Snapshot of a rough patch

 As a new year is just hours away, I sit here feeling led to write about what is not all that fun to write about. My last post, written only weeks ago, told the story of an adventure, a call, something I have been about and pursuing for a couple of years...walking the Camino. Today I am feeling an angry, frustrated humility as my left foot feels re-injured and my body is experiencing a new level of age-related issues.  The reality of my Camino seems to be slipping from my fingers.

All this is happening against a backdrop of assisting Aunt V's move from an assisted-living life into a long term care style of "living" following her stroke. This brings me squarely into the memories of my mom's last years. The reality of seeing the drain-swirling aspects of many people's end-of-life scenarios hits me in a mental tsunami kind of way.

You see, I understand that such a confession is not faith-filled, not positive-thinking approved. But if I am to be authentic, I feel it necessary to discuss this now, in the valley of the shadow, rather than waiting for it all to pass and only then gloriously writing about the 'victory of weathering a life storm'.

The foot will be examined by a Dr in just a few days. It will be what it is and I will do what I can. The other vague ageing issues I am currently feeling are at least in part from ending all exercise (walking, swimming) until I get the doc's diagnosis. Stiff, sore neck issues have been with me for weeks. They seem to be caused be sleeping position/pillow issues but then I really don't know. Subtle balance irregularities, sleep disturbances, more frequent inability to find the right word or remember the right name, forgetting where I put or left things and the very face of the guy on the other side of the mirror all whisper about how much sand has drifted into the bottom of my hourglass.

All this is GREATLY exacerbated by helping Aunt V.  I have a front row seat. Watching the steep downward slide of this once vital, seemingly bullet proof little lady is so not f-u-n.  She wisely and proactively moved from her townhouse to an assisted-living life. Although at the time it didn't seem necessary to me, it proved a right move for her. Unlike my mom, V enjoyed a couple of years of independent living and thrived within a supportive community. But alas, assisted-living is only authorized for the relatively able-bodied.  Her stroke, followed by hospital, followed by transitional care rehabilitation all resulted in a body and a mind no longer suitable for her own, independent apartment. Observing all of this at such an intimate distance while being 75 myself just feels.... toxic. Sorry!

My experience with long term care is mostly ugly.  Although caregivers work mightily to put a happy face on this, the last stop before meeting Jesus, for many it is a sad season of life. (At least as observed from my vantage point. I can only hope the residents do not share my horror!) Each day I enter a world of super slow-mo citizens with amazing life stories now housed in a mere shell of what once was. It is a land of wheelchairs, hoyer lifts, lousy food and adult diapers. And, if that is not enough to suck the vibrancy of life right out of you, the monthly expense for this assault on humanity is astronomical. It is virtually guaranteed to quickly drain almost every last penny of an average person's life savings leaving one with a maximum of $3,000 and enrollment in the welfare system. The dignity of life gets so deeply buried under all of these indecencies that walking into the facility drains my energy within mere minutes! (Lord, please give me eyes to see all of this in a better way!)

So here's the deal Santiago: your foot seems to be betraying you and your plans, your body appears to be relentlessly marching toward a new level of diminishment and your season of life has you assisting a dear lady as she "jumps" the last hurdles of the race. "Your honor, my client is not enduring these things well, and wishes to enter a counter suit. He's just not sure how to proceed..."

As I look up to the horizon in the hopes of brighter skies and less turbulence, a new challenge looms just ahead: Nat's surgery is set for 2/6. The drum beat only seems to grow louder as my fingernails dig into the granite-faced cliff. Jerry, you hated this picture, but I can only say it surely feels appropriate in the corner I find myself temporarily (permanently?) painted into. 

Dear Lord Jesus, please take the wheel!

A Camino call

Ever since Covid collapsed my Camino trip of 2020, I have pondered taking another stab at it. What would be the biggest adventure of my life wasn't something I was willing to easily let go of. Thus, since I was experiencing left foot issues (which would most likely have interrupted my 2020 plans even without the arrival of Covid), I sought out medical intervention. Several things were diagnosed including a tear in my plantar plate at the base of my second toe, a bunion and a second toe that was longer than my big toe which would exacerbate the possibilities of future plantar tears. 

