Ouch!
There have probably been a lot of pop music’s creativity that has been artificially stimulated by substances other than the creative juices flowing through the artist’s mind. There are songs like “Puff the Magic Dragon” by Peter, Paul and Mary, “I am the Walrus” by the Beatles, and “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane” to name a few. Throughout history there have been tales of singers, authors, and others who seem to find creations through their adventures with drugs. I imagine most, if not all of them didn’t start out thinking these drugs would spur a creative side in them. Most were probably trying to escape some other pain, whether physical or emotional, and an unintended side effect of that process was the creation for which they are known.
After my recent surgery I was in much pain. I could try my hardest to hide its effects, but the fact of the matter was that there were points at which no pretending could disguise its torture. Drugs help mask that pain. The pain is very much still there, but its touch cannot be felt, or at the very least it is blunted a little bit.
The other effect of surgery is that it limits the things you use to be able to do. Some simple things, like bending over and picking up a piece of paper, was a task I was no longer able to accomplish. I’m amazed how over such a short period of time that I began to treasure routines, just a few days before, I took for granted or even dreaded. It is now exciting to walk to the end of the driveway and retrieve the newspaper, brush my teeth, or even shower. You notice little things like how really beautiful your wife is as she sits across the room playing games on her iPad, how sweet the voices of your step daughters really are, the pure gold in the hearts of your parents who come over to watch you for a day so your wife doesn’t have to worry about you as she heads back to work or the in-laws who bring you soft ice cream or send you baskets of fruit. Let’s also not forget those friends and coworkers who call or send a little prayer to the Man Upstairs. No, pain has more than drugs that dull it effects.
Frank was born in 1878 and he had a very rough childhood. He was born into poverty and his mother was to die when he was only eight years old. His father would remarry and just like one of those wicked step-mothers in a fairy tale, she would be very harsh to Frank. Frank hated her so much that he would run away from home when he was thirteen years old. He worked for twenty-five cents a day and the promise of calf which he would fatten and sell and with some of the proceeds he would purchase some new clothes. He would get angry with the farmer and move on to other things. This was the beginning of a nomadic life that rarely rested in his soul. His resume would include: driver of an ox team, carpenter, sheep shearer, bricklayer, potato farmer, potter, house painter, glass-blower, tractor driver, barber, installer of some of the first hand-crank telephones, oilfield roustabout, steeplejack, electric linesman, streetcar motorman, lemon tree grower, and a general handyman.
Frank was also known for his fiery temper, which could strike without warning. But as quickly as the flames arose, they were extinguished and he would move on. Frank could just as equally adapt to displaying his warm and loving side, too. Frank was also a devoted Bible reader and worshipper.
Whittier was a little town that sat a few miles from Los Angeles. It was a small Quaker community. While attending one of those Quaker services Frank couldn’t keep his eyes off a girl named Jane. He managed to get an invitation to accompany her to a St. Valentine’s Day party. At the party it came to his attention that Jane had five sisters. Hannah, one of the sisters, took his breath away. After an evening of conversation and taffy pulling, Frank asked Hannah if he could walk her home. She said, “I’d be delighted.” Hannah’s family was not real fond of Frank with his temper and his uneducated speech. He was also not a Quaker and that made their courtship look all but impossible. With Frank’s good looks and muscles, Hannah’s eyes could only see the floating hearts. Frank decided he was going to marry Hannah anyway.
Taking Hannah away from her college education and close-knit family also upset her mother and father. Her thirteen year old sister, Olive, would sum it up by saying, “Hannah is a bad girl.” But on June 25, 1908, Frank and Hannah married. Hannah’s father would advance the newlyweds $3000. They would buy twelve acres of land on which Frank hoped to grow a lemon farm. They would also buy an $8oo do-it-yourself house-building kit from Sears.
Hannah would have five sons. She was very interested in European history and would name all five boys after early British kings. They were named: Harold, Richard, Francis Donald, Arthur, and Edward. Frank was the rough father who never feared “sparing the rod.” The boys would almost fear him. Hannah chose a different path for her discipline. She was that small calm voice and the boys far more feared disappointing her than the punishment their father would level. Little Arthur, once caught smoking would say, “Tell her to give me a spanking. I just can’t stand it to have her talk to me.” The boys dreaded being the one who tarnished Hannah’s pure heart of gold.
One day Arthur contracted some mysterious illness. It was first thought it was indigestion or influenza, but it soon became apparent that it was much more serious. After a spinal tap the doctor informed the parents that the situation was hopeless. Arthur would slip into a coma. The parents would send the other boys away to one of their aunts, but three days later Arthur would die. Hannah’s faith would carry her through because she truly believe God had a purpose for everything. Richard Nixon would say, in his memoirs, about his brother’s death, “For weeks after Arthur’s funeral there was not a day that I did not think about him and cry.”
He had the whole world in his hands. As far as his eyes could see, he could claim as his own. The abundant wildlife must have been amazing. He had almost any kind of fruit tree you could imagine. And boy were those trees filled with fruit. In his garden were the biggest vegetables you have ever seen. Yes, what more could you want than something like this?
With all he had going for him there was still one thing missing. It was a pain; a pain deep in his heart. No matter what he had or what he did, he couldn’t make the pain go away. He needed something outside himself, for it was a battle he was unable to win alone.
Paradise is perhaps the goal everyone seeks. Adam is the only human to truly experience it though. Despite having everything you could ever imagine at his fingertips, he still had a sadness, a pain that resided in his soul. It was called loneliness. It blinded him to all the blessings that surrounded him. God saw Adam’s pain and He healed that loneliness with that wonderful creation called woman.
In Richard Nixon’s parting words to his staff, after his disgraceful resignation, some of his message would reflect the disappointment he probably thought he was bringing to those two parents, Frank and Hannah. He would say:
“I remember my old man. I think that they would have called him sort of a little man, common man. He didn’t consider himself that way. You know what he was? He was a streetcar motorman first, and then he was a farmer, and then he had a lemon ranch. It was the poorest lemon ranch in California, I can assure you. He sold it before they found oil on it. And then he was a grocer. But he was a great man, because he did his job, and every job counts up to the hilt, regardless of what happens. Nobody will ever write a book, probably, about my mother. Well, I guess all of you would say this about your mother — my mother was a saint. And I think of her, two boys dying of tuberculosis, nursing four others in order that she could take care of my older brother for three years in Arizona, and seeing each of them die, and when they died, it was like one of her own. Yes, she will have no books written about her. But she was a saint.”
Sometimes it takes rough times for us to notice God’s presence even in the simplest things. It is in those rough times of healing that we realize how really lucky we are to have a God who makes all things, even the simplest things, possible. Each day I get better I still can’t help but to be thankful for that single little flower blooming on the side of the road, that extra step I am able to take without pain, or even the sweetness of conversation of those I talk with. Adam was given his Eve to ease his pain. I’m sure Richard Nixon would have done things a lot different, hopefully more ethically, if he would have just applied the blessings from the lessons his parents taught him.
Prayer: Dear Mighty Father, Thank You for getting me through my surgery and that each day it gets better and better. Thank You for also forcing me to slow down and appreciate everyone who has wished me well, helped me with tasks I can’t perform, prayed for me, or has asked how I’m doing. Thank You for all those little things I use to be too “busy” to notice before, but You were not too busy to do. Amen!
