move back into that childhood home. The flagpole still stood, and the flag was stored in the living room closet. I was astonished that the flag’s colors were still vibrant (likely from never flying in direct sunlight), and its stitching remained intact. It was a treat for my daughters to raise the flag occasionally. My wife began to make birthday flags to fly on the flagpole to commemorate each year’s noteworthy milestones. Unfortunately, at some point in our nine years in that home, a child (who will be nameless) was holding the halyard as she walked in circles and wrapped the rope around the pole. At some point, the fatigued metal at the base of the pole snapped, never to be reinstalled.

The old flag traveled with us to Iowa in 1994, and it continued to fly on holidays in special memory of my grandfather, whose hand so lovingly cared for it all those years ago. It last flew on July 4, 2024, but I forgot to bring it in that night. The next morning, I retrieved in only to find several tears and a large hole in the field of blue. I wrapped it back around its wooden pole and placed it in the closet to never fly again.

As Memorial Day approaches, I want to resume the tradition of flying the flag for at least the patriotic holidays. I researched and purchased a well-stitched and reinforced flag that is appropriately “Made in the U.S.A.” The flag arrived today, and it is on my deck railing. While the local V.F.W. and Boy Scouts have an annual flag retirement ceremony, I’m not sure I can let go of this cloth that is truly our family’s nearly 60-year-old “Old Glory.”

The new flag from Allegiance Flag Supply will hopefully give me another 60 years of patriotic good vibes. Well…I won’t push it that far.

Remembering David Hughes

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It’s not often that i’m stopped for long on a Facebook post as I casually scroll through the family, food or fun pics of friends. However, this morning a post from a complete stranger stopped me and impacted me in a way I didin’t expect. The comment, “Rest in Peace, Uncle David,” with the inclusion of three pictures of my old friend put an immediate pall over me, a flood of memories, a sense of regret, but also a knowledge that I’ll see David Hughes again.

I met David in the Messick High School lunchroom. He was a stitch, a natural comic, who could, as an observer of life, quickly turn almost any situation into a joke. I was immediately drawn to him and wondered why he was drawn to me, but we became fast friends. We weren’t exclusive because we still had other friends with whom we would hang out, but we hardly missed lunch together, weekly Young Life meetings, Friday night football/basketball games, after-game gatherings with classmates at Danvers, or cruising.

I came to realize that maybe I was more of the sidekick who unwittingly helped David carry out his humor. One day we were walking down the hallway just after David stopped at the water fountain. As a classmate walked toward us David squirted through his teeth a sideways, stream of water, passing in front of me and hitting the boy as he was almost even with me. It was a direct hit to which David immediately pushed me and said, “Chuck! I can’t believe you would do that!”

Underclassman, Ken Bennett was often a part of our lunch bunch. After lunch, we would retreat to the stairway landing between the second and third floors. From there we could watch the seniors return from their off-campus lunch. One day the Jr. High band returned from marching practice, entering the door right below us. David took a quick drink from his water glass and spewed the water on the kids below. In a flash, the band director, Tom Swayzee, came running up the stairs, and shouted, “What was that?” David non-chanlantly replied, “Water.” Mr. Swayzee shouted back, “What kind of water?” Appearing non-plussed by the question, David quickly replied, “H2O water.” Mr. Swayzee huffed up the half flight of stairs to the band room, and we erupted into laughter.

I think because neither David, Ken nor I were fraternity affiliated, David named us “The Window Sill Gang” in keeping with our after-lunch hangout. Just as fraternities and sororities had a car horn honk as they passed members’ homes, we had one, too! David and I typically did the driving anytime we cruised or went to games. If we were in my dad’s ’67 Mustang, David would always call “shotgun,” taking the passenger seat. That left Ken to sit on the center hump in between the bucket seats. After leaving a game at Halle Stadium, we hit the red light at Mt Moriah and White Station. The intersection was crowded with game traffic and David bent over at the waist to make it appear that Ken and I were more than just “friends.” Of course, Ken was then doing his best to lift David back to an upright position.

When the 1973 Messick High Yearbooks came out, I noted to David a picture in which it appeared his hand was between the legs of cheerleader, Penny Heck. Even her expression gave some sense that David was up to one of his spontaneous antics. However, closer inspection revealed that they were Penny’s hands. However, David said that he drew stripes on Penny’s sleeve to match his own, further accentuating the optical illusion. Only Penny can verify that story.

