500' Flyby

Mexico Restored

2011-01-27T07:04:00.004-06:00

Well, that was quite a trip. Ten years ago Sandi and I were married. I have written here before about our engagement and what a blessing to find myself as crazy about her today as I was 3650 days ago. For our anniversary we wanted to do something special. Our plans morphed along the way. Originally we envisioned something like a long weekend on the North Shore in a cabin with a fireplace. But as 2010 came to an end and I had my best year ever in recruiting we decided to upgrade. Next thing you know we were trading winter snow for soft sand and booked ourselves for 10 days in Playa del Carmen at a 4 star, all-inclusive hotel on the Caribbean beach. Yowsa!

As exciting as it was to anticipate our trip it still came with it's own conceptual difficulties. We hadn't been away together on any sort of vacation (mea culpa, mea culpa)since our honeymoon ten years ago (which was at the same hotel in Playa). Despite assuring each other that we deserved it and blah-blah-blah we both had to deal with guilt and doubt. It seemed so extravagant compared to so much of how our ten year journey had gone. Couldn't/shouldn't we be making better use of the money this was costing? Should we really tear ourselves away for ten whole days? Are we being too lavish, irresponsible?

Yet, as time passed, we found ourselves immersed in the treadmill aspects of everyday life in this modern world stuffed full of time saving devices that save zero time. Bottom line, we were too busy to really dwell on the upcoming trip which did have the benefit of at least limiting the guilty, second-guessing junk.

We got down to the t-minus four days and I got sick. It was just a virus cold deal but a really bad one with enough flu symptoms that I wondered if that's what it was. I actually missed my second day of work in thirteen years as a gauge of how I was feeling. Now we started to wonder whether going would even be possible. It's about at this point that my buzzers finally went off...."The thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy...". Perhaps a little slow to see it but duh!, we are living behind enemy lines, our lives are opposed, warfare is not an option, our enemy is not a fan of anniversary celebratory getaways. So the fight was on for our freedom, for this opportunity to enjoy what I believe Father had arranged for.

Called in my band of brothers for prayer support. Launch was now in only two days and I was being kept up at night with coughing that wouldn't quit. I sounded like death warmed over. I neither looked nor sounded like a vacation candidate. Decided to avoid the managed care, doctor appointment (our health care system is so broken....don't get me going). Opted for trying out a Minute Clinic for the first time ever with the goal of scoring a prescription for cough medicine with codeine, the one thing that I knew would restore a full nights sleep. Walked into Target, stepped into the alternative world of what they call "convenience care" and came out with a good report (no pneumonia) and the desired prescription for the magic cough elixir. I drew a line in the sand and told Sandi the trip was most definitely on and our butts were headed for our seats in 9C and 9D.

So we head off for the airport at 4:45 AM and enjoy the sweet, sweet feeling of making a break from all our familial responsibilities, from the good old-fashioned Minnesota winter that we had been having (I am no longer charmed in the least by any aspect of winter). We sat in the airport basically incredulous that this was actually going to happen, that soon our faces would be facing a warm sun, not the cold, dim orb merely posing as a sun in our Minnesota January.

Gosh, it was a fast, direct flight. A mere 4 hours later and we are going through customs, walking outside into the hot, muggy middle of what July is for us. Once again there are the smells of a living earth and active vegetation to replace the sterility of our frozen homeland. We got into the cab and just smiled at the crazy mariachi music blaring from the radio. VIVA la MEXICO!! Praise God for the wonder of jets that can transport you so fast from one reality into another.

Well, this is merely a blog, not a travelogue. Suffice it to say that the next ten days were wonderful, even gently spectacular. Within about a day or two my health was fully Restored. Still,I discovered that my type A personality seems to crave purposefulness mixed with down time in order to fully enjoy it. Our days were spent with sleeping, talking, people watching, eating, reading, drinking,...repeat. I was sometimes aware of being antsy. I chalked that off to being merely accomplishment withdrawal pains. On several long, long walks on the endless beaches I had some definite epiphanies. I would be appreciating the beauty, the warmth of the sun, the surf lapping at my feet, the way the sand collapses under your feet providing the best arch support ever. I heard in my heart Father's voice, "This is your agenda. To look, and walk and talk and relax and eat, drink and sleep. This is what I have arranged for you". I found myself breaking into tears and shouting out at the top of my lungs into the wind and the sea "Thank you Father, praise you for what you have given us". By the end of our time I was starting to get the hang of leisure a bit...with some more practice I may even some day be able to excel in this arena.

But the thief wasn't going to stand for all this joy without a struggle. About midway through our time, Sandi was hit by sudden nausea. It got worse and worse and she got weaker and weaker. At one point she was literally too weak to even turn over in bed. So, we prayed for relief/healing and just stayed in the room. I curled up next to her and, as if it were a bit of a consolation prize, it rained. It was as if the PAUSE button had been hit while Sandi recuperated. About 30 hours later, Sandi was Restored and we were able to get up and hit PLAY...GAME ON. We quickly got back to the grueling work of eating, sleeping, reading, walking on the beach and drinking. Did I mention drinking?

Alas, all good things do eventually come to an end and it was time to go home. We had a blessed, uneventful flight back home. Sandi quickly checked her vm on the cell phone that had been dormant for ten days. As we entered customs, where phones had to be turned off, she said there was a message...something about the heat in our house. Roh,Roh! That set off some major red lights on the dashboard of my 'Get-er-done' mentality. I felt like we were in slow motion going through all the steps necessary to clear customs and get to where we could communicate once again with the world.

