'... before the darkness falls.' Thoughts on my father's last home, changing places and the pains that make us human.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant Author's program note. It is 3:07 a.m. here in the East. It is not so much that I cannot sleep. Rather, it's that I don't want to. I am thinking about my father as I often do. He is undoubtedly asleep now, has gotten safely through another day and will awake in due course to the promise of another. In other words, he is being well taken care of, and I don't need to worry, the Number One Son in Massachusetts; he in California. But I do worry... "Jeffrey, let me ask you..." He called me the other day, with that note of concern I've come to know and which bites me so. "Jeffrey let me ask you..." and so it started. Another chip to the father-son relationship which defined and guided us for so many years, now as ancient as the hills. Things between us, once well defined and wary, are changing now; changing, changing... we neither of us like it, but the realities of living always pulverize our mere wishes... and because we are living, we must still live, no matter how painful that may be. And it often is... He asks. "Jeffrey, you've never had a house have you?" "No, Dad, I never did." "You've always lived in an apartment, haven't you?" "Yes, Dad, I have." "You like it, don't you?" "Yes, Dad, I do." "Why's that?" "Well, for openers I don't have to take out the garbage... or plant the flowers... or paint the fence... " And the list goes on. "You used to hate doing those things, didn't you?" "Yes, Dad, every minute, every single one. I wanted to read. You wanted me to wash the windows." There is more than a little bit of asperity, accusation and unresolved irritation in my voice. I am 65, it all happened a half century ago and more; it shouldn't matter, but it does. Memory makes the long ago the active and unresolved, still on my agenda of things compelling attention. I might wish it doesn't matter, but it does. "I do not plant or reap." Now the benefits of apartment living pour forth. I discover I am defending my choices, as children of any age feel compelled to do from time to time. To live the life I want takes teams of people taking care of me. I am used to this and rely on them to do the necessary. This is how the privileged classes of history have lived; it is how I always wanted to live; it is how I live; it is how I want him to live; it is how he should live in this his too fast dwindling of days. http://www.sokule.com/wealthkings But he is of a different time and place, a time of self-reliance, where if you wanted warmth in winter, you chopped fire wood and so warmed yourself twice. I hated this work... and I hated all such things... things that obstructed the life I wanted; the life waiting for me, beckoning me, insinuating itself into every thought. "I am what you want, what you must have," and I couldn't wait to seize it. The myriad versions of chopping wood were important, but they were never imperative, like the dream that enthralled me. And thus there were problems and a battle that waxed and waned, but never stopped. http://www.easyhits4u.com/?ref=paidnfull2013 However he is not criticizing, judging, he is seeking something perhaps only I can give: confirmation that he has done the right thing, for with assisted living, without responsibilities, comes an avalanche of doubts, uncertainties, and the kinds of anxieties which force one to sit bolt upright in dead of night... and wonder... "Jeffrey, I don't like not having a home anymore." But he does have a home. It's in a wonderful facility that looks like a college campus or place on a golf course. He and Miss Ellie, his wife, did not rush their choice. They looked at the full range of possibilities, moved with due deliberation, not haste. Visited, revisited, discussed, revisited. There was no rush about it, though it was apparent to both a decision must be made and made while they were both entirely able to make it. He recalls each house he has ever owned. He is remembering now and my role is clear. I must hear what he says, completely... and I must pledge (though he doesn't say so) to remember. And so a chant begins; of houses built or bought; houses turned into homes and profits; a lifetime of patient acquisition and certain return. "I have always made money on every house we ever lived in." And he recites them now, not to brag, but so that he is sure I know and will remember. My memory is tenacious; he knows that, and so the litany begins... from 4906 Woodward Avenue, which he built with his own hands (and partly mine)... His eyes are closed now and as he recalls, he recites; my eyes are closed, too, and I am remembering with him... and these, his memories of being a good father, chary of his resources, patiently awaiting the results he foresaw and planned for, are clear, poignant, bittersweet. And triumphant. For he wants me to know, and to sear into my mind that he made money enough for his family, enough for himself and Miss Ellie so they would burden no one, and something for the next generation, too. He was proud, as he had the right to be; not arrogant. He knew what he was due... and knew that I would give it, full measure. We who had