We remained friends in college at Memphis State University. During that time we both worked at a grocery store, with David recommending me to the manager. We also served in the Young Life ministry and would hang out in the upstairs office on Southern Avenue, overlooking the Southern Railway tracks that separated the main campus from student parking and the Rec facility. Because there was no pedestrian bridge or tunnel, walking across the rails was the only way to get to your car or recreation class. From our picture window, we would often watch with amusement as students began running, hoping to beat the train as the locomotive blew its horn at the nearest crossing. We would take bets on who wouldn’t make it across the tracks in time.

David had a life-altering diving accident in which he was shallow diving from the beach and hit the bottom of the lake with his head, breaking his neck. After months in the hospital and rehabilitation unit, amazingly David was able to walk again. While he lacked some feeling due to the injury, the casual observer might notice something unusual about his gait. However, one would not have known of the paralysis that he originally experienced.

We both got married. I finished college and took a job with the Tennessee Department of Human Services. The last time I saw David, he was working for his father-in-law (as I recall), spray-painting the bridges that were a part of the newly completed I-40 northern perimeter. I pulled over, we had a quick chat, agreed we needed to get together and then we both got back to work. That next January, I was pursuing my ministry call at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth. We never talked again.

Over the years, these stories and others have been passed down to my kids and friends. I tried to find him on the internet and eventually, a former classmate gave me his phone number. I called but didn’t reach him. Then I found out he was on Facebook and he accepted my friend request, but there was never any dialogue.

And so…today I grieve the loss of a friend with whom I had so many significant high school and college experiences. And although we lost touch, I remain touched in what was a relatively short-term relationship…seven years. Because of our common faith in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, I am grateful that our hope in Christ allows me to face this loss and others with the hope that I’ll see David again and comfort.

13 But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. 14 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. 15 For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord. 18 Therefore comfort one another with these words.

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 (NASB)

Thanks for the laughs and the demonstration of faith and perseverance in suffering. See you later, David!

The Cowtown Marathon and Smiles at Mile 17

My daughter had been telling me how much fun it was to have The Cowtown Marathon pass right in front of their house the last Sunday of February. We decided to take some vacation time that coincided with that event in 2019. It really was a blast! I returned in 2020 just before the pandemic shut down the world. We returned for the resumption of the full marathon in 2022 after they went virtual in 2021.

The neighborhood in the Texas Christian University area uses the event as an excuse for a block party. Neighbors gather up and down the street to cheer on the runners as well as give out water, pickles, bananas, bandaids and vaseline (runners know why). One neighbor blasts music complete with professional sound system and d.j. Kids play and parents party. However, I’m on my recumbent trike taking pictures!

Of course! I have to take pictures, and it’s hard to know when to stop. From the first speedsters to the last strollers, I usually get everyone’s pic. However, I was having a camera malfunction last year and shot several frames with my backup when I realized the shots were extremely overexposed. A runner saw my pics on Instagram and asked if I got his pic. As I searched the time at which he passed by, I could only deduce that he was in the overexposed section. We’ve become Instagram friends and I hope to redeem myself this year.

Since I’m not doing this professionally, it’s hard to know if any of the runners see their pics. Because of the overwhelming number of shots, I made a video montage last year, I titled it “Smiles at Mile 17.” I decided that will be my hashtag for photos on Facebook and Instagram this year. We’ll see if that strategy works.

Here is last year’s video.

The 2022 Cowtown Marathon – Smiles at Mile 17

If you’re running The Cowtown Marathons on February 26, 2023, I hope to capture your Smiles at Mile 17!

2022 Iowa State Fair Photography Salon

I haven’t made a post for quite a while (June of 2022 to be specific). I realize that my last post asked for your pick of my pano submission. In reality the grain bin pano was already submitted, and I’m happy to say it was chosen for display.

Edge of Night

While not winning an award, it is an honor to be selected for display. It was among 23 (37% of submissions) in the panoramic category that were displayed, with only seven receiving an award.

In addition to this photo, I entered three additional photos, rounding out the maximum allowed submissions of four. I typically enter the Themed category. “The Open Road” was the 2022 focus. It was my only submission that was not selected for display. Only 12 of 32 entries in the Black and White class were displayed.

