Starting off on the journey

Returning to the desert isn’t a one time decision.  And if allowed to take too much time to plan, the reasons for not going forward will become so numerous and oppressive that eventually through their own weight and numbers they will stall out the momentum that sustains you.  It’s also hard as you reach that first rise in the dunes, look back on the oasis you’re leaving and remember all the good times you enjoyed there.  But it’s done, you’ve left, and the memories will stay to provide strength for the journey ahead, because you are not done yet.  The journey is not over.  There are still things to be encountered there that must be faced if you are to change fully.  I was reminded of this by a poem of mine I wrote many years ago, when the birth of my son was near and we were heading into the Christmas season. I called it:

Joseph’s Cry

I’m going to be a father…had you heard?

There will be a little one in my arms crying for me.

There will soon be a little one asking me for direction.

Can I do what’s right?

Can I love enough?

Can I open enough to be a father for this precious life?

What’s it like to raise a happy child?

What’s it like to bring a child into a loving world?

What’s it like to sing and shout and cry with joy over every new discovery?

What’s it like to be a daddy?

I want to be the best at this, but I don’t know how…

I’m not ready for this…

I’m going to be a daddy soon…had you heard?

For a little bit of background, I had been 20 for just over five weeks when my son was born, his mother had been 18 for all of 2 weeks exactly.  We were kids, me still in college, her just leaving high school.  There was enough history and issues between us by then that we had decided not to stay together but would work together for the good of the child.  I didn’t find out about my son’s birth however until we got a call from her mother letting us know that my son had been born and I could go visit him in the hospital over where they feed them in the little windowed nursery area.  It was made clear to me that I would not be welcome in the room with my son’s mother and her parents.

So I went.

A little amazed.  A little frustrated.  A LOT scared.  A LOT of confusion…  I went into the pediatric area, looked around for the place where they put babies in those little glass beds, didn’t see my son and as I was roaming around the nurses station looking for a nurse to ask, I passed by her room.  I only caught a glimpse, but I saw this little tuft of dark hair on his mother’s breast and realizing it was her, kept right on walking.  I walked half-way around the nurse’s station, till I was directly opposite and sat in a chair, my hands trembling.  I was so scared and so hurt and so angry.  Here was life that I had been a part of, hopefully would BE a part of, and I wasn’t even allowed to see it, hold it, touch it, be near it.  His mother had made her choice clear months earlier when she decided she wanted to date what had been on of my best friends instead of me.  That’s a whole ‘nother mess, that I won’t touch on right now.  At any rate, I was a mess of emotion and indecision.

So I sat.

For 30 minutes…

Waiting for her to send him with the nurses to the nursery where I had been told I could see him.  He never came.  I left shortly after her aunt and uncle (the uncle who had molested her for Christ’s sake) came out of the room.  I’d visited with them briefly then fled.  And fled was the right word.  Fleeing my own emotions, the situation, the responsibility, the hurt, everything.  And I didn’t stop for almost 11 years.  Only to stop and find myself faced with an even more daunting task.  I’m heading back into the desert.  I made the choice, I’ve asked my friends and family for as much support as possible while I’m traveling.  I’m doing more praying and trying to find those quiet times I’ll need to spend with God.  I still feel so unready.  I still feel scared.  Not sure of what though. My father used part of this blog in his sermon today.  I have mixed feelings about it truth be told.  On the one hand I’m flattered that it worked well enough for him to share, it’s not the first time me and my family’s life have been used in relation to God and in a sermon, and will likely not be the last.  But on the other, it also made me realize, really for the first time, that I have committed myself to this path.  There were a number of people at church today who now know about this decision and will lovingly support me on the path I’ve chosen…but it does make it that much harder to back out.  Not that I really want to.  But when that reality clicks, when the realization of what you are doing hits… it can be somewhat overwhelming.

My son is also gone today, which has given me time… time and quiet to go over things in my mind.  I drove down with my best friend to a town almost two hours away to drop him off for a two day visit with his mother while she was in the area visiting a friend.  It’s weird with him gone.  And a little scary.  For all that I struggle with the idea of being a dad, for all that I fight for every bit of “me” time I get, this isn’t the same.  And it’s not like when he goes over to a friend’s house for the afternoon.  This is a letting go, which as I’ve stated before, is not something I’m very good at.  I can only hope and pray…and ask for forgiveness.