often engaged in combat and dispute fully understood each word now, each recollection, each and every nuance, delivered with sureness and finality... for on this subject there was nothing more to say... and we were both glad he had done so, so well, every word apt, every description complete and accurate. He was tired now. So was I. It is often said that as parents and children age they reverse roles. But this is not entirely true. Instead a situation infinitely more complex and difficult emerges; a situation where the parent may remain the parent as well as the child and where the child may be in an instant not just one but both, thereby dramatically increasing the possibilities for confusion; things clear to one, misunderstood by the other. It would be easier, far easier, if a simple role reversal took place, clear to each, but this is not the way it is for either party. And so, before the darkness falls, we need to learn, again who we are, who they are, what they need and must have, what we have that we may give and give still more. In short, we must at their end begin again, new roles to learn and urgent, too, for the darkness is nigh and there is much to learn and do before the end. http://www.sokule.com/wealthkings Thus one of the most important, revealing and timely conversations of my life ended; we were weary and needed rest. The meeting, by phone, ended as easily as a sigh. We had done what needed to be done. But I had one more thing to do, one more thing to listen to, to ponder. Bruce Springsteen's 1982 evocation "My Father's House." And I went to a search engine to play it. I urge you to find it now... and ready yourself for a melody and lyrics which cut deep and place an unrelenting memory in you. ""Last night I dreamed that I was a child... I was trying to make it home... before the darkness falls I ran with my heart pounding down that broken path... I broke through the trees and there in the night My father's house stood shining hard and bright the branches and brambles tore my clothes and scratched my arms But I ran till I fell shaking in his arms." Now I can do as much for him... and must. About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Derrick Gaskin http://WealthKings.com.

Advice On How To Be More Successful At Blogging

Getting into the world of blogging can seem overwhelming because there are so many choices available. There is no, one sure fire way to do it that will guarantee success. The information in this article can help you design and launch a blog that accomplishes your goals and reaches your intended audience. Make sure that you are accepting and submitting valuable comments. You want to have as many ways as possible for a back link to happen. When you do comment, add your URL so that you will have a link created to your blog. This will make it easy for others to find you. Avoid writing blogs about subjects you have no interest in or know nothing about. It will reflect in your writing and you could possibly come across as uninformed in you are unsure of what you are writing about. This can turn readers off and they will avoid revisiting your site. Create an email update list for your blog. On your site, offer a place for people to sign up for these updates and send them out every time you post a new blog. Those who are truly interested in following your blog will like the idea of being notified when new content is posted. Keep your blogs as clear and concise as possible. Comprehensive coverage is no doubt important, but writing a 2000-word blog post is a good way to make sure that it is never read to the end. Readers don't care about lengthy descriptions, they want you to get to the point quickly so they can learn what they came to find out. They want you to get to the point. Keep your individual post focused on one point. Blog with the full knowledge that you will be making many subsequent posts and if you tell everything in the beginning you may not have anything left to say later! Think of your blogs as being the spokes in a wheel. By themselves they are important but as a wheel they are incredibly important. Make sure to post content regularly to keep your readers coming in. Successful blogs usually post new material every day. Don't let this requirement overwhelm you. If you want, you can write several weeks' worth of material before opening your blog to the public so that you'll have material to post if you get stuck. This helps to make posts for days that you have writer's block. Whenever possible, utilize header tags in order to separate particular sections of your blog posts. All the different tags that you should use are H1, H2, and H3 tags. In addition, you should ensure that you are using excellent search engine keywords whenever you can in all these different headers. It is true that beginning to blog can be overwhelming at first. There are just so many decisions and options. There are many ways to create a successful blog. The information and tips from the above article were designed to help you create a blog that achieves your goals and gets your message to the masses. Derrick Gaskin is the Owner of http://WealthKings.com. Check us out anytime for marketing tips and a free subscription to our cutting edge newsletter.