The information was startling. Our furnace had stopped working the day after we left. Our house had been unheated for the last nine days. The message said not to worry, the water had been turned off in the hopes that it would prevent the pipes from freezing. There had been attempts at emailing us, a phone attempt, but nothing got to us and we were left blissfully unaware of the travesty going on back home. I came into our home at 10:00 PM on Saturday night. It was 30 degrees inside the house. The freezer had stopped working in the kitchen and there was a smell of rancid meat. It was as if the enemy was physically present, taunting, jeering with a vicious welcome home. Re-entry was not going to be gradual at all. I found myself in the midst of a full-blown homeowner crisis. We'll get back to that....

Meanwhile, went back to work on Monday. There were three projects that all looked to be sure deals that should have successfully closed while we were away. Within the first three hours of returning to work I discovered that every single one of them had crashed and burned. I sat there as in a coma, in disbelief at the tenacity and viciousness of the enemy's strategy to yank back all the joy from Mr and Mrs Santiago's Mexican getaway.

The title of this used the word Restored. Let me compress and brag on what all God did to thwart what the enemy designed for evil but what God meant for good. (How incredible to experience Jesus as my bodyguard and watch him slap down every move of the bully enemy on our behalf.) So, after the thief failed to get us to cancel out with my sickness, failed to shut it down in the middle with Sandi's sickness he now sought to crush with huge problems upon coming home.

Sitting in a 30 degree house trying to call in a furnace guy late on a Saturday night felt surreal. Nontheless, by 12:15 AM on Sunday the furnace had a new inducer motor and was blowing hot air into the cold house. Cost to us: $0 (furnace still had warranty left!) By 9:00 AM on Sunday morning the house was 60 degrees. I talked to a friendly plumber about coming over to supervise whatever disasters I might be facing when I tried to turn the water back on. He talked me out of it (his Sunday fee: $280/hr!). He gave me a couple of tips instead, I gathered together Sandi and 3 neighbors to watch for leaks at different points in the house and I slowly brought the water back on....NO LEAKS, NO FROZEN PIPES! Restored!

On the work front, as said earlier, all of my likely projects had died. Then on Wednesday of that first week back to work I received a call. The biggest client/project of the three I was hoping for called to say that on further review they were going to go ahead and add an additional position. By Friday they made an offer to my candidate and I now was on the scoreboard for 2011! Restoration!

Let me just say that all glory and honor and praise go to my heavenly Father who both provided an incredible vacation to Sandi and I but then went on to protect his gift from every effort of the enemy to plunder our joy upon returning. I brag on you Father! I bless your name and confess that he who is in us is indeed stronger than he who is in the world! What a glorious ten days in Mexico, courtesy of Jesus! Ten days of of being known by all the hotel personnel as Santiago, answering only to my favorite name...Santiago. Thank you Father for all you brought to us, even down to the intricate detail of a name. Praise God!

CSI Christmas

2010-12-28T06:05:00.004-06:00

So Christmas 2010 has come and gone. As I return to the normal activities everyone has the same question..."How was your Christmas"? A fair question but let’s face it, no one is really looking for much of an in-depth answer. It’s a polite, socially appropriate question for this time of the year. I write today to process this holiday. I mean the holiday, with a small h, not the meaning of Christmas, not about the birth of our Savior. Obviously there is some of that in most of our Christmas holidays, a church service perhaps, some reading, some pondering and meditation. But the real crux of the real answer to “How was your Christmas?” lies more in the interactions with family and relatives, the gift buying and giving, food planning and preparation, getting to all of the obligatory parties/get-togethers, and trying to capture/experience that elusive, warm, inner glow known as the “Christmas spirit”.

I have mentioned before in this blog that the best Christmases seem more likely to happen to those who enjoy intact, functional families, with lives not beset by problems, with adequate funds, good health....you get the picture. But let’s face it, most people are lacking in one or many of these areas. For every item missing from this formula for a merry holiday, the likelihood for some level of disappointment, the likelihood of a gap between expectation and reality, increases exponentially.

My intent for writing this is not to be a gloom monster. I am not on a negative tirade, not lambasting the holiday. My desire is simply to do a bit of a post-mortem, to examine where things can come apart and to at least consider any helpful adjustments that might help avoid common pitfalls in ‘doing the holiday’.

Went to church the day after Christmas and I was amazed that the theme of everyone I happened to talk to was one of exhaustion, both emotional and physical. Such a shame. Jesus never intended his birthday to produce such experiences in people...of that I am sure. Where does this exhaustion come from? I am convinced that there are way too many conflicting constituents all demanding to be satisfied in the average person’s holiday experience. I know, constituent is kind of a political word. Constituents are individuals, voters in the way I am using the term, that must be served and every politician has the challenge of managing and pleasing many constituents with their conflicting demands and priorities. Good politicians manage to make each group feel served and acknowledged and so must we with our holiday constituents.

And just what are the constituents of our holiday experience? Well there are many. It starts with ourselves and our personal expectations for how we would like to see things go. The more thought we give to our desires, the more defined is our ultimate score sheet from which we will come up with the result that will be at the heart of an honest answer to “How was your Christmas”. Then there are any surviving grandparents, parents, possibly children, aunts/uncles, in-laws all with their own hopes and aspirations for how they would like to see the holiday play out. A different type of constituent can be the “how it used to be” and the yearning to somehow return to the experience of holidays of yesteryear. On the insidious side of things there is the constituent of the media and the seeds of expectation they manage to plant in us, most often despite our unwillingness to succumb, via their relentless programming and bombardment of every sense we possess.

Yikes, you put all these constituents in a blender, hit frappe, and you will likely pour out a grey liquid that only the weirdest palate will find delectable. What is one to do? If these are some of the causes of holiday misfires what might be possible solutions? I suppose this is where I feel bad for I have inferred I may have some answers. In reality, I feel like I might be onto some possible causes of holiday blues but alas, the solutions to improve seem mostly outside my grasp.

