My Life in Hair

Posted January 11, 2021 by wordsfromww
Categories: Uncategorized

It’s interesting to think of how my hair started out, light and fair, and to consider that in my later years of life it’s gradually been returning to a lighter tint. The grey has begun to force out the brown, like the weeds taking over an uncared for lawn. Of course, I don’t really have a say in the accumulating grey population, unless I want to use one of those products that try to fool people about your hair color.

My life could easily be separated into several hair chapters that tell my story. In going through old family photo albums I can see the progression, or regression in some cases. It begins with a little boy who has been a barber’s dream cut. The electric razor has simply mowed down the hair like our lawnmower at home going back and forth, one row at a time. Five minutes tops and I took a seat beside my older brother who sported the same style, no comb necessary.

Short defined me in my early years: short in height, shorted in prized possessions because, being the youngest, I always received the hand-me-downs, and my short hair. A picture I discovered recently of my South Zanesville Junior High 8th Grade basketball team has me sitting on the end of the front row, noticeably shorter than everyone else, wearing unfashionable geeky glasses and…with short hair. Growing my hair out like 95% of my classmates was not a choice. Mom and Dad had decided the matter, and besides, it saved a lot of unnecessary time being wasted at the barbershop getting all “handsomed-up”!

The hair was permitted to be grown out some– but nothing wild– about the time I hit sixteen. When I say “grown out”, I mean it became necessary to carry a comb with me. It was as close as I came to living on the wild side back in my high school days. It wasn’t necessary for my dad to wait on me at the barber anymore, which may have opened the gates to freedom just a crack. Morris Barber Shop in Ironton, Ohio was right across the street from J.C. Penney’s where my mom worked as the bookkeeper. That meant I could spend as much time as I wanted over there.

My brother had joined the Army just about the time his hair was getting long and been roughly reunited with the buzz. Some other boys in my class were beginning to walk on the wild hair side, growing it out long and parting it in the middle. Vietnam was still going on and the unrest over our country’s involvement was filtering down into sit-ins, protest marches, and long out-of-control hair kept in place with headbands. Not me, though. I was Baptist and clean-cut, like the friends I hung around with.

And then I went to college. I remember coming home on Christmas break during my last year at Judson College. Our basketball team had played in a tournament at Spring Arbor College in Michigan, and then I had taken a bus to Columbus from somewhere close to Spring Arbor. I had grown my hair long, parted it in the middle, and felt like it made my 5’8″ frame look more muscular and imposing. My mom was not impressed. In fact, she was more depressed. Her first words upon seeing me at the Columbus Bus Depot were “Lord, have mercy!” The next day Morris Barber Shop was open I had the “hair nonsense” cut away and was quickly brought back to normal-looking. I’m pretty sure Mom used the word “hippie” in describing me.

A couple of years after that tightrope hair-style walking over a chasm of foolishness, I grew it out to an acceptable length that wouldn’t cause the elderly crowd in any church I worked in to shudder and call a special deacon’s meeting. I tried to find a length with a side part that made me look like I could still relate to young people, while “pastorally” enough for those in the church who paid my salary.

Carol had entered the picture by then. We both wore eyeglass frames that were so big they could have doubled as windshields for our car. Her hair was long, down to her waist when we said our “I do’s”, so mine just needed to be long enough for her to be able to run her fingers through…or, at least, that’s what I hope I’m remembering.

On three different occasions since those years I’ve gotten buzzed for a cause or as a result of a lost bet. The first time was to show my support for a man named Dave Buffmack, who had a brain tumor. Dave was a great guy. I can still hear his laugh, which resembled a sly snicker. The next time I got buzzed was as a result of our VBS kids raising $1,800 for missions. The stipulation was that I would get a mohawk, but if they raised over a thousand dollars I’d get a blue mohawk. I believe one mom wrote a check for $1,000 to make help create the final vivid picture. I went to my barber right after the close of that VBS to get the blue mohawk shaved off. Like my mom’s words from years before, I can still remember Phil Hanson’s words when I walked into his shop: “What bet did you lose?”

The last time I got buzzed was at the end of a basketball season when I lost a bet with one of my players– perhaps the worst free throw shooter of all time. He couldn’t make a free throw in practice so I told him that if he shot 90% for the season I’d shave my head. In the 14th game of the season he shot two free throws and made them both. Those free throws ended up being the only two he shot the whole season in our games. In fact, I’m pretty sure he tried to stay away as far away from the basketball as possible in our final five games. At the conclusion of our team banquet, I was buzzed clean.