The Day After the Miracle…

We wake up, look at the piles of torn wrapping paper, new gifts strewn about and dishes from a wonderful holiday meal…and if you’re like me, say – “Now what?  Do I really have to clean all this up, or deal with this right now?”  With all the lead up and preparation for the big day it seems like there should be a bit of letdown the day after.  A chance to catch our breath and contemplate all that we’ve survived.  But life goes on.  Much like after a funeral or wedding, the day after always seems a little strange in its ordinariness.  People go to work, people love, they fight, it still rains/shines/snows/etc.  Does anything change for us the day after Christmas?  Should it?

As we’re rushing around the malls and shops buying up new supplies for next year, or working harridly, one of the counters at said shop…or if we’re home blogging about said people, thinking they’re crazy…we just spent the day with our loved ones and hopefully spent a moment or two thinking about what the day was for.  A little baby was born who offers us Grace, Love and Peace beyond anything we experience here in this life.  But he still needed midnight feedings, needed his diaper changed and all the messy stuff of humanity.  In my humble opinion it wasn’t about being so perfect and wonderful, but it was about coming to us in all this messy stuff of life, where we need Him the most.

Speaking of, my divorce is coming up in a couple weeks…  let’s just say it’s been a preoccupation lately.  Not to mention dealing with my son’s mother who has been pulling my son in all sorts of directions, especially now that she bought him his own cell phone… (have I mentioned that he just turned 12?).  I find myself struggling with the call God is sending me to be someone better than I am, to be the kind of man He would like me to be.  Between that and the pull of the kind of man I’ve been my whole adult life.  The selfish, arrogant, bittersweet one, whose life I really would like to leave behind…but one whose life’s habits pull ever so strongly at me.  I’ve been sent several interesting Advent articles lately, some of which I’ve shared on here, but I’ve also been reading Augustine’s “The Confessions.” It’s an interesting book and has spoken to me rather strongly at points, even though I disagree with some of his theology.  It still is an amazing testament to one man’s struggle with coming to God (and Augustine was an unmarried father too – something I did NOT know).  Two quotes from it really struck home to me recently, the first from Book VI Sec 11:

“Day after day I postponed living in you, but I never put off the death which I died each day in myself.  I longed for a life of happiness but I was frightened to approach it in its own domain; and yet, while I fled from it, I still searched for it. [...]  Fool that I was, I did not know that no man can be master of himself, except of God’s bounty, as your Bible tells us.  And you would have given me this strength, if I had allowed the cries of my soul to beat upon your ears and had had faith firm enough to shed my troubles on you.”

The second was also from Book VI Sec 16:

“I did not realize that the very root of my misery was that I had sunk to such depths and was so blind that I could not discern the light of virtue and of beauty that is loved for its own sake, for true beauty is seen by the inner eye of the soul, not by the eye of the flesh. [...]  What crooked paths I trod!  What dangers threatened my soul when it rashly hoped that by abandoning you it would find something better!  Whichever way it turned, on front or back or sides, it lay on a bed that was hard, for in you alone the soul can rest.  You are there to free from the misery of error which leads us astray, to set us on your own path and to comfort us by saying, ‘Run on, for I shall hold you up.  I shall lead you and carry you on to the end.’”

The first passage really speaks to me about my own struggle to come closer to God.  I argued with him most of my life about the path I should trod.  It’s only been in the last year or two that I’ve finally started to walk it, fitfully to be sure, but walk it some I have.  I did not want this breaking that has been happening over these last two years to happen, but once it began I did ask that God use it to reshape me into something closer to His will.  It hurts, and is scary, and is frustrating and ask me to admit to things I would rather not, and to apologize for and seek forgiveness for the things I’ve done/said/etc.  I must be shorn of ALL of it before I can carry on.  I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I resented my son coming into my life.  I never really wanted to be a dad.  I don’t really want any more kids.  But I have one and while I’ve provided for his physical needs, up until these last few months even, it has been a struggle for me to meet his spiritual and emotional needs.  I’ve tried to avoid it, give the bare minimum, run away from it.  I had enough of my own problems, I didn’t want his too.  I passes the buck.  And it has cost us both.  Looking at the mountain I have to climb now, I find myself trembling with exhaustion just thinking about it…but the alternative is NOT acceptable.  And so… I took a step forward.  I may have pauseed for a month or two before I took another, but the road has been chosen. We have our moments and there is still much that is not spoken of between us.  The gulf is just there and I don’t know how to cross it.  Something else about that passage that struck me.  I have to find it within myself to let go and give it over to God…never something I’ve been good at.  But as my grandfather would say – “you need to practice it then.”  Urrg.