My answers all seem to involve simplification and the management of expectations. For if we could keep things simple, uncluttered, stay away from trying to shove 10lbs of holiday stuff into a 5lb bag, we might find some answers. But to simplify requires different expectations and the willingness to stop doing what we have always done on Christmas just because we have. What starts as a simple tradition can pick up a number of additions and permutations over time. And, once established, the new twists become part of the new and improved traditional constituents, demanding to be served in subsequent years.

Simplifying, when it comes to a holiday such as Christmas, requires getting radical....not something that most families have much of a capacity for. Can the meals be less complicated, needing fewer dishes and more easily served? Can formalities of all sorts be allowed to morph into more relaxed informality? Do we really have to touch every base on the 24th and 25th, frantically rushing around the freeways and praying for no accidents so as to make our tight deadlines? Can we opt out of anything? Is making it less about gifts and more simple just too much of a sacred cow to change? I don’t know but I would love to learn some answers.

It’s December 28th and I am still feeling wore out from the granddaddy of all holidays. Perhaps it is just that I am much to be pitied...? Perhaps... but this I know, just writing this down has brought me some relief. And Jesus, for all that we have done to massacre your birthday I am so sorry. I am not innocent. Please forgive me and bring your revelation on how things can change. Because the next Christmas is only 363 days away and I would like to look forward to it. Please father me in this Lord.

Mini-Windfall

2010-12-24T08:03:00.002-06:00

In the fall of this year, 2010, I experienced what for me was a windfall in my work volume and subsequent earnings. God brought me a new client in the summer of this year and by fall they had decided to add 12 new sales reps. Well, in almost 13 yrs of recruiting, this was the first time I had been blessed with this kind of concentrated up-tick in my business. I had already had a decent year but this expansion project launched me into the most success I have ever had in recruiting. Over the next 3 months, I successfully filled all 12 of these positions. This business bolus, direct from the hand of Father, generated a nice sum of money and I ended up in very unfamiliar territory.

Mini-windfall is a good name for this....it was most likely a one time thing (although I am wide open for more of the same) . Theoretically it could happen again with either this client or a new one. Still, with a 12+ year history in recruiting, I suspect this was most likely more of a windfall than evidence that I had somehow turned a new corner into a permanent level of increased business.

So how many times had I wondered and dreamed of having an extra lump of money come to me? Perhaps with a bit of flippancy, from time to time I would hear myself telling God that he had trusted me with little, how about giving plenty a go. True confession: maybe about 5 or 6 times a year I buy a lottery ticket. I call it my $1 ticket to dream about what I would do if I won. (I do better with such dreams when I actually have some skin in the game, with about as much chance of winning as I do of being bitten by a shark while simultaneously being struck by lightning). I view this as a harmless stimulus to practice something I am not at all skilled at......dreaming. Nevertheless, it has been good to occasionally pretend and imagine how I would manage a Jabez jackpot.

Like you,(assuming anyone reads this), I have read the accounts of big time winners who ultimately reported that they did not experience the level of positive changes they had anticipated. There are ample reports and testimonies of winners inheriting a whole new batch of problems to replace the ones that having lots more money solved. There are also the guys who reportedly go through their winnings in record time, with foolish purchases and bad investments gobbling up amazing amounts of money.

Mind you, my windfall is definitely spelled with a small w.... Mini -windfall is more accurate. I did not win the lottery. My "winnings" amount to a bit less than an entire year's income. Regardless, compared to anything else I have experienced it is still an ample sum. So what all have I learned, observed, experienced....? Well, it seems like everything I have observed has been previously reported by people who have gone down this road before me. In other words, I have not been so unique or different from others I have read about. My shared human DNA has produced thoughts and behaviors that are just not that atypical....(alas, I wanted to be so different, so much further above the fray).

Right away I went out and bought something....I hear that a lot from winners of big money. At least it was not a frivolous man toy. With my junior money I was confident enough to get four replacement windows purchased and installed for the 2nd floor. There went $6k (I was totally taken, didn't do enough comparison shopping). Also, I had been saving for a vacation with Sandi to coincide with our 10th anniversary. Now, with mini-windfall money headed in my direction, I upgraded the plans from the North Shore of MN to Mexico. Of course after funding these two items I started to see the mini-windfall balance begin to diminish. I suddenly realized that after taxes and tithes it was not really going to be as much as I had originally thought, it's buying power not as robust as hoped for and just how much of it could really be considered surplus could not be immediately determined.

So in response to these revelations, I have now locked down the consumer button on the control panel of life. Yep, for now I'm done pushing it in a Skinnerian frenzy lest it suck these new found cash resources dry. Since this expansion project ended at the end of October, new business opportunities have been in pretty short supply, and my projects are just not closing the way I would like to see it happening. In other words, the rhythm of my business has returned to its' normal beat. So for the windfall money that has yet to be spent or committed, I have decided to direct it into a holding corral. The new year is right around the corner and what kind of year 2011 is going to be is most uncertain. So bully for me, I am being boringly conservative and choosing not to spend all the windfall . Nope, the remaining money will be put aside to act as a pool to either supplement or replace any income shortfall should 2011 turn out to be a dud.

Pretty boring huh? Somehow my approach just doesn't have the flair and chutzpah of just getting it and spending it and trusting that 2011 will take care of itself. Sorry, there has been too many years in this 100% commission job that have brought periods (sometimes long periods) of too little cash flow, too many financial concerns and all the pressure that goes along with such underfunding. As the remaining windfall money comes in, the prudent thing to do is to set it aside. As 2011 goes along I will be monitoring the ebb and flow of projects and not until then will I know whether this mini-windfall money is indeed extra or was it just an advance payment on money that will be needed in the coming year.