It was almost like coming full-circle back to my childhood days. Five-minute haircuts, Morris Barber Shop, no comb necessary. In some ways, those were golden days.

Now I’m into the silver and grey days, signs of wisdom and experience. One of my students recently asked me how old I was. I turned the question back to him. “How old do you think I am?” He put a hand on his chin and considered what the answer could be. “Well, I know that wrinkles and grey hair can be signs of stress and age…so…I think you’re probably somewhere between…30 and 45!”

Sold! The “A” he received for the quarter, however, was earned, not a payoff! I’d bet my hair on it!

What’s My “Jesus Word”?

Posted January 7, 2021 by wordsfromww
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Jesus, love, Nation, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth

Cary Nieuwhof wrote a blog recently as a result of the Washington protest/unrest. Although written with church leaders and pastors in mind, it had several great points to make about the power of our words. I love it when I read something or hear someone speak that results in causing me to think and ponder the words of the author/speaker.

Cary makes this statement: As Jesus so clearly said, out of the overflow of the heart your mouth speaks.

Word issues are heart issues. The only way to really fix your words is to fix your heart. Sometimes we get so tired of the words we’re hearing that we retreat to silence or irrelevance. Last night, for example, my wife and I got so tired of the reports of what was happening in Washington that we switched channels and started watching the Tennessee-Arkansas basketball game. For someone who grew up as a Kentucky Wildcats’ basketball fan, watching Tennessee play was almost sacrilegious, but we needed a break from the “words”!

Words carry power and influence. They are impactful expressions of our mindset. However, they can be used to lead folks to a place of greater understanding deeper peace, and broadened hope; or they can be used to lead the herd to the edge of the cliff.

The question that came to me, being a Christ-follower, is what’s my Jesus-word for this time? What communication of Christ will inspire me, instead of causing me to change the channels? What word will emerge from my mouth that will be an reflection of my heart?

I think of Jesus sayings at the beginning of the fifth chapter in the Gospel of Matthew. We refer to them as His Sermon on the Mount. He talks about people of mercy and peace, people whose life-priorities are God-glorifying, people who are caring and loving, and people who may be poor in the world’s views but rich in spirit. There are Jesus’ words about grace and forgiveness, servant-minded, and giving. He teaches about inner beauty as being delightful in the eyes of God versus outward piety.

I must do self-inspection of what word my heart is echoing before inspecting the lives of others. We live in a time where criticism has dominated the tapestry. The darkness that shades our hearts affects our vision of our surroundings. For me, I must ask myself why I react with bitterness to a person whose perspective is different than mine? Why am I apathetic toward someone’s passion for a just cause? On the other side, why do I get emotional when I see a child who is seeking to befriend a lonely elderly person?

What Jesus-word will be a guiding force for me in these coming weeks?

Billie Dean Wolfe

Posted January 4, 2021 by wordsfromww
Categories: children, Humor, Parenting, Uncategorized, Youth

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I was born in Kentucky, close to J. D. Vance’s roots of Hillbilly Elegy fame. Everyone I knew went by two names, first and middle. If someone was referred to only by their first name– aunts and uncles excluded– they were viewed as an outsider or highfalutin. My sister went by Rena Lou, my brother Charles Dewey, and I was Billy Dean.

Except to my aunts! To my Aunts Cynthia and Irene I was Billie Dean. The only other Billies that I knew were all of the opposite gender: Billie Johnson in my high school class, Billie Holiday, Billie Jean King. I never got an explanation as to why my aunts thought I needed an extra vowel to spell my first name, but it appeared on every birthday card they sent me or Christmas present they blessed me with. It may have even been on our wedding present: Mr. and Mrs. Billie Dean Wolfe. I was such a deer-in-headlights during that event that I didn’t notice.

My grandmother, MaMaw Helton, pronounced my first name in such a way that it seemed to warrant more than one letter at the end of it. And then she would roll right into the middle bridge that held the first and last together.

Names were important to us. It connected us to the past and rooted us in the present. I bore the nameplates of a great uncle and an uncle. I was almost a Silas Dean, but, for some reason, my parents yielded to what they stamped on me. Perhaps because Billie Dean flowed better than Silas Dean. Too many “s’es” can cause a lot of spitting. My Uncle Millard (Vance, mind you) chewed Mail Pouch. “S’es” were risky. He even steered away from saying his last name very much!