So I opted for the recommended surgery to correct all of these things in one surgery with four different entrance points on my left foot. That was at the end of March, 2022. Today, nine months later, I am substantially healed and am walking forty-five to fifty miles per week. My foot is still not one hundred percent. It definitely gets sore after each walk but it is manageable and still getting better. My doctor has assured me that it is unlikely that I will undo any of her work on my foot. And so I press on, listening to my body and trying not to be obsessively foolish regarding weekly mileage.

I have struggled a bit in arriving at these decision points. I have been intentional in looking for what my 'Why' is for undertaking this journey. What is my motivation? Is this just another accomplishment notch for my life belt? A now old man's last lunge at validating himself? None of these would play well with me and would only result in an ugly mental video as I stared at the ceiling of a future old folks home.

This last September found me spending three nights of silent retreat at Pacem in Teris. It was a glorious time of feeling very close to the Trinity. Among other things, I reviewed what initially led me to go to Spain two plus years ago. I had experienced a 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind' type of tug while watching  the movie 'The Way'.  But after having to abort the mission in 2020 and, as the months passed by, this sense dissipated. My life became like everyone else's....months of quarantines, masks and hand sanitizer everywhere.  And then Sandi had a heart attack and there were months of working through diagnoses, prognoses and the fear of losing my mate. Meanwhile, the sands of my life's hourglass just kept filling the bottom half which only clouded my considerations for something as substantial as the Camino.

Pacem was such an amazing time of beauty and intimacy with God. Discussing the Camino in His presence was a highlight. I came away hearing that the Camino was never just my idea. In fact, Abba was the author of this idea for me.  I left Pacem believing that I didn't just have the Lord's green light to go on my Camino... I now received it as a definite call upon my life. It was no longer merely something I wanted to do for which I was seeking Kingdom permission. Instead, it was now more a matter of obedience. It was giving my 'Yes' to something Jesus was inviting me up and into. That, of course, is a horse of an entirely different color!

Upon returning, I met with my Camino mentor, Jim McCaffrey, to refresh our relationship and discuss  preliminary details. Over the next weeks I wondered about waiting to book the trip in order to further monitor the likelihood of actually being able to go this time. Pandemics are not at all off the table of consideration as Covid, RSV and flu continue to spread. And global war, even of the nuclear variety, is not outside the reasonable realm of possibility. Sandi's health and my health are two more factors that could change the outlook on a moment's notice. All of this caused me to delay a bit in pulling the trigger.

Heh, just because I am believing that there is a Camino call in my life in no way guarantees that it will happen. Yet I seek to serve at the will of my Father. Ultimately, if I am to take this sense of Camino call  seriously, there is no reason for a 'wait and see" delay. So I have made the $1400 dollar bet and booked the round trip. My 2023 Camino attempt is scheduled for an August 22 departure and returning October 7.  I have booked the airfare, bought the trip insurance and a line has been drawn in the sand....

Feliz Navidad Santiago!

I'll be home for Christmas

 It is both interesting and disconcerting to come back to this site and read some of my older posts. In my quest to understand and be understood, I find an odd sense of satisfaction and pleasure in reading someone who says it like I experience it...who gets me.  And yet duh! The guy I am reading is me (although reading my own stuff always feels like somehow it is not identical with just me?)

Regardless, I have just read through my 2+ year season of John 15:5, mysticism, retirement, identity and of course the Camino dreams of 2020. In some ways, I read to prime my writing pump. I sense the urge to write, mostly to reach a greater clarity concerning what my current thinking and experiences might be trying to tell me. And yet, as is so often the case, although I feel the tug to write I have no particular subject in mind. And so, for now, there are these random thoughts:

I have an ill-formed picture of baby Santiago with an empty backpack that gradually fills with life experiences and the reactive strategies I embrace to navigate them. Year by year the pack fills with all varieties of beliefs, lies, illusions, false lovers, joys and sorrows.  And then, at 75 years old, with a 183 pound pack busting at the seams, I see that this overburdened figure is actually my false self. That to move on into the light I have been given regarding my true self requires me to let go of most of what fills my life pack. To thoroughly die to self in all it's many forms: self-interest, self-sufficiency, self as supreme reference point and on and gag-me-with-a spoon on it goes. So 75 years of filling the pack only to conclude that I am really called to be pack-less "...no bag for your journey, or two tunics or sandals or a staff...."Mt 10;9