My father. The call made to me. The call that will be made for me. Somethoughts.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant. It was the call one dreads to hear, the call that one has pondered, tried to dodge, done everything to avoid but which at the end will occur, "Your dearly beloved is on the door step of eternity, soon to go into the sweet by and by. This is your notice." And no matter how ready you thought you were, in the event you were not ready at all. For out of this lack of readiness emerges every great question of the human condition ... Who was I? Why did I come to this place? What did I do here? Did it matter at all? And the greatest question of all: where am I going, I who am now poised on the brink of what we call "forever", the place beyond, the place we have so often imagined but which we are now finally to know in all its immeasurable, unutterable, awe-inspiring immensity, dread -- and hope? This time my sister made the call, and it was ominous, "Dad has had a heart attack. It's serious". At that moment every task, no matter how important just a moment ago, diminishes at once into insignificance, thrust aside, forgotten. We have expected it, even in moments of choler and rage wished it, but we are not ready for it... Now this moment is here. We want to do something. We will do anything. But there is nothing to be done... except wait and hope, reach out and touch the living, as we stand together in frail solidarity on behalf of our afflicted beloved, the one of us soon to go where all must go... and too soon. Thus at this moment where we demand the power to alter pending reality, pray for it, parlay for it, we discover instead the necessity of submission. Whatever we believed up to this moment, we now know the necessity of resignation. Thus we prepare for the great voyage of our beloved... and help prepare ourselves for our own. Hallelujah! Acquiescence, jarring meekness, his preparation. I no longer know, if I even caught it then, when the first manifestation of unwonted gentleness occurred. But in due course I came to know and dread each instance. Who is this strange father? Who had taken away the father I knew and left behind this undesired deceit, this facsimile, this ersatz version of the original? This man is gone now.... Yes, the man who as a child was brought low by rheumatic fever, too often fatal, then laboriously inched back to life. This man is gone. And what of the man who went to war, the "good war", to save the rights of people everywhere? Where is this man now? This man is gone. And what about the man who, with his own hands and determination, built in the wind- swept prairies of the Great Republic a house for his growing family, brick by brick, drop of sweat on drop of sweat under the burning sun that only gave way to the howling snows. No weather, no matter how severe, blunted his progress. This man is gone. This man turned each day into a better future. He thought no work beneath him and his work was tenacious, determined, done well. This man had grand objectives and, one step at a time, achieved them. This man, too, is gone. So is the darker, sterner man, the man of hot words, of rigid severities, adamant certainties and an obstinacy all his own. I knew this man, respected this man, fought this man, irritated and ignored this man... but always, in the end, returned to this man, for he was the father and always a force to be reckoned with. This man, so well known, worthy opponent, is gone. Now a different man has come, a man I do not know. The chilling declaration, more chilling each time he says it because closer to realization: "I'm ready whenever the good Lord comes for me." For a lifetime, my father and I have disagreed on many things, but on none as much as religion. Brought up in the Protestant tradition, he was able to find a comfort, a Saviour, a purpose, a serenity which I could not share, although I sought the belief that sustained him and finally allowed him his beliefs without affronting him with the opposition of mine. In due course, after argument, anger, confrontation and pain, we arrived at an uneasy truce... and each was careful, so hard won was this truce, to do nothing to threaten it. If we could not agree, at least we could agree to disagree. This state of affairs suited us both once upon a time... but it suits me no longer. I want to know, but will never ask and therefore never know, how he can find comfort, peace of mind, serenity in a fable, a legend, a belief fraught with riddles, conflicting things, inconsistencies and outrageous matters that defy logic. But though I think these