The second passage was brought home to me by a rather unexpected gift.  I received a lovely cross necklace and a key chain medalion with a Scorpions tail on it.  I’m a Scorpio as was the person who gave the gift to me.  As I was considering these gifts I realized that in many ways they symbolize the two sides of my soul that I have always struggled to bring together.  I’ve never NOT believed in God, much as I have fought Him, hated Him, run away from Him.  I never doubted the existence of God.  I have too many testimonies of Him to believe anything else.  The church has always been a place to experience God and I stay a Christian because that’s how God speaks to me, even when I don’t want to hear it.  The other part of it is, I  find myself, by every definition both scientific and mystical, to be a quinessential Scorpio.  I’m also a INFP (which if you’ve ever taken Myers-Briggs IS the Scorpio of the bunch).  And for those of you who are not familiar with some Scorpio keywords – loyal, jealous, passionate, unyielding, resourceful, suspicious, dynamic, manipulative, protective, secretive, sexual, spiritual.  There is a war going on in every Scorpio’s soul, between the two symbols of our sign, the Scorpion and the Eagle.  And for most of my life, the Scorpion was winning.  I am trying to learn to see with new eyes, the eyes of the soul that Augustine talks about, so that I may leave the earth behind and soar like the Eagle my heart so desperately wants to be.  My prayer is that God will lift me up as an eagle (Isaiah – not sure chpt and verse).  And so, as I run forward and I know exactly where I’m landing I’ll wear both the cross and the scorpion tail, reaching outward to heaven.

What’s your Christmas miracle?

Christmas Eve…now what?

Ah yes, that wonderful holiday time of year… Linus and Lucy – Charlie Brown Christmas by Vince Guaraldi when people forget how to drive, parking lots are always full, stress rises just like the bread in the oven.  We try to package all the gifts just so, much like we shove our own emotional issues under the bed for the day (or week, poor soul) and pretend that we really are okay with the way things are.  I’m sitting here looking out my office window, watching the rain change slowly over to sleet then supposedly snow later on this evening, wondering what this Christmas really means to me.  This was the great Homemade Christmas of 2009.  With budgets being so tight I decided to make things for this holiday season…needless to say I could have been better prepared.  But it did get me to thinking.  As I worked on the goodies and gifts, measuring and cursing in equal measure, I tried to get my son in the holiday spirit by having me help with a couple of the projects.  Now it could be that he’s 12 and like every 12 year-old in history, thinks his old man is a weird freak who doesn’t really know anything…and that’s probably fair… but as we argued about who was going to do what, it made me wonder…is this what Christ was born for?  For my son and I to lock horns again and again to make a few small trinkets to give to others?  We finally agreed on the projects he would help with and have managed to complete them, get most of the stuff wrapped and the house cleaned.  All in all a major Christmas triumph, on top of rehearing for the Christmas Eve service in about 4 hours.  But I have to think this holiday season, as we gather around to share stories and yes, gifts, and with each other’s company… part of me thinks that it’s not about “What Would Jesus Do?”

It’s about what he DID.

Came down to earth to be here with us humans, and show us a better way.  I don’t know what my son will remember of this Christmas in 20 years…maybe nothing more than the fact that he didn’t get as many presents as in years past, but I hope not.  I hope he remembers instead that this year, instead of running around trying to find the perfect gift and fighting the holiday crowds, we had the chance to pause and remember just what the season really IS about…  and now back to Star Wars… or something like that.

Ink.

It can be written in the very stones of our live.  Every action, every breath we take, creates a chain reaction that leads from one thing to another, the flow constantly moving.  Over time the flow becomes a current, and eventually, a way of life.  So what happens when that flow leads us down a path of personal destruction?  What happens when the flow pulls us away from those we care about, those who love us, with whom we share this crazy thing called life?  How do we continue to fight upstream?  Or do we?  Do we just ease our way into the current, and surrender to the cold dark underneath?

There is a movie, called “Ink” which does a really wonderful job exploring these questions.  Questions, that to some extent, have been on my mind lately.

So what happens when our guilt and shame and fears overcome us?  How do we find the Peace that Christ brings?  In the middle of the Advent season, I had to make a decision… one that I did not particularly like.  One that I had spent some time avoiding making.  I knew, as soon as I started another relationship, that there was a good chance it might not last.  I was on a journey, the likes of which I’d never been on before, and I wasn’t 100% convinced that trying to lose myself in this relationship would be a good thing.  But I wasn’t convinced it would be a bad thing either.