The biggest ache I found in the midst of this was experiencing a strong desire to have this increase in cash become my new normal. How incredible it would be to never have to concern myself about money again. Face it, when this happened and my work was successful, there was an immense relieving of all financial pressures...at least in the short run. My soul yearned for this new found state to be permanent rather than transitory. As I let my focus shift to this desire it entirely obliterated the blessing in the now that had come to me. I was too busy lamenting on how if only this could become a more permanent type of financial change...one that would sort of stay and make itself at home. Gosh, how very carnal and disappointing of me. Spiritually, I regularly declare my allegiance and dependence on God. In His grace and mercy He showers me with a momentary dollar downpour. And what do I do? Well, regrettably, rather than bask in the grace of it all I morph into wanting, even whining, about having this become a permanent fixture of how we roll from this point forward.

So what were the 'take-aways' from this. That my old man is still very desirous of having positive, visible circumstances to depend on (ie.,cash) rather than relying merely on faith in an invisible provider. That money itself is not the panacea that I am often tempted to think that it may be. That I am really not a spender....it makes me more nervous than happy. That when faced with a financial blessing my mind gravitates way too easily from thanksgiving to having the desire to make it a permanent addition to my life. That alas, I do seem to grow better within moderate levels of adversity and pressure than I do in the absence of either.

Whether this mini-windfall proves to be a a financial overage or merely advanced payment of 2011 money in 2010 remains to be seen. Regardless, I am ever so blessed by this gift of Jesus. Thank you Father. Thus concludes this time of briefly sifting through the coals of one particular fire in the long series of fires that together comprise this journey called life. Santiago, thanks for writing about this....it helped clarify a few things.

A not-so secret

2010-11-07T15:21:00.005-06:00

Click...the sound of hitting the letter C on the keyboard. Seems like a good place to start after such a long absence. For a guy who says he finds joy and release in writing I sure don't write much. What's that about? Seems like I need to be in a certain kind of 'abandoned' mood that happens to coincide with having something I want to write about. Both of these are too rare for me to ever become a regular writer. I read about writers...how they sit down and crunch it out regardless of something as fickle as mood. The professionals have a deadline for a task masker. I only have a vague sense that in some realm I am drawn to write...maybe even called to do so. But that's not what I came here to talk about.....

I hear people saying how they want to "get closer" to God. How they are just not in the place they believe they want to be in their spiritual walk. Before sharing a response, a disclaimer. Anything that follows is certainly intended to be offered in the utmost humility....the kind of humility that has been backed up by years of falling, failing, floundering and flubbing virtually every aspect of life. The school of hard knocks for sure and graduation doesn't even appear on the calendar!

Thinking in pictures is how it usually happens for me. There's this phrase regarding the "elephant in the room" that I love. It really scratches my pragmatic itch. Our mutual capacity to talk all around something without ever getting to the real point is indeed truly amazing (amazing, a word that seems to be currently overused in daily conversations. It's so curious....where do such language nuances find their start? How do they grab hold and go so "viral". And when will the word "like" finally find it's way back out to pasture? But I digress....like big time).

There is no argument with the value of having a desire to get "closer to God". But mere hope is never a plan. If a journey of a thousand miles truly begins with the first step, then the first step cannot be some elusive, over-spiritualized mumbo jumbo. The first step of getting closer to God is clear....give him and your relationship some time, each day, day after day. There, I said it. But why does it seem somehow over-simplified and naive? I'm not sure but whenever I hear people lamenting about their need to get closer, to hear from, to sense the presence of God more in their lives it seems that the spending-time-with-him concept is just not that enthusiastically received.

Perhaps it's because 'time' seems in such short supply. The spirit of our age is rushing, tread milling, multitasking, eating while we drive. Heck, if we could we would be talking on our cell phone to one party while texting yet another on a second phone. I vaguely remember back in maybe the 1970's when the futurists were predicting that our biggest challenges would be managing the great increase in leisure time. Supposedly there was to be a shortening of the work week. Coupled with the efficiencies in our households because of all the labor-saving devices (ie, microwaves and electronics) it was predicted that we would be awash with spare time.

Alas, the excess leisure never really materialized and most people were certainly never challenged with the problem of managing an over supply of down time. No, instead, every time-saving device only led to a perverse tyranny of speeding up our expectations. Our need now has grown for things to move at warp speed just to be normal. Instead of problems with too much leisure we got road rage and second jobs to make ends meet. The average person experiences ten pounds of daily life trying to cram into a five pound bag.

So perhaps suggesting spending time as the answer to just about anything should not be expected to be met with enthusiastic amens. Time is in short supply and I get that (there is another over-used phrase that is part of our now vocabulary...I get that). But whether there is a shortage of time or not still does not change the truth. Truth may be assaulted from every direction but at the end of the proverbial day it is still gloriously the truth.

And the truth is that if Bobby wants to develop a relationship with Susie then by gum he is going to have to find the time to do it. Relationships have just never responded all that much to new-fangled approaches. Sure, maybe Bobby can initially text his way into Susie's life. But the development of depth and lasting love will only come from the frequent investment of raw minutes robbed away from lesser important activities.

And so it is with us and Jesus. He loves each of us unconditionally. He yearns to be in relationship with us. And for many of us, we hear ourselves saying that we want that too. If that's so, then the journey must both begin and be regularly fueled by the investment of our precious time...there just are no relational shortcuts. And, like anything else we wish to make a high priority, that time can only be found within the ledger sheets of our lives. To find time we will have to rearrange the columns of our God-given 24hours to allow for it.

