As I look back, it seems that perhaps a blog-o-month has become my stride. It's been almost a year and 20 postings ago that I launched 500' Flyby. Looking back at my original purposes for this blog, I see that "getting things up and out" was listed. That continues to seem an entirely valid reason and leads me to today's posting subject....The Holidays!
Right off the bat, as a warning/disclaimer, I can tell you that this may not be all that edifying to read....informative of some of my history that has produced it's share of gnarliness, pain and a wounded twistedness perhaps but edifying....not so much. For some years, the holiday season has been a difficult time to say the least. It took this negative turn for me commencing in 1990, when I became separated and ultimately divorced in 1992. This seemed to act as a small nuclear bomb in all that had formerly contributed to functional family dynamics. Now all the former patterns and arrangements that had proven to work so well over past holiday seasons seemed to instantly dissolve. They were no longer viable for a variety of reasons - all seemingly having to do with the breakup and loss of my former position as in-house father and husband.
The initial years of this were especially dark and, without wanting to sound too dramatic, very traumatizing to me. It's that trauma from years of struggling with this that rears its ugly head at this time of year seeking to claim me and scuttle all joy. God Bless Norman Rockwell and his lovely paintings of intact families. No problems ever seemed to crop up in Rockwell land. There they are, all around the holiday dinner table, both grandparents are present, Dad is at the head of the table carving the perfectly done bird, quarter-size snow flakes flutter down gently just outside the window. If that for a moment could be considered a "deliverable", it has stood in my mind for years as a picture of something that has been so outside my ability to offer.
Now that my girls are grown, much of the pressure of "Will you have the girls?" (Have no idea, their Mom hasn't committed), "What time can you all be over here?" (Don't even know for sure I'll have the girls with me at all) is mercifully gone. Yet now, I am a member of a blended family (please don't get me wrong, I am very thankful for this blessing). Regardless of all the good, there are now 2 sets of traditions, lots of sensitivity and expectations that are fueled by the history of what was... what things used to be. I confess, it all just overwhelms me in ways I find difficult to pinpoint or articulate but are painful nonetheless.
And then, couple into all of the above a general financial tightness (amidst all the frenzied, consumeristic urgings) and the inability to just throw money at all the sticky bits that refuse to flow and I have myself something that falls far short of my favorite time of the year. Bottom line, high expectations with weak ability to fulfill...a lousy formula in any country or time.
For any who may read this who absolutely adore the holiday season, my sympathies if you have allowed yourself to read all of this. It used to be mine too until my 40's when family circumstances took things in undesirable directions. I bless you in your joy at this time of year!
And so my dilemma, how not to be a 200+ pound wet blanket that shuffles along as a gloom monster hoping mainly for January 2 to get here quickly? How to be a blessing and a sharer of joy while simultaneously being in pain? I've been given lots of advice about all this....ranging from just change your attitude, count your blessings, look at the bright side, take it to the Cross, even the always helpful "just get over it". Really, I feel the need for a deeper healing and a redemptive touch somewhere way inside. I am the best around those to whom I have no obligations, who have no particular expectations. But to those I love the most, my family, I am an internal mess in this season, hoping to keep all my issues bottled up but feeling guilty as I see them too often percolating out and spilling forth a dark, bitter froth into their paths.
Since writing the above paragraphs I've let a day go by and have been trying to get my mind right about how to best live and walk beyond the events of the past. I dumped out some of the crap that I wrestle with and apologize for it's stench. But this just can't be allowed to be the last chapter. Lord, give my a grace note here.....
It seems to me that the world system has shanghaied the birth of Jesus and has sought to relentlessly transform the holidays for its own consumeristic purposes. Why do we so often hear the word "perfect" used in conjunction with the ingredients of the holidays? "This year, give her the perfect gift of love from Shane Jewelers". "Serve the perfect appetizers at you holiday parties by using Kraft products." "Perfectly capture this year's festivities on Canons new 850SX". We get a steady inoculation of perfection as the standard that you should strive for to make this year's holiday season the best ever!
Heh, here's the deal. I resent all the ways that I have bought into wanting to provide the perfect gift, the perfect get-together. It's as if I somehow unwittingly assented to view my life and how I 'do' the holiday through this lens of perfection. The world's system is anxious for me to buy into this, to strive, to mightily chase the perfect whatever for my loved ones. As long as they succeed in manipulating me to manically chase after this unachievable holy grail of perfection, the more likely I will maximize my spending by scurrying after the Norm Rockwell Hallmark version of what every good husband, parent and friend would wish to provide to those they love.
Of course the enemy just sits by and undoubtedly chuckles in all this striving and/or lamenting about not making the grade. One way or the other, the accuser just wants to take me out...the means don't matter. "Just get him pinned down under a blanket of crabbiness or depression....i'm not picky".
So, not sharing the internal struggles that accompany this time of the year for me would be less than transparent. But settling for all this and letting the kingdom of the world define my attitude is just not going to fly this year. Here I am, putting a stake in the ground, saying Yes, there have been painful experiences that brought a number of traumatic years and they are in part associated with the holidays. But No, these don't get to forever define me or how I have to be or feel during the holidays. I reject the myth of perfection the world offers up as an attainable goal.
The fact is that December 25-type Christmas is the creation of Madison Ave. My Saviour was born in a barn, in close proximity to animal shit, and He didn't have the benefit of well-baby visits to the local HMO. He has called me by name, He dares call me His friend, I am His workmanship, created for good works, I am a branch of the true vine. He came to redeem my life from the pit. And for that, I say praise you Jesus for calling me up and out of the kingdom of the world into your eternal Kingdom.
My answer to the wounds of the past are the present eternal truths and my position in the midst of them. I rip my eyes off the billboard pitches and onto Him. I shut my ears to the mad, fast-talking TV pitches and tune them into the still, small voice of He in whom I am hidden.
And to all who may happen by here....Merry Christmas! May the warm, accepting love and concern of Jesus for you and yours encourage your heart in these days.
Peacefully yours,
Santiago
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thank you so very much
I'm in that in-between space on this Thanksgiving holiday....10 of the family headed to our house in about 90 minutes. Did my assigned tasks, took a little nap, have slipped away to my inner sanctum and now sit at what feels like my abandoned blog. I've chattered on before about all that seems to keep me from attempting to lay down any fresh stuff. On one hand, it just feels somehow superfluous. On the other, not aware of having any fresh stuff anyhow. Regardless.... right now I intend to ignore such motivation-stealing thoughts and to simply offer my thanks out into the blogosphere, but mainly to Jesus.
Our family is like many right now...we have our own financial constraints that wax and wane with the ever present tendency to turn overwhelmingly negative. But amidst this all I am thankful that the loving Abba Father is there every time I turn to him with an armful of desparation. In recent weeks, I have observed him make something good out of what appears to be a lost, deader-than-a-door-nail deal gone bad. And from that work of restoration came income like proverbial manna from heaven. Of course I am thankful for this but even more thankful for just knowing He is there, He is in this, He cares, He has a way through the maze.
Cynicism is so pervasive and I find it to be contagious. I pick up a dose of it all too often and it tinges everything within my view. Doesn't just naturally go away either....has to be discovered and then forcefully shown the door. As an oh-so-mature, believing adult, it's not unusual for me to notice that I hunger for something beyond what often feel like simple platitudes that initially sound too trite and not sufficiently potent for my circumstances. You know, trust in the Lord with all your heart, cast all your anxieties upon Him, do not worry about your life. Sometimes they feel about as powerful as grape kool-aid when I'm searching for whiskey. But that's what brings me back to being thankful....I'm thankful for a God who shows infinite patience toward me, who doesn't just harumpph away when I seek for non-existent alternatives to his love and grace. For a Father who waits for me to once again re-discover that he is the only game in town.
I mean it is just so ridiculous....if I am not intentional about casting my life afresh into his arms in the opening seconds of each new morning, I find that over the night I have somehow become what amounts to a practical atheist, sure that I'm alone in all of this. Have to reappropriate my belief and my agreement each and every day. But then thank you Lord, there you are to receive my new affirmations and commitment to following you....Forgive my short memory!
I'm thankful that my oldest daughter has re-discovered you as not only relevant to her life but absolutely necessary. I am thankful that both of my daughters have independently decided that the man who had looked to be the 'one' turns out not necessarily to be that guy after all. Thank you that they discovered this on this side of marriage and not after it was too late. Thank you that my seriously flawed fatherhood is not an obstacle to you!
I'm certainly told that God is big enough for me to be brutally real.....I choose to believe that. So then, I'm thankful that I can admit that being thankful for stuff, although often authentic and natural and just burbling up can also many times feel merely obligatory....like gol' you should be thankful it's not worse or think of those with much less than you. Thankful for not having to pretend that I've arrived someplace that I haven't.
Well, my reading over this post provides proof enough of why there hasn't been more recently. Aware of a kind of rambling funk....ambivalent about thrashing with it in the public forum of blogland....have enough love for others to not want to infect them yet am sincerely wanting to shake off whatever is plaguing me. So here I am, in this case erring on the side of coming out into the hot, bright sun of the holiday season hungry for more joy, more carefreeness,less angst, more contentment...desiring to bring the aroma of Christ but only mustering the stench of a self-stuffed man. Your forebearance please......
Caveat emptor....
Our family is like many right now...we have our own financial constraints that wax and wane with the ever present tendency to turn overwhelmingly negative. But amidst this all I am thankful that the loving Abba Father is there every time I turn to him with an armful of desparation. In recent weeks, I have observed him make something good out of what appears to be a lost, deader-than-a-door-nail deal gone bad. And from that work of restoration came income like proverbial manna from heaven. Of course I am thankful for this but even more thankful for just knowing He is there, He is in this, He cares, He has a way through the maze.
Cynicism is so pervasive and I find it to be contagious. I pick up a dose of it all too often and it tinges everything within my view. Doesn't just naturally go away either....has to be discovered and then forcefully shown the door. As an oh-so-mature, believing adult, it's not unusual for me to notice that I hunger for something beyond what often feel like simple platitudes that initially sound too trite and not sufficiently potent for my circumstances. You know, trust in the Lord with all your heart, cast all your anxieties upon Him, do not worry about your life. Sometimes they feel about as powerful as grape kool-aid when I'm searching for whiskey. But that's what brings me back to being thankful....I'm thankful for a God who shows infinite patience toward me, who doesn't just harumpph away when I seek for non-existent alternatives to his love and grace. For a Father who waits for me to once again re-discover that he is the only game in town.
I mean it is just so ridiculous....if I am not intentional about casting my life afresh into his arms in the opening seconds of each new morning, I find that over the night I have somehow become what amounts to a practical atheist, sure that I'm alone in all of this. Have to reappropriate my belief and my agreement each and every day. But then thank you Lord, there you are to receive my new affirmations and commitment to following you....Forgive my short memory!
I'm thankful that my oldest daughter has re-discovered you as not only relevant to her life but absolutely necessary. I am thankful that both of my daughters have independently decided that the man who had looked to be the 'one' turns out not necessarily to be that guy after all. Thank you that they discovered this on this side of marriage and not after it was too late. Thank you that my seriously flawed fatherhood is not an obstacle to you!
I'm certainly told that God is big enough for me to be brutally real.....I choose to believe that. So then, I'm thankful that I can admit that being thankful for stuff, although often authentic and natural and just burbling up can also many times feel merely obligatory....like gol' you should be thankful it's not worse or think of those with much less than you. Thankful for not having to pretend that I've arrived someplace that I haven't.
Well, my reading over this post provides proof enough of why there hasn't been more recently. Aware of a kind of rambling funk....ambivalent about thrashing with it in the public forum of blogland....have enough love for others to not want to infect them yet am sincerely wanting to shake off whatever is plaguing me. So here I am, in this case erring on the side of coming out into the hot, bright sun of the holiday season hungry for more joy, more carefreeness,less angst, more contentment...desiring to bring the aroma of Christ but only mustering the stench of a self-stuffed man. Your forebearance please......
Caveat emptor....
Saturday, October 11, 2008
And now, for something completely different...
What a journey this life of ours is, heh!? Six weeks go by since last posting and every time it came to my mind it just seemed like the blog thing had played itself out. It felt (feels?) like I processed and regurgitated some past life things and I had said what was there to say. Trying to talk about the present is such a different animal. I keep thinking that I lack enough clarity or perspective on 'now' stuff to even attempt writing about it...like everything is quite jello-like/ever morphing and anything I might have to say would just be obviated within days or weeks anyway so why even go there. Kind of like the weather, if you don't like today's come back tomorrow...it will be different.
But I'm back today clattering the keyboard because a passionate breeze has captured my attention and I want to pay it heed...to give it some expression, to breathe some life into it. Why? Because it seems just too vital to let it pass and die a natural death. Or worse, to intentionally assassinate it and bury it in the great graveyard of personal disappointments and various failures to launch.
I hurt.....Deep inside I ache. I am aware even of rage. I want more! I must have more! (Just above I said a "passionate breeze has captured my attention". Breeze my ass, it feels more like a frightening tsunami.) I seemed to have stopped just long enough to look inside my rumbling book of life and came away seeing something that just can't go on. I have been living way too long with an attitude of resignation. Somewhere along the path I exchanged daring to desire for the mere discipline of duty. My dutifulness feels not longer sufficient to support life. On the contrary, it squelches it like a dry wind eventually snuffs out the delicate wildflower.
Frankly, I don't see what I am muttering about clearly at all. I feel like a blind man aware he has landed in a not-good-room but clueless just how to find his way out. He taps madly at the confining walls looking for an exit. Similarly, I tap at these lettered keys looking to express what feels elusive, even dangerous.
In just a few months, at least technically, I qualify for early retirement benefits from SS (funny, that's what the Nazi's elite troops were known by).The fact that something about that is comforting pisses me off royally! The resigned me hears the siren call of this particular exit strategy and hungers for something it represents. For the game to be over, for the striving and scrabbling for survival to fade to black. To somehow magically be transported to Playa del Carmen to endlessly gaze at the mesmerizing blue of the Caribbean. Heh, nothing really wrong with all of that on one level but it's not where my true heart lies. I don't want my main desire to be for some kind of cessation! The system of the world feels like it would have me consider being shelved, to take my place in some obscure SKU location in a spent-life warehouse somewhere and live off the best memories I am able to pitifully dredge up. No life in that. It is mislabelled...it's death!
There are questions that are like diagnostic litmus indicators for me. "What makes you come alive?" "What are your passions?" "What do you dream about?" OUCH!! OW! They hurt! The poser in me can come up with answers that sound valid enough but the true me recognizes that my answer drawers are really quite empty in these categories. It feels like they have been robbed, plundered by the stuff of life. No, that's not quite right. That sounds like I've been victimized by some force outside me. More accurately, I have emptied those dream and passion drawers as a twisted strategic response to the lies I have been bamboozled by, the agreements I have made.
Regardless, I am aware that I have been dreamless too long. I have squelched desire too long. It is not in line with how I believe my Creator intended it to be for me. He came that I might have life and to have it abundantly. I confess that I have become aware that I am famished for more life! I must have more life! Jesus, you are the source of my life...that is not religious, that is fact. Here my cry Father and show me where I have missed your yellow brick trail. I fear I have abandoned desire and called it sanctification. Father me along in my desire to re-appropiate your heart vitality, a fresh sense of joy that has been lost. Keep me from prematurely burying this desire to desire for fear of disappointment. Forgive me for not trusting you fully, for my unbelief, for my fear that you are in someway indifferent towards all this. I throw myself into your arms Lord...I am as desperate for what you mean by 'life' as a drowning man for oxygen.
Come Lord Jesus come!
But I'm back today clattering the keyboard because a passionate breeze has captured my attention and I want to pay it heed...to give it some expression, to breathe some life into it. Why? Because it seems just too vital to let it pass and die a natural death. Or worse, to intentionally assassinate it and bury it in the great graveyard of personal disappointments and various failures to launch.
I hurt.....Deep inside I ache. I am aware even of rage. I want more! I must have more! (Just above I said a "passionate breeze has captured my attention". Breeze my ass, it feels more like a frightening tsunami.) I seemed to have stopped just long enough to look inside my rumbling book of life and came away seeing something that just can't go on. I have been living way too long with an attitude of resignation. Somewhere along the path I exchanged daring to desire for the mere discipline of duty. My dutifulness feels not longer sufficient to support life. On the contrary, it squelches it like a dry wind eventually snuffs out the delicate wildflower.
Frankly, I don't see what I am muttering about clearly at all. I feel like a blind man aware he has landed in a not-good-room but clueless just how to find his way out. He taps madly at the confining walls looking for an exit. Similarly, I tap at these lettered keys looking to express what feels elusive, even dangerous.
In just a few months, at least technically, I qualify for early retirement benefits from SS (funny, that's what the Nazi's elite troops were known by).The fact that something about that is comforting pisses me off royally! The resigned me hears the siren call of this particular exit strategy and hungers for something it represents. For the game to be over, for the striving and scrabbling for survival to fade to black. To somehow magically be transported to Playa del Carmen to endlessly gaze at the mesmerizing blue of the Caribbean. Heh, nothing really wrong with all of that on one level but it's not where my true heart lies. I don't want my main desire to be for some kind of cessation! The system of the world feels like it would have me consider being shelved, to take my place in some obscure SKU location in a spent-life warehouse somewhere and live off the best memories I am able to pitifully dredge up. No life in that. It is mislabelled...it's death!