There were many good things that came out of these past few months.  I have enjoyed getting to know someone better than I had in the previous 8 years we’d known each other.  But in the end the differences were too much.  And my journey wasn’t done yet.  But I had added to my shame… to my guilt… and to my anger.  I wasn’t sure exactly where to go or what to do, but I knew I didn’t want things to stay where they were.  Then, by virtue of a friend, the words about returning to the desert were shared with me.  And I was faced with a choice…  How do I change the flow of the things in my life?

I didn’t have a car wreck, but as I was doing my best to avoid making the decision, it was to some degree made TO me.  I wasn’t ready for the decision, but then I got a call, and the conversation turned to what had been bothering me and things were able to be said and shared that shifted the flow.  Does that mean that the decision I made was the right one?  I don’t know.  I know it was the necessary one, for me to get back on the path I needed to be on.  But if I’d never gotten off of it, I’d never had to make the decision in the first place.  So does that mean that this had to happen to get me to where I am?  I have trouble with pre-destination.  I don’t believe in it.  And I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason.  I think there are connections and chain reactions to our lives beyond what we see and understand and I know God moves in our lives day in and day out.  But why this?  Is it because this is the only choice I left myself?  The only way I left myself to seek forgiveness?

We have angels watching over us.  They can’t make the decisions for us.  They can’t carry the load, relieve the guilt or stop the fear.  They come in many shapes and sizes, from our friends, family and total strangers, to things of fire, eyes and wings that need to remind us to “Fear not” in order to hear their message.  But at the end of the day, they CAN support us, guide us, and offer helping hands to lead us to where the point of decision is made.  The decision is always about sacrifice…and forgiveness.  To quote from an Advent article I was sent, that asks us the question, if we are serious about repentance -

“What then shall we do?
So John goes on to describe repentance in very concrete terms. He challenges
them with the idea that repentance is more than just feeling badly about our sins in a
private sort of way. He says there are fruits associated with repentance that should be
evident in the rough and tumble of real life. If we have two coats (a sign of affluence and
material wealth), repentance involves sharing what we have. If we deal with other
people’s money and finances, we need to become more honest and fair. If we are a
soldier fighting for peace or a public servant representing the government, we are to use
our position for the good of others rather than using it to gain more for ourselves.”

The decision is about letting God have a hand in our lives.  We still have to face our nightmares, our fears, our self-doubt, our guilt and our shame.  But we are NOT alone, even though we face it in many ways, in many forms, in many places.  We do it for many reasons….but the best one is always for love.

I don’t know if I’ll have the strength for the fight…

I’m scared to try…

But I know what will happen if I don’t…

and so…I try to find the beat… 1…2…3…4…

…take the first step

…reach out a hand

…say I’m sorry

…ask forgiveness

…accept the accountability, and responsibility

…keep Hope alive…keep Love alive…

Miracles happen… isn’t that what this whole season is still about?  You are loved.  I am loved.  We are loved.  It’s never too late.

Workouts should not be allowed Nov/Dec

So I’ve joined with a group of my co-workers in an attempt to fight the bulge this holiday season…hahahahaha… right, I don’t know what I was thinking, well I do, but that’s another story… So anyway, I thought I’d give it a try.  Then we got our first weekly challenge -

“Before you go to bed tonight, complete 300 reps. Do 60 reps each of the following 5 exercises: step ups, squats, bicycles, pushups, and crunches. I suggest doing 6 rounds of 10 reps of             each  exercise. Go through all 6 rounds back-to-back as fast as you can if time allows. Otherwise get in a round whenever you can and spread the 6 rounds out throughout the day. Try to             do this workout at least three days this week. If you can do the 300 reps at one time, try timing yourself. See if you can improve your time over the week.”

And this is where I fell off the wagon…

I mean seriously…300!?!?  I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.  I think I like being lazy… now if I could just figure out how to be skinny AND lazy…  You’d think I’d burn off more calories chasing my tail around in circles but no such joy.  Ah well, this just means I get to burn more calories dancing in my chair in my cubicle at work.  And don’t be pointin’ fingers or laughin’ now – you know you do it too, swinging away, in the privacy of your own cube…

Returning to the desert…

And yes, that’s desert, NOT dessert…the sandy kind not the sweet one…

In Old Testament theology, the desert is seen as a proving grounds, a testing place, a place to create a firm commitment, to lose all the chaff of one’s self, to be challenged.  It is never a fun place, it is at times a deadly place, but it is ALWAYS a necessary one for those who are sent there.  Without implying any ability/mission link with those people, I left my desert too soon.