If only....if only this world could experience every Jesus-believing person spending one hour per day with their creator/savior. What a phenomenal difference I can only imagine that might make. And yes, initially that may have to start with a mere 'five minute' quiet time. But Bobby would never grow with Susie if that is where it stayed. Five minutes can grow to ten and ten to twenty. But where to find this time? For me, finding the time to be with God once the starting gun has been fired for the day has never worked. How do you really hear the still quiet voice while fighting traffic? I have also struck out when I have tried to parlay bedtime into prayer time. The exhaustion of the day simply short circuits my best laid plans and sleep seems too often the victor.

No, for me, however long I want to sit at the feet of Jesus must come when I set the alarm the night before. To the thirty minutes it takes me to get out the door I must add the amount of time that Jesus and I will spend together the next morning. Actually that part is easy enough. The discipline that is needed (doesn't all change and re-prioritization require us to fight for them?.....It seems our good intentions always meet with resistance...thus the need for discipline) is to not hit the snooze alarm. To roll out of bed on the first notes of the radio alarm tune, to suffer the fifteen to twenty seconds of agony until my feet are on the floor and moving. Thankfully it gets progressively easier from there....

I recently voted and they gave me a little red sticker that so proudly proclaims "I VOTED". (Sporting that about town is not my style...I put it on an UP elevator button as a friendly reminder to others.) But that got me to thinking ...what if we started seeing more and more people getting closer to God because they gave him the time of day? What if "I Spent Time With God Today" buttons started appearing all over. Wouldn't that result in many getting closer to God? Might not the world benefit from having more participants who had met with the Lord of Lords and heard his still, quiet voice? I sure have to think so...

One now after another....

2010-07-07T14:22:00.000-05:00

Yea! I get to blog a bit. A scene from Chariots of Fire comes to mind when Eric Liddell shares that when he runs he feels "the pleasure of God". I know something of that when I express through the written word. So yea, I get to blog.

One side comment before launching forward....by writing infrequently, I have little to no recall of things I may have already said in an earlier post. Like the comment about Liddell and what he said. I know I have thought that before and now I suspect I may have well said it here, on 500' Flyby before. Not that big of a deal except I am really wanting not to become one of those old duffers who tells the same stories every time you see them, blissfully unaware they have so shared the same thing before. Lord, please spare me from this.

Sometimes it can seem like there is no end in sight for certain of life's struggles, no reprieve from battling the same stuff, falling through the same old trap doors into the primordial ooze of your own making. But then, without any special fanfare, a breakthrough of sorts. It was unexpected and comes along with a strong tendency of mine to minimize lest I overrate it. But doggone it, when a bit of a corner seems to have been turned it's only right to declare it. And so I will.

Without summarizing the concept or discipline, several authors have written about practicing the presence of God (PPOG) on a moment by moment basis. Brother Lawrence may be the most well known name in this regard. His approach is detailed in his book, so cleverly entitled The Practice of the Presence of God. I read it many years ago (and am spending time in it again). I remember being impressed by the austerity of his living in a monastery, the simplicity of his work (which he hated) of washing dishes. I have this affinity with all things austere, simple yet severe.

But for me, the special thing that Father has recently been bringing me to is in part special for how He did it. It started from just one line (OK, maybe two or three) in a book that had been recommended to me by several friends well over a year ago. One of those funny, as in odd, traits of mine is to not do or see or read anything that is being touted too much. I'm the guy who doubles back and sees a wildly popular movie maybe a year after it has long faded from the public eye. How quirky of me (and it would be fun/good to explore what's behind that someday).

Anyhow, some dear friends gifted me a $50 Barnes and Noble gift card as a sort of farewell for a ministry leadership position I felt led to step down from. Well, one of my purchases was this book that had been recommended so enthusiastically so long ago. I loved the book but there was this line on page 106 that just had this light switch kind of an effect on me. It went something like "....you have learned to measure your stability by your circumstances and by your ability to see how things will work out months in advance." Bam, that was for me...it was me, it nailed me!

In the book, the character asks if that is so wrong. The wise sage states that he wouldn't say it's so wrong but "...it's not going to help you walk in this kingdom. When we're looking to the future, we're not listening to Father. The greatest freedom God can give you is to trust his ability to take care of you each day."

Not an overly complex thought but the rightness of it for me, at that moment, kind of rocked my world. I was left in no doubt that I was being specifically guided into this arena, at this time. No accident...divine appointment. You see, for years I have struggled with a vicious cycle of ups and downs that were all so circumstantially based. My permission to be joyful was linked to the quality of my circumstances. To make matters even worse, there was a related lie from the pit of hell that I had unwittingly bought into. It was a linear, causality type of outlook that concluded "good things happening to me, God is pleased with me. Bad things happening, God is torqued with me." Intellectually, I could argue against such thinking with no problem. But emotionally, practically, my life was lived out under the effect of this lie.

Having a pastor who has talked frequently about living in the moment with God has kept this 'PPOG' mindset at least somewhat on my radar (yet never quite embraced until now). The passages from the book had caused me to see the reality of the stronghold that I found myself in. A bondage consisting of looking to circumstances as the source (or block) of my peace/joy index. Closely related, a diabolical habit of trying to control the future while simultaneously feeling lousy about much of the past. Now there is a formula bound to produce a chronic malaise if ever there was one.

For me, it's difficult to speak or even write about this 'practicing the presence'. On one hand, it sounds so zen-like and new age. On the other, it is so simple, so basic that it starts having the feel of 'everything you ever needed to know you learned in kindergarten'. Painfully Christianity 101. Here I am into this faith walk for 35 years and I am just now appreciating how vital it is for me to surrender to God. Perhaps I should be applying to become the new poster child for the Society of Slow Learners.