There are questions that are like diagnostic litmus indicators for me. "What makes you come alive?" "What are your passions?" "What do you dream about?" OUCH!! OW! They hurt! The poser in me can come up with answers that sound valid enough but the true me recognizes that my answer drawers are really quite empty in these categories. It feels like they have been robbed, plundered by the stuff of life. No, that's not quite right. That sounds like I've been victimized by some force outside me. More accurately, I have emptied those dream and passion drawers as a twisted strategic response to the lies I have been bamboozled by, the agreements I have made.
Regardless, I am aware that I have been dreamless too long. I have squelched desire too long. It is not in line with how I believe my Creator intended it to be for me. He came that I might have life and to have it abundantly. I confess that I have become aware that I am famished for more life! I must have more life! Jesus, you are the source of my life...that is not religious, that is fact. Here my cry Father and show me where I have missed your yellow brick trail. I fear I have abandoned desire and called it sanctification. Father me along in my desire to re-appropiate your heart vitality, a fresh sense of joy that has been lost. Keep me from prematurely burying this desire to desire for fear of disappointment. Forgive me for not trusting you fully, for my unbelief, for my fear that you are in someway indifferent towards all this. I throw myself into your arms Lord...I am as desperate for what you mean by 'life' as a drowning man for oxygen.
Come Lord Jesus come!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Yes it's mine...I own it.
So I'm on a mid-week run at work and I see this little vignette played out. Big sister and little brother are riding their bikes down the sidewalk across the street from me. Their mother is walking and she is maybe a block and a half behind the kids. The brother and sister get to an intersection. There is no stop sign or anything, just a residential area where a side street feeds into a slightly more busy street.
Anyway, the sister dutifully stops to look both ways but little brother just keeps going. His sister is yelling for him to STOP! To no avail. At last he stops his over sized bike (he's about 7 and his bike is too big) right in the middle of the street. His sister is so angry....the kind of anger that rises from what had just moments ago been fear. She's lecturing him, looking back and calling for her mom who is outside the range of help or even hearing. And the boy, he pleads his innocence and blames it all on his brakes. Yep, he uses the ol' brake defense in hopes of shutting down the rain of words that is pounding down upon him.
Of course, all of this happens in about 10 or 15 seconds. I find myself chuckling. There was no imminent danger but sis was correct on the principle level. Brother needs to be looking both ways lest he find his young little life prematurely snuffed out. The thing I found humorous was the passion the boy displayed in making his case that his brakes absolutely had failed him and that it was not his fault. Although I hope it's not the case, this little guy may have just utilized what will ultimately be a lifetime habit of placing himself in the role of victim...just an innocent victim.
My mind wandered off into a flurry of judgemental remembrances for all the people I have observed over my life who never seem to be responsible for anything that comes their way. Somehow, their brakes have failed every time, the dog has eaten the homework yet again, "the man" has taken it to them and even the devil made me do it.
Entire groups of people and organizations do this too. We didn't hit our bottom line because of the economic downturn, our projections are off because of an unavoidable change in an unexpected area. In this election year, we see entire political parties blame the other party for every social ill that has occurred over the last 4 years. I know, I know. There is often plenty of truth to what is cited as the cause for each failing observed.
It's just that I find myself hungering to hear more instances of accepting full responsibility for whatever the outcome. Like I saw when watching the Olympics when a favored athlete or team was defeated and lost the gold medal in an upset. How satisfying to hear an athlete say, "He/she just had a better race", "I made some mistakes and paid the price".
OK, so now I have run a couple of blocks further past the brother and sister incident and have mused about all this lack of accepting accountability that I seem to see as running rampant through life. At this point Jesus joins me on the run...(He does that a lot by the way, I rarely ever really run alone). I hear "So what about you?" And I proceed to find myself busted yet again. Get this, I like to fashion myself as a pretty "the-buck-stops-hear" kind of guy. And yet this tsk-tsking party I was having in my head, this judgement of all the irresponsibility I see swimming around me had somehow served to hoist me up on the bench of the supreme court where I was rendering my verdict on all of the less forthright "out there".
Ladies and gentlemen, I do take full responsibility for being a virtual judging machine. I too have a full measure of the inheritance of Adam and Eve's rebellion and I gorge myself on the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil on a daily basis. Despite my well-intentioned plans to stay on a strict diet of "collapsing all judgment", I find myself breaking my fast with painful regularity. Truth be known, it tires me out. I guess too much trying and not enough being.
The Kingdom I have been delivered into and that I have been called to help advance is not about judgment of others. It's about acceptance, thinking the best of others and putting their interests first. It's an impossible way of life that can only be accomplished by surrendering my rights and depending on the Author of life to empower my living and to give me the capacity to live beyond my own character's abilities. Just wanted to say that I get that and I take full responsibility for each of my actions. Jesus, forgive me for my selfish, self-righteous judgments of others. Have your way in me. I do want to be about your business....you are the hero of this story and I belong to you.
Anyway, the sister dutifully stops to look both ways but little brother just keeps going. His sister is yelling for him to STOP! To no avail. At last he stops his over sized bike (he's about 7 and his bike is too big) right in the middle of the street. His sister is so angry....the kind of anger that rises from what had just moments ago been fear. She's lecturing him, looking back and calling for her mom who is outside the range of help or even hearing. And the boy, he pleads his innocence and blames it all on his brakes. Yep, he uses the ol' brake defense in hopes of shutting down the rain of words that is pounding down upon him.
Of course, all of this happens in about 10 or 15 seconds. I find myself chuckling. There was no imminent danger but sis was correct on the principle level. Brother needs to be looking both ways lest he find his young little life prematurely snuffed out. The thing I found humorous was the passion the boy displayed in making his case that his brakes absolutely had failed him and that it was not his fault. Although I hope it's not the case, this little guy may have just utilized what will ultimately be a lifetime habit of placing himself in the role of victim...just an innocent victim.
My mind wandered off into a flurry of judgemental remembrances for all the people I have observed over my life who never seem to be responsible for anything that comes their way. Somehow, their brakes have failed every time, the dog has eaten the homework yet again, "the man" has taken it to them and even the devil made me do it.
Entire groups of people and organizations do this too. We didn't hit our bottom line because of the economic downturn, our projections are off because of an unavoidable change in an unexpected area. In this election year, we see entire political parties blame the other party for every social ill that has occurred over the last 4 years. I know, I know. There is often plenty of truth to what is cited as the cause for each failing observed.
It's just that I find myself hungering to hear more instances of accepting full responsibility for whatever the outcome. Like I saw when watching the Olympics when a favored athlete or team was defeated and lost the gold medal in an upset. How satisfying to hear an athlete say, "He/she just had a better race", "I made some mistakes and paid the price".
OK, so now I have run a couple of blocks further past the brother and sister incident and have mused about all this lack of accepting accountability that I seem to see as running rampant through life. At this point Jesus joins me on the run...(He does that a lot by the way, I rarely ever really run alone). I hear "So what about you?" And I proceed to find myself busted yet again. Get this, I like to fashion myself as a pretty "the-buck-stops-hear" kind of guy. And yet this tsk-tsking party I was having in my head, this judgement of all the irresponsibility I see swimming around me had somehow served to hoist me up on the bench of the supreme court where I was rendering my verdict on all of the less forthright "out there".
Ladies and gentlemen, I do take full responsibility for being a virtual judging machine. I too have a full measure of the inheritance of Adam and Eve's rebellion and I gorge myself on the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil on a daily basis. Despite my well-intentioned plans to stay on a strict diet of "collapsing all judgment", I find myself breaking my fast with painful regularity. Truth be known, it tires me out. I guess too much trying and not enough being.
The Kingdom I have been delivered into and that I have been called to help advance is not about judgment of others. It's about acceptance, thinking the best of others and putting their interests first. It's an impossible way of life that can only be accomplished by surrendering my rights and depending on the Author of life to empower my living and to give me the capacity to live beyond my own character's abilities. Just wanted to say that I get that and I take full responsibility for each of my actions. Jesus, forgive me for my selfish, self-righteous judgments of others. Have your way in me. I do want to be about your business....you are the hero of this story and I belong to you.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Nothing really...just a quick note.
So a month has gone by...strange how your own blog can feel like having a job. or a loved one, something you are responsible to care for and feed. More than once, I have gone to bed and one of those fleeting thoughts that close out the day would be, "man I haven't blogged in weeks" and I would feel the guilt that comes with abandonment. Oh for cryin'- out- loud, is this not the pathetic hallmark of a striving male adult who means well and works diligently to keep all the balls in the air and fights continually to keep things from flying apart.
So I sit here in my cool basement office, put together by my loving wife as a gift to me, (actually one of the best gifts I ever received, the gift of personal space) and write mainly to break the absence from blogdom. In the past I would be driven to blog by thoughts that seemed to cry out for articulation, to be birthed in the hopes that once they were expressed they would become clearer and of more value in my sojourn. Not this time. This is just bloggin' for bloggin'-sake, something to break the slump of expression and re-ignite my quest for transparent authenticity.
So life's circumstances just kind of go on, regardless of your readiness level...Sandi's parent are both home now. For the moment, things are relatively stable and our involvement, though significant, is not at the fever pitch it had been. My Mom is dealing with shingles in the left eye and scalp region. At 91, a son can't help but wince at the odd combination of basic health and independence overlayed by a frail vulnerableness that reduces her ability to roll with life's punches. Caring for surviving parents can turn out to be a big deal when you get to the stage of life I am waking to each morning.
Couple these responsibilities with the weekly efforts to make a living at a 100% commission job and the enemy has plenty of handles and fodder to constantly offer me a background filled with worrisome noise and lies. My intentionality to be fostering a closer walk with God, to practice the presence of Christ, requires a near constant effort to shut down the senses of dread, angst and anxiety that stands at my door and knocks. You see, there are 2 standing at that door knocking and which I let in, which I believe to be true. determines the trajectory of the day.
Summer is so many peoples favorite season. It's not mine...too hot, to much burning sun trying to suck the moisture out of every living thing, especially our lawn. Trying to keep the grass green is a foolish hobby, I admit it. But I have fallen prey to trying to outwit nature's attempt to torch the front bank that sits at 45 degrees to the sun all day being tortured by the relentless rays. I read somewhere that our modern day sod really hearkens from very wet parts of the world. They require amazing amounts of water to stay green and for an old hose dragger like me, my efforts seem pathetic and worthy only of my embarrassment.
The talk of recession, the rising costs of everything, the lack of any visible relief on the horizon, these mark the news as reporters trip over themselves to tell us how bad it's getting and that we ain't seen nothin' yet. Taking a fast from the news is one idea for a cheap sort of vacation. Let them yammer on without me listening on or reading. Yet, the dismal financial outlook is also kind of a social leveler and acts to bring us together and give us all (well not the folks that live in North Oaks!) more of life in common. Instead of just some people feeling the pinch, it becomes a much more universally-felt experience and brings us together....sort of. The one redeeming feature to me is how it causes more people to be more deliberate about life, it slows down the consumption fever that is so easy to catch. When people start switching from Target to Walmart, from Outback to McDonalds, who's not to argue that things indeed seem to be winding down and the end feels like it's rushing toward us like a run-away train.
And so I spend my days with the pursuit of intimacy in walking through all of this with God, to loving my wife well, to chasing a living by matching qualified candidates with medical sales opportunities, by concentrating on keeping all the family plates spinning on each of their wobbling sticks and by nipping away at summer projects that feed my sense of simple accomplishment. An ordinary man going through an unspectacular life hoping not to miss the main priorities and hoping not to come out the other side having spent too much energy on mere survival and not enough on abandoned living. Attempting not to negatively effect those closest to me with my disciplined approach to "gettin' er' done!". To take time to see others, to slow my fevered pace to check things off the To Do list enough to be available, to be present in the now, to live in the moment. To quell my pull toward cynicism and to actually live (not just talk) in accordance with the truth I profess. Certainly not newsworthy stuff but it's all I've got for now and it does at least serve to break my 4-week bloggin' slump.
Time to get the birds some more food..... They neither sow nor reap yet......
So I sit here in my cool basement office, put together by my loving wife as a gift to me, (actually one of the best gifts I ever received, the gift of personal space) and write mainly to break the absence from blogdom. In the past I would be driven to blog by thoughts that seemed to cry out for articulation, to be birthed in the hopes that once they were expressed they would become clearer and of more value in my sojourn. Not this time. This is just bloggin' for bloggin'-sake, something to break the slump of expression and re-ignite my quest for transparent authenticity.
So life's circumstances just kind of go on, regardless of your readiness level...Sandi's parent are both home now. For the moment, things are relatively stable and our involvement, though significant, is not at the fever pitch it had been. My Mom is dealing with shingles in the left eye and scalp region. At 91, a son can't help but wince at the odd combination of basic health and independence overlayed by a frail vulnerableness that reduces her ability to roll with life's punches. Caring for surviving parents can turn out to be a big deal when you get to the stage of life I am waking to each morning.
Couple these responsibilities with the weekly efforts to make a living at a 100% commission job and the enemy has plenty of handles and fodder to constantly offer me a background filled with worrisome noise and lies. My intentionality to be fostering a closer walk with God, to practice the presence of Christ, requires a near constant effort to shut down the senses of dread, angst and anxiety that stands at my door and knocks. You see, there are 2 standing at that door knocking and which I let in, which I believe to be true. determines the trajectory of the day.
Summer is so many peoples favorite season. It's not mine...too hot, to much burning sun trying to suck the moisture out of every living thing, especially our lawn. Trying to keep the grass green is a foolish hobby, I admit it. But I have fallen prey to trying to outwit nature's attempt to torch the front bank that sits at 45 degrees to the sun all day being tortured by the relentless rays. I read somewhere that our modern day sod really hearkens from very wet parts of the world. They require amazing amounts of water to stay green and for an old hose dragger like me, my efforts seem pathetic and worthy only of my embarrassment.
The talk of recession, the rising costs of everything, the lack of any visible relief on the horizon, these mark the news as reporters trip over themselves to tell us how bad it's getting and that we ain't seen nothin' yet. Taking a fast from the news is one idea for a cheap sort of vacation. Let them yammer on without me listening on or reading. Yet, the dismal financial outlook is also kind of a social leveler and acts to bring us together and give us all (well not the folks that live in North Oaks!) more of life in common. Instead of just some people feeling the pinch, it becomes a much more universally-felt experience and brings us together....sort of. The one redeeming feature to me is how it causes more people to be more deliberate about life, it slows down the consumption fever that is so easy to catch. When people start switching from Target to Walmart, from Outback to McDonalds, who's not to argue that things indeed seem to be winding down and the end feels like it's rushing toward us like a run-away train.
And so I spend my days with the pursuit of intimacy in walking through all of this with God, to loving my wife well, to chasing a living by matching qualified candidates with medical sales opportunities, by concentrating on keeping all the family plates spinning on each of their wobbling sticks and by nipping away at summer projects that feed my sense of simple accomplishment. An ordinary man going through an unspectacular life hoping not to miss the main priorities and hoping not to come out the other side having spent too much energy on mere survival and not enough on abandoned living. Attempting not to negatively effect those closest to me with my disciplined approach to "gettin' er' done!". To take time to see others, to slow my fevered pace to check things off the To Do list enough to be available, to be present in the now, to live in the moment. To quell my pull toward cynicism and to actually live (not just talk) in accordance with the truth I profess. Certainly not newsworthy stuff but it's all I've got for now and it does at least serve to break my 4-week bloggin' slump.
Time to get the birds some more food..... They neither sow nor reap yet......
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Joy? Really?....joy?
Amidst the swirl of life I start this post...who knows how long it may remain just a draft (turns out it was about 60 hours). Often it seems that my internal reservoirs of stuff to process just fill up. Not with nicely packaged, fully resolved life conclusions or breakthroughs. No, its more just ragged pieces and shards of thoughts that although incomplete, still seem somehow worth expressing. My hope is that at best, these articulated fragments might somehow miraculously gel and serve to paint in more of my picture. At worst, expressing them might at least bring me a modicum of simple relief.
Circumstantially, our family is back in the soup of juggling parental caregiving. Sandi's Mom fell and broke her hip on Thursday night and had it replaced on Saturday. This dear woman is wracked by arthritis and chronic pain. The fingers of her hands are like the gnarled roots of a tree. They deserve to be captured on canvas by a sensitive artist who could depict them as a pictorial symbol of what the world can deal out to us and yet regardless, we must persevere... there is beauty in that.
Sandi's Dad continues to recover from having his left foot amputated on Christmas day due to complications of CHF and previously undiagnosed diabetes. So Mom has been Dad's primary caregiver in the home. Between them, these two, dear, 80+ year old saints kind of make up one, sort of functioning person. But that fragile thread of functionality has been broken for now as Mom lays in the bed of managed care, surgical recovery and therapy.
So our family met Sunday night at 7PM around the kitchen table to carve out who will stay with Dad on which nights, meals, Dr. visits for Dad, hospital and soon TCU visits for Mom. Sandi's only- child status doesn't offer a cast of many to pitch in here. So the 2 kids still at home,Sandi and I are the "team". There is the church and even some friends that could be support possibilities but it turns out that Swedes just don't (can't?) ask for help and for now, (I'm now a Swede by marriage but my Italian nature makes me a pretty funny version of one!) we are keeping it in the immediate family.
OK, so my purpose for coloring in these details is really just to provide some backdrop for several arbitrary facts comprising part of the swirl of my 'now'. And 'now' is all I really have, it's where I need to live. Other pieces of the 'now' include the need for all 4 of us to maintain our jobs (3 full-time, 1 part-time). I am particularly desirous of keeping much of my focus on Sandi and how I can help nourish her during this latest rendition of the war zone of life. The brunt of all the logistics and juggling falls on her. No matter how much the other family members put on their calendars, any way you cut it, we are still just "supportin' cast" and Sandi has the lead role in this episode of Days of Our Lives.