Road to Glory

I submitted another black and white in the People class. I took this picture of four of my grands a few years back at Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. It was partially chosen for entry because I won the People – Color class in 2021 with my “Bubble Girl” photo, featuring my oldest granddaughter. That precipitated requests from her siblings to have a submission as well. While it was not a winner, it was displayed, and they proudly posed with it when they came up for the State Fair. 38% or the 81 entries were exhibited. A small feature that I loved about this capture is the small rivulet of water that connects in middle foot to the foot in the reflection.

Four on a Bench
Four on a Bench

My last submission was in the Animal (Color) class. I felt it was the least likely to go through to exhibition, but it made it! A farm family in my church let me know of a Great Horned Owl nest on their acreage. I went out on a few occasions and caught this photo in the late nestling stage. It was among 74 or 251 entries that were exhibited.

The Better to See You

So with three out of four submissions making it to exhibition, I was very pleased. Only 10% of photographers had three entries progress through the judging process. There is a merit award for those who have all four entries exhibited. Curiously, no one received that honor in 2022.

There is a Youth Division in which the top age is 17. My grandson captured a picture of his dog that I thought would be a worthy entry. He was six at the time he took the picture with an iPhone. His photo was also exhibited, making him the youngest photographer exhibited at the Photography Salon!

Whit with “My Great Dog”

A total of 2,191 photos were entered by 394 photographers with 29% of entries exhibited. The numbers of submissions have been down post-pandemic. It will be interesting to see if numbers rebound this year. So that’s the update of 2022 Iowa State Fair Photography Salon. Entry information for 2023 will be released in April on the Iowa State Fair website. Out of state and international entries are welcomed. The special Theme Class for 2023 is Sunrise/Sunset. It should be a highly competitive class. I’ll drop a few of my potential 2023 entries as the June deadline approaches.

Iowa State Fair Photography Salon – Pano Category

All entries have been submitted to the Iowa State Fair Photography Salon. Now it’s up to the judges to go through over 3,000 entries and select the award winners and exhibited photos. Notifications will go out in July to let photographers know if they’ve received an award and/or have photos displayed during the Fair’s run August 11-21. Just to be exhibited is an honor, since less than 30% are displayed.

One of my four allowed entries among 24 categories was in the Panoramic class. Since the one was already submitted, it is included with three other possible submissions. Which one would you pick (if any) to submit. The other three have never been submitted, so your choices may direct a future submission. Thanks for the help.

A – Snowy Retreat

B – The Edge of Night

C – Sunset Reflections

D – Winterset Wreaths

Leave a comment below or on the Facebook page from which this blog was linked.

2022 Iowa State Fair Photography Salon (Special Theme)

This year’s Photography Salon’s special theme category is “The Open Road.” In addition to three other different category submissions, I entered one of the below for this special theme. Not saying which one I submitted, but there were some other options. Which one (if any) would you submit?

I’ll post my four submissions in July after the acceptance/rejection notices are sent out.

See You Later, Harry

My brother-in-law, Harry W. Thomas, has a sound mind and healed body as he came into the presence of Jesus Sunday evening. Suffering from dementia and heart disease for the past 7+ years, he has been reunited with his daughter, Amy and all the saints, who have preceded him.

Still newlyweds in this photo, Harry was to lose his father a few months later from a massive heart attack, during the fall harvest. Harry, Sr. was 45.

I was eleven when he married my sister. Because I was the youngest and only boy in my family, he was my second brother-in-law, and I was overjoyed to have new “brothers” as reinforcements. In addition to having another guy to play Sunday afternoon hoops in the backyard, “Butch” added a rural dimension to our family. While he and my sister worked primarily as radiology technicians, he grew up on a family farm. That remained in his blood and they tried their hand at farming several times. But he ultimately advanced to the level of nuclear medicine technologist and for a while he and Valerie traveled the country as locum professionals, serving six-months temporary staffing positions in hospitals.

I won’t say that he corrupted me, but he did give me my first Swisher Sweet cigar to smoke. Then he gave me half box of cigars that unfortunately was confiscated as soon as they were discovered by my parents. Hunting was a passion and because we were not a hunting family, I never shot a firearm until Harry joined the family, and he gave me my first target shooting lessons. I even wore a John Deere cap as a teenager because of his influence.