things, cannot get beyond these things, I shall not say these things... for he is ready, he says, and I believe him, and I do not have the right, or the heart, to disagree. But I do disagree. My father is soon to leave me. This is bad enough, but as things now stand we separate for eternity without the perfect understanding and harmony which would ease my future life. And this is more than sad; this is a tragedy. We will part forever without fully knowing each other... and so we talk of indifferent matters, as two grown men might do, while the thing we call eternity inches closer, inexorable, cannot be stopped, certain in its arrival, frightening in every aspect. And what is most frightening is that I, his eldest son, am now part of his yesterdays... not of his tomorrows; of his past experiences, not of his last, his final, his greatest and most important journey. And as the commencement of this journey draws nigh, my importance to him, the importance of every element which constitutes his past, his history, drops and drops again. Quite simply they no longer matter in any way except to think about, reminisce about and pass the time while he awaits the only important thing left in a life which once held a pulsating plethora of important things: he awaits the call he has known for a lifetime was coming for him. And his total being is focused thereon. Thus he awaits The Future... whilst I and every once important thing and person recedes from significance, from consciousness, from care, cause, or concern. For all of us are of The Past. And we do not matter anymore. I want this man to fight against the dying of the light, but some inner voice has counseled a very different path... and so the man I knew, the father, drops away to reveal a very different being, his focus solely and rightly on what he is sure is coming and that journey which each of us makes alone and in awe. And if at this moment, there is pain, suffering and profound grief, these are for the living. For the man I called father has made his resolution, his commitment, and so rests content at the moment I am sore tried, beset by the questions and uncertainties which are the part of every human... but which he has transcended, important no longer. I want to believe! I try to believe! But in my own honesty I cannot believe and will not demean myself, this moment, or especially him by claiming to believe when I do not! "Jesus, Lover of my Soul" Thus he slips away a little more, another minute gone forever, another step taken, more of the past, less of the human future... always closer to his new reality, expectant, curious, anxious but sustained by the Peace of God and the Saviour who takes him to it, his guide, his hope, his sure arm, redeemer and eternal support. I watch, I grieve, but I must be glad for him for he is glad and that now is everything. And so I give him this, one of the greatest of Protestant hymns, "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" published in 1740 by the Reverend Charles Wesley, one of the celebrated family of divines who brought needed reform and passion to the stultified 18th century Church of England. They were called Methodists and my father often adhered to their church and doctrines. This hymn by Wesley, one of over 6000 he wrote was a favorite, and you can find it in any search engine. Go play it now... "Jesus lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high. Hide me, O my Savior, hide, till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide; O receive my soul at last." This is a booming, resonant, Protestant hymn in the grand tradition he so values. But I want to add a variation, "Jesus, Lover of My :Soul' by the Hillsong Singers.They were inspired by Charles Wesley's opus to write one of their own, his title, his sentiments, but with new words and contemporary music. It is profoundly moving... "I love you, I need you/ Though my world may fall, I'll never let you go My Saviour, my closest friend/ I will worship you until the very end." Now that end is nigh, a matter of any moment. A thing certain, ever closer, sure. He is ready and waits with resignation, hope and certainty... whilst I wonder who will make the call for me in my time. Hallelujah! About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Derrick Gaskin http://WealthKings.com.

The Different between me and You

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It’s been a long, a long-time coming.’ A man, a heart stronger than metal, his choice, our challenge, singing out to ensure that change is gonna come. The Louisville Interdenominational Male Chorus in its 27th year.