All self-deprecating humor aside, by living in the moment, knowing that I couldn't be more loved by my Father than I am right now, knowing that He intends life for me and life abundantly, knowing that He desires nothing more than to be invited into each moment and, in so doing, to transform the mundane into the sacred is, for me, an extremely potent paradigm (that's one quarter into the jar for horribly overused words and very long sentences). By collapsing all analysis of the past, by surrendering all speculation concerning the future I am left with the moment. And right there, in the now, stands Jesus, knocking at my heart's door, passionately wanting to be invited into the present to do life together. When I authentically walk with this as my truth, I am so shielded from so much of what used to take me out. If a deal falls through at work, I don't run ahead into the future to project what all this is going to mean for me. I have the moment, only the moment, and Father is in it with me.

Running up ahead, speculating, is one of the ways I have done life since youth. For crying out loud, I can remember sitting in the back seat on the way to the Dr's office, knowing full well I was going to be getting a penicillin shot (they didn't call him 'Penicillin Pete' for nothing). As I anticipated the pain of what was going to happen, I would sit there pinching my arm, rehearsing and preparing, seeking a way to manage the future. It's stuff like that which has followed me into adult life in a more sophisticated yet lame attempt to manage the fallout of life. When I am trying to arrange for the details of my own happy life I am by definition not trusting Father to do so. I guess it's safe to say that if I find myself mentally dwelling in either the past or the future I am not where I am meant to be....present to the now in surrender and trust to my Abba.

It is a bit shocking when I look under my own hood to check for transformation progress. Of course I'm not suggesting that is a good thing for us to be about doing on a regular basis. Nonetheless, it is only natural to think about it every so often. What I have seen with fresh eyes is the truth that what I profess to believe does not necessarily have any correlation with how I live my life. I have seen my double mindedness. On one hand , I give vigorous intellectual assent to what Jesus taught and philosophically embrace it on every level. Yet there seems to be a separate compartment from which I actually live out so pathetically many aspects of my life. Looked at from this vantage point, I see myself living as though there really isn't an all-caring, all-loving Father in whom I can trust. Instead there are only my frantic efforts to provide for myself and to suck what I need out of the marrow of those around me. Mmmmm, harsh but more true than not. I believe that bringing my beliefs and how I live my life into alignment is possible. However, I suspect that this will only be possible to the degree Father has been given my full surrender and trust thus giving Him the freedom to align me from the inside out.

Yikes, this has grown quite long. Perhaps blog-length is just not sufficient to wrestle with producing the words of what this is and what all it is meant to mean for how I do life moving forward from here. The wicked witch had it sort of right..."Surrender Dorothy" is not a bad thing to do when one is surrendering to the Creator of the universe. The peace and joy that is reportedly associated with what I have for years professed to believe has been elusive at best. There is little to none of it when I am busy trying to choreograph the details of life into a nice Santiago dance. Surrender and dependence, on one hand so un-American sounding, so politically incorrect. But in the Kingdom economy, things operate in such profoundly different patterns. In a Kingdom where "When I am weak, then I am strong" is true, only a close walk with the King of the dome will suffice.

Surrender brings freedom and dependence allows for the byproduct of joy. No child concentrates on joy...it just comes along for the ride in the process of trusting that father means only well. My Father is like that...be that child Santiago....be that child.

There's not always more

2010-04-23T05:30:00.001-05:00

I used to play a lot of hockey. I loved it. The speed of the game, the camaraderie of the players. We would get ice time whenever we could which meant games were often not until 10:30PM on a weeknight. Next day at work was always tough but it didn't matter, it was all way worth it to play this incredible game.
I don't play anymore...don't even own skates. Of course not that many in their 60's do play hockey but, in this case, that's not the point. You see, what kind of fascinates me was that there was a game I played that was the last game I was to play. On that particular night, when I left the ice, walked down the rubber mat toward the locker room, I was doing it all for the last time. And the poignancy of that fact is the subject of this blog.

I'm not sure if I even have a point to make here. But I want to explore this subject a bit. There's just something about the way that life has these "last times" built in that I find....I find....I'm not sure of the word. Haunting? Yes, that's at least a piece of it. I used the word poignant above...not an often used term but yes, that describes a piece of it too.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Please don't do that! This is not merely morbid thinking about how all things eventually come to an end. No, although I have been cited for negative thinking in the past, this, to me, isn't that. Actually, what intrigues me most has more to do with the grace of not knowing at the time, or in advance, of these "last time" moments. I have already mentioned the example of how one night I played what is likely to be my last game of hockey. Perhaps a few other examples would be helpful to better establish exactly what moments I am referring to.....

For 7 or 8 yrs we, my daughters and I, were invited each summer up to a friends cabin for the weekend. Situated on Cormorant Lake, my California friend and his family would come to their cabin and we would join them towards the end of their visit. My daughters were the 'big girls' as Alley was 5 yrs younger. Our time was spent doing lake things, usually a project or two, but mostly just being on 'lake time'....that state of blissful, no agenda, lavish consumption of summer minutes that can be enjoyed without thought of productivity, advancement and a million miles away from multi-tasking.

But one weekend, as we waved our goodbyes from the car as we slowly exited down the long driveway through the woods, we had no idea that we had just done this for the last time. Circumstances changed, the cabin needed to be sold, my friends marriage hit hard times. The great bean dish that Stell made each year had been eaten by us for the last time. We had not even an inkling that this was the last hurrah.

And then there was Jim, a guy who reported to me at work but who grew into a friend as we shared time on the road together. Dinners with his wife and boy. Meaningful chats that went into the wee hours grieving with them over a child lost, laughing together about the craziness of life, teasing each other, offering mutual support and advice. One trip, I headed off to the airport and, unbeknownst to me, I had just spent my last time with this family who had grown so close. A job change for him completely changed the dynamics and the 1500 miles between us brought our former times to an end.