Still, Billie Dean! It didn’t infuse much manliness into me. I was relieved when I arrived in Ironton, Ohio my sophomore year of high school that some of my classmates connected the closeness of Beowulf, that we happened to be reading, with “Bill Wolfe.” Quickly the new kid was christened with the name of the Scandinavian hero of literature. I became Beowolfe, which was soon shortened to “Beo”!

In a way I had finally shed my aunt-bestowed name, Billie Dean, for a simple three letter replacement. It wasn’t me, but it sounded slightly more heroic. Since I was 5’2″ in 10th grade, I needed all the help I could get.

The Hint of Entitled Assurance

Posted January 2, 2021 by wordsfromww
Categories: Uncategorized

I’ve debated back and forth for years with a close friend of mine about the assurance of eternal salvation. I’ve continued to lobby for my belief in the security of my salvation, and therefore eternal life, when a person accepts Jesus as their personal savior. My friend has a hard time accepting that because of the simplicity of it. That is, that someone can say he believes in Jesus and then live a life of leisure, luxury, and looseness.

He has a point that is a bit problematic for one of the foundational beliefs of my theology. In our culture of entitlement, there are people who identify themselves as Christians, but lead lives where God always seems, so to speak, to be invited to the wedding but not the reception.

On my friend’s theological side, however, there always seems to be the risk of seeing salvation as being like a privilege that is in danger of being taken away. My Baptist upbringing at times came at the problem by injecting some guilt into the spiritual illness, similar to a vaccine shot. There wasn’t a list of forbidden behaviors, but there were looks of consternation and grunts of disapproval that were meant to keep us on the golden way. Church attendance (Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday night) was one way that our faithfulness was measured. Too often we weren’t thinking about our personal relationship with Jesus because we were focused on how long we had before we needed to be back at church. I always missed Walt Disney on Sunday nights because we were at church. We’d be home in time for Ed Sullivan, but that didn’t have the same zing for a kid who loved Old Yeller and Hayley Mills.

I’ve digressed, however, into a paragraph of “writing whine”.

This morning I was reading something that writer Philip Yancey wrote. He says, “I learn to trust God with my doubts and struggles by getting to know Jesus. If that sounds evasive, I suggest it accurately reflects the centrality of jesus in the New Testament. We start with him as the focal point and let our eyes wander with care into the margins.” (Reaching for the Invisible God, pages 139-140)

If I focus my eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of my faith journey, all the other stuff will work itself out. My discomfort is with those who focus on the other stuff and then insert Jesus in at the end like an uncomfortable punctuation mark. That is what also causes my friend to break into a special kind of rash– people who can cause themselves Christians but not identify with Jesus.

My friend and I may never come to an agreeing point in our debate about “one saved, always saved!”, but it isn’t imperative that we travel the same path to get to the desired destination. We’re like Jesus’ disciples, following the same Teacher, but very different in who we are.

Light Sensitivity

Posted December 28, 2020 by wordsfromww
Categories: Bible, Christianity, Christmas, Community, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth

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When I stagger into the bathroom in the morning and hit the light switch, my eyes squint at the transition from darkness to light. A few seconds later, however, my sight has adjusted and I rejoice that I can take a shower without having to search to find the bottle of body wash.

Light sometimes stuns us like deer in headlights, but most of the time it’s a revealer– a revelation, if you will– of what is and what is in front of you.

My wife noticed a post on social media from someone who was complaining about Christmas lights being displayed this year in the midst of the dark days of the pandemic. The person’s half-cocked point was that the lights were showing a lack of sensitivity for those who have struggled this past year. In other words, darkness needs to be commemorated with more darkness. Instead of light being a signal of hope, this person saw it as insulting to those who were suffering.

It’s interesting that light has a different purpose and meaning in each of the major religions– Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. It’s always portrayed in a positive sense. In Christianity Jesus is referred to by John as “the true light that gives light to everyone” (John 1:9). Jesus referred to himself as “the light of the world” (John 8:12). In Judaism, the presence of the Lord was seen in the pillar of fire that guided the Hebrews as they left Egypt. Its purpose is to give them light to show them the way. David wrote, “The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?” (Psalm 27:1) The menorah, the lamp stand, is a symbol for the Jewish people. And in Islam the mosque lamp symbolized divine light.

Light, in other words, has a positive place in the faiths of the world. Instead of a sign of insensitivity, it’s a symbol in its various forms for hope, community, and peace. Perhaps the person who complained was in the midst of a personal dark night, a cavern of loss. Or, maybe it’s someone who has a tendency to complain, kinda like the teetotaler who complained about Jesus turning the water into wine. Some people find fault in any situation.