It’s been a long, a long-time coming.’ A man, a heart stronger than metal, his choice, our challenge, singing out to ensure that change is gonna come. The Louisville Interdenominational Male Chorus in its 27th year. by Dr. Jeffrey Lant. Author's program note. It has just gone 7 a.m. here in Cambridge. It is one of those precious summer Sundays when the good people, the indispensable people of the land are engaging in time sanctified slowness... the universal desire to refresh, renew, recharge, recreation the order of the day, not revolution, not even here in the citadel of revolution. The day promises to be sultry, kissed by sunshine, so choice that even fervid movers and shakers, their every move calculated, deliberate, serious sit down for a moment and allow themselves to be touched by the simple majesty of a pink hedge rose, enriching every passer-by with the wanton liberality of its insinuating, insistent, evocative and always joyous scent. But here's the important thing. Two years ago these flowers were not to be found in my neighborhood park, the Common. They are only there now because one person decided to make it a better and more soothing place by taking roots from another place alive with their radiance, planting them in dead of night, thereafter giving them the water and the tending required. A man. His task. His secret... and a happiness that comes from making the world, even in such a small matter as this, a better place. You may guess who this horticultural benefactor was; I will neither confirm nor deny. But I tell you this: the good folks of Louisville, Kentucky applaud such initiative by emulating it... and this is the point of this article. That if there is to be change, you must designate yourself as the change agent, selecting the work you must do to change a world in constant need of revitalizing and thoughtful revisions. That is why for this article, I selected one of the most moving songs about change ever written, not merely on the need for change, but the need for you to get up and help make it happen. The song which you can find now in any search engine is "A Change Is Gonna Come". It was written and recorded by Sam Cooke in 1964. It has been called one of the most inspiring anthems of the Civil Rights Movement. And so it is... but we have need of it now for so many other purposes. What good are anyone's civil rights when we as a species are daily assaulting, by means various and pernicious, what we must have to survive? "Oh, there been times that I thought I couldn't last for long/ But now I think I'm able to carry on/ It's been a long, a long time coming But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will." Thus sayeth the folks of the Louisville Interdenominational Male Chorus, making a difference, note by melodious note, for over 26 years now. Here is their story... and it's well worth the hearing. What must be done to bring about beneficial change. The world we inhabit today will not be the world we live in tomorrow. It is not just that the verities we knew so well yesterday are in the process of transformation; it is the verities of today which will not be the verities of tomorrow, whether we like it or not. The first task, therefore, of mankind in general and each of us in particular, is to move with change, keeping in step with the developing evolution of everything, for everything is evolving, embracing as much as we can with optimism and joy rather than bemoan and bewail the loss of the "good old days", the passing hours we lived in just the other day, precious in our mind's eye but gone, gone forever, replaced and irrevocably so by the change that is gonna come, the change that is, after all, nothing more than a bridge to the change that grows out of the change, great and small, we make today. It is easy in these circumstances to feel insignificant, a person of no consequence, no meaning, less even than a grain of sand in the midst of infinite time, space, and eternity. Such a realization can easily lead to dismay, despair, and demoralization. But this would be wrong... for the stupendous challenge of our life is to craft our planet and every feature that distinguishes it, the goal perfection, the objective crucial, the task glorious because it involves us all and calls upon us all to act, for without the act there cannot be the achievement. If the goal was not monumental and demanding, we should be cheated. We, all of us, were created to rise above, then rise above again, our every sinew and muscle required for the task at hand, a task that calls us from the pedestrian affairs of daily life to be and act like the children of God that we are and must never forget, no matter the difficulty of the road we must each trod... for this is the only road worth traveling. How change comes. On August 29, 1983 a small group of reverend fathers assembled at the First Congregational Methodist Church, their numbers few, their work necessary, their steadfast determination notable and essential. They would make music, holy music, thereby uplifting the people, disseminating the good news... and from monies raised through their musical and charitable endeavors, they would help as many meritorious students as possible attend institutions of higher learning, education necessary if these students were to rise above their circumstances and, in their turn, assist others not yet as fortunate as they now were. Thus from the First Congregational Church, Greater Salem Baptist Church, Little Flock Baptist Church, Mount Nebo Baptist Church, and Portland Memorial Baptist Church The Interdenominational Male Chorus was founded and a new light lit for the churches, their pastors, their parishioners, the great city of