My more recent travels have introduced me to one of the best words I have ever come across: ineffable. A word which points to something too overwhelming to be expressed or described in words; too awesome or sacred to be spoken. On one hand, suggesting that I have come across anything ineffable might sound like just a thinly veiled way to put myself on some kind of self-proclaimed, esoteric podium. But I say neh, neh. It is a word which calms much of the thinking water I have been dog paddling in. Perspectives that have made sense and felt comfortably right when I try them on. And yet these perspectives defy articulate dialogue with others. If that isn't bad enough, insights brought to me by those who have walked such paths in the distant (and not too distant (Merton)) past have frequently been brilliantly illuminating. But alas, they seem to hover just outside my own reach. They seem to be delicately, even briefly given but refuse to be owned outright.  Yep, ineffable from me to me! 

It is that time of the year when the tree is up, the house is fully decorated and, as if wishing to mock the sereneness of the season, we are facing emotional challenges from many sides. Our 94 year old Aunt V is in TCU following a stroke in late November. At this time, her prognosis does not seem to include returning to her assisted living status. A move to SNF may well be in the offing. At this time there are daily trips to visit her, meetings with healthcare workers, research of care possibilities, doing her laundry etc..  Sandi, as the only child and Aunt V's one and only support person, feels the full brunt of these responsibilities (despite me doing as much as I know how to support her and share the burden). So there is that.

Meanwhile, E returns to Haiti next Monday after a 3 week visit that turned into 5.5 months. She returns to a country in shambles, substantially under the control of gangs and a leader named Barbecue. Safety is non-existent with rampant kidnappings, murders, cholera, lack of food and water. She returns to renew her visa and rejoin the family in pursuing an escape from there to here although there continues to be no clear path that will actually work. The thought of E landing in PAP feels as if she were landing in a hot LZ in the jungles of 1969 Vietnam. To say it is worrisome is accurate but grossly understated.  So there is that.

And then there is our little Nat. Oh my, this miniature human with a tiny face, lots of dark hair and a little squeaky cry will melt the most icy of hearts with just one look. She comes complete with DS and a 2-chamber heart on board. Heart surgery looms in her very near future. But they want her to be 12 lbs and she is only 7 lbs at 3 months old. To say this is worrisome is accurate but once again, grossly understated.  So there is that.

It seems that the time we celebrate the birth of Jesus each year has often times brought along with it the sadness of family crises of health issues, dying, and missing family not able to be together because of living away long distances.  This year is simply no exception to the type of circumstances that seem to  regularly appear about the time of turkey and red/green decorations. A pound of emotional balm and elixir might be a great gift idea.

So that touches some of the major ingredients of this year's holiday challenges. Although not particularly edifying, it does serve to leave some life journey tracks for anyone tripping upon this blog in future times.

However, before leaving. I just have to emphasize something. I am in no way depressed or down about all of this! Perhaps I should be but I am walking with a bit more eternal perspective these days.  Ok, ok, don't get your shorts in a bundle here. I am not saying I have arrived anywhere or achieved a new level of anything. It is not about that. I simply believe that my 2+ years of focus on intimacy and union with Christ, fully believing that apart from Him I can indeed do nothing and offering myself to a death to those parts of me that represent my false self have begun to reap at least some first fruits. I am profoundly humbled to be able to honestly even say this as I realize that in no way can I claim any credit for any of it. I can only be grateful for his love and pursuit of me and his apparently fierce determination to robustly act behind the scenes of my life on every Yes I am willing to give him. And so I do Lord...I say Yes to your vision for me. I was created for union with you. I will walk fully in this reality after death but I believe you offer substantial transformation on this side of the grave for those who are willing to let go of their worldly rights and false lovers. Holy Trinity, help me to be just such a willing man....

Feliz Navidad Santiago!

 

Thrashers will thrash

Just another flood of words in an effort to make sense of this season of life. Bear with me Santiago. I write with a limp.....

House church was not a magical panacea. There are no shortcuts, no holy grail of teachers or teaching methods. No one church or expression of church that holds the golden key. No sure-fire set of disciplines. No nifty 3-step program to ultimate transformation.

Jesus said that without him we can do nothing.  A rather comprehensive statement, bereft of wiggle room. Ok, so do we get it?  We need him, we need Jesus, we desperately need the Trinity. The Lord is not a mere ingredient in our life's cake. An intimate relationship with him is simply a matter of life and death. No Abba, no life, only things posing as life.