He loved to eat and some of my best memories with Harry are centered around meals, whether at the family home on Barron where Mom prepared a big Sunday dinner or at the Thomas home in Arkansas where we shared many Thanksgivings. Mom always gave Harry one of the larger ice-tea glasses (likely to cut down of refills). On one occasion another brother-in-law noticed the disparity in his glass size and Harry’s. I think that brother-in-law received a larger glass at the next meal.

When Mom was at the hospice house, Valerie stayed during the duration. Harry came up for a short time, coinciding with “National Fried Chicken Day” (July 6). All day, he reminded us that for supper we were going to have “friiiieeed chick’n” (say that with your best Southern drawl). And we did. Throughout the meal he repeatedly said this is “gooood fried chick’n.” That was about the time that the dementia was becoming obvious and it was diagnosed shortly after that.

His love and laughter were both large. He always made a big entrance, and I’m sure he did the same yesterday evening! And I hope he was served some “friiiiiieeed chick’n.” I’ll see you later, Harry!

Guest Blog: At a Loss for Words — Anna Spindler Writes

Like my daughter, Anna, it’s been over a year since I have blogged. Maybe I’ll be back soon, but until then I hope her words (which truly reflect my heart and mind during this last year) will resonate with you and give you HOPE! Please click on her link but if not, I will include the complete text below.

It’s been over a year since I have written anything in this space and longer since I’ve written any kind of blog at all. A year ago when I last wrote, it was Easter and the shock, fear, novelty, and uncertainty of COVID-19 and quarantine was still relatively new. My inner Anne of Green Gables […]

At a Loss for Words — Anna Spindler Writes

At a Loss for Words

Anna B.

It’s been over a year since I have written anything in this space and longer since I’ve written any kind of blog at all. A year ago when I last wrote, it was Easter and the shock, fear, novelty, and uncertainty of COVID-19 and quarantine was still relatively new. My inner Anne of Green Gables heart still thought it would all pass..and really I still can’t understand why it didn’t. Secretly, a year ago, I was actually enjoying permission to never leave my home.

Everything is different now. 

Since then, so much has happened in our world and country: George Floyd, race riots, loss of life to Covid, crushing fear because of Covid, a contentious election, the capitol attack, a bizarre snow storm in Texas, property loss, job loss, friend loss, faith loss…

LOSS. LOSS. LOSS.

Some have suffered on the macro level along with everyone else. And for many of us, there have been micro level every day normal life losses. My dog spent her last hours my arms earlier in the winter. My mom has descended much more deeply into the horrific throws of Parkinson’s Disease after battling it now for most of my life almost half of her’s. A cursory scroll on any social media tells me I’m not alone. 

And I’ve been quiet. 

I have always had all the words…and I just don’t anymore.

I’ve been quiet because I’m processing. I’ve been quiet because it is a new world that tells us we must process publicly and loudly. It is a new lie that tells us a computer screen is the appropriate place to work out our feelings and emotions and heart breaks. And if we don’t, we’re somehow COMPLICIT in the evils of this world.

I’ve been quiet because I’m scared to use my words. I’m scared of more loss, more anger. 

I’ve been quiet because we forgot about nuance, America. 

I’ve been quiet because we forgot about respectful and inquisitive discourse. 

I’ve been quiet because it’s all so loud out there. It’s loud and angry and unforgiving. One misstep, one “wrong” question and you’re canceled, but not after you’ve been completely attacked and maligned. 

I’ve been quiet because I’m weary. My husband always jokingly asks me if I’m weary versus just tired. Because to me, they’re different. Tired can be fixed with some sleep. Weary, is deep in my bones and soul. Weary comes after struggle and wrestling. Weary is what I am. 

I can’t keep up with the new rules and my legs are weak from running after them. Is this what middle age is?

Again, I have a feeling that I’m not alone. 

So here I sit on my yellow couch, staring at new growth outside of my window, wondering why my neighbor chopped down his perfect front yard tree, and snuggling with my naughty awful Beagle. My brain is full of the words I can no longer figure out how to communicate…

And I’m clinging to what I know is true. 

My God.

The only thing that is not shifting for me is God: both mother and father, savior and redeemer. Reconciler. Healer.

The fact is, I don’t have answers right now. I never did. But I do have God. The Holy Trinity. And I know that’s not a popular concept. I saw a Twitter repost the other day, “If you wonder why people are leaving the church right now…..” fill in the blank all the ways the church has messed up. And we have. We have messed up. For the entire life of the church, we’ve messed up. (I mean…have you read all of Paul’s letters to the New Testament church?)