Louisville, and mankind, for a good idea that makes life better is never merely local and parochial but a good deed and high example for the world at large which can only advance by such means, a fact we can never forget. Two revered gentlemen, Brother Harry Brown and Brother Alfonso Vance, were honored by their honorable colleagues; assigned to protect and foster the happy idea and take particular responsibility for its success... and so they did. Thus they acted from the first day as all the truly great people on this Earth have ever done; they started, one foot after another, minute by minute, one day at a time, so are the greatest goals achieved. Here was their unbeatable agenda: They committed... for without commitment there can never be greatness. They did more than their share... for change is always carried by the few... for the good of the many. They urged the good people of Louisville to join them... for it is the undeniable fact that those doing good have a responsibility to recruit those who might also do good... if only they were asked to help. And asked again... and again... for you cannot achieve maximum results if you ever take no for an answer. They listened to excuses. They didn't make them. When you work with people you hear people's excuses. The excuses which diminish progress, or even stop it all together: "I can't..."; "I'm sorry but..."; "I forgot...", "I'll be your best worker -- next time" and all the rest. People become leaders because they disdain the making of excuses as unworthy of them and their important mission. They covered for those who said they would do a certain thing, then failed to do it... forcing the true believers, the people who nurtured and cared for the idea, to do more... and to do it with the smile that was often under the circumstances deeply difficult to summon, but always there notwithstanding, for heart is always part of the kit of every one who works for change. For such a one there will always be heart... and at just the precious moment most necessary. That is what is meant by the old adage, "God helps those who help themselves". No one epitomizes this more that William Buck, fighter, survivor, inspirer, man of the cloth , my friend. Brief history of a man of courage, tenacity, faith and resolution. Of the many things I could tell you about William Buck, this one reaches the core of the matter. He woke up this day in pain. He will go about his important business today in pain. And he will go to bed tonight in pain. Yet this pain will not define this or any other day; rather his determination to continue to effect the most positive of changes will. He has pain; pain does not have him.That is the crucial difference and the reason his story is worth attending to far beyond the confines of Louisville's Greater Shepherd Church, (which he founded) and the New Jerusalem Baptist Church, where he acts as Assistant Pastor, in his "retirement" years. Some of you will have been born with debilitating back problems like Pastor Buck. Have they defeated... or empowered you? Some of you will have worked the most demanding and laborious jobs, the kind of job that progressively destroys even the strongest of bodies. Pastor Buck did. Has it defeated... or empowered you? Some of you will have become so enfeebled and weak that one day you missed your step and fell helpless to the floor, all alone, no one to call, no means of calling them... and so spent hour after excruciating hour alone with only your fears and the name of the Lord to comfort and sustain you. Did the experience defeat...or empower you? William Buck was cobbled together with titanium in his back... and unequalled resolution in his mind. The Lord was his shepherd and he rose to the task. Pastor William Buck was tested by such experiences... was challenged by such experiences... was born again because of such experiences... and so because of such infirmities, their constant pain, and the faith they tested and thereby helped secure, he moved to God, a grateful child of the Lord, a man who learned to lean on Jesus where he found everything he needed to rise above, rise above, rise above and bring the good news to the people, particularly in the songs sung by the Louisville Interdenominational Male Chorus, his special cause, his particular joy. Hallelujah! Envoi. This is more than a story about one particular man in one particular place. It is instead a story about the individual commitment, responsibility and constant work that have built thousands and thousands of worthy organizations across the Great Republic. Select one of them as your special cause and learn the joy of giving like the good people of the Louisville Interdenominational Male Chorus, currently in 15 churches, have done, for they in general and William Buck in particular are worthy models of what we can do when we put our minds to the task and work together to achieve it. Dedication. The author, with great pleasure, dedicates this article to all the people who have used song as the means to advance the favored young people of Louisville and especially to Mrs. William Buck, Bulah Mae, and their two children, Lakesha (37) and Contrallo (32). These are his rod and his staff, nothing likely without them, but with them the great change that gonna come, that he works for every day of his blessed life. About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of over a dozen books in print, several ebooks, and over one thousand online articles on a variety of subjects. One of Dr. Lant's favourite topics is to write about interesting people who are changing our world for the better one day at a time. Republished with author's permission by Derrick Gaskin http://WealthKings.com.