So anyhow, with that as a lengthy introduction, I'm in my A.M. devotions and the subject of joy comes up. Regardless of one's theology, the fact that Jesus promises joy is tough to avoid. Joy? Why does this category seem so absent for me, so almost irrelevant? Worse yet, why does it feel almost like a cruel joke to entertain it as an expectation or as something to deliberately pursue? I mean seriously, joy? Right now, with the apparent outlook of the summer being tanked amidst the needs of getting family through another day,....joy? You must be freaking joking, right?
Yet joy is often spoken of in the scriptures...in John alone we read that Jesus has come that his joy would be in us and that this joy would be complete(15:11), that we are to ask anything in his name that we might receive and our joy will be complete(16:24), that Jesus told us his truths before returning to the Father so that we might have the full measure of his joy within us (17:13)and, in Nehemiah, that the joy of the Lord is our strength. Joy was certainly never meant to represent an irrelevant category...... Jesus seemed to see it as an essential part of what he came to do in us. Joy is the fruit of being in dynamic partnership with Jesus.
Wow! How humbling to see and have to confess the virtual absence of such joy in my life. Or am I just misunderstanding the word joy? Is it meant here in some subtly different way than my 21st century understanding can grok? Might the Greek lend a different sense of what this all means.
Not having the time right now to check out the Greek, I am left with the thought that joy is indeed what burbles up from a heart given over to God in utter submission. That yes, in the midst of trying to earn a living, juggling parental care, still launching kids and generally keeping the home fires burning there is a joy to be had. But perhaps not the yippee skippy kind of joy a 4 year old regularly exhibits. No, this is a more sober-minded, deep-rooted joy. Joy that one must be intentional about observing and acknowledging and finally confessing.
Bottom line, if I truly am the person the Bible says I am in Christ, if my position is in fact as it is described in the New Covenant, then Katie-bar-the door, I have every reason to have a deep-seated joy amidst the circumstances of today. Yet, it is a joy that must be fought for by being intentional and even forcefully aligning myself with the truth of what the Kingdom has to say about me in the face of the debilitating lies, attacks and innuendos offered up daily by Caesar's world.
I do enjoy theology. It's dangerous though. It can so easily serve as a category of understanding that merely stays mentally compartmentalized but never goes on to shape the actual experiencing of reality (ie. mere belief). Theologically, I understand joy and it's source (the finished work of Christ on my behalf).
I go down on record as desiring to give joy more relevancy, more priority. To being more intentional about letting it surface in my conscience more often. And to not rolling my eyes the next time something reminds me that Jesus actually intended my joy to be an essential ingredient of my walk with God, not just an optional accessory only available for a few of the super advanced followers of Jesus. Joy is for James and it's available NOW! Mine is to more fully appropriate it.
As a matter of fact, the presence of joy in my life is really a type of barometer. If I'm feeding off of/chasing the empty promises of Caesar's kingdom, my joy will be fleeting and totally based on circumstances. Good things happening to me = joy. Bad things happening to me = sorrow.
But if I am intentional in keeping the truth of who James is in Jesus: that I am part of the royal priesthood of believers, that I am a new creation, that I have been raised with Christ and am seated with him in the heavenly places, that I am Christ's friend, that I have been delegated his authority to use his name, that I have been called to advance the Kingdom of God, that I will never be separated from him and his love for me and that my eternal destiny is secure in the full work of Christ, then joy can't help but percolate it's way to the surface of my consciousness. My position in Christ will trump the temporary circumstances of this sojourn through a fallen world. I will have food to eat that is not of this kingdom.
You know, it's starting to feel like a sermon but I'm really just trying this on for size. I am in process, the process of being transformed, of being renovated into the image of Christ. Despite the fact that Jesus set his face like flint toward Calvary, he never lost the joy of who he was, how he was related to his Father, to where he was returning and for the bold work that he came to earth to accomplish. His joy was other worldly and so is the source of mine.
Bring it on Santiago, set your mind on things above, not on earthly things. Today represents only the opening chapters in the forever-ness of Kingdom projects where there will be no tears and sorrow. So Santiago, gird up those loins, get back into the fray and dare to be joyful in spite of the strong headwind.
Will the ushers please come forward....
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Random X 6 = me
Tag, you're "it". Wow, how many years has it been since I was "it". When I got a comment from Dave that I had been tagged I have to admit, I just sat there befuddled in a sort of pre-senile stupor wondering what in the world I was now to do. Eventually, I thought to go to "sportsandJesus" and voila!, we have lift-off. So 6 random things that are true about ol' Santiago heh?
1. Growing up we were always building "forts" of one kind or another. In 6th and 7th grade my buddies and I came up with the mother of all meeting places. We had a 100' water tower behind my house and we used to climb it about 3 or 4 nights a week and just hang out on the catwalk and talk. The neighbors were ever vigilant for such shenanigans and would often call the police if we accidentally banged the metal too hard and alerted folks to our presence. But that was the best part, because if we sensed we had been busted, we would climb the ladder to the top of the actual tank and lay around the top with our heads in a circle around the center. The police would come, shout at us with their bullhorns, shine their spotlights but couldn't see us because we were at the very top and they never dared climb up themselves. We just waited in silence and eventually they just left. High adventure indeed!
2. Dave had a fire story...me too. An older brother of some friends made us match guns from clothespins that shot wooden matches and ignited them on the way out. One of our friends had horses and a barn. We were goofing around and a match went under a locked door in the barn full of hay and started a horrendous fire. We alerted the owner and promptly pedaled our bikes out of there as fast as we could go, throwing out our matches and match guns as we raced down their long driveway. No horses perished (but reportedly some kitties did). We got in really bad trouble (it even made the 10PM news)and we had to appear before a juvenile court person who said he would try his best but he couldn't guarantee that he could keep us from having to go to reform school. All through 6th grade, whenever there was a knock on the classroom door, I was just sure that it was going to be a policeman who would simply say "Sorry bud, you lost, come with me". I tell you, I never played with matches again!
3.Maybe something really short....the above two are candidates for novella status.
I have a weird habit of always leaving one bite or one spoonful of food in the container of whatever. I never finish anything. Even if it's a glass of water, I leave some at the bottom. Really scary and I don't know why. At least I can never be blamed for eating or drinking the last of anything....there is always a little bit left with my neurotic strategy.
4.I never really had pets growing up. Mostly because my parents weren't real keen on the idea but also I feared getting real close and then having them die. I mourned over my dead goldfish, cried at Ol Yeller, cheered out loud at Free Willy. Well anyway, we have now had a family dog (technically my daughter's, her name is Chammi, a goldendoodle) for the last 3 years and I love her to pieces. It took 60 yrs but now I (we)have a dog!
5. A quick mini-series of randomness: I love peanut butter, mayonnaise and lettuce sandwiches; never go back once I leave no matter what was forgotten; only ask for directions if my wife threatens death; I'm rarely allowed to cut bread and cake because I just press on the knife rather than saw back and forth and end up squishing it.
6. I am addicted to feeling good about accomplishing projects around the house...resurfacing the deck boards and staining, putting in a new kitchen faucet, replacing a water turn-off valve, rebuilding a fence. I love that sense of satisfaction that comes with finishing such tasks, especially the ones where it seemed I was in over my head and came so close to having had to abort the mission (which pretty much describes almost all of my projects).
Well, that's it for this meme (as a first time memer, it is somewhat refreshing getting a subject assigned through being tagged and just writing about what someone else chooses for you). PS, I tried to look up meme but it doesn't appear in Websters).
And now, I tag the following people who I don't believe have been accosted quite yet:
Di
Marcell
Terri
1. Growing up we were always building "forts" of one kind or another. In 6th and 7th grade my buddies and I came up with the mother of all meeting places. We had a 100' water tower behind my house and we used to climb it about 3 or 4 nights a week and just hang out on the catwalk and talk. The neighbors were ever vigilant for such shenanigans and would often call the police if we accidentally banged the metal too hard and alerted folks to our presence. But that was the best part, because if we sensed we had been busted, we would climb the ladder to the top of the actual tank and lay around the top with our heads in a circle around the center. The police would come, shout at us with their bullhorns, shine their spotlights but couldn't see us because we were at the very top and they never dared climb up themselves. We just waited in silence and eventually they just left. High adventure indeed!
2. Dave had a fire story...me too. An older brother of some friends made us match guns from clothespins that shot wooden matches and ignited them on the way out. One of our friends had horses and a barn. We were goofing around and a match went under a locked door in the barn full of hay and started a horrendous fire. We alerted the owner and promptly pedaled our bikes out of there as fast as we could go, throwing out our matches and match guns as we raced down their long driveway. No horses perished (but reportedly some kitties did). We got in really bad trouble (it even made the 10PM news)and we had to appear before a juvenile court person who said he would try his best but he couldn't guarantee that he could keep us from having to go to reform school. All through 6th grade, whenever there was a knock on the classroom door, I was just sure that it was going to be a policeman who would simply say "Sorry bud, you lost, come with me". I tell you, I never played with matches again!
3.Maybe something really short....the above two are candidates for novella status.
I have a weird habit of always leaving one bite or one spoonful of food in the container of whatever. I never finish anything. Even if it's a glass of water, I leave some at the bottom. Really scary and I don't know why. At least I can never be blamed for eating or drinking the last of anything....there is always a little bit left with my neurotic strategy.
4.I never really had pets growing up. Mostly because my parents weren't real keen on the idea but also I feared getting real close and then having them die. I mourned over my dead goldfish, cried at Ol Yeller, cheered out loud at Free Willy. Well anyway, we have now had a family dog (technically my daughter's, her name is Chammi, a goldendoodle) for the last 3 years and I love her to pieces. It took 60 yrs but now I (we)have a dog!
5. A quick mini-series of randomness: I love peanut butter, mayonnaise and lettuce sandwiches; never go back once I leave no matter what was forgotten; only ask for directions if my wife threatens death; I'm rarely allowed to cut bread and cake because I just press on the knife rather than saw back and forth and end up squishing it.
6. I am addicted to feeling good about accomplishing projects around the house...resurfacing the deck boards and staining, putting in a new kitchen faucet, replacing a water turn-off valve, rebuilding a fence. I love that sense of satisfaction that comes with finishing such tasks, especially the ones where it seemed I was in over my head and came so close to having had to abort the mission (which pretty much describes almost all of my projects).
Well, that's it for this meme (as a first time memer, it is somewhat refreshing getting a subject assigned through being tagged and just writing about what someone else chooses for you). PS, I tried to look up meme but it doesn't appear in Websters).
And now, I tag the following people who I don't believe have been accosted quite yet:
Di
Marcell
Terri
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Thrashing about on a Saturday night
So it's 11:30PM, sitting here in one of those exhausted but stirred up modes. My youngest, Jenna, graduated today from UMD. My Mom and Sandi joined me to watch the ceremonies and congratulate my daughter's 5 years of tenacity. So what's the deal, why do I sit here in this funk, this kind of dark agitation?
Took a tour through some of the blogs....at least some of the ones listed on others blog sites. This little tour provided some relief from whatever is bugging me. Oh Terri, you were hurting and I didn't even know it til' I guess it was over. How strange to feel bad about that....we hardly even know one another but this blogland thing sure makes it feel otherwise. Di's reminder to stay on the coverage of the bootcamp, the incredible poem she has recently posted, Marcell's ode to Babe and soaring symphony featuring an organ, Danny's missional ministry house coming together, Greg's shout out to Jen, the lovely Kirsten and her boutique of words and poems and pictures, Dean getting the family established in Switzerland, Dave's sports riffs. Thank you one and all, you all ministered to me on this night in ways you can't know.
Jenna's Mom and her husband shared the day up in Duluth as well,as did my oldest Jessica and her beau Adam. Given my recent posts, spending time with both of my daughters and the interplay of current and former spouses has, I believe, contributed to whatever this vague malaise I find myself soaking in. Kind of a day spent in the Hamilton Beach blender on the frappe' setting of past, present and glimpses of future. Now just pour out this yummy concoction into chilled serving glasses and enjoy!
Jeesh, just go to bed Santiago. Yeah, but I would really like to put my finger on what this swirly thing around me is that I might process it accordingly and be done with it. Sat outside for awhile on my back looking at the stars, searching for God's voice, his word for me, his directions out of this mental maze. Did some warfare counter measures and bound, gagged and blinded every strategy of the foul spirits wishing to take me out. Walked the perimeter of my domain.
Nevertheless, I sit here clicking away at this keyboard like a chicken runs around after it's head has been chopped off. Don't feel like I'm getting any closer to clarity. Is it HR, the Canadian bootcamp, the embers of today's fires up north? What up Hoppy?
I can't help but feel that part of it is just that feeling of being kind of lost, overwhelmed by surrounding fog, feeling a total absence of any sort of control. Today a big chunk of life (ie. Jenna completing her degree) fell into place, time demonstrated that it indeed is marching on and I am just left with this sense of humbling angst and feeling like I am just off in the margins. I make no agreements with any of this!
Valid question: Why post all this crap? Pissed off answer: Because it's my blog and I just felt like thrashing around, regardless of whether or not resolution is to be found. Thrashing for thrashings sake. OK, time to put a merciful end to this unedifying meandering. I guess I will hit the ol' Publish Post button by way of leaving a sample, a veritable specimen, of the kind of loopy nonsense I sometimes find myself immersed in. Certainly won't be accused of trying to impress by laying down this kind of drivel...
Here's to a better morning....
Took a tour through some of the blogs....at least some of the ones listed on others blog sites. This little tour provided some relief from whatever is bugging me. Oh Terri, you were hurting and I didn't even know it til' I guess it was over. How strange to feel bad about that....we hardly even know one another but this blogland thing sure makes it feel otherwise. Di's reminder to stay on the coverage of the bootcamp, the incredible poem she has recently posted, Marcell's ode to Babe and soaring symphony featuring an organ, Danny's missional ministry house coming together, Greg's shout out to Jen, the lovely Kirsten and her boutique of words and poems and pictures, Dean getting the family established in Switzerland, Dave's sports riffs. Thank you one and all, you all ministered to me on this night in ways you can't know.
Jenna's Mom and her husband shared the day up in Duluth as well,as did my oldest Jessica and her beau Adam. Given my recent posts, spending time with both of my daughters and the interplay of current and former spouses has, I believe, contributed to whatever this vague malaise I find myself soaking in. Kind of a day spent in the Hamilton Beach blender on the frappe' setting of past, present and glimpses of future. Now just pour out this yummy concoction into chilled serving glasses and enjoy!
Jeesh, just go to bed Santiago. Yeah, but I would really like to put my finger on what this swirly thing around me is that I might process it accordingly and be done with it. Sat outside for awhile on my back looking at the stars, searching for God's voice, his word for me, his directions out of this mental maze. Did some warfare counter measures and bound, gagged and blinded every strategy of the foul spirits wishing to take me out. Walked the perimeter of my domain.
Nevertheless, I sit here clicking away at this keyboard like a chicken runs around after it's head has been chopped off. Don't feel like I'm getting any closer to clarity. Is it HR, the Canadian bootcamp, the embers of today's fires up north? What up Hoppy?
I can't help but feel that part of it is just that feeling of being kind of lost, overwhelmed by surrounding fog, feeling a total absence of any sort of control. Today a big chunk of life (ie. Jenna completing her degree) fell into place, time demonstrated that it indeed is marching on and I am just left with this sense of humbling angst and feeling like I am just off in the margins. I make no agreements with any of this!
Valid question: Why post all this crap? Pissed off answer: Because it's my blog and I just felt like thrashing around, regardless of whether or not resolution is to be found. Thrashing for thrashings sake. OK, time to put a merciful end to this unedifying meandering. I guess I will hit the ol' Publish Post button by way of leaving a sample, a veritable specimen, of the kind of loopy nonsense I sometimes find myself immersed in. Certainly won't be accused of trying to impress by laying down this kind of drivel...
Here's to a better morning....
Monday, May 12, 2008
Now is all I have
So it's felt freeing to describe several major chunks of my life spanning over 20 years. Flying over some woundings from youth, a life implosion in 1988, marriage separation in 1990, through divorce, long road of rambling recovery, remarriage on 1/6/01 and on up to today leaves me feeling exhausted but grateful. The interplay of God's grace woven through the ultimate consequences of sin.....
Sin, that word that political correctness abhors. That simple word defined in James as "...knows what is right to do but fails to do it" These relativistic times disallow all absolutes. Yet this I know, if you sow a black crop of twisted, dysfunctional seeds you will, you absolutely will, reap a strikingly similar crop.
Where are you going with this blog Hoppy? Well, only to say that mercy does indeed triumph over judgement! Christ's work on my behalf purchased for me a new lease on life. Initially surrendering myself to Jesus in May of 1975 put me on an entirely new path. Over a decade later, even when I fell off that path, my Savior was there to dust me off and hit the restart button of my life. Painless? Heck no. Quick? Absolutely not. Without cost? Please! I can only say that I am eternally grateful for his dogged pursuit of me, the chief of sinners.
And so it feels good to get out some of what I've come from and come through. Of course, none of us are called to live in the past-- the now is all we have and I want to be vitally alive to this moment..., and now this moment ....and now again, this present moment. Even this blog, regardless of what my intentions were when I first launched 500' Flyby, has become a tool in appropriating the essence, the heart of what matters in life, of being real with myself and losing all the bs that's seems so ever present and constantly offers itself as a substitute for the real deal.