I don’t wonder why people are leaving the church. They always have. They always will. I could write about Biblical illiteracy and the chance that some who talk a real big game never even knew Him. I could say all the things and maybe I will later. The fact is God has never been popular. It’s not my job to make him so. The world crucified his son, bloody and abandoned on a cross. 

But! I’m still clinging to Him. I’m still asking Him to change me. I’m still ever grateful for grace I never deserved, still don’t deserve. I’m still watching him move. I still see miracles…mainly small ones, mainly miracles deep in the crevices of my wicked heart. But I will believe. God is my very breath. And this is not toxic cheap Chrisitianity or positivity speaking. This is desperation speaking. 

Oh friend, this is my prayer for you, me, the collective us, our children and families and churches..that we peel it all back and find that God, Jesus, Holy Spirit is enough. I pray you’ll experience Him in the deepest parts of your spirit. That whatever kind of grief shrouded the last year and whatever hurt you’ve walked through with humans will be mended in relationship with the Divine. 

I’m clinging to the words of Jude to the New Testament church, 

But you, dear friends, by building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in God’s love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you to eternal life.

Be merciful to those who doubt; save others by snatching them from the fire; to others show mercy, mixed with fear—hating even the clothing stained by corrupted flesh.[f]

To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! 

Amen.

There’s Within My Heart a Melody

As I was looking for wildlife on a late afternoon drive on Wednesday, I heard the unmistakable song of an Eastern Meadowlark. On it’s migratory path through Iowa, I think most move on toward Minnesota, Wisconsin and Canada for the summer. Hearing before I saw it, my eyes (and lens) finally found it on a utility wire, throwing its head back every time it let loose with its flute-like melody. After it flew away, I continued my drive only to hear another Meadowlark a few miles away. This one lighted on a cedar and sang away.

Tonight as spring begins, we have thundershowers. Both the bird’s song and the storm cause my thoughts to run to God’s Word and its directive to praise the Lord:

7Praise the Lord from the earth, Sea monsters and all deeps; Fire and hail, snow and clouds; Stormy wind, fulfilling His word; Mountains and all hills; Fruit trees and all cedars; 10 Beasts and all cattle; Creeping things and winged fowl; 11 Kings of the earth and all peoples; Princes and all judges of the earth; 12 Both young men and virgins; Old men and children. 13 Let them praise the name of the Lord, For His name alone is exalted; His glory is above earth and heaven.

(Psalm 148:7-13, NASB)

 

So in these days of so much uncertainty, take a cue from creation and sing your praise to the Lord…for we never know when we will wing our flight to worlds unknown.

There’s within my heart a melody; Jesus whispers sweet and low, “Fear not, I am with you, peace, be still,” in all of life’s ebb and flow.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, sweetest name I know,  fills my every longing, keeps me singing as I go.

Though sometimes He leads through waters deep, trials fall across the way; though sometimes the path seems rough and steep, see His footprints all the way.

Soon He’s coming back to welcome me  far beyond the starry sky; I shall wing my flight to worlds unknown,  I shall reign with Him on high.

“He Keeps Me Singing, Luther B. Bridgers (1910)
A Meadowlark’s song at Green Valley State Park, Creston, IA (3/18/20)

Covid-19: on loving your neighbor and not worrying

My daughter, Anna, shares her thoughts on how we as Christ followers should react and respond the the challenges of COVID-19

Anna B.'s avatarAnna Spindler Writes

We left town on Monday for Spring Break and while we were gone full-blown Covid-19 panic moved to town and took up residence. As we got closer to home yesterday and closer to rush hour, I could feel an insidious worry taking root inside of me. This wasn’t about the disease or fear, it was about the fact that we had a post vacay food situation: no milk, juice, bread, low pasta supply (the only meal all four of my children love) and very little cream (YIKES!!!).

When I went to Trader Joes, (admittedly not the best idea) it was crawling with people and FULL buggies. And also there were so many empty shelves.

IMG_1631 My tinies spent an hour basically decorating a box of gold today…(luckily it was part of my monthly amazon delivery).

How do we love our neighbor during war, famine, and disease?

Last night as I pondered this…

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