Still, this really isn't about the pain of losing good things. What intrigues me is the grace of life that is intermingled within these 'last times'. To me, that grace is comprised of not knowing at the time or in advance that we are experiencing this for the last time. How somehow merciful. For if we did, that 'last time' would never be experienced in it's normal state. We would be overcome with the ever-present overtones of "Oh my, this is our last time together", or "This will be the last time I ever do this fulfilling thing". And in the advance knowledge of such an awareness, the 'last time' would be unnaturally burdened with the dreadful anticipation of the end.

Of course there is a flip side to this (called the B side in the old days of the record business). Along with the things, sports, people that we love to be involved with comes a more difficult side of life. Too often we face life circumstances that are grueling, seemingly intractable situations in which we cry out for relief. What about those? Perhaps an example or two....

Some brilliant person once said that the various unpleasantness's we must often endure in the way we make our living is why they call it work. Nothing seems quite as difficult as a bad relationship with a fellow employee, you know, one of those 'toxic' work situations that has you waking up at 3AM on Sunday night in dread of another week of dysfunctionalism. You try everything from direct confrontation, ignoring, redefinition, reframe whatever...none of it works and the quality of that portion of your life is laced with misery.

But then, one day, it is over. Perhaps this person is reassigned, maybe they move but the fact is they are gone and the problem is gloriously gone! Oh the relief. You stand amazed that you had no idea the solution was so at hand. Blind-sided for sure but when it's by a good thing is it still OK to call it being blind-sided? I know, who cares...it's over and life can go on with less angst.

Perhaps smaller in scope and impact is the situation when you are in a dispute with a company over an invoice detail. You may have been charged for something you didn't receive, something that didn't work as described...yada, yada, yada. Endless hours can end up being invested in seeking resolution to such discrepancies. Phone calls, emails and even, oh my, letters sent in the quicksand slow mail. Oh the pain of pushing through the auto attendant voicemail hurdles on the phone and the "discussions" with people who are mistakenly called customer service. They may have just as well been recruited by the Gestapo!

But then, one day, it is over. One side or the other finally gives in and the matter is solved, resolved, forgiven...who cares? This chapter is concluded and life no longer need include this thing that was starting to feel like a built-in, this-shall-never-pass-honest-to-goodness thorn in the flesh.

So this is a rather longish post to the ol' Santiago blog, one that I have written in bits and pieces over a 3-4 week period. It seems only reasonable to ask..."What's the point here Sport? Is there a conclusion, a clever wrap-up to all of this?" Eee gads, I'm not exactly sure. You see, this all started because I am struck by the poignancy of the 'not knowing' in advance of the end of both good and bad things in our life. And also of how it really has to be this way for life to be 'normal' in the way we have grown accustomed to and expect to continue in.

I mean, if we really could see in advance that this indeed would be the last time we would see a loved one, the last time we would do something we have loved doing we would be racked by negative anticipation. As I believe I may have already said but here I go again, our 'last time' would not be a normal occurrence at all but would be marked by the awareness of each fast approaching loss. Or, our struggle with difficult things in our lives would not be as authentically engaged in if we could see in advance the actual resolution and it's timing. The guy who had been working so hard to balance life with insufficient finances would not be engaged by such struggle if he knew he was about to win the lottery. The picnic would not be the happy, care-free day in the sun if we knew it was the last time we would be with Uncle Hank.

No, there's not always more and that is both good and bad. I guess for me the point is simply to observe this, look it over like a rock picked up on the beach of life, neither obsess over it nor ignore it. In all of this I see the utter grace that is offered to us by the One who encourages us to simply trust him for our walk through the war zone of life. If we could see, for even just a moment, the crazy-scariness of the ride that we are belted into called life we would never approach Valley Fair in quite the same way. I am thankful for this grace but I am also happy to have waded into this particular pool of consideration. Perhaps not as satisfying as I anticipated it might have been but worthwhile enough. Judges award a '7' in this Dance With the Stars world we find ourselves ensconced within.

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!
Time to run the Get in Gear 10k....might it be the last?

The Offer

2010-03-07T19:30:00.002-06:00

In my line of work, "the offer" is the culmination of what is often a long process. Multiple interviews, on-line personality profiles, 30-60-90 day business plans, ride-alongs and a visit to corporate for final interviews. There are so many gauntlets a candidate must run through... I continue to be amazed every time someone I am representing makes it all the way through!

For the man or woman who does, the climax of the challenging hiring process is "the offer". It's the sort of holy grail of every job seeker. In the medical sales world it usually comes first as a verbal offer with a written one to follow contingent on successful background/criminal checks and a drug test. If I have done my job right, this offer should minimally be at least as good as I had originally described it some 4-12 weeks earlier. This is a sensitive, emotionally-charged time for all parties, hardly a time for negative surprises like a low-ball offer. No, quite the opposite. One of the best things that can happen at this juncture is having some positive, unexpected, elements included as part of the offer. This makes it so much easier to overcome those last twinges normally involved with the fear of making a change.

For medical sales positions, the typical elements of an offer are the base salary, benefits, expenses, car program of some sort, 401 k and sometimes, stock options. Although commissions are part of these positions, only the commission rate (% of sales generated) is named since actual results will depend on the person's efforts combined with a number of other factors which would take me hours to list. It is not uncommon for reps to have a 50-60k base with a reasonable expectation of total first year dollars of 110-130k with commissions (not including the value of the car program, expenses and benefits). Sounds pretty nice, heh?

Virtually every search I work on includes 5-10 candidates who avidly pursue each step of the hiring process. This includes lots of extra efforts done behind the scenes. These efforts include, but are not limited to speaking with physicians who have or could be users of the device, contacting past/present reps in other parts of the country, getting letters of recommendation and elaborate 90 day sales plans which outline the what, whys and hows of the candidate's strategy in launching their initial efforts.