I recognize the dark days that many people are living in. Financial constraints, separation from loved ones, and concern about being infected with the virus are just a few of the heavy burdens that have been weighing folks down.

I also recognize the optimism of light, especially since the longest night of the year is only a week in our rearview mirrors. A gathering in our city on December 21, known as “The Longest Night”, remembers the struggles of the homeless, and they light candles to symbolize the meaning of the event.

Power outages are not welcome events. People and work crews scramble when power outages darken a city. The first thing affected people go for is a flashlight, a candle, or a fire in a fireplace. Light is not to be hidden, but is to shine. As Jesus tells us, “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

Fill-in Pretenders and Fake Applause

Posted December 26, 2020 by wordsfromww
Categories: children, Christmas, coaching, Humor, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth

In some ways, it’s been a year of pretend! There’s been the more consequential pretending, such as pretending people are immune from contracting the Coronavirus, pretending it’s a conspiracy, and pretending it’s not real. There’s the passive pretending, such as believing that life is going to go on like normal, we can still line up outside Best Buy with a mass of other pretenders hoping to get a PlayStation 5 (I’ll still confused by PlayStation 1 and The Sims!), and pretending that no one has been affected by COVID-19 except people in far away places that don’t concern us.

A lot of pretending!

Some of the pretending, however, has been more on the humorous end of the meter. For instance, when Major League Baseball began their shortened-season in late July, there was the ingenious creation of fake fans- cardboard cutouts sitting in the seats of the stadium- and fake applause from the pretend crowd. What a hoot to see the image of Ricky Henderson sitting in the seats behind home plate at an Oakland A’s game, still wearing his A’s uniform!

The NBA bubble caught on to it with virtual fans, whose images could be seen watching the game. My cynical nature wondered how over-priced one of those virtual seats ran a person, and whether it was pretend money they used to buy that make-believe seat?

In the meantime, I was called into the middle school I have coached at for the last actual 20 years, and, more recently, substitute taught at for the past five years, to see if I would teach a 7th grade language arts class at the beginning of the year. There was an immediate need and the principal was hoping I could help them out for the first month. The first month turned into the first quarter, and then the second quarter, and now I’ll be there for the year. In some ways, I’m like a pretend teacher teaching a real class! It’s almost like a Hallmark Christmas movie plot-line…Mr. Wolfe teaching at a school whose mascot is a Timberwolf and giving secret gifts to all the students, who don’t realize he’s Santa Claus until the last scene of the movie when he suddenly has a full white beard and a wife whose full name happens to be Christmas Carol Wolfe! Wow! That idea took just as many weird turns as some of the actual stories the 7th grade students were assigned to write!

And then our school went to remote learning two weeks before the Thanksgiving break. Suddenly, all of my students were looking at me from the other side of a computer screen, wondering if this was really happening. A young lady in my first class each day, who sat at the desk next to my desk, was no longer actually in my room. I missed her giggle and chatter, told her I was going to make a cardboard cutout of her and sit it at her desk, but I didn’t want to buy a new refrigerator just to make that happen.

So I found a Cabbage Patch Doll in our basement, leftover from our daughters’ growing-up days and brought her to school. Redianca, as I called her because of her red hair, was propped up at that desk beside mine as my first pretend student. I showed each of my classes, turning my laptop so they could greet the new kid, and causing giggles, some head-shaking, running commentary, and smiles.

And then I thought “Why not add a new pretend student each day?”, so I did! Our basement contained a whole student body of pretenders, teddy bears, “Tobo” the giant teddy bear that had been our daughter’s since she was 3 (and now is 39), the Three Christmas Bears, Goldilocks the scary doll, Woof the Wolfe Dog, Piggie, Pumpkinhead, Kitty the Koala, and on and on. Each day I introduced the new student to their classmates. The language arts textbooks have been put to good use as seats, props, and terraces as a way to bring, ironic as it sounds, some crazy normalcy to this unreal school year.

On the last day before Christmas break, my virtual students were wondering if their “replacements” would still be there when they are scheduled to return in mid-January? I replied that I would clear them out for the real kids to have their seats back. The real kids replied, “No, Mr. Wolfe! Keep them there! You can sit them on the counters by the windows!”

So, that’s what I’ll do! It will be a return, in some ways, to the fake fans filling the seats of a sports stadium; pretend fans watching a pretend teacher instructing real students! I still can’t figure out, however, how to make the fake applause happen!