I thought I was past all the hurt and the stress and the angst and the rest of the mess that was going along with letting go.  I thought I was okay with being single and with improving my relationship with my son and myself.  I imagined that I was ready, healed and roarin’ to go.  None of which was really true.

There were moments and lessons that I have learned this past year and a half that I will not soon forget.  And indeed I have traveled farther than ever before on this journey I’ve been put on.  But I got caught at an oasis in the desert.  It wasn’t the oasis’ fault, it is what it is.  But it become the destination, rather than a stop on my journey.  And I’m not done yet.  There is much still to be dealt with, to be learned and to let go.

This December has been the roughest one in several years.  We lost yet another family member (my son lost two more, one on his mom’s side) during this month.  It makes four for me.  My official divorce hearing to finally settle things is in about three weeks and I’m trying to get everything ready for it, myself included.  My oasis and I decided to call ourselves friends rather than push it towards anything more serious…but it still hurt leaving.  Then there’s the holiday stress, making gifts this year, rather than buying them, hosting Christmas for the family, dealing with work, etc etc etc…

But, there is still joy.

Joy in the remembrances of good times had with the family, joy on people’s faces when they tell a good story (or bad depending!), joy in the simple things and good sounds and smells of life.  And yes, I like to cook.

My life is still surrounded by music and love.  My son’s birthday party went off really well this year.  Pics to come I’m sure.  He is doing well, almost a teenager, so any advice on that front would be most welcome.  I have great friends, awesome co-workers, a great job, a loving family and a warm place to stay with food on the table.  I can pay all my bills and have a path to walk.  I have much to  be thankful for this holiday season.  And much I can share.

First thoughts back in the desert…I find it odd that it’s thankfulness…but it’s also comforting.

Cheers.

And Merry Christmas.

What a difference summer makes…

Wow… so I got looking on here and hadn’t realized just exactly how long it has been since I last wrote something.  There has been so much happening it’s almost hard to know where and when to start from.  Well, for starters I supposed I should mention that I’ve finally finished the divorce paperwork…at least until some lawyer looks at it and tells me how much of it I’ve screwed up.  Called a friend of my mother’s in the legal profession to see if she could recommend some names.  Now I just have to pick one and call.  Still struggling with that one.  Not because I have any lingering illusions or desires to “save this one.”  Oh no… that’s also part of this, things have definitely moved on.  I come from a family and faith tradition however that very much is of the 1 marriage for life school of thought and this is the second one of mine to fail.

Granted, the first one, we were both kids who both knew we probably shouldn’t but did anyway, at least in part just to rebel against people.  But still…there is some sting to the idea that I have had two divorces in my life – by the age of 31.  And I’ve never been married to my son’s mother…ah well, my family loves me anyway.

Work is good but crazy busy.  Our department has become even more crucial to the institution I work for which is great job security but means longer hours, more work and more stress.  But in the current economic environment I say… “Thank you.”  I’d rather have stress from too much work than not nearly enough.  I’ve been there, don’t want to go back.  I like paying my bills on time.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year and a half or so since things ended.  I keep thinking about how long ago it was and suddenly get jarred by the fact that I suppose in the grand scheme of things it hasn’t really been that long ago.  But the person I am now is so very different… it really is almost like a before and after picture.  I know I feel it to.

One of my multitude of cousins (albeit a very special cousin) asked me a couple of weeks ago how my whole swearing off of women was going and I had to admit…well, I almost lasted a year and a half before I started thinking about it again.  I’ve begun spending a lot of time with an old friend who has known my son and I for almost 9 years and has had a good relationship with both of us.  We’ve gone on a couple of dates and talk most nights.  We’re trying to take it slow, for a lot of reasons, and by and large are doing okay with that.  I don’t mind the fact that I’m seeing her or spending time with her, but I don’t want to say we’re dating, not yet.  Although, for all practical purposes we are.  I suppose more than anything it has to do with the fact that although my divorce is done in all but name…it’s done in all but name…and because of who I am and who I was raised to be and who I am trying to  become, that matters to me.  I want it done.  I want to tell people, yes I’m dating again and have found this woman who I’m really into.  But I haven’t gotten to yet…although most of my close friends and some family know.  So I’m not really sure who or what I’m hiding anymore.