The world shouts out it's nominations for noteworthy goals, objects worthy of pursuit and values of materialism that should simply shock us as observers. But alas, as frogs, we have been oblivious to the slowly increasing temperature of the now boiling water. Actually, saying the world 'shouts' is too mild. The world screams out it's messages 24/7 in every way imaginable. Just one example of this worldly message is a current, frequently shown TV ad: Guy imagines owning a really cool flat panel TV and wanders off to the store in an almost trance-like mode with the background 'jingle' going on like a mantra...."I want it all, I want it all, I want it all".... And now you can, with your Chase credit card...get it now, pay for it later. The American way....(Oh, don't get me going!)
I would love to say that I am impervious to all this...but it creeps in. I look above the fireplace, see this brick expanse that would be such a cool place for something...but what?....a painting?....a mounted sword perhaps?....no, how about a 40" flat panel TV? Somehow, that idea has wormed it's way into my mind and is making a mighty effort at stirring desire and that desire is making a tenacious effort at creating momentum of action and a plan to bring all this into realization....."I want it all"
But these days, perhaps with the benefit of more age, (spelled maturity for those keeping score at home), comes a bit more ability to quell the knee-jerk reactions, to see through the lie of: happiness = ownership of lots of cool stuff. And for that I am grateful Lord but this quality is hardly well-established...more like a thin veneer of ice easily broken through. Protect me from the moguls of Madison Avenue!
As a recovering hedonist, I have spent a lifetime chasing happiness in all the wrong places. Today, I am aware that my game is well beyond halftime, maybe even into the 4th quarter. I am hungry to bring an end to so much "life by default", to be more intentional, to spend my energies on things that really matter. Sounds kind of lofty...the kind of a statement that seems better coming from one speaking from some raised platform more so than from me.
Yet that too has worn thin, that chronic defeatist sense of mine, that self-limiting, keep-your-aspirations-modest-lest-you-deliver-only-more-failure. Since betraying myself and my family, I have become painfully aware of all the time I have spent holding myself hostage, constantly beating up on myself and being my own worst enemy. Being "hard on myself" eventually became a virtual hobby (albeit a diabolical one).
However (thank you God that there is a 'however'!), the last several years have brought increasing levels of redemption, restoration, of applying more of the good news to more of me, of the Lord coming into my various prison cells and flinging open some barred doors, of substantial healing of my brokenheartedness. And for that Jesus, let me just stop and say thank you Father. Thank you for not abandoning me, for showing me a living example of what "unconditional" really looks like. Keep it coming Lord, keep it coming.
So what of my "now"? What are my current priorities, the items that I believe either should be or are already the focus of my attention?
Perhaps a quick listing, no particular order, a sort of data dump:
1. A desire to not live my life as though it's just a "waiting room" before heaven and eternal bliss.
2. The importance of living in a conversational intimacy with God.
3. The truth that wholeness and holiness go hand in hand...there is no freedom without holiness and vice versa.
4. That my life is aggressively opposed by a real live enemy (who is not shooting rubber bullets) with an intensity that seems in direct proportion to the degree I serve as an agent for advancing the Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.
5. That it is not about me.
6. That if Jesus has forgiven me then I must as well...not doing so is nothing less than perverse pride from the very pit of hell.
7. That my judgement, my incessant judgement of others must be collapsed.
8. That there is nothing more valuable, more thrill-producing, more lasting and pleasure-inducing than walking with God.
9. That the political thrusts of this country/world are of Caesar and I am never again to merge /superimpose them with or onto the ways of the Kingdom.
10.That there is no auto-pilot setting in life and that all of the above require an ongoing level of my most diligent intentionality.
11. That somehow in all of this, God still allows me to laugh and to see humor amidst the journey (the hardest laughs are at myself) and to enjoy the many blessings he provides along the way.
Well, I am certain this is not exhaustive but it seems to be a fair expression of the basic core of where I am at in this "spring" (and I use the term loosely) of 2008.
For now, I offer these words in this blog to make my current outlook more concrete, less swirly. I submit this for all blogging eyes to see that I may be more public, more transparent, more accountable for what I profess as being important and in the interests of letting the light of day wash over what otherwise would remain mostly internal.
Note to self: I wonder if blogging will ever feel more natural, less self-absorbed and more clearly worth engaging in....? Jesus, what have you to say about this? I am willing to hear either a yes or a no.....
Sin, that word that political correctness abhors. That simple word defined in James as "...knows what is right to do but fails to do it" These relativistic times disallow all absolutes. Yet this I know, if you sow a black crop of twisted, dysfunctional seeds you will, you absolutely will, reap a strikingly similar crop.
Where are you going with this blog Hoppy? Well, only to say that mercy does indeed triumph over judgement! Christ's work on my behalf purchased for me a new lease on life. Initially surrendering myself to Jesus in May of 1975 put me on an entirely new path. Over a decade later, even when I fell off that path, my Savior was there to dust me off and hit the restart button of my life. Painless? Heck no. Quick? Absolutely not. Without cost? Please! I can only say that I am eternally grateful for his dogged pursuit of me, the chief of sinners.
And so it feels good to get out some of what I've come from and come through. Of course, none of us are called to live in the past-- the now is all we have and I want to be vitally alive to this moment..., and now this moment ....and now again, this present moment. Even this blog, regardless of what my intentions were when I first launched 500' Flyby, has become a tool in appropriating the essence, the heart of what matters in life, of being real with myself and losing all the bs that's seems so ever present and constantly offers itself as a substitute for the real deal.
The world shouts out it's nominations for noteworthy goals, objects worthy of pursuit and values of materialism that should simply shock us as observers. But alas, as frogs, we have been oblivious to the slowly increasing temperature of the now boiling water. Actually, saying the world 'shouts' is too mild. The world screams out it's messages 24/7 in every way imaginable. Just one example of this worldly message is a current, frequently shown TV ad: Guy imagines owning a really cool flat panel TV and wanders off to the store in an almost trance-like mode with the background 'jingle' going on like a mantra...."I want it all, I want it all, I want it all".... And now you can, with your Chase credit card...get it now, pay for it later. The American way....(Oh, don't get me going!)
I would love to say that I am impervious to all this...but it creeps in. I look above the fireplace, see this brick expanse that would be such a cool place for something...but what?....a painting?....a mounted sword perhaps?....no, how about a 40" flat panel TV? Somehow, that idea has wormed it's way into my mind and is making a mighty effort at stirring desire and that desire is making a tenacious effort at creating momentum of action and a plan to bring all this into realization....."I want it all"
But these days, perhaps with the benefit of more age, (spelled maturity for those keeping score at home), comes a bit more ability to quell the knee-jerk reactions, to see through the lie of: happiness = ownership of lots of cool stuff. And for that I am grateful Lord but this quality is hardly well-established...more like a thin veneer of ice easily broken through. Protect me from the moguls of Madison Avenue!
As a recovering hedonist, I have spent a lifetime chasing happiness in all the wrong places. Today, I am aware that my game is well beyond halftime, maybe even into the 4th quarter. I am hungry to bring an end to so much "life by default", to be more intentional, to spend my energies on things that really matter. Sounds kind of lofty...the kind of a statement that seems better coming from one speaking from some raised platform more so than from me.
Yet that too has worn thin, that chronic defeatist sense of mine, that self-limiting, keep-your-aspirations-modest-lest-you-deliver-only-more-failure. Since betraying myself and my family, I have become painfully aware of all the time I have spent holding myself hostage, constantly beating up on myself and being my own worst enemy. Being "hard on myself" eventually became a virtual hobby (albeit a diabolical one).
However (thank you God that there is a 'however'!), the last several years have brought increasing levels of redemption, restoration, of applying more of the good news to more of me, of the Lord coming into my various prison cells and flinging open some barred doors, of substantial healing of my brokenheartedness. And for that Jesus, let me just stop and say thank you Father. Thank you for not abandoning me, for showing me a living example of what "unconditional" really looks like. Keep it coming Lord, keep it coming.
So what of my "now"? What are my current priorities, the items that I believe either should be or are already the focus of my attention?
Perhaps a quick listing, no particular order, a sort of data dump:
1. A desire to not live my life as though it's just a "waiting room" before heaven and eternal bliss.
2. The importance of living in a conversational intimacy with God.
3. The truth that wholeness and holiness go hand in hand...there is no freedom without holiness and vice versa.
4. That my life is aggressively opposed by a real live enemy (who is not shooting rubber bullets) with an intensity that seems in direct proportion to the degree I serve as an agent for advancing the Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.
5. That it is not about me.
6. That if Jesus has forgiven me then I must as well...not doing so is nothing less than perverse pride from the very pit of hell.
7. That my judgement, my incessant judgement of others must be collapsed.
8. That there is nothing more valuable, more thrill-producing, more lasting and pleasure-inducing than walking with God.
9. That the political thrusts of this country/world are of Caesar and I am never again to merge /superimpose them with or onto the ways of the Kingdom.
10.That there is no auto-pilot setting in life and that all of the above require an ongoing level of my most diligent intentionality.
11. That somehow in all of this, God still allows me to laugh and to see humor amidst the journey (the hardest laughs are at myself) and to enjoy the many blessings he provides along the way.
Well, I am certain this is not exhaustive but it seems to be a fair expression of the basic core of where I am at in this "spring" (and I use the term loosely) of 2008.
For now, I offer these words in this blog to make my current outlook more concrete, less swirly. I submit this for all blogging eyes to see that I may be more public, more transparent, more accountable for what I profess as being important and in the interests of letting the light of day wash over what otherwise would remain mostly internal.
Note to self: I wonder if blogging will ever feel more natural, less self-absorbed and more clearly worth engaging in....? Jesus, what have you to say about this? I am willing to hear either a yes or a no.....
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Out of the Swamp
Glory! How blessed I am that where I last left off is not the rest of the story. How incredibly thankful I am that the redemption and restoration of the crucified, resurrected and ascended Lover of my soul is having the last word! Not to go off like some raving evangelical religious guy, but Praise God he has some more for me!
I have told of the day I was shaving and got smitten with this delayed conviction of what I had unleashed. That was nothing less than the day that Jesus waded into my fetid swamp, knocked me out, slung me over his shoulder and started to carry me on the journey out. And a short journey it was not....
So much of those days during the two-year separation and following the divorce are like lost time. The healing and recovery that was underway was way too imperceptible to bring any kind of visceral relief. No, the noise and chaos of just trying to survive, keep my job, find a way to continue to be a father to my precious daughters and not drown in the dark tank of depression that dogged me resulted in an overall numbness that defied description.
Initially my struggles were to find housing that would be appropriate to bring my girls into for weekends together. That took a while. In one twelve month span, I moved at least eight times, sometimes in places that were safe for two girls aged 6 and 7, other times not so much.
For instance, there was the "season" I moved into one of those "rooms for rent" within a private home. Sounded good, scoped out the place in a drive by...nice, suburban split level in Maplewood. Met the lady, toured the place and signed up. Things got decidedly more dicey, however, within days of move in. When I would go down to watch TV in the communal family room there was always a cast of unsavory characters that would seem to perpetually be there and others that would endlessly drop by with their Dobermans. A normal evening was like a clip from one of those Discovery channel programs: "Inside Folsom Prison". I noticed, in checking for my mail, that the pile almost always had a number of envelopes addressed to a wide variety of people with return addresses like: State Dept. of Corrections, Parole Office, Ramsey County Courthouse etc. So much for bringing my girls over....I lived there for three weeks, broke my rental agreement and literally backed out of the house with my paltry belongings and their vicious threats that I would not be getting away with this.
Fortunately, things did eventually start to get better. After living in a friend's apartment that was paid up for five more weeks, trying another "rental in a private home" deal, house sitting out in Afton for the winter, I eventually got an apartment in the ghetto of Woodbury (yes, despite it's well-known affluence, there is one and if you come with me I will show you). This was my new base camp which provided some welcomed stability and a home near my girls that would accommodate frequent visits. Those frequent visits were a major thumbprint of God's redemptive work in my circumstances.
The two years leading up to our marriage dissolution could not have been more acrimonious. For a time, it seriously appeared as though the girl's mother would be taking them and moving back to her hometown in Idaho. I had absolutely no recourse in the matter. Those were the darkest of days, anticipating that separation, feeling helpless to prevent it and getting schooled in the non-rights of fathers in such situations. (Source of some frustration: How do the courts expect to foster fathering in children's lives when all that is most commonly offered is "visitation rights".....how do you effectively parent with just "visitation" rights?) I began to gain some understanding of what must sometimes be behind some of the abductions we endlessly hear/read about. Yet, very soon after signing the final papers things started to turn decidedly less caustic. It was as if a major point had been made, some justice had been served, a penalty had been exacted and now there was room for the entrance of at least minimum levels of cordiality and some additonal leeway in making more accommodating visitation arrangements.
Now living within 14 miles of the girls, every other weekend began to morph into the addition of 1 or 2 weeknights as well. I would drive the girls to their schools the next morning. This felt so good, to be more dynamically in J&J's everyday life. Those were the days learning the rules of Mom's House, Dad's House (a book that was helpful at the time). My highest priority was my daughters. The end of our marriage was the beginning of me becoming an infinitely more dedicated father. Within a couple of years, I was able to buy a townhouse in Woodbury which offered even greater feelings of permanency and increased stability.
Every other weekend and a couple of weeknights with my kids gave me hope that perhaps I could protect them from the worst effects of "a broken home". I heard myself often saying, "You have a full time Mom who loves you and a full time Dad who loves you, just not under the same roof". Sounds better than it really is, kind of skirts around and ignores the true impact of it all but certainly a distant consolation prize. To this day(and with no thoughts of ever stopping), I continue to be concerned and vigilant for the fallout of this trauma upon their fragile lives. (It's just that now, at 23 and 24, they are outside of so much of my grasp but for prayer, thank you God for prayer!)
Meanwhile, I spent post traumatic years in a charismatic Lutheran church (now there's a juxtaposition for ya', kind of like the Lord slipped the Scandinavians a spiritual mickey) that many had come to over the years to find a place of healing. But healing did not come quickly...I spent more than a year merely attending the "blue haired ladies service" doing little more than just staring at the cross and trying to hear from God. I made no effort to meet anyone or to participate...I simply came to present myself to God and pray for forgiveness and for my girls. After several years, I tentatively stepped out and became involved in altar prayer and some men's ministries. And then, five years ago, my time at that church came to an abrupt end, not by my efforts but through direct intervention from Kingdom emissaries. The time came when I couldn't get one thing from a service, it was as if the church had turned to brass for me, even though everyone else seemed to be having no problems. Every inquiry of mine to Jesus was met simply with "Your time here is over", but with no direction for any alternative/Plan B.
Which more or less brings me to the present. After coming to WH as a casual visitor a couple of times (because my girls were going there and liked it) I ended up discovering that this was to become my new church body. And over the last five years there has been a marked crescendoing of healing, outfitting for ministry, clarity of identity and generally growing a bit more comfortable in my own skin. I expect I have returned to where I could have been some 15 or 20 years ago if I hadn't taken some very wrong turns.
Describing all this has been pure work. As a rookie in blogging (twelve posts and counting), I have experienced some deep satisfaction and even some fun in birthing some posts. This has not been like that but still seemed necessary. I liken it to those corporate websites that always have little sections you can click on like Product, Contact, About Us. Yes, this has been About Me, it provides some background and some historical perspective on who I am today and how I got here. Tentatively, I plan on coming back to post about....ahhh, never mind.... This 500'Flyby has nothing to do with my plans. I just hope to be back soon with more of who knows what.
James, you have worked hard...come over here and rest under the Big Pine...cease striving and know that I am your Lord and go before you in all you do.
I have told of the day I was shaving and got smitten with this delayed conviction of what I had unleashed. That was nothing less than the day that Jesus waded into my fetid swamp, knocked me out, slung me over his shoulder and started to carry me on the journey out. And a short journey it was not....
So much of those days during the two-year separation and following the divorce are like lost time. The healing and recovery that was underway was way too imperceptible to bring any kind of visceral relief. No, the noise and chaos of just trying to survive, keep my job, find a way to continue to be a father to my precious daughters and not drown in the dark tank of depression that dogged me resulted in an overall numbness that defied description.
Initially my struggles were to find housing that would be appropriate to bring my girls into for weekends together. That took a while. In one twelve month span, I moved at least eight times, sometimes in places that were safe for two girls aged 6 and 7, other times not so much.
For instance, there was the "season" I moved into one of those "rooms for rent" within a private home. Sounded good, scoped out the place in a drive by...nice, suburban split level in Maplewood. Met the lady, toured the place and signed up. Things got decidedly more dicey, however, within days of move in. When I would go down to watch TV in the communal family room there was always a cast of unsavory characters that would seem to perpetually be there and others that would endlessly drop by with their Dobermans. A normal evening was like a clip from one of those Discovery channel programs: "Inside Folsom Prison". I noticed, in checking for my mail, that the pile almost always had a number of envelopes addressed to a wide variety of people with return addresses like: State Dept. of Corrections, Parole Office, Ramsey County Courthouse etc. So much for bringing my girls over....I lived there for three weeks, broke my rental agreement and literally backed out of the house with my paltry belongings and their vicious threats that I would not be getting away with this.
Fortunately, things did eventually start to get better. After living in a friend's apartment that was paid up for five more weeks, trying another "rental in a private home" deal, house sitting out in Afton for the winter, I eventually got an apartment in the ghetto of Woodbury (yes, despite it's well-known affluence, there is one and if you come with me I will show you). This was my new base camp which provided some welcomed stability and a home near my girls that would accommodate frequent visits. Those frequent visits were a major thumbprint of God's redemptive work in my circumstances.