A Light (Or Strand) in the Darkness

Posted December 24, 2020 by wordsfromww
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Christmas, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth

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On Monday, Carol called for me to come outside and see The Christmas Star, as it’s referred to– Jupiter and Saturn in line with each other, something that won’t happen again for about 800 years (which is about the time that all of the styrofoam trash will breakdown).

I stared up at a speck of a star and tried to contain my excitement. A telescope would have raised my enthusiasm, but Apple has not yet figured out how to put one of those in my iPhone. I mean, to be able to see Saturn’s rings would have been pretty cool, but my progressive eyeglass lens would not enable my vision to make that happen.

The next night the two of us decided to go for a car ride and view the Christmas lights in the neighborhoods around us. Carol had found some kind of email or web site that told where the most awesome displays were and we headed toward one of the street addresses a couple miles away. When we turned onto the drive we were greeted by a long line of cars waiting, as if it was rush hour L.A. traffic. Up ahead (way up ahead) we could see the flashing lights of the front yard production of one of the residents. The lights moved in time with the music that played, as opposed to the cars that moved-not! After a few minutes of staying in the same distant spot we turned around and left. Neighborhood light productions draw ooh’s and aah’s from mesmerized crowds. The two of us, however, were simply searching for some light displays that conveyed peace and hope.

Traveling down a few more streets unclogged with waiting vehicles brought us that sense of contentment. There were simple displays that echoed the hope of the season, and then we returned to our own house where an unimpressive strand of lights goes along the top of our garage and front porch. Believe me, there is not a traffic jam on our street, except for the neighbors a couple of houses down who have too many vehicles and no place to put them but the street.

Our “light experiences” made me think about the birth narratives and also some of the beginning words of the Gospel of John. The birth of Jesus was anything but a production. It was unattended, except for sheltering livestock and distant visitors who made not have been there for a long, long time. No symphony provided background music for the song of angels. Like this week’s Christmas Star, it was unimpressive unless you had a way of seeing what it really was. John testified to its significance: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:5)

It was a single light in a dark time, a single light that did not command the attention of the crowds. That light, that single light was the most significant light. As John writes, “In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.” (John 1:4)

Tonight I think I’ll stand in front of our house, looking at our strand of lights bought at a summer garage sale and give thanks to the Creator for His hand in the simplicity of life and how His peace so often comes to us in the ordinary moments

Car Wash Timing

Posted December 20, 2020 by wordsfromww
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Christmas, Faith, Grace, Humor, Jesus, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth

Galatians 4:4-6

 But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law,  to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship.  Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, “Abba,[c] Father.”

Carol and I decided to take our CRV to the car wash yesterday. We had received an email from the business that had just opened, offering a free wash. Since the CRV was resembling a middle-school boy who hadn’t showered in a month, we thought the timing was right on. What a surprise to arrive at the place and find out that it was their grand opening and that we could keep the digital coupon we had received for another time. Yesterday the wash was on the house.

Remarkably, there was only one other car in front of us that was about to take the turn into the drive-thru wash. A minute later we pulled onto the conveyor belt, put the car in neutral, and gave control of the work to the brushes, sprayers, soapers, and dryers. The cleaning was thorough and now I’m tempted to park the CRV in the garage for the next month.

As I reflected on the words of Paul in Galatians about “right timing”, that car wash journey made me think of the importance of patience and allowing things to happen when they’re suppose to, not when we want them to. I know what you’re thinking. “A car wash? Come on, Bill!”

Well, there’s a reason why the automatic blowers come last in the car wash, and why the brushes come after the soap has been applied. Need I go on?

Patience is in shorter supply than toilet paper these days. I’m reminded of the absence of patience whenever I drive that now clean CRV anywhere. The other day a vehicle behind me in the merge lane on Powers Boulevard whipped around me as I’m driving in the merge lane- a solid white line to my left- gaining speed to merge. The other driver threw safe driving out the window like a used hamburger wrapper in order to gain at least five seconds in his journey.

The idea of God waiting until the time had fully come was not received well by many people in pre-Jesus days. There had been revolts, invasions, Roman soldiers inhabiting Jewish cities, oppression, and still no messiah. How long would God wait until he merged his planned birth into the mainstream? How many would decide to take things into their own hands, kinda like Saul and the burnt offering in 1 Samuel 13. He’s confronted by Samuel and offers the excuse of impatience.

1 Samuel 13:11-13 Saul replied, “When I saw that the men were scattering, and that you did not come at the set time, and that the Philistines were assembling at Mikmash,  I thought, ‘Now the Philistines will come down against me at Gilgal, and I have not sought the Lord’s favor.’ So I felt compelled to offer the burnt offering.”