This summer has been absolutely crazy.

And, for the record, I HATE split parent, split state, split parenting.  I’ll spare you all the details  but suffice it to say that when I pick up my son, he will have been without his ADHD meds for two weeks and that the neck injury he sustained two days after I dropped him off at his mothers still is bothering him and still hasn’t been seen by a doctor.  That’s first on the list after we get home.  And then we begin middle school…wheee.

So.

I still haven’t gone back and read all these.  There are some things I don’t need to know or review yet.  I just need to know that I’ve written them, I’ve said them and they are out of me, no longer locked inside, eating me up.

If nothing else in the long run of my life comes out of this, although I have my hopes, there is that.  I have finally begun learning how to let go of things.  To truly experience ALL that life has to offer and not flinch or hide or ignore the pain, the fear, the anger.  It’s a smoother ride oddly enough.  But perhaps not so odd when you consider that now instead of a bomb going off inside fairly infrequently, it’s more like the fourth of July with little firecrackers going off more regularly.  And let’s face it, the little ones don’t really hurt.

Ghosts of memories past…

I was removing files from my old computer the other day and came across a journal entry that I had written almost 5 years ago.  I’ve posted portions of it below.  I think the thing that strikes me the most about this is that even all those years ago I already sensed at least in part, that if I didn’t open up things would get bad.  I have never found it easy to be open with people, to trust, to really be myself.  This past year as I have had to face the consequences of my actions of my late teen years and early twenties and even into my late twenties I’m ashamed to say, I have also had the opportunity to let some fears go.  And to forgive myself some of the burdens I was carrying.  It’s not that I’ve done anything criminal, never done drugs or abused someone or assulted someone or anything.  But as I say below, I’ve been arrogant, uncaring, manipulative vengeful and hurtful in my actions…and I should know better.  I was raised better than that.

I’d like to think that the face that I can even talk about this is a big step.  The fact that I can acknowledge what I have done, picked fights, dodged responsibility, undermined people around me does not make me a better person, but it gives me hope.  Hope that I can and have and will continue to change.  I can’t fix everything overnight.  There are some facets of my personality that I may never be able to get “right” if there is such a thing.  I asked God to break me…break me of my habits, behaviors and beliefs that were contrary to where God wanted me to be and contrary to who God hoped I’d become.  Part of that breaking was this – losing the comfortable facade, the public face of Me, and in return, allowing others to view me as I am, and finding out that I really can be forgiven and loved.  I chose the title of this entry on purpose.  Just like Scrooge I’ve had my Christmas Eve visitation and just like him – I hope to be able to wake on the morrow with a renewed appreciate of the wonders of creation around me, and a new found love for the people around me, all my brothers and sisters.

For those of you with whom I’ve been friends for some many years (and new ones as well!)…

Thank you.

And…

I’m sorry.  I’m glad you saw something in me worth hanging on for.  May our lives together be better for it.

I’ve burned a lot of bridges behind me.  Ones that others put up in some cases.  She once told me that “yeah, you don’t think of others a lot…what do you think about?”  How to know.  How do I tell her?  That the reason I don’t have a lot of friends is because I’m scared to let anyone too close.  That I’m ashamed … and I don’t want to have to lie to more people.  I lie.  God knows I’m ashamed of doing so…but not enough to stop.  I should beg forgiveness from the people I’ve wronged with my lies.  My fear and pride always get in the way, and I don’t…

When the person who you depend on doesn’t share your core beliefs it’s hard.  And that’s my problem.  I depend too much on someone else for the things, that any psycologist worth their salt would tell me, I need to find within myself.  I’m just too scared to look.

I just needed to vent.  Five minutes would have been enough.  I guess what I need to do if I am to consider staying in this relationship is to explain to her where this comes from and decide what we can do about this openly.

There are some doors that should never be opened.  I don’t know that I believe this any longer.

It certainly didn’t work so well the first time around.

Storytelling

My Grandfather and me

Being a storyteller is a dying art.