The two years leading up to our marriage dissolution could not have been more acrimonious. For a time, it seriously appeared as though the girl's mother would be taking them and moving back to her hometown in Idaho. I had absolutely no recourse in the matter. Those were the darkest of days, anticipating that separation, feeling helpless to prevent it and getting schooled in the non-rights of fathers in such situations. (Source of some frustration: How do the courts expect to foster fathering in children's lives when all that is most commonly offered is "visitation rights".....how do you effectively parent with just "visitation" rights?) I began to gain some understanding of what must sometimes be behind some of the abductions we endlessly hear/read about. Yet, very soon after signing the final papers things started to turn decidedly less caustic. It was as if a major point had been made, some justice had been served, a penalty had been exacted and now there was room for the entrance of at least minimum levels of cordiality and some additonal leeway in making more accommodating visitation arrangements.
Now living within 14 miles of the girls, every other weekend began to morph into the addition of 1 or 2 weeknights as well. I would drive the girls to their schools the next morning. This felt so good, to be more dynamically in J&J's everyday life. Those were the days learning the rules of Mom's House, Dad's House (a book that was helpful at the time). My highest priority was my daughters. The end of our marriage was the beginning of me becoming an infinitely more dedicated father. Within a couple of years, I was able to buy a townhouse in Woodbury which offered even greater feelings of permanency and increased stability.
Every other weekend and a couple of weeknights with my kids gave me hope that perhaps I could protect them from the worst effects of "a broken home". I heard myself often saying, "You have a full time Mom who loves you and a full time Dad who loves you, just not under the same roof". Sounds better than it really is, kind of skirts around and ignores the true impact of it all but certainly a distant consolation prize. To this day(and with no thoughts of ever stopping), I continue to be concerned and vigilant for the fallout of this trauma upon their fragile lives. (It's just that now, at 23 and 24, they are outside of so much of my grasp but for prayer, thank you God for prayer!)
Meanwhile, I spent post traumatic years in a charismatic Lutheran church (now there's a juxtaposition for ya', kind of like the Lord slipped the Scandinavians a spiritual mickey) that many had come to over the years to find a place of healing. But healing did not come quickly...I spent more than a year merely attending the "blue haired ladies service" doing little more than just staring at the cross and trying to hear from God. I made no effort to meet anyone or to participate...I simply came to present myself to God and pray for forgiveness and for my girls. After several years, I tentatively stepped out and became involved in altar prayer and some men's ministries. And then, five years ago, my time at that church came to an abrupt end, not by my efforts but through direct intervention from Kingdom emissaries. The time came when I couldn't get one thing from a service, it was as if the church had turned to brass for me, even though everyone else seemed to be having no problems. Every inquiry of mine to Jesus was met simply with "Your time here is over", but with no direction for any alternative/Plan B.
Which more or less brings me to the present. After coming to WH as a casual visitor a couple of times (because my girls were going there and liked it) I ended up discovering that this was to become my new church body. And over the last five years there has been a marked crescendoing of healing, outfitting for ministry, clarity of identity and generally growing a bit more comfortable in my own skin. I expect I have returned to where I could have been some 15 or 20 years ago if I hadn't taken some very wrong turns.
Describing all this has been pure work. As a rookie in blogging (twelve posts and counting), I have experienced some deep satisfaction and even some fun in birthing some posts. This has not been like that but still seemed necessary. I liken it to those corporate websites that always have little sections you can click on like Product, Contact, About Us. Yes, this has been About Me, it provides some background and some historical perspective on who I am today and how I got here. Tentatively, I plan on coming back to post about....ahhh, never mind.... This 500'Flyby has nothing to do with my plans. I just hope to be back soon with more of who knows what.
James, you have worked hard...come over here and rest under the Big Pine...cease striving and know that I am your Lord and go before you in all you do.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Who's your worst enemy?
(WARNING: NOT TO BE READ WHILE EATING)
I guess my intent is not to spend the next umpteen posts telling endless stories of wounds incurred in the war zone of life. No one gets through life without taking hits, no one. And really, it's not the hits themselves that impact one's life so much...it's the message of the wound that has the lasting power. It's the vows we make around the wound, often in the interests of self-protection to avoid future repeats. We also make agreements with ourselves fueled by anger, hatred, utter terror and a host of other stout emotions in the aftermath of woundings that drive us to make those "I will never again", "From now on, whenever....", "I can see that I'm not....", "My life will always/never be...." etc, etc, painfully etc.
But for me to go on in this blog-o-mine requires me to take an unpleasant tour through the worst wound of all. Yes that one, the "mother of all wounds". To say that I have not been looking forward to this is the mother of all understatements. Matter of fact, I am tapping out this post mere days after my last one which, for me, is an unusually short interim. Why? Because today, my birthday, in my devotion time I felt the Lord release me to go and at least start this dreaded post. The picture that describes my angst about this comes from when I was a tyke and was sick to my stomach. My Mom would keep telling me that I needed to just throw up and get it over with. Well, I hated that process so much that I would put it off and put it off until finally (mercifully) nature just had it's way and I went through the brief trauma but gained relief as a result. So, excuse me in advance, I have to throw up....!
From where I sit, the worst wounds of all are the self-inflicted ones. After all, those coming from other people and other sources normally just couldn't be avoided. We get hit, we reel, hopefully we heal well and we move on. But those heart gashes we brutally slice on our own are a diabolical self-betrayal, a turning of our self against our self. Where do you turn when you can't trust yourself to do right by you? What can be worse than becoming your own worst enemy? How are you supposed to get up in the morning of a new day and look forward to a day of blessing when you yourself have become the enemy camp?
OK Santiago, approach the white porcelain confessional and get it out! It was the late 80's, I was married and Jessica and Jenna were (and are) the most precious daughters on the face of this earth. Trust me, this is a true statement!! They would and still do melt my heart and send me quickly to my knees in both gratefulness for getting to be their dad and for protection and blessing upon their lives. I was at the time a troubled man. Having made Jesus my Lord May 19, 1975, married in October of 1977, we had gone 7 or 8 years to a great church that ultimately fell completely apart. A couple years of co-pastoring a home church and I was fast taking on water as my ship headed for the dangerous rocks and ultimate shipwreck. I was in a position of power in my career, had a VP title, company car, successful....
However, at home I was esteemed not. I just couldn't seem to please or get it right and domestically it was a continual eggshell walk.(Caveat: I blame no one but myself for this wounding. I take full responsibility for my actions and I am 110% accountable. No part of this post is meant to be offered as an excuse or even a viable or understandable explanation. All that follows is nothing but the reaping of a black harvest from black seeds regretfully sown by me.) A typical weekend took the form of me saying or doing something offensive on Friday which precipitated a long lasting anger response that would tank most weekends.
In stark contrast, at work I was kind of 'the man'. I had been instrumental in rolling out a particular program that was dramatically turning around our companies financial picture. I was getting lots of kudos, I was in demand for the 'work hard, play hard' after work get-togethers at the local 494 clubs. Oh at first I resisted mightily. As a believer, that wasn't for me. But the erosion of this position went pretty fast and within several months of saying no, one night I went. I was virtually an instant hit and was crowned king of the party and expected to become a permanent fixture by my peers. And what about those work peers? How dangerous can the group become with whom you spend, at that time, 50 hours a week? They become not only like a family...they can become in some ways even closer as you share all the emotional ups and downs of fast-paced business dealings. Fox hole buddies.....
Well, you have undoubtedly seen this coming....
I also found myself getting lots of attention from some of the females at work. After work there was no shortage of letting down your hair and dancing and laughing. I am ashamed, eternally regretful to have to confess that I succumbed. I let it happen. No need here for gory, tabloid-quality details. Suffice it to say that I did adulterous things with several women. No affairs with any of them, never slept with any of them but, regardless, I did adulterous things that would not stand the light of day much less the light of the Truth. I betrayed my wife, my daughters and myself. I may as well have plunged a cold blade of steel into their hearts and into mine. I ripped asunder, shredded, the gossamer fabric of trust.
This ilicit behavior occurred within a 6-8 mos time frame. That time passed and life went on for about a year and I lived with basically little to no conviction of wrongdoing. I realize this sounds all wrong and sick but this delayed reaction to my sin was how it actually happened. One morning I was shaving, seeing myself in the mirror and it's like a light bulb snapped on inside me and I was overwhelmed with "Oh my God, what have I done? Who have I become" (I am now very sick about regurgitating this horror. I intend to make a final dash to the end so pardon any abruptness.)
Suffice it to say that eventually I ended up confessing the truth. Oh, not in a brave way...no, I have no credit coming. It was pulled out of me bit by bit by someone who, (bless her heart this is a talent of hers, not a weakness), could make a KGB agent look like a rank amateur. Finally it was all out, I lived in the house for a little while longer but that soon came to an end. We were separated for 2 yrs, there were several aborted attempts at reconciliation/restoration. But I had betrayed someone who Meyers-Briggs described as being closest in makeup to the historical character of Joan of Arc. What followed were 2 of the darkest, most depressing, lost years of my life and I owe it all to me and the enemy who must grin even now as it is retold.
We were officially divorced July of 1992. I will not be like one of those Hollywood characters who, on their death bed, report that they have no regrets. I have many and my heart is full of scars. I say this not to eilicit sympathy, that would be ludicrous. No, only to set the record straight on what was the source of the worst of my wounds...it was me.
Yes, there is restoration to be discussed. But, as before, I am going to leave this stinking mass of putrid slop just lie there. My South African friends, Dean and Lorna, have offered their hot sun and so yes, I put it out under that scorching, African sun for now to quiver along with the other arrows.
J, if you ever come across this I can only say once again how very sorry I am for all that I brought down on you. Know that it has exacted much of my life from me and to this day I walk with a limp.....not that that would bring any consolation.)
Happy Birthday Hoppy
I guess my intent is not to spend the next umpteen posts telling endless stories of wounds incurred in the war zone of life. No one gets through life without taking hits, no one. And really, it's not the hits themselves that impact one's life so much...it's the message of the wound that has the lasting power. It's the vows we make around the wound, often in the interests of self-protection to avoid future repeats. We also make agreements with ourselves fueled by anger, hatred, utter terror and a host of other stout emotions in the aftermath of woundings that drive us to make those "I will never again", "From now on, whenever....", "I can see that I'm not....", "My life will always/never be...." etc, etc, painfully etc.
But for me to go on in this blog-o-mine requires me to take an unpleasant tour through the worst wound of all. Yes that one, the "mother of all wounds". To say that I have not been looking forward to this is the mother of all understatements. Matter of fact, I am tapping out this post mere days after my last one which, for me, is an unusually short interim. Why? Because today, my birthday, in my devotion time I felt the Lord release me to go and at least start this dreaded post. The picture that describes my angst about this comes from when I was a tyke and was sick to my stomach. My Mom would keep telling me that I needed to just throw up and get it over with. Well, I hated that process so much that I would put it off and put it off until finally (mercifully) nature just had it's way and I went through the brief trauma but gained relief as a result. So, excuse me in advance, I have to throw up....!
From where I sit, the worst wounds of all are the self-inflicted ones. After all, those coming from other people and other sources normally just couldn't be avoided. We get hit, we reel, hopefully we heal well and we move on. But those heart gashes we brutally slice on our own are a diabolical self-betrayal, a turning of our self against our self. Where do you turn when you can't trust yourself to do right by you? What can be worse than becoming your own worst enemy? How are you supposed to get up in the morning of a new day and look forward to a day of blessing when you yourself have become the enemy camp?
OK Santiago, approach the white porcelain confessional and get it out! It was the late 80's, I was married and Jessica and Jenna were (and are) the most precious daughters on the face of this earth. Trust me, this is a true statement!! They would and still do melt my heart and send me quickly to my knees in both gratefulness for getting to be their dad and for protection and blessing upon their lives. I was at the time a troubled man. Having made Jesus my Lord May 19, 1975, married in October of 1977, we had gone 7 or 8 years to a great church that ultimately fell completely apart. A couple years of co-pastoring a home church and I was fast taking on water as my ship headed for the dangerous rocks and ultimate shipwreck. I was in a position of power in my career, had a VP title, company car, successful....
However, at home I was esteemed not. I just couldn't seem to please or get it right and domestically it was a continual eggshell walk.(Caveat: I blame no one but myself for this wounding. I take full responsibility for my actions and I am 110% accountable. No part of this post is meant to be offered as an excuse or even a viable or understandable explanation. All that follows is nothing but the reaping of a black harvest from black seeds regretfully sown by me.) A typical weekend took the form of me saying or doing something offensive on Friday which precipitated a long lasting anger response that would tank most weekends.
In stark contrast, at work I was kind of 'the man'. I had been instrumental in rolling out a particular program that was dramatically turning around our companies financial picture. I was getting lots of kudos, I was in demand for the 'work hard, play hard' after work get-togethers at the local 494 clubs. Oh at first I resisted mightily. As a believer, that wasn't for me. But the erosion of this position went pretty fast and within several months of saying no, one night I went. I was virtually an instant hit and was crowned king of the party and expected to become a permanent fixture by my peers. And what about those work peers? How dangerous can the group become with whom you spend, at that time, 50 hours a week? They become not only like a family...they can become in some ways even closer as you share all the emotional ups and downs of fast-paced business dealings. Fox hole buddies.....
Well, you have undoubtedly seen this coming....
I also found myself getting lots of attention from some of the females at work. After work there was no shortage of letting down your hair and dancing and laughing. I am ashamed, eternally regretful to have to confess that I succumbed. I let it happen. No need here for gory, tabloid-quality details. Suffice it to say that I did adulterous things with several women. No affairs with any of them, never slept with any of them but, regardless, I did adulterous things that would not stand the light of day much less the light of the Truth. I betrayed my wife, my daughters and myself. I may as well have plunged a cold blade of steel into their hearts and into mine. I ripped asunder, shredded, the gossamer fabric of trust.
This ilicit behavior occurred within a 6-8 mos time frame. That time passed and life went on for about a year and I lived with basically little to no conviction of wrongdoing. I realize this sounds all wrong and sick but this delayed reaction to my sin was how it actually happened. One morning I was shaving, seeing myself in the mirror and it's like a light bulb snapped on inside me and I was overwhelmed with "Oh my God, what have I done? Who have I become" (I am now very sick about regurgitating this horror. I intend to make a final dash to the end so pardon any abruptness.)
Suffice it to say that eventually I ended up confessing the truth. Oh, not in a brave way...no, I have no credit coming. It was pulled out of me bit by bit by someone who, (bless her heart this is a talent of hers, not a weakness), could make a KGB agent look like a rank amateur. Finally it was all out, I lived in the house for a little while longer but that soon came to an end. We were separated for 2 yrs, there were several aborted attempts at reconciliation/restoration. But I had betrayed someone who Meyers-Briggs described as being closest in makeup to the historical character of Joan of Arc. What followed were 2 of the darkest, most depressing, lost years of my life and I owe it all to me and the enemy who must grin even now as it is retold.
We were officially divorced July of 1992. I will not be like one of those Hollywood characters who, on their death bed, report that they have no regrets. I have many and my heart is full of scars. I say this not to eilicit sympathy, that would be ludicrous. No, only to set the record straight on what was the source of the worst of my wounds...it was me.
Yes, there is restoration to be discussed. But, as before, I am going to leave this stinking mass of putrid slop just lie there. My South African friends, Dean and Lorna, have offered their hot sun and so yes, I put it out under that scorching, African sun for now to quiver along with the other arrows.
J, if you ever come across this I can only say once again how very sorry I am for all that I brought down on you. Know that it has exacted much of my life from me and to this day I walk with a limp.....not that that would bring any consolation.)
Happy Birthday Hoppy
Saturday, April 12, 2008
A tale of Two Scenes
One of the more liberating things over the last 5 or so years of my life has been to be honest and acknowledge my woundedness and to revisit various crime scenes in my life. I grieve a bit over how long this has taken me but am thankful that it has arrived nonetheless.
I wonder, Why so long? You know, I write that off in part to the craziness of how I have done maleness. It has been shaped by lots of things...mainly by my unique, learned biases along with my interpretations and homemade remedies to life's events. (Caveat: Of course, my journey as a guy is certainly not going to be universally applicable to all men. Today's blog is simply submitted as a hunk of catharsis intended for me and my life processing).
Never let them see you sweat! I confess that has been operative in my life, born out of the fierce competition on/in fields, rinks, classrooms, social mazes and the ultimate battleground of corporate America. Oh yes, no chink must be shown less you provide an advantage for the many opponents, visible and invisible, that are ever close by.
For whatever reason, that bucket is done carrying water for me. Maybe the timing of this recalibration is just part of getting physically older or gaining more spiritual maturity or just the effect of a lifetime of loving Cheetos...I don't know and for now it's not pertinent.
There are two scenes that I am going to drag out of closeted darkness and into the searing white light of day and fresh perspective. (Passing observation: Although willing to do this, I'm aware of a significant level of hesitancy at actually doing so.)
MURDER BY KETCHUP:
I was about 11 and we were on a family summer vacation heading up to Duluth and the North Shore. Very exciting for me, loved it up there with all the rock climbing a boy could want, the mystery of the largest freshwater lake in the entire world, the fancy white tablecloths of the Pickwick and their delectable, hot, Popovers and the funky little cabins of the North Shore low-tech "resorts". It was heaven I tell you!
We were riding in my Dad's shiny new 1957 Chevy with 3 on the tree and a Blueflame 6 banger power plant. Man he was proud of that car! Turns out it was the first brand new car he had ever purchased thus his pride was so very understandable. I still remember that on these kinds of vacations, my Mom would always seem to get my brother (4yrs younger) and me brand new bluejeans. They were the dark blue variety which, I believe, were really the only style around then. The main reason I think of those jeans is how incredibly stiff and uncomfortable they were. Like strapping two planks on your legs complete with that scratchy unbroken-in denim to boot. They also invariably were too long and I ended up with 4" or 5" cuffs which would eventually fill with acorns, twigs and other assorted detritus. But I digress on this Levis rabbit trail.....