 “You have done a foolish thing,” Samuel said.

We have a nasty habit of thinking the timing is right when it’s beneficial for us, but when we have to wait the gum-chomping and jaw-tightening quickens. As far as I know, the Almighty does not chew gum and exercises the patience and perseverance of the champion in a staring contest.

Perhaps that should also be a word of encouragement for many of us. Remember that child that has wandered away like a prodigal kid, or the suffering relationship that has been in need of healing for a very, long time? Maybe you’re about to have all the grime washed away and God is about to blow you away with the timing of his intervention. Just let the merge lane run its course!

Wolfe Wisdom

Posted December 14, 2020 by wordsfromww
Categories: children, coaching, Community, Humor, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth

Sometimes it’s more stupid than wise. Sometimes it’s wisdom that’s a bit too deep for seventh grade minds to grasp. And sometimes it’s simply an observation that I’m king about middle school behavior.

Whatever it is, I begin my seventh-grade language arts class with it each day. It’s “Wolfe Wisdom”. Truth be told, many of the wise sayings that take me about five seconds to read and fit on one Google Slide come to me as I sit in our hot tub the night before. As I soak the questions about life and language arts come to me and I formulate them into a sensible sentence.

Like tomorrow’s: If Hershey’s made a deodorant stick, middle school boys would smell a lot sweeter!

Or this one that made them think: To often gratitude doesn’t emerge in our lives until what or who we are grateful for is no longer around.

Or as we head toward Christmas: Don’t allow the “stuff” (possessions) of your life define who you are, instead of the substance of what you’re about. The stuff will disappear, but the substance of who you are will be remembered.

One of my students told me– in a respectful way, mind you– that I couldn’t call it Wolfe Wisdom if I quoted someone else. I had just quoted Groucho Marx when she said that.

Once in a while I do a play on title words and all it Wolfe Whine or, like one day last week, Wolfe Wish-dom. “All I want for Christmas is for all the missing assignments to be wrapped up and submitted by December 18! No ribbon and bow necessary!”

One observation I made recently was this: I don’t understand how a student with $200 ear pods and a $700 cell phone doesn’t seem to be able to remember to bring a pencil to school!

Some days my students recognize that Wolfe Wisdoms are the ramblings of a senior citizen separated from them by at least two generations and a ton of technology. I’ve never played Minecraft, Fortnite, or any of those finger-cramping video games, but I betcha’ I can take anyone of them in a game of chess or foul-shooting competition.

I’ve got to think about that. There may be another Wolfe Wisdom hidden in those words that I’ll discover as I sit in the hot tub tonight.

Remembering Those Passed On

Posted December 6, 2020 by wordsfromww
Categories: children, Death, Faith, Grace, Grandchildren, love, marriage, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized

Today, December 5, would have been my mom’s 93rd birthday. She has moved on to walking on the streets of gold, a glorious sight for me to imagine since she had mobility problems the last several years of her life.

My mom’s name was Virginia. Yes, and she married Laurence Wolfe, therefore becoming Virginia Wolfe. We used to humor ourselves with the question, “Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolfe?” and then answer “We are!” She was loving, giving, and devoted to excellence. She also expected her three children (I was the baby) to be respectful, use our common sense, and not to just to anything haphazardly.

The week before Thanksgiving I told my students at school that gratitude too often doesn’t emerge in our lives until those we are grateful for are no longer around.

Yesterday my cousin Annette passed away from complications from a kidney condition. She was 59 and the first of my cousins to die. A strange feeling, since the last two times I saw Annette were at the funerals of my mom and dad.

Tonight Carol and I found out that one of our neighbors passed away a few weeks ago. They were quiet reserved people that kept to themselves and, consequently, kept the passing of the family patriarch to themselves.

Death seems to be something that just happens around us and we keep on going because we’re in a hurry to live. Our focus is mostly on the living that we can still laugh with and talk to, those who can watch the kids when we need to take a trip to the grocery or sit down with and play a game of chess.

The thing is…who I am now is because who they were. Virginia Wolfe shaped me. Laurence Wolfe put his mark on me. Those I pastored over the years put their impressions on me. I carry the physical features of my family and the cultural preferences of my roots.

If Mom was here tonight she’d be asking my dad what a six-letter word for desired could be. He’d find out if any of the letters in her crossword puzzle were filled in and then figure out that the word she needed would be missed.

They are, every day!