Sometimes candidates get really creative and kind of over-the-top in their exuberance to pursue the most sought after opportunities. Like the time a hiring manager was questioning my final candidate's commitment to doing the travel necessary to cover a 4-state territory. This candidate came up with a scheme sure to put a wooden knife in to the heart of this Dracula: He bought 4 radial tires and had them delivered to the manager's home with a note attached: "I am prepared to wear these out to make us both a success". He got the job (and his first task was to arrange for the pickup and return of the tires!).

For the candidates, it's all about the pursuit. Their pursuit needs to be obvious at every step of the way. Virtually every manager is looking to hire not only the most qualified person but also the person who has demonstrated the most "fire in the belly", who has shown their desire for the position most clearly and with the greatest impact.

This worldly process stands in such stark contrast to "the offer" of the kingdom (I will refer to this as "the K offer"). Like so many other things of the kingdom of God, there is paradox galore. Like take the whole concept of pursuit. Imagine having the CEO of every medical company looking for a new sales rep personally pursue each candidate. (I realize the analogies in this are woefully imperfect and may be a bit of a stretch but come on, humor me.) In the kingdom economy things couldn't be more different. Ponder the seeming implausibility of having the very Creator of the universe personally go after every person in an effort to have them hear, believe and receive the offer of all offers: forgiveness of all sin, a new heart, a restored life and an eternity in paradise. Implausible perhaps but true nonetheless.

Furthermore, imagine each individual being pursued for this amazing offer to be absolutely unqualified and undeserving in every way imaginable. Heck, I'll do you even better than that...go ahead and picture a person who has lived their entire life as a criminal and moments before they die they get "the K offer". Pretty scandalous wouldn't you say? It happened! Pursuit? Imagine "candidates" who often spend the better part of their lives running away from "the K offer". Avoiding any and everything having to do with it in an effort to mimic Frank Sinatra and be able to say ..."I did it my way". But that's how this topsy-turvy kingdom economy seems to work.

And then there are the elements of "the K offer". We get nothing less than a totally transformed life, from the inside out, cleansed from all sin and forgiven for every hurt we have ever caused. Our hearts are turned from stone to soft instruments of love towards our neighbor. We get to cease from all our striving, we are delivered from all fear and anxiety and every insecurity our former paranoid minds were able to conjure. We are called friends of the Creator himself. He invites each to come with him to where he is seated and co-reign with him. He promises no more tears or sadness and exchanges those for a glorious forever, uninterrupted by any perils and completely devoid of all enemies.

And the cost of such an offer? Everything! All you have, all of you! No "just 4 easy payments of $29.99" here. For "the K offer" to apply, we must say 'No' to our own rights and say 'Yes' to having a Lord in our life who is worthy of obedience. The world has a way of calling such high-priced items "pricey". I suppose that is accurate enough as it applies to "the K offer". Perhaps that's why we often live our lives outside the offer even after we have said 'Yes'. It takes at least intentionality to live a surrendered life. But the antidote to getting back into living within "the K offer" can be as simple as doing an honest inventory of what we are actually giving up. I mean really, giving up our terminally flawed ways of getting love and respect in exchange for being part of a royal priesthood who will some day judge angels? Please!

Tomorrow, when I return to the matrix of work, I have a candidate who has spent the weekend considering "the offer". He's one of those more analytical types who likes to sleep on it (actually somewhat unusual in the sales world). I hope he says 'Yes'. I get paid nothing if he says 'No'. But it's not about me, it's his life and his decision will be the final word. But even before I hear from him I will have my own decision to make. For I find that to walk within "the K offer" requires a fresh 'Yes' every day. And at multiple points throughout the day. It's an amazing offer! Even more amazing in that sometimes I am hesitant to say 'Yes'. I seek to believe, Lord help my unbelief.

Gratefully aboard this ride of faith....Santiago out.

Random Observations

2010-02-07T16:30:00.004-06:00

So yeah, life is crazy. I get that. Bouncing along from one thorny situation to another troublesome kettle of fish. Trying not to worry so much and to live in more abandonment and trust. Yet still, seeing that deep down there continues to be lurking worries. What about retirement? Will it ever actually be possible to live without working? Without at least having to be a KMart greeter? What about health care costs and insurance? Vehicle costs to keep mobile? On and endlessly on it can go. Now don't get me wrong here...I'm not just settling for letting life's little details just have there way with me. I fight against it, I resist. I look to faith in God and daily set my self to trusting in him and him alone . But still, the categories of potential anxiety sources seem never far off. They never seem to quite totally Shut Down. More times than not, they seem at best to go into Sleep mode

But that's not what I want to write about.... No, along this journey of life I sometimes notice things that pass by, very subtly, almost subliminally. The speed of my treadmill doesn't really allow for significant pondering of these fleeting observations. It reminds me of when I run with the "it takes a village" dog. She has her nose to the street, noticing every little piece of flotsam and jetsam passing by, so curious, so intent on not missing a thing. Nothing casual in her gazing...she's as serious as a heart attack. Sometimes she wants to stop and do some further investigating but alas, for her, the tyranny of my dedication to completing the run prevents her from doing what she would do if on her own. Today's blog is meant to double back and at least acknowledge some of those things that pass under my nose as I run along the Skinnerian maze of life, hoping, I guess, to find the ultimate little biscuit in hopes it just might drop into my little cup.

Caribou coffee shops: What a concept this place is for me. On one hand, it can simply be a place to run into and get an expensive cup of coffee. (Speaking of price, I must say that I get all kinds of pleasure seeing places like McDonald's, Dunkin Doughnuts and even my local Freedom convenience store find a way to put out a decent cup of coffee for around a buck.) Nonetheless, Caribou is what we're talking about here bub...stay on topic. So when they designed these places, did