So we pull into a little drive-in along Hwy 61, the only real route then available up North (way pre-35W). Ah yes, time for an all-American lunch of burgers and fries, the best meal ever invented in my 11 year estimation. At last the carhop brings the tray, connects it to the partially rolled-up driver's side door window and Dad distributes the goods. But then things turned decidedly ugly....
My brother and I sat in the back and started fighting over who got to use the red plastic squeeze bottle of ketchup first. In the ensuing battle we squeezed the bottle hard and ketchup squirted all over the ceiling and seats of this brand spanking new 1957 Chevy. My Dad went directly over the edge into a rage that had to have been pent up over a million things for a very long time because when it was released it rivaled the fierceness of Vesuvius!
He grabbed the ketchup bottle from us, shook for a second with unbridled anger and then proceeded to point the bottle at me while unloading it's entire contents all over my face, my chest, my arms.... In addition to the ketchup it was the hatred in his eyes that ultimately devastated me to my core. My reaction of hurt and unbelief quickly turned to anger. I bolted out of the car, dripping with ketchup, eyes stinging from tomatoes and tears, and headed out to Hwy 61 to walk the 60 or 70 miles home. Eventually, Dad pulled up alongside of my determined, angry walk down the shoulder of the road yelling at me to get back into the #^%$&% car! I ignored him totally and set my eyes like flint toward the south and away from my murderer. I was determined and intended to never get back into that car again! I had been shot and killed by my own Dad!
ORDER OF THE ARROW:
I loved Boy Scouts, especially the camping. Summers always included a number of weekend camping trips to Willow River, Rum River and O'Brien State Park complete with tinfoil dinners, campfires, hikes and scary stories at night. But the mother of all camping experiences was Camp Tomahawk. One full week of camping bliss with aquatic merit badge opportunities, freedom, the great food of the dining hall, freedom, all kinds of contests and sleeping in big tents with cots. Man it was the Ritz!
Every year the week culminated with a sacred Indian-type bonfire ceremony. The counselors morphed into Indian braves with bare chests, leather loin clothes, moccasins and war paint. This was guaranteed to get the heart of any 1950's-era boy racing.
The ultimate moment came at these culminating ceremonies where the "braves" would go into the audience (seated on logs circling the 10' high fire), roughly grab a scout and forceably drag him from the crowd and throw him to the ground by the fire. This would be repeated several times until there were maybe 15-20 guys. They would then be solemnly initiated into the Order of the Arrow as part of an elite team of scouts who had been secretly elected by their peers. The evening would end with those new initiates being loaded into trucks, taken out deep into the woods and one by one, thrown off into the mosquito-infested forest to spend the night alone with no food, water or flashlight. Then, the next day, they would be assigned to work on very difficult projects out in the hot sun under a covenant of complete silence. I tell ya, that was legendary stuff, highly esteemed and I could only dream that one day that could be me.
Well, one year it appeared that my time had finally arrived. After the secret ballots were counted, I had several of my 'insider' buddies tell me that I was the guy and this was my year! That night at the sacred ceremony my heart was racing with the anticipation of being dragged down to the fire, made to kneel, then being hit hard on each shoulder with the 'sacred stick' and whisked away into the inky darkness, alone in the woods. Me, about to become part of the lore I had observed over the years. Fantastic!
In waded the braves with their angry demeanor looking for the anointed ones. More and more boys were grabbed as I waited with baited breath. And then that part of the ceremony was over and I was still sitting on my log, unidentified and uninitiated. Subsequent tries at joining the group at the trucks were sharply rebuffed..."You must have already been intitiated at the fire in order to proceed on the journey...no exceptions! And all because of a scoutmaster who didn't understand that it was his job to stand up behind the elected boy and point him out to the roving braves. An opportunity for masculine initiation forever lost....
Of course there is vulnerability that comes along with throwing out two such examples of wounds in my life. I can just hear that accuser in my mind:
"You call those wounds? Hell, that ain't nothin'. What a pussy!"
And to those voices I say just 4 words, 3 of which are printable "Shut the @&$% up!"
Somebody else may have experienced these very things and it may well have run off like water off the proverbial duck's back. For me, they carried messages that I accommodated. I believed their lies wholeheartedly. I swallowed their poison. These combined with other woundings and ministered this to me....
"You were a pain to your Dad. You were nothing special and you certainly don't have what it takes. Things available to other guys aren't going to be for you. Your yearning for initiation and inclusion into the fellowship of men is just not meant to be. You will perpetually be a day late and a dollar short. You have been weighed and found lacking in worth. Best you can do is just fake it cause you sure don't have it. Good luck Bub, you're going to need it!"
Allow me to speak of healing and resolution another time...for now I'm just going to pluck out some arrows that found their mark and leave them to quiver in the heat of the noonday sun.
You didn't really see this kind of blog comin' did you Santiago? Couldn't have or you would have never shown up in the first place....
I wonder, Why so long? You know, I write that off in part to the craziness of how I have done maleness. It has been shaped by lots of things...mainly by my unique, learned biases along with my interpretations and homemade remedies to life's events. (Caveat: Of course, my journey as a guy is certainly not going to be universally applicable to all men. Today's blog is simply submitted as a hunk of catharsis intended for me and my life processing).
Never let them see you sweat! I confess that has been operative in my life, born out of the fierce competition on/in fields, rinks, classrooms, social mazes and the ultimate battleground of corporate America. Oh yes, no chink must be shown less you provide an advantage for the many opponents, visible and invisible, that are ever close by.
For whatever reason, that bucket is done carrying water for me. Maybe the timing of this recalibration is just part of getting physically older or gaining more spiritual maturity or just the effect of a lifetime of loving Cheetos...I don't know and for now it's not pertinent.
There are two scenes that I am going to drag out of closeted darkness and into the searing white light of day and fresh perspective. (Passing observation: Although willing to do this, I'm aware of a significant level of hesitancy at actually doing so.)
MURDER BY KETCHUP:
I was about 11 and we were on a family summer vacation heading up to Duluth and the North Shore. Very exciting for me, loved it up there with all the rock climbing a boy could want, the mystery of the largest freshwater lake in the entire world, the fancy white tablecloths of the Pickwick and their delectable, hot, Popovers and the funky little cabins of the North Shore low-tech "resorts". It was heaven I tell you!
We were riding in my Dad's shiny new 1957 Chevy with 3 on the tree and a Blueflame 6 banger power plant. Man he was proud of that car! Turns out it was the first brand new car he had ever purchased thus his pride was so very understandable. I still remember that on these kinds of vacations, my Mom would always seem to get my brother (4yrs younger) and me brand new bluejeans. They were the dark blue variety which, I believe, were really the only style around then. The main reason I think of those jeans is how incredibly stiff and uncomfortable they were. Like strapping two planks on your legs complete with that scratchy unbroken-in denim to boot. They also invariably were too long and I ended up with 4" or 5" cuffs which would eventually fill with acorns, twigs and other assorted detritus. But I digress on this Levis rabbit trail.....
So we pull into a little drive-in along Hwy 61, the only real route then available up North (way pre-35W). Ah yes, time for an all-American lunch of burgers and fries, the best meal ever invented in my 11 year estimation. At last the carhop brings the tray, connects it to the partially rolled-up driver's side door window and Dad distributes the goods. But then things turned decidedly ugly....
My brother and I sat in the back and started fighting over who got to use the red plastic squeeze bottle of ketchup first. In the ensuing battle we squeezed the bottle hard and ketchup squirted all over the ceiling and seats of this brand spanking new 1957 Chevy. My Dad went directly over the edge into a rage that had to have been pent up over a million things for a very long time because when it was released it rivaled the fierceness of Vesuvius!
He grabbed the ketchup bottle from us, shook for a second with unbridled anger and then proceeded to point the bottle at me while unloading it's entire contents all over my face, my chest, my arms.... In addition to the ketchup it was the hatred in his eyes that ultimately devastated me to my core. My reaction of hurt and unbelief quickly turned to anger. I bolted out of the car, dripping with ketchup, eyes stinging from tomatoes and tears, and headed out to Hwy 61 to walk the 60 or 70 miles home. Eventually, Dad pulled up alongside of my determined, angry walk down the shoulder of the road yelling at me to get back into the #^%$&% car! I ignored him totally and set my eyes like flint toward the south and away from my murderer. I was determined and intended to never get back into that car again! I had been shot and killed by my own Dad!
ORDER OF THE ARROW:
I loved Boy Scouts, especially the camping. Summers always included a number of weekend camping trips to Willow River, Rum River and O'Brien State Park complete with tinfoil dinners, campfires, hikes and scary stories at night. But the mother of all camping experiences was Camp Tomahawk. One full week of camping bliss with aquatic merit badge opportunities, freedom, the great food of the dining hall, freedom, all kinds of contests and sleeping in big tents with cots. Man it was the Ritz!
Every year the week culminated with a sacred Indian-type bonfire ceremony. The counselors morphed into Indian braves with bare chests, leather loin clothes, moccasins and war paint. This was guaranteed to get the heart of any 1950's-era boy racing.
The ultimate moment came at these culminating ceremonies where the "braves" would go into the audience (seated on logs circling the 10' high fire), roughly grab a scout and forceably drag him from the crowd and throw him to the ground by the fire. This would be repeated several times until there were maybe 15-20 guys. They would then be solemnly initiated into the Order of the Arrow as part of an elite team of scouts who had been secretly elected by their peers. The evening would end with those new initiates being loaded into trucks, taken out deep into the woods and one by one, thrown off into the mosquito-infested forest to spend the night alone with no food, water or flashlight. Then, the next day, they would be assigned to work on very difficult projects out in the hot sun under a covenant of complete silence. I tell ya, that was legendary stuff, highly esteemed and I could only dream that one day that could be me.
Well, one year it appeared that my time had finally arrived. After the secret ballots were counted, I had several of my 'insider' buddies tell me that I was the guy and this was my year! That night at the sacred ceremony my heart was racing with the anticipation of being dragged down to the fire, made to kneel, then being hit hard on each shoulder with the 'sacred stick' and whisked away into the inky darkness, alone in the woods. Me, about to become part of the lore I had observed over the years. Fantastic!
In waded the braves with their angry demeanor looking for the anointed ones. More and more boys were grabbed as I waited with baited breath. And then that part of the ceremony was over and I was still sitting on my log, unidentified and uninitiated. Subsequent tries at joining the group at the trucks were sharply rebuffed..."You must have already been intitiated at the fire in order to proceed on the journey...no exceptions! And all because of a scoutmaster who didn't understand that it was his job to stand up behind the elected boy and point him out to the roving braves. An opportunity for masculine initiation forever lost....
Of course there is vulnerability that comes along with throwing out two such examples of wounds in my life. I can just hear that accuser in my mind:
"You call those wounds? Hell, that ain't nothin'. What a pussy!"
And to those voices I say just 4 words, 3 of which are printable "Shut the @&$% up!"
Somebody else may have experienced these very things and it may well have run off like water off the proverbial duck's back. For me, they carried messages that I accommodated. I believed their lies wholeheartedly. I swallowed their poison. These combined with other woundings and ministered this to me....
"You were a pain to your Dad. You were nothing special and you certainly don't have what it takes. Things available to other guys aren't going to be for you. Your yearning for initiation and inclusion into the fellowship of men is just not meant to be. You will perpetually be a day late and a dollar short. You have been weighed and found lacking in worth. Best you can do is just fake it cause you sure don't have it. Good luck Bub, you're going to need it!"
Allow me to speak of healing and resolution another time...for now I'm just going to pluck out some arrows that found their mark and leave them to quiver in the heat of the noonday sun.
You didn't really see this kind of blog comin' did you Santiago? Couldn't have or you would have never shown up in the first place....
Thursday, April 3, 2008
The Kadunce
Good to be back. It's also good to let the blogging thing go for awhile and exercise letting myself feel, yet not accept,pressure to add something fresh for those few friends who may drop by only to see cobwebs hanging from my last post. I have determined that to truly make this my own, I have to eradicate visualizing visitors, to eradicate all feelings of needing to somehow be like a polite host who feels responsible for attending to my guests.
(Also, someday soon, I want to begin a post without an opening bit about my thoughts re: blogging. Just blog man! Blog at will! Let er' rip Santiago!)
Put Sandi on a plane today- along with 400 other women she is off to Frontier Ranch for Captivating and a long weekend of inviting God to speak directly to her heart and to bring his light and life and to personally meet with her amidst the Rockies. I'm so blessed by her!! Today I was truly smitten by the grace of God upon my life. Driving back from the airport this morning, I felt somehow transported to a place where I could get more of a 30,000 foot view of my life and the hand print of God was all over the picture that came into focus. So if anyone saw a silver-haired man crying while driving on westbound 494 at 7:30AM, I must take the rap!
Married just over 7 years, we are really an unlikely couple in so many ways. Sandi's conservative, Swedish reserve, her more refined tastes in general, her artistic sensitivities, and normally favoring a sense of decorum and order. And then there is moi, with a propensity for shooting from the hip, lover of organic realism and quick to dive right in the middle of all that is broken or limping with a directness that is most often not all that cuddly toward any response smelling of avoidance.
Yet, God brought us together, even taking me aside at one point and making it vividly clear that Sandi is for me and the only one who is going to get in the way would be me. Yikes! What's a fella to do?
I'll tell you what he did. He asked her to come up North to Naniboujou lodge and on a hot day in August, 2000, I took Sandi to the Kadunce river. We put on old tennis shoes and walked up the middle of the river (more of a creek actually) and let me tell you, it is a glorious thing to do. You never leave the creek, walking right smack down the middle of it. Flat open spaces gradually grow rock walls on each side which just get higher as you proceed. Soon, you are where no one else can see you unless they too were in the creek. Eventually we came to a small waterfall and a rock grotto with sheer rock walls that ascended above our heads maybe 40', even turning in towards each other at the top leaving only about a 3' or 4' opening to let in the light of the clear blue sky.
And so it was there, in that grotto, full of sharp rock shards underfoot, with only the sound of the waterfall, with filtered light streaming in from the restricted opening overhead, that I searched for 2 flat rocks. Once found, I laid them amongst the shards, got down on my knees, reached into the small fanny pack that I had brought along to pack-in the diamond ring, opened the box and asked this dear woman to marry me. And she was silent. In the background, the waterfall made it's quintessential waterfall noises and time seemed to stand still.....to stand oh, so still...standing still.... Oh my gosh! She wasn't going to say Yes! Finally, after about a minute posing as an hour, she smiled and agreed and I was transported into a blended-family adventure that percolates along even as I write. (Sandi has since stated,on more than one occasion, that the time of silence was her way of just taking in the moment and burning it into her memory.)
Getting married to another "mature" (code word for older) person with children is about giving each other lots of space, not having preconceived notions or assumptions about necessary changes or obvious new priorities,ie. who is going to stop or start doing what and whens. One of the more difficult areas was the church thing. Both of us were pre-involved in different local bodies and neither of our choices resonated with the other. In a sort of unspoken fashion, we made room for the differences with no power play attempts to convert the other. Despite the eye rolls that we often felt coming from others("You're not fellowshipping together? Ewhhh!), Sunday mornings took us down a forked road.
All this to say that Sandi getting on that plane today put a bit of a magnifying glass on all that Jesus has done in merging us increasingly into one flesh without our overtly trying to make it happen. We now enjoy worshipping God together in the same church, ministering together every Sunday morning by praying for/with others. Somehow, things just came together and the Spirit of God went behind the scenes where no mere man can go. He slowly rewired us and has increasingly made the manifestation of the spiritual truth "the two shall become one" into a beautifully unfolding see/touch reality.
Driving to work today from the airport, I could clearly see the tapestry that he has been weaving, but this time from enough distance to better appreciate the incredible depth and saturated colors of the threads that are now beginning to form such an intricate design. And I just wanted to blog tonight to say Thank You Father for what you are doing! I want to brag on you Lord! Your ways truly aren't our ways and forgive me for all the times I lack trust in you. You don't deserve such fickleness and I don't deserve your involvement in my life. I exalt You Lord for your unmerited favor upon this vessel of clay. Thank you Holy Spirit for your unceasing pursuit of my heart and the profound gift of Sandi in my life. You, Lord, are the hero of this story and I belong to you! Let me shout it again from my housetop...."Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory! Selah!
(Also, someday soon, I want to begin a post without an opening bit about my thoughts re: blogging. Just blog man! Blog at will! Let er' rip Santiago!)
Put Sandi on a plane today- along with 400 other women she is off to Frontier Ranch for Captivating and a long weekend of inviting God to speak directly to her heart and to bring his light and life and to personally meet with her amidst the Rockies. I'm so blessed by her!! Today I was truly smitten by the grace of God upon my life. Driving back from the airport this morning, I felt somehow transported to a place where I could get more of a 30,000 foot view of my life and the hand print of God was all over the picture that came into focus. So if anyone saw a silver-haired man crying while driving on westbound 494 at 7:30AM, I must take the rap!
Married just over 7 years, we are really an unlikely couple in so many ways. Sandi's conservative, Swedish reserve, her more refined tastes in general, her artistic sensitivities, and normally favoring a sense of decorum and order. And then there is moi, with a propensity for shooting from the hip, lover of organic realism and quick to dive right in the middle of all that is broken or limping with a directness that is most often not all that cuddly toward any response smelling of avoidance.
