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August 01, 2007

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A song and a painting of my dad

Curtis Harold Stamey My dad died today, at 1:30 PM on May 31, 2024. I want to do something to memorialize him, to leave a piece of him for the future to find. To yell into the cavern of time so that his name can echo for just a bit longer. If I were a musician, I would write him a song so that I could sing it when I felt alone, so I could lift my voice and light up the darkness with memories of my father. But I am not a musician. If I were a painter, I would paint a picture that would capture his heart and soul and make his bigness and loudness and love obvious to anyone who sees it. I am not an artist. I write. I want my words to sing to you. I want to use them to paint you a picture. So I’m going to try. I want to introduce you to my dad. [Let’s start with some light violin. A note here. A note there. Nothing too fancy. Something sweet and light and drifting. A pencil sketching on a canvas.] I choose to remember Curtis Harold Stamey as a short man with a b...

To profit or not to profit

Image by Rudy and Peter Skitterians from Pixabay I was having dinner with a friend the other day. We were talking about his business and how he runs it. He said there are two ways, broadly speaking, that you can run a business. You can maximize profit by paying your employees the minimum amount necessary to keep them from quitting and by charging your customers the maximum amount you think they’ll pay. And that works. You’ll make money. But you’ll have a high employee turnover. And if you charge your customers too much, you’ll lose them. Alternately, you can pay your employees based on the value they bring the company and the customers, and you can charge your customers a fair price for the work you’re doing. You’ll probably make less money, but you’ll have a lower employee turnover and your word of mouth from your customers will be good because everyone likes to feel like they’re valued. The conversation moved on, but I was struck by why different people make different deci...

A sunrise, a sunset, and the space between

I officially do not like grieving. I do not understand how I can be so at peace one day and so raw the next. I had, naively, thought that I was done with the hard part of grieving. That I could now, after three months, look back fondly on my life with my dad and just feel the joy of the good times without feeling the loss in the present. Oh foolish me of yesterday. I have been told that you cannot hurry grief. It comes as it comes. It has its own pace, and it will not move faster for all my willing it to do so. Which I respect. We cannot heal from deep wounds in moments. It takes time for the sinew of our soul to knit back together. And yet… and yet I wish there was a fast forward button I could mash over and over and over again. But for now, I sit with grief and grief sits with me. And I feel. Good things. Bad things. Little things. I would like to share some of those feelings with you. I sat on my front porch last Sunday watching the sun rise, reading my Bible, and praying....

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