There is a deep and powerful tradition of storytelling throughout human history.  People would gather around fires, in dining halls, cabins, and numerous other places to hear a great yarn, or to spin one.  Stories were how people communicated history, identity, dreams for the future, rules to live by and countless other things.  People always have their own ideas as to what quality is MOST human.  Personally I think it’s our ability to tell stories.  Other animals use tools, pass on knowledge, require companionship and have some sort of social hiearchy.  Other animals feel/show pain, joy, love.  Other animals communicate through amazing means.  But I don’t see any of them gathering around to tell stories.  Granted, I’m not entirely convinced they don’t…especially whales and elephants…I mean what else are those big mammels going to do with all their free time…but anyway…

Stories are how we pass on religious truths, family traditions, the importance of heratige, and yet…all too often as a society it seems that we defer that responsibility to others.  TV, movies, books – those who are gifted at telling great tales have a celebrated place, as they always have.  Their audiences are wider and tools flashier to be sure.  But is that the same?  Sitting in a darkened theatre with fifty other people, staring of moving pictures of other people having adventures, then leaving afterwards quietly to go on with our own lives…is that what we’re reduced to?

I tell stories to strech my imagination, to share hopes and dreams with friends and family.  I tell stories because I want to recount funny memories, share important thoughts, share beliefs.  I’ve often viewed my role-playing hobby and the ministry that I offer to be very similar.  Both rely on a sense of the emotional moment, appropriate use of drama and comedy, both bring people together and can pass on knowledge or raise important questions.  It’s one of the reasons I try to read to my son at least a couple times a week.  We end up talking about the story and what words mean almost as much as we actually read.  Sometimes I make up stuff too.  It’s the sharing that’s important.  That’s part of what’s missing in the stories we tell each other today.  Where is the sharing, the common bonds that bind us together?

We often hear phrases like “global village,” “common humanity,” “shared future.”  But what are the stories we tell to make it real?  How do we transmit the importance (if you feel it’s important…I do obviously) of these concepts to our own personal community?  One person standing behind a podium lecturing us changes nothing.  Repeated video clips of people requesting help, challenging us to change, encouraging us to a brighter future…they may help for a time.  But stories are what endure.  Stories are what remain.

One of the best moments of the last couple years for me, came at one of the most difficult times – the death of my maternal grandfather.  He moreso than almost anyone I knew lived a life of stories.  As the last day of my grandfather’s life here on Earth began he had been moved out to the living room in his bed, so we could all be near him and present with him.  He was unconscious for most of the day, but there, at the end he woke ever so briefly – my son got to show him the last picture he ever made for him as well as some toys he’d gotten for that Christmas.  I doubt that image will ever leave my mind.  My grandfather, a man of virtue, love, laughter and stories, creating one last memory…one last story, there at the end.

We are made of stories.

The stories we tell ourselves to get by.  The stories we share with others to define how they perceive us.  The stories that are told about us that shape others outlooks on us and our actions.  The stories that make us laugh, the ones that make us cry.  The stories that bring us hope, hope that, in the end, it will all mean something.  I love telling stoires.  I love hearing stories.  They may be the same stories over and over again, but sharing them with people anew, every time they’re a little different.  I think that’s one of the reasons I like stories better than movies or novels.  A story is a living breathing evolving thing.  Just like us.

I don’t know where my story ends.  I hope not for a while.  I’m not sure of how my son’s story will turn out.  I’ll do my best to share with him the stories that I think are important.  Others will share theirs.  Hopefully mine are funnier.  He is already making his own story.  And his story, our story is impacting the lives of many others who have tied their stories to ours.  We are woven together with words.  We are the story of humanity.  One of the greatest reactions I ever got out of my Sunday School class was when I told them they are creating the next set of Bible stories.  All of us are, every day as we live, breath, love and die in this world.

You are part of someone’s story.  Maybe part of mine.  Just by reading this, you slip in, maybe not say anything, but your passing is noted.  Your interest impacts somewhere.  Stories are strange and mysterious things.  They have a way of starting one way and suddenly veering off in a totally different direction.  But in the really good ones – it all ties down together at the bottom.

Below is my eulogy I wrote for my Grandfather’s funeral.  As you read it, ask yourself this – “What’s my story?  And what’s it say about me?”

It should be noted in history, that by common consent with tear-stained cheeks and bittersweet smiles, this was one of the best Christmas’ ever.  It seems strange to say but I believe Grampie would understand, and agree.

The love and support that has been shown to me and my family has simply been overwhelming.  Couple that with the stories, the laughter and the sharing that my family has done with almost all of us here…it’s been a long time since this many of us were gathered together.