Yet, God brought us together, even taking me aside at one point and making it vividly clear that Sandi is for me and the only one who is going to get in the way would be me. Yikes! What's a fella to do?
I'll tell you what he did. He asked her to come up North to Naniboujou lodge and on a hot day in August, 2000, I took Sandi to the Kadunce river. We put on old tennis shoes and walked up the middle of the river (more of a creek actually) and let me tell you, it is a glorious thing to do. You never leave the creek, walking right smack down the middle of it. Flat open spaces gradually grow rock walls on each side which just get higher as you proceed. Soon, you are where no one else can see you unless they too were in the creek. Eventually we came to a small waterfall and a rock grotto with sheer rock walls that ascended above our heads maybe 40', even turning in towards each other at the top leaving only about a 3' or 4' opening to let in the light of the clear blue sky.
And so it was there, in that grotto, full of sharp rock shards underfoot, with only the sound of the waterfall, with filtered light streaming in from the restricted opening overhead, that I searched for 2 flat rocks. Once found, I laid them amongst the shards, got down on my knees, reached into the small fanny pack that I had brought along to pack-in the diamond ring, opened the box and asked this dear woman to marry me. And she was silent. In the background, the waterfall made it's quintessential waterfall noises and time seemed to stand still.....to stand oh, so still...standing still.... Oh my gosh! She wasn't going to say Yes! Finally, after about a minute posing as an hour, she smiled and agreed and I was transported into a blended-family adventure that percolates along even as I write. (Sandi has since stated,on more than one occasion, that the time of silence was her way of just taking in the moment and burning it into her memory.)
Getting married to another "mature" (code word for older) person with children is about giving each other lots of space, not having preconceived notions or assumptions about necessary changes or obvious new priorities,ie. who is going to stop or start doing what and whens. One of the more difficult areas was the church thing. Both of us were pre-involved in different local bodies and neither of our choices resonated with the other. In a sort of unspoken fashion, we made room for the differences with no power play attempts to convert the other. Despite the eye rolls that we often felt coming from others("You're not fellowshipping together? Ewhhh!), Sunday mornings took us down a forked road.
All this to say that Sandi getting on that plane today put a bit of a magnifying glass on all that Jesus has done in merging us increasingly into one flesh without our overtly trying to make it happen. We now enjoy worshipping God together in the same church, ministering together every Sunday morning by praying for/with others. Somehow, things just came together and the Spirit of God went behind the scenes where no mere man can go. He slowly rewired us and has increasingly made the manifestation of the spiritual truth "the two shall become one" into a beautifully unfolding see/touch reality.
Driving to work today from the airport, I could clearly see the tapestry that he has been weaving, but this time from enough distance to better appreciate the incredible depth and saturated colors of the threads that are now beginning to form such an intricate design. And I just wanted to blog tonight to say Thank You Father for what you are doing! I want to brag on you Lord! Your ways truly aren't our ways and forgive me for all the times I lack trust in you. You don't deserve such fickleness and I don't deserve your involvement in my life. I exalt You Lord for your unmerited favor upon this vessel of clay. Thank you Holy Spirit for your unceasing pursuit of my heart and the profound gift of Sandi in my life. You, Lord, are the hero of this story and I belong to you! Let me shout it again from my housetop...."Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory! Selah!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Blogging bump in the road
So it's been a while since posting and I am struck by some of the unexpected oddness of blogging that I hadn't anticipated. Matter of fact, it has dampened my initial enthusiasm and caused me serious pause. Turns out there is your blogging public out there who have their thoughts, expectations, feelings etc.. In reading other blogs it's not uncommon to hear the author apologize for being gone too long, maybe offer up some feelings or circumstances that are behind their absence. They are conscious of having some regular readers/commenter's, supporters, even fans who they are conscious of and intentional towards. For many, even most, this is probably just a Duh? but it somehow sets me back on my heels a bit. Why?
I'm embarrassed really to have a dilemma I sense is not particularly common....on one hand I value reading comments and admit to being warmed and uplifted by the kindness of visitors. On the other hand, I find 2 difficulties that really give me the yips...
The first is relatively minor I suppose - in the school of just get over it. That is the maintenance angle of responding to responders. My knee jerk issue is the time it takes to respond but that is false....simple fact is that a quick acknowledgement and comment to a responder just doesn't require much in the way of raw minutes. No, the bigger issue to me is that in order to be intentional about those kind enough to comment requires one to sort of keep track/to be deliberately conscious of a post's comments (..."let's see, did that post have 2 comments last time I checked or was it 3?") to see if anyone new has weighed in lest you unintentionally ignore someone and perhaps add to their life's struggle of diminishment or invisibility or just come off as a rude, unappreciative dolt.
The second and really core issue for me is just the awareness of others, of an audience. And not just some amorphous, non-descript audience. They have names and personalities and profiles and styles and unsurpassable worth and somehow the fact they are there just seems to trip me up a bit. I am aware of a certain editing going on in my head, a kind of a governor on my writing engine. So, if transparency is a goal of mine, I guess this is my way of confessing to the encroachment of that dreaded disease of "people-pleasing", of "not wanting to offend", of "wanting to be liked". Yuk! How did I end up here? Where's the freakin' couch and the Valium when you need it? Medic!!!
My potential solutions range from just setting up this blog so it can receive no comments (not sure you can do this but I've heard you can) to learning to not let this be an issue and just bull full steam ahead and damn the torpedoes! Or, to just blogging without entering the 'community' as a participating member. To forgo being a new applicant for 'community' citizenship. Do I just electronically, unilaterally journal in a public forum or do I attempt to contribute to the community as a bilaterally participating member??
The blogging community I have been made aware of (mainly through the lists that appear on DK and TC's sites) has been amazing and rich. As a non-commenting lurker, I have been blessed by reading such talented writers and their pulling back of the veil that often makes me laugh and cry and sometimes just blush by being present as they offer their transparency. I find myself thinking, "Is it OK for me even being here and reading this?" It many times seems so private and personal. As I expressed to one of you, I'm scared I may be turning into a woman! DC, help! Where are the sticks and balls? Bring em' quick!
All this blabbering on to say that please bear with me. (Who are you talking to here Santiago?) Well, to both myself and any who happen to trip on into this little cup of murky reflection. It's like a little stone in my blogging shoe and it needs to come out so the journey can continue....
I'm embarrassed really to have a dilemma I sense is not particularly common....on one hand I value reading comments and admit to being warmed and uplifted by the kindness of visitors. On the other hand, I find 2 difficulties that really give me the yips...
The first is relatively minor I suppose - in the school of just get over it. That is the maintenance angle of responding to responders. My knee jerk issue is the time it takes to respond but that is false....simple fact is that a quick acknowledgement and comment to a responder just doesn't require much in the way of raw minutes. No, the bigger issue to me is that in order to be intentional about those kind enough to comment requires one to sort of keep track/to be deliberately conscious of a post's comments (..."let's see, did that post have 2 comments last time I checked or was it 3?") to see if anyone new has weighed in lest you unintentionally ignore someone and perhaps add to their life's struggle of diminishment or invisibility or just come off as a rude, unappreciative dolt.
The second and really core issue for me is just the awareness of others, of an audience. And not just some amorphous, non-descript audience. They have names and personalities and profiles and styles and unsurpassable worth and somehow the fact they are there just seems to trip me up a bit. I am aware of a certain editing going on in my head, a kind of a governor on my writing engine. So, if transparency is a goal of mine, I guess this is my way of confessing to the encroachment of that dreaded disease of "people-pleasing", of "not wanting to offend", of "wanting to be liked". Yuk! How did I end up here? Where's the freakin' couch and the Valium when you need it? Medic!!!
My potential solutions range from just setting up this blog so it can receive no comments (not sure you can do this but I've heard you can) to learning to not let this be an issue and just bull full steam ahead and damn the torpedoes! Or, to just blogging without entering the 'community' as a participating member. To forgo being a new applicant for 'community' citizenship. Do I just electronically, unilaterally journal in a public forum or do I attempt to contribute to the community as a bilaterally participating member??
The blogging community I have been made aware of (mainly through the lists that appear on DK and TC's sites) has been amazing and rich. As a non-commenting lurker, I have been blessed by reading such talented writers and their pulling back of the veil that often makes me laugh and cry and sometimes just blush by being present as they offer their transparency. I find myself thinking, "Is it OK for me even being here and reading this?" It many times seems so private and personal. As I expressed to one of you, I'm scared I may be turning into a woman! DC, help! Where are the sticks and balls? Bring em' quick!
All this blabbering on to say that please bear with me. (Who are you talking to here Santiago?) Well, to both myself and any who happen to trip on into this little cup of murky reflection. It's like a little stone in my blogging shoe and it needs to come out so the journey can continue....
Really, this is embarrassing.....but it's there....
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The Blob
Worked from home yesterday. Even though there was nothing unauthorized about it, I have a tough time shaking this background feeling of doing something illicit or cheating. It reminds me of feelings from the past experienced when I was a kid home sick from school. If I watched TV I would sit there thinking, "I shouldn't be seeing this program...I should be in school." The vague sense of guilt and illegitimacy would rob me of any enjoyment. Later, as a teen when I could drive, I sometimes pulled into a parking lot and just sat in the car instead of going to church like I was supposed to be doing. I would keep track of the time and would turn the radio to some religious broadcasting in an attempt to assuage the guilt. I would always wince when I came home and had to respond to the inevitable "How was church?" Unfortunately, it would help develop my skills of lying and subterfuge.
Anyway, I had a full day of being by myself, doing some work but also working on our taxes. Didn't choose to pay Dave this year...why spend $270 when you figure you will owe. Another one of those signposts that pop up on the highway of life...we have no more dependents. On a purely mathematical level that means that $6800 that was there last year to reduce income is no longer there. Yep, sure enough, turned out to owe the feds $222 and the state $38 and hey, Jake, don't be late. My fiscal-headed friends might say, "Way to go, that's perfect...you didn't give the government an interest-free loan this year." Whatever, I'm just glad to be done but I'm not quite. Let my work stew overnight and figure I'll giver er' one more look over to see if I am missing anything. But one thing I know, we are at least $270 ahead of where I would be if would have let Dave be the one who figured this out. (Notwithstanding that Sandi is bound to feel like he would have been able to find a pot of secret deduction stuff that only the Rosicrucian's and the cult of CPA's know about!)
Day took an abrupt turn around 5:30PM...Sandi called to report she was at her folks and Dad wasn't doing well...blood sugar of only 40, unresponsive, sweating profusely. Called back in 5 minutes, "I'm scared, would you come over". Hop in the car, there in 12 minutes. Diabetes, scary thing when it seems to have a mind of it's own and sugar levels bounce around despite best efforts to monitor and control with diet and drugs. Such a bite to be 83, have a number of health issues and then end up with the overlay of diabetes as some kind of diabolical parting gift (as Don Pardo used to say).
Things get stabilized but close call nonetheless...didn't like his color and the labored, gurgling breathing. And of course it's a Friday, try getting a Dr on the phone. Home by 8, finish up taxes (the really suspenseful part where you load all the lines on the form and get to look back in the schedule to see the results....scary stuff). Relax a bit, trying to hydrate as a 14 miler is on my schedule, go to bed, put in the ear plugs (greatest invention for light sleepers) and lay there maybe 10 minutes. Phone rings...Dad's not doing well, need to get him to the ER.
Rush over, kind of wondering about getting him transferred into a vehicle...too weak?
Glad he called it...."Call 911". A nanosecond of family panic and with the push of just 3 phone buttons the emergency response system is ignited. Short time later the cul-de-sac is veritably flooded with red and blue lights...2 squads, firetruck and an ambulance with maybe 8 or 10 responders. Into the house like so many welcome invaders, sort out who is driving in what vehicle and off to United.
I end up alone in the 03',sprightly 260 HP, 6 cylinders, dual exhaust, rolled and pleated head gasket and suddenly a relatively perverse, tension-relieving thought enters my mind...."I'm going to beat them to the hospital".
And so, full of concern and frustration at this fallen world and what aging can become, with only flash thoughts of tickets, how I will explain if pulled over, I head out and have to admit some exhilaration at traversing the no-to-very-light traffic with some impressive rates of speed. Bingo, I beat em'! No victory dance but an interesting little vignette embedded in the midst of a mess.
He's going to be OK...pulmonary edema, drugs, treatment, admission to chase out the fluids.
But there it is in the ER, which we have been to twice in the last few months. A lobby full of waiting family members that paints a picture and depicts a health care system that is somehow supposed to be so grand by world standards but is obviously dysfunctional, broken. The crowd I see there never seems to be a representative cross section of our population. Instead, it's sharply skewed towards the more newly arrived citizenry. Are they just more accident prone? Is the white majority just more careful? Or am I just seeing what one often reads about, the ER's have become the hyper-expensive health care delivery portals of the nation's uninsured.
Well, 4 hours of sleep later, I have done what I set out...just a data dump of random stuff that one Friday in history seemed to bring...no real analysis, conclusions, editorializing, just a dump. And so it lays there, quivering in all it's randomness, as an ill-formed mass reminiscent of one of the first movies that really scared me...1958....The Blob.
14 miles is feeling elusive...take care Rafiki...come for me Aslan! Come!
Anyway, I had a full day of being by myself, doing some work but also working on our taxes. Didn't choose to pay Dave this year...why spend $270 when you figure you will owe. Another one of those signposts that pop up on the highway of life...we have no more dependents. On a purely mathematical level that means that $6800 that was there last year to reduce income is no longer there. Yep, sure enough, turned out to owe the feds $222 and the state $38 and hey, Jake, don't be late. My fiscal-headed friends might say, "Way to go, that's perfect...you didn't give the government an interest-free loan this year." Whatever, I'm just glad to be done but I'm not quite. Let my work stew overnight and figure I'll giver er' one more look over to see if I am missing anything. But one thing I know, we are at least $270 ahead of where I would be if would have let Dave be the one who figured this out. (Notwithstanding that Sandi is bound to feel like he would have been able to find a pot of secret deduction stuff that only the Rosicrucian's and the cult of CPA's know about!)
Day took an abrupt turn around 5:30PM...Sandi called to report she was at her folks and Dad wasn't doing well...blood sugar of only 40, unresponsive, sweating profusely. Called back in 5 minutes, "I'm scared, would you come over". Hop in the car, there in 12 minutes. Diabetes, scary thing when it seems to have a mind of it's own and sugar levels bounce around despite best efforts to monitor and control with diet and drugs. Such a bite to be 83, have a number of health issues and then end up with the overlay of diabetes as some kind of diabolical parting gift (as Don Pardo used to say).
Things get stabilized but close call nonetheless...didn't like his color and the labored, gurgling breathing. And of course it's a Friday, try getting a Dr on the phone. Home by 8, finish up taxes (the really suspenseful part where you load all the lines on the form and get to look back in the schedule to see the results....scary stuff). Relax a bit, trying to hydrate as a 14 miler is on my schedule, go to bed, put in the ear plugs (greatest invention for light sleepers) and lay there maybe 10 minutes. Phone rings...Dad's not doing well, need to get him to the ER.
Rush over, kind of wondering about getting him transferred into a vehicle...too weak?
Glad he called it...."Call 911". A nanosecond of family panic and with the push of just 3 phone buttons the emergency response system is ignited. Short time later the cul-de-sac is veritably flooded with red and blue lights...2 squads, firetruck and an ambulance with maybe 8 or 10 responders. Into the house like so many welcome invaders, sort out who is driving in what vehicle and off to United.
I end up alone in the 03',sprightly 260 HP, 6 cylinders, dual exhaust, rolled and pleated head gasket and suddenly a relatively perverse, tension-relieving thought enters my mind...."I'm going to beat them to the hospital".
And so, full of concern and frustration at this fallen world and what aging can become, with only flash thoughts of tickets, how I will explain if pulled over, I head out and have to admit some exhilaration at traversing the no-to-very-light traffic with some impressive rates of speed. Bingo, I beat em'! No victory dance but an interesting little vignette embedded in the midst of a mess.
He's going to be OK...pulmonary edema, drugs, treatment, admission to chase out the fluids.
But there it is in the ER, which we have been to twice in the last few months. A lobby full of waiting family members that paints a picture and depicts a health care system that is somehow supposed to be so grand by world standards but is obviously dysfunctional, broken. The crowd I see there never seems to be a representative cross section of our population. Instead, it's sharply skewed towards the more newly arrived citizenry. Are they just more accident prone? Is the white majority just more careful? Or am I just seeing what one often reads about, the ER's have become the hyper-expensive health care delivery portals of the nation's uninsured.
Well, 4 hours of sleep later, I have done what I set out...just a data dump of random stuff that one Friday in history seemed to bring...no real analysis, conclusions, editorializing, just a dump. And so it lays there, quivering in all it's randomness, as an ill-formed mass reminiscent of one of the first movies that really scared me...1958....The Blob.
14 miles is feeling elusive...take care Rafiki...come for me Aslan! Come!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Restless leg syndrome
I can only imagine that one day, when I am moved to actually make this blog-o-rama public, that someone is going to read my angst about blogging and just want to yell at me..."For cryin' out loud, get over it dude....it's no big deal." Alas, every time I sit down to click the keyboard "it's" there again....Why are you doing this? You figure you actually have something to say? Go back to your fortress of solitude and journal.
Anyway, to any future reader, sorry for this opening theme in most of my posts but heh, I just can't seem to relax and let it flow. Maybe it isn't meant to be....
But there seems to be a dynamic to all this that draws me back...I just can't articulate it. Something about the way I think when there is a possibility of someone reading over my shoulder that stimulates thought in a manner different than the guaranteed confidentiality of a journal entry. Heh buddy, you're the one who has always valued transparency and being transparent requires another person looking in doesn't it? (If a tree falls in a forest and nobody is there to hear it does it make a sound?)