Intimacy with the Triune God is so good. In John 17 Jesus prayed this very thing for each of us. Union with him is the ultimate best and something all believing sojourners are headed for. But it doesn't have to wait until the sweet by-and-by, until we cross over from this earthly life to the next. It is substantially available now. Those who have written about such things have been called mystics by an often unbelieving public. There are many who have left a testimony of penetrating the mystery that is so liberally salted throughout the Gospel. Of entering into the bright light of one-ness that awaits the surrendered, obedient pilgrim. Forgetting and putting behind the scam of self-independence, self-reliance and autonomy. Accepting the pathetic nothingness of a fallen branch on the ground and, instead, celebrating the wisdom and insight which flows through a branch firmly attached to the eternal vine.

He is the hero of the story we find ourselves in. Amazing as it seems, we are who he desires to flow through in order to bring others into (or deeper into) the true story of who they are, why they are and what they were created to be. Father wants us, he ordained our participation in his creation plan. How can this not arouse and excite any person who gives it honest consideration. It is ultimately a wonderful secret that has been with us from the beginning although hidden in plain sight. It has been hidden behind the veils of man's religion, which has kept it's form but denied it's transformative power. Mostly emphasizing the fire insurance parts of the story. Offering glory some day but in the meantime only directing us to be nice and to stay out of trouble while we wait. Not so compelling.

Huh, so it's not really about me after all. Maslow's hierarchy of needs is not the truest truth. Culture markets many shadows, many misdirection's, all with ulterior motives of greed and control of human capital. The addictions of selfies and Instagram portrayals of the good life temporarily anesthetize the deep inner groans for meaning and purpose. The streets are littered with poisonous life preservers: diets, drugs, numbing agents of every stripe, news reports that cater to your every bias, conspiracy stories that fill in every gap and answer all the nagging questions.  

What is often termed mysticism has captured my attention and been my study for the last couple of years. I am left with a couple of dilemmas, not the least of which is myself. I don't trust myself to stay after this pursuit of intimacy with God, ultimately culminating in union with God.  Although for 1500 years this was a common, orthodox understanding, today it stands as a decidedly more radical, less-followed outlook.  

This 'union' makes total sense to me as being the very core of what I am called to as a believer.  Yet, to the extent it depends on me, my performance, my commitment and faithful dedication....I have doubts . I have observed 'me' for 75 years and have accumulated numerous reasons for questioning the potency of such virtues within myself. Although I am of the belief that my transformation towards deeper intimacy can only be accomplished through the Holy Spirit's work within me, I lack self-confidence at staying open and obedient and offering my continual "Yes" to that inner work. It's a bit like a poor commoner who was invited to dine at the King's table but could never quite seem to get past feeling that it was all based on mistaken identity.  I know the standard answers to such unbelief, yet I obviously struggle nonetheless.

An additional dilemma is fellowship in this pursuit. I feel ruined by "big" churches and my experience at their being more "Christian-lite" in their offerings. Seeker sensitivity bothers me. It's like masking the taste of medicine by adding sugar. But I get it. The message of 'come and die to your independent self'  is hardly a compelling marketing strategy. Yet I so desire to fellowship with some like-minded brothers and sisters who believe along these lines, who can encourage my walk on this path, keep me honest, accountable and help keep me from deception and drift. But where can this be found? Have I made this too much about me? How can that be when I have come to the conclusion that my me-ness must decrease and he must increase? Forgive my whining here...alas, I see through a glass ever so darkly.

So holy Trinity, I end with a prayer. I lay the above before you. I believe you have called me into a pursuit of the 'more' that is ours for eternity but that it is also substantially available now, on earth as it is in heaven. I bring you my confusions, my frustrations and my possible delusions. Guard my heart, keep me headed through the narrow gate and on the hard road that you say few find. I ask for a fresh confirmation that I am indeed correctly hearing your call towards deeper intimacy. I ask for increased clarity in this focus and a robust exchange of my distrust of self for an utter reliance on you. Forgive my shaking knees and my wimpy faith. I seek to drink deeply from you as my only vine Lord. May it all be according to you and your will. Maranatha!