I can’t define my grandfather, but I can share with you this.  Grampie was not a particularly demonstrative man with his emotions, especially the soft-touchy feely ones, but I never have known another man whose life was so full of love.  He showered us with it.  Me, the skunk, the prune, all the George’s, we’ve never doubted his love for us.

I was blessed with a rather unique opportunity in that for eleven years I got to travel with my grandparents every summer to various reunions, sorry family camps now, all over the country.  As I’ve grown older the memories tend to blur together but there are many things I still remember, like sharing the tranatuala with Phil among others, Grampie showing me how to shake out my shoes for scorpions, him and that bag of rattlesnake eggs, grammie taking me out swimming in Lake Huron.  Grandpa teaching me how to play harmonica in the back seat of their car.  Many more memories have been shared this past week.

With mom in the hospital a lot as a child I can remember spending lots of weekends with my grandparents.  Much of that time was taken up playing games, among them Carum & Crokanal.  That was grandpa’s and mine’s special game.  We’be break out the pieces and spend what seemed like hours flicking those small wooden pieces all over the place and oh how he’d jump and laugh whenever we sent one over the edge.  Many was the time he’d get a look in his eye and nod over in grandma’s direction as she sat blissfully unaware in her chair and then grandpa would let fly and it’d land right in her lap and she’d be all a flutter. Or driving with him in the car and playing tag the bumper with the car in front, or complaining about “female drivers”, just to get grandma riled up.  Of course I couldn’t talk about him and not mention circus peanuts and licorice.  Grandpa had a special drawer where he kept his bag of circus peanuts right by the bed and he’d parcel them out every time I came over.  I was also his guinia pig when it came to hot sauces and cheese and I have to admit, my own son has suffered some of the same EEEghhhewww and AAAHHHAHHAAH as I have over the years from gorgonzola and goat milk cheese to jalapenos and habenaros.

We are a left today with a legacy of laughter and love.  I’m reminded of that even as my heart cries because of something grandpa said to me about joy.  It’s not that joy means we’ll never have pain, it’s that we believe in the hope and promise of what’s to come in the midst of our pain that we may thrive and live with glad hearts and good cheer.

Soccer Dad

So it’s been a unique experience this season, I got put in charge of helping to put together the contact list/snack list et al for my son’s soccer team.  I’m still trying to figure out exactly how I got “volun-told” to do this but all-in-all it’s been a good experience.  It has also made me realize just how much goes into planning and organizing kids sports…and all I can say is whew – glad I don’t have to do this for a living!

My son’s team had two games this past weekend, both close but unfortuneatly both losses.  We thought we might win the second one until the other team scored two goals right in a row in the last five minutes of the game.  They played their hearts out though.  I was very proud of my son,  although I realized that much of what I yell from the sidelines is advice on where to be running/how to be playing rather than encouragement…I have played soccer before and am an avid fan of the World Cup.  But it got me to thinking, especially with our theme at church today, “Tell What You Know” and I wonder…

How often as a father/teacher/etc do I offer advice/direction on what/how to practice belief, rather than encourage those on this journey with me?

I talked to my Sunday School class this morning about how the theme, which was taken from the book of Acts, related to Palm Sunday and the whole celebration/remembrence of Easter.  Because we are an outreach congregation we often get kids who have zero knowledge of stuff from the Bible, but I have to admit I was still a little surprise when one of my kids today said they didn’t know what Easter was about.  So we talked about what the Easter story represented and how God’s promise is alive in our lives.  I even made her cry (in a good way!) as we talked about how much God loves them, just as they are.  And then tonight at Praise Craze (a worship event for youth that I take my son to) we discussed a similar issue…also about how we hide and the maskes we use.

So, does the part of me that offers advice/criticism…is that a mask or the real me?  What is my goal and hope?

I believe that God loves me, God loves my son, God loves my ex.  I want to be a better person than I am.  A better father, better disciple…I’m just not sure how.  I feel like I should read more to my son, share the sacred story, hang out more…but I’ve already gotten the whole “Daaaad.  I am a TWEEN now, I am NOT a child!”  So I’m not sure just how far I can push it till I am no longer cool (although, that day may also have already come and gone!).  He still talks to me, that’s the main thing.  We argue, cry, shout, laugh, love and share together every day.  My house isn’t as clean or as organized as I’d like it, but we have clean clothes, my dishes are (mostly) done, and my bills are (mostly) current.

I can’t be perfect.

But I can be a darn good Soccer Dad – just watch me go!