OK, enough. This blogging angst moment brought to you by Caribou coffee, your neighborhood purveyor of black adrenaline.
So,life goes through these chapters and the chapters seem to fall into overall sections. By most anyone's measure, I'm certainly in a mature phase chronologically. I remember looking at people my present age when I was younger and thinking that I doubt much is happening in their life anymore...just in an extended wind down phase headed for that spiffy assisted living facility just down the street.
But no, that's not the way it is and I continue to wrestle with being this authentic person who lives out life in conformance with what I say I believe. And so it's like this, I get most of my heart back, get healing (or at least in process) for most of the wounds sustained earlier in life and awake once again to understanding that it is not about me. I, as a friend of Christ, (He said it so I claim it) am motivated by being somehow used in advancing the Kingdom of God. A lofty sounding goal if I've ever heard of one. But that is what makes sense to me, gives me overarching purpose to the daily grind of schlepping out the same ol',same ol'... of slugging out a living 5 days a week, making ends meet. I am an itinerant Kingdom advancer and I am getting quite restless. (The pharmaceutical companies would probably like me to be diagnosed with "restless leg syndrome", the latest disease invention that they just luckily happen to have a product for .)
You see, as a believer in the 'good news', I have spent an inordinate amount of time applying spiritual truths to my life, bringing the old man under the authority of my Creator, participating in sin management, patching my life back together after amazing amounts of self-absorbed idiocy including masterfully assisting in an overall family and life implosion back in 92'. Seven years of my own version of wilderness, then years of getting dusted off, sort of reclothed and regrouped, remarried and generally recalibrated and voila!, I sit here clicking away. (All, I might add, described in a rather cavalier tone which is only a fake mask to hide the soul-wrenching,self-loathing that such historical self-reflection can so easily unleash.)
So the intercessory ministry has been very rich...so good because it has so obviously been choreographed by Him...I certainly would have never even considered it, wouldn't have sought it out....you know, you just can't make this stuff up! Father, thank you for your invitation to participate. As Elizabeth Elliott said, "Next to the incarnation,I know of no more staggering truth than that a Sovereign God has ordained my participation." Thank you Father.
But I am aware of "there is more" , "there are some new next steps" and I have learned that all I really have to do is say yes, bring me into all You have for me!
Somewhere along the line, I let the disparaging term "social gospel" preempt my activist side, my outward focus. The poor, the disenfranchised, the discriminated against, they all somehow didn't seem all that pertinent to me in my personal-spiritual-quest-space.
Too much of my spirituality has been inwardly focused, just dealing with all the "incoming" and the press of circumstances. Emphases too imbalanced...personal salvation, bless me club....community, what's that? Too much focus on fast forwarding to co-reigning for all eternity with Christ on the other side of death. And for now, what about the NOW between right here and cremation? Just hangin' out? Trying to stay out of trouble, keep your nose clean,concentrate on transformation, do the right thing while biding your time til the sweet bye and bye? Little ministry in the local body, throw a few logs on the church fire while being always subtlety conformed to the system of the world? Where is the agenda for NOW! We're burnin' daylight here Hoppy....you have been transformed by enough renewing of your mind to now see that it's time to be more of a change agent for the Kingdom!
Things are really swirling around me, Shane Claiborne and Brian McLaren end up in my hands, Beyond Belief series comes into WH and pow!, it is like I am being awakened out of some kind of coma and I want to sign up for mobilization. I had previously signed up to "toe the line" in joining the invisible war against the powers and principalities...that is right and good for me and that will not be going away, only growing. But there is to be more! Yes, I am excited to find out what that is (and also am sobered at what that will cost). I want to become a more dynamic part of the solution, to resist the insanity that is the very fabric of this fallen world's system and to live in more overt rebellion, to be more active in my revolting.
And so, I am in transition....I feel an impending growth spurt (heh,it's my domain, I call it growth)coming and I want to get it right. Fortunately, there is now some measure of modest wisdom and I am not at all tempted to author this myself. No, that is something I only need to hear and see as Jesus unveils it for me, either suddenly or gradually, my role is just to say Yes at the right time. And so I am looking, I am listening... show me those next steps Abba. And so I practice my response..., "Yes Father", Yes Father" "Thank you Jesus" "Yes, of course"......
Still in process Santiago....still in process....steady as she goes mate.....deep breath....
Anyway, to any future reader, sorry for this opening theme in most of my posts but heh, I just can't seem to relax and let it flow. Maybe it isn't meant to be....
But there seems to be a dynamic to all this that draws me back...I just can't articulate it. Something about the way I think when there is a possibility of someone reading over my shoulder that stimulates thought in a manner different than the guaranteed confidentiality of a journal entry. Heh buddy, you're the one who has always valued transparency and being transparent requires another person looking in doesn't it? (If a tree falls in a forest and nobody is there to hear it does it make a sound?)
OK, enough. This blogging angst moment brought to you by Caribou coffee, your neighborhood purveyor of black adrenaline.
So,life goes through these chapters and the chapters seem to fall into overall sections. By most anyone's measure, I'm certainly in a mature phase chronologically. I remember looking at people my present age when I was younger and thinking that I doubt much is happening in their life anymore...just in an extended wind down phase headed for that spiffy assisted living facility just down the street.
But no, that's not the way it is and I continue to wrestle with being this authentic person who lives out life in conformance with what I say I believe. And so it's like this, I get most of my heart back, get healing (or at least in process) for most of the wounds sustained earlier in life and awake once again to understanding that it is not about me. I, as a friend of Christ, (He said it so I claim it) am motivated by being somehow used in advancing the Kingdom of God. A lofty sounding goal if I've ever heard of one. But that is what makes sense to me, gives me overarching purpose to the daily grind of schlepping out the same ol',same ol'... of slugging out a living 5 days a week, making ends meet. I am an itinerant Kingdom advancer and I am getting quite restless. (The pharmaceutical companies would probably like me to be diagnosed with "restless leg syndrome", the latest disease invention that they just luckily happen to have a product for .)
You see, as a believer in the 'good news', I have spent an inordinate amount of time applying spiritual truths to my life, bringing the old man under the authority of my Creator, participating in sin management, patching my life back together after amazing amounts of self-absorbed idiocy including masterfully assisting in an overall family and life implosion back in 92'. Seven years of my own version of wilderness, then years of getting dusted off, sort of reclothed and regrouped, remarried and generally recalibrated and voila!, I sit here clicking away. (All, I might add, described in a rather cavalier tone which is only a fake mask to hide the soul-wrenching,self-loathing that such historical self-reflection can so easily unleash.)
So the intercessory ministry has been very rich...so good because it has so obviously been choreographed by Him...I certainly would have never even considered it, wouldn't have sought it out....you know, you just can't make this stuff up! Father, thank you for your invitation to participate. As Elizabeth Elliott said, "Next to the incarnation,I know of no more staggering truth than that a Sovereign God has ordained my participation." Thank you Father.
But I am aware of "there is more" , "there are some new next steps" and I have learned that all I really have to do is say yes, bring me into all You have for me!
Somewhere along the line, I let the disparaging term "social gospel" preempt my activist side, my outward focus. The poor, the disenfranchised, the discriminated against, they all somehow didn't seem all that pertinent to me in my personal-spiritual-quest-space.
Too much of my spirituality has been inwardly focused, just dealing with all the "incoming" and the press of circumstances. Emphases too imbalanced...personal salvation, bless me club....community, what's that? Too much focus on fast forwarding to co-reigning for all eternity with Christ on the other side of death. And for now, what about the NOW between right here and cremation? Just hangin' out? Trying to stay out of trouble, keep your nose clean,concentrate on transformation, do the right thing while biding your time til the sweet bye and bye? Little ministry in the local body, throw a few logs on the church fire while being always subtlety conformed to the system of the world? Where is the agenda for NOW! We're burnin' daylight here Hoppy....you have been transformed by enough renewing of your mind to now see that it's time to be more of a change agent for the Kingdom!
Things are really swirling around me, Shane Claiborne and Brian McLaren end up in my hands, Beyond Belief series comes into WH and pow!, it is like I am being awakened out of some kind of coma and I want to sign up for mobilization. I had previously signed up to "toe the line" in joining the invisible war against the powers and principalities...that is right and good for me and that will not be going away, only growing. But there is to be more! Yes, I am excited to find out what that is (and also am sobered at what that will cost). I want to become a more dynamic part of the solution, to resist the insanity that is the very fabric of this fallen world's system and to live in more overt rebellion, to be more active in my revolting.
And so, I am in transition....I feel an impending growth spurt (heh,it's my domain, I call it growth)coming and I want to get it right. Fortunately, there is now some measure of modest wisdom and I am not at all tempted to author this myself. No, that is something I only need to hear and see as Jesus unveils it for me, either suddenly or gradually, my role is just to say Yes at the right time. And so I am looking, I am listening... show me those next steps Abba. And so I practice my response..., "Yes Father", Yes Father" "Thank you Jesus" "Yes, of course"......
Still in process Santiago....still in process....steady as she goes mate.....deep breath....
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Standing in the gap
Awakened at 1:18AM this morning....do the usual checking....Who is behind this?...friend or foe? Oh, it's you Lord. What is this about? Go through family members one at a time, no, check in with my heart, no, not about me. Ah, it's RH..... And I proceed to intercede for this ministry, different aspects of it, situations that I am aware of and that come to mind. Overall, it feels like an incredibly large, blob-type of darkness that is attempting to ooze it's way in and I find myself turning my back to it all in prayer to resist it, lean into it and generally prevent "it"entrance. This goes on until about 2:30 AM. Were my efforts victorious? Sure didn't feel that way....felt more like putting a finger in the dike in an effort to hold back the entire sea. But regardless, it's one more experience of this ministry of intercession that it seems I've been called to.
So strange for me to say this....called to intercession. I mean for me, in my walk with God over these 30 some years, I must confess I mostly thought of intercessors as the proverbial little old lady shut-in who could do nothing else so she prayed. Mea culpa, mea culpa!
I guess I started to get involved in prayer as part of the altar prayer team over at NH about 10 or so years ago. Why? I think it goes something like this....In a perfect world, if I could just snap my fingers and be anything I wanted to be, I would want to be an ER Dr. at a large trauma center. (I used to say a professional hockey player but evidently my dwindling testosterone levels have kicked that little vision to the curb.)
There's just something about triage type work that makes me come alive! I love the clutch play at home plate, live for it, even dream about it. (And as an old catcher, I so enjoyed having those experiences.) Chronic stuff leaves me limp, sucks the life right out of me..... No, give me the adrenaline pounding job of the STAT types of decisions, the immediate need for action now. Having taken the Strengthfinder, I see that as a classic example of one of my top 3....ACTIVATOR.
Anyhow, when it came time for me to step out into more ministry, when enough of my gaping wounds were healed sufficiently that I felt like perhaps I could move out again, I was attracted to those who prayed for others after the service. Here was a church version of the ER, and you didn't have to go to a cajillion years of school before qualifying. No, just the opposite. My position as one redeemed by the death of Jesus on my behalf gave me the most important certificate in the Kingdom of God...I was blood bought and no longer called myself lord of my life but had given myself into the hands of He who had loved me and pursued me from the beginning. That and a few weeks of training and I was an altar minister. Voila!
Since then, the plot has thickened as they say. Further opportunities outside church have come into play. I have been invited in as a part of a team of 14 who cover a national ministry including on site intercession out in Colorado for events drawing 400 men at a time. And there has been local events and on site opportunities with a similar ministry dedicated to freeing and enlivening the hearts of men for the advancement of the Kingdom. And even at church, now WH, there has been opportunity to branch out from the altar praying into leading intercessory teams for each aspect of the service itself as well as becoming part of the prayer leadership team. And up ahead, there is no end in sight with additional possibilities starting to make themselves known.
I list all this just to self reflect on how all this has expanded for me....again, it seems so unlikely that someone such as me would end up as an intercessor! I guess you would just have to know me like I do to understand the confounding swirl that reflecting on this puts me into.
But let me just say I am thankful, so thankful. Thankful that after giving my life to Christ in 1975, (May 19, dock, Lake Harriet, 2:30AM), after starting so strong at CC, getting married, having two most beautiful, darling, good-hearted daughters and then crashing in 1988, seeing it all obliterated on the shores of separation (1990) and ultimately divorce (1992), and then the long, dry sojourn through 7 or 8 years of personal desert....(attention, attention, this is your personal editor....please bring this sentence to a close as it is getting too long, thank you.).
That little piece of comic relief was needed....reflecting on the pain involved in the above has never ceased to be bad and I'm wondering now if that is just how it will always be?
But then, around 2000, being introduced to Sandi (Jesus, thank you with all my might for bringing her into my life. I do not deserve her and I realize that our union is a living, breathing example of your grace in action.) Getting involved with WH, going out to Bootcamp, launching into a blended family, having my heart come back alive again! And then desiring to take my place on the line and joining in with the worldwide effort to advance the Kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven. And God responds, gives me ministry tasks, gives me some positions to gain, maintain and advance. Love so amazing , so divine! Praise to you my Lord of Hosts!
Man, I'm at this moment lost in the revelry of the joy that has been put in my heart. That coupled with the lack of sleep seems to be bringing this post to an end. I am reminded that my last blog dealt with pessimism vs optimism, and then I spoke about running....you gotta love the juxtaposition of it all. This 500' Flyby is starting to take a form that I like. No particular linear organization to subject matter, permission to ramble, jump easily between the sacred and the secular (it all is starting to feel sacred to me).
As Paul said, "Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ"
And so, with all synapses trashed albeit with a thin veneer of caffeine, I drift into something called Thursday.
Advance Santiago.....
So strange for me to say this....called to intercession. I mean for me, in my walk with God over these 30 some years, I must confess I mostly thought of intercessors as the proverbial little old lady shut-in who could do nothing else so she prayed. Mea culpa, mea culpa!
I guess I started to get involved in prayer as part of the altar prayer team over at NH about 10 or so years ago. Why? I think it goes something like this....In a perfect world, if I could just snap my fingers and be anything I wanted to be, I would want to be an ER Dr. at a large trauma center. (I used to say a professional hockey player but evidently my dwindling testosterone levels have kicked that little vision to the curb.)
There's just something about triage type work that makes me come alive! I love the clutch play at home plate, live for it, even dream about it. (And as an old catcher, I so enjoyed having those experiences.) Chronic stuff leaves me limp, sucks the life right out of me..... No, give me the adrenaline pounding job of the STAT types of decisions, the immediate need for action now. Having taken the Strengthfinder, I see that as a classic example of one of my top 3....ACTIVATOR.
Anyhow, when it came time for me to step out into more ministry, when enough of my gaping wounds were healed sufficiently that I felt like perhaps I could move out again, I was attracted to those who prayed for others after the service. Here was a church version of the ER, and you didn't have to go to a cajillion years of school before qualifying. No, just the opposite. My position as one redeemed by the death of Jesus on my behalf gave me the most important certificate in the Kingdom of God...I was blood bought and no longer called myself lord of my life but had given myself into the hands of He who had loved me and pursued me from the beginning. That and a few weeks of training and I was an altar minister. Voila!
Since then, the plot has thickened as they say. Further opportunities outside church have come into play. I have been invited in as a part of a team of 14 who cover a national ministry including on site intercession out in Colorado for events drawing 400 men at a time. And there has been local events and on site opportunities with a similar ministry dedicated to freeing and enlivening the hearts of men for the advancement of the Kingdom. And even at church, now WH, there has been opportunity to branch out from the altar praying into leading intercessory teams for each aspect of the service itself as well as becoming part of the prayer leadership team. And up ahead, there is no end in sight with additional possibilities starting to make themselves known.
I list all this just to self reflect on how all this has expanded for me....again, it seems so unlikely that someone such as me would end up as an intercessor! I guess you would just have to know me like I do to understand the confounding swirl that reflecting on this puts me into.
But let me just say I am thankful, so thankful. Thankful that after giving my life to Christ in 1975, (May 19, dock, Lake Harriet, 2:30AM), after starting so strong at CC, getting married, having two most beautiful, darling, good-hearted daughters and then crashing in 1988, seeing it all obliterated on the shores of separation (1990) and ultimately divorce (1992), and then the long, dry sojourn through 7 or 8 years of personal desert....(attention, attention, this is your personal editor....please bring this sentence to a close as it is getting too long, thank you.).
That little piece of comic relief was needed....reflecting on the pain involved in the above has never ceased to be bad and I'm wondering now if that is just how it will always be?
But then, around 2000, being introduced to Sandi (Jesus, thank you with all my might for bringing her into my life. I do not deserve her and I realize that our union is a living, breathing example of your grace in action.) Getting involved with WH, going out to Bootcamp, launching into a blended family, having my heart come back alive again! And then desiring to take my place on the line and joining in with the worldwide effort to advance the Kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven. And God responds, gives me ministry tasks, gives me some positions to gain, maintain and advance. Love so amazing , so divine! Praise to you my Lord of Hosts!
Man, I'm at this moment lost in the revelry of the joy that has been put in my heart. That coupled with the lack of sleep seems to be bringing this post to an end. I am reminded that my last blog dealt with pessimism vs optimism, and then I spoke about running....you gotta love the juxtaposition of it all. This 500' Flyby is starting to take a form that I like. No particular linear organization to subject matter, permission to ramble, jump easily between the sacred and the secular (it all is starting to feel sacred to me).
As Paul said, "Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ"
And so, with all synapses trashed albeit with a thin veneer of caffeine, I drift into something called Thursday.
Advance Santiago.....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)