Bits and Pieces

Sitting here in quarantine after participating in a men's breakfast six days ago. About one hundred guys, all unmasked. In the not too distant past I would have rested on my vaccinations and booster to protect me. But this time ol' Omicron has shown himself no respecter of mRNA and masks and has alluded many peoples best efforts to avoid infection.  On the way home from this event I had an unsettled feeling of having been naive. I had let myself be lulled into business as usual, when in fact 'usual' had quietly left the building.

So masking at home with Sandi, sleeping apart, and distancing have been enacted. Of course many of   today's social judges would scoff at such behavior. But it's my house, my silo of truth and my desire to protect my compromised wife that inform my decision towards caution. Alas, I join so many others in voicing how sick I am about being pandemic-ed to death. Yes, enough already! Yet Mr. Covid plays in his sandbox by his rules, not mine, and being humbled by an invisible viral foe is simply the way things are for now. 

(It is feeling like this post is going to have a "journal entry" vibe. Ok, duly noted. Carry on.)

Getting a CT arthrogram scan of my forefoot this coming week. Still trying to get my walking back. Germany trip was a departure from my two month walking hiatus. I am grateful that the many miles I did in the Rodenbach area were tolerated better than expected.  But there is no denying that I still took a hit. New podiatrist and a diagnostic plan to get to the bottom of things feels right. Whether or not surgery seems called for is yet to be seen.

On an entirely different note, a deeper level of union with Christ continues to pull me, to motivate me and to inhabit my morning rendezvous with the Trinity. Today while swimming I was struck by the dissonance between self-actualization -vs- the surrender of maintaining myself as an autonomous self.  To me, the very ludicrousness of spending over seven decades fully pursuing the very things that now need to be relinquished in order to realize my branch fully merging with Him as vine is... breathtaking!  Maslow my good friend, your hierarchy of needs, while perhaps pertinent in a worldly sense, has little to say about the spiritual realm in general and union with Christ in particular. And then, to top it off, the very subject matter of this paragraph turns out to be ineffable and thus notoriously elusive and not able to be adequately captured with mere words. So there is that.....

An adventure is on the horizon. An opportunity to be a part of an Intensive on Catalina Island in late March. To facilitate and participate in the intimate stories of other men who are seeking the 'more' they believe is out there to be had. I have had just enough experience with such missions to be both humbled, expectant and desirous to enter into the four-day event with hands not gripping, a heart fully trusting and all expectations checked at the door. Father, give me your eyes, your ears and your love as the only attributes deployed at this event.

Our trip to Germany now ended over three weeks ago. It has been interesting to look back with some perspective and to see the number of ways Father used it in my life. I have heard myself describe my time as a mixed bag of "highs" and "lows" and I can now see how it was definitely a spiritual exercise navigating the varied terrain with the backdrop of being four thousand miles away from the "usual". A significant physical distancing from the normal ruts of life certainly seemed to encourage some fresh insights. I had three weeks to watch myself walk through so many "foreign' things, complete with my response and reactions.  Although I won't be processing in this venue, it would be worthwhile to journal at least the bullet points of what were my "take-a ways" (My how I dislike that overused term, but it works.).

So, at large, 2022 seems off to a rocky start. The levels of unrest in this country and around the world are off the chart. The pandemic issues have had profound impacts at both a global level as well as in individual families. Unlike bygone times, we now spend an inordinate amount of time trying to decipher actual truth from the gobbledygook that merely appears as truth. It feels like over the last few years the social fabric of our lands have grown shockingly fractionated. It's as if there are multiple silos of 'truth'. Each comes complete with various, sharp distinctions, a full assortment of  'data' that can be used either to  support the particular 'truths' of one's silo or to bash and judge the other silos.  Pick your version of the 'truth', find others that hold to the same silo and call them your community. Circle your wagons against the 'lies' of the other silos and sit back and scoff away at all the ridiculousness going on 'out there'. It seems to be the way of life these days and it feels like death, not life. So Lord, I hear my whining here....show me how to resist participating in these social games. Outfit me to be a peacemaker amidst the chaos.

The boredom of my quarantining gave me an appetite to write. Now having done so, without being particularly 'pregnant' with any specific topic, I must self-disclose that this has not brought the satisfaction that normally is there when a particular itch is well-scratched. It is what it is mate. Heh Santiago, let's just lay it out under the hot noonday sun of the desert and let it shake and quiver in all its banality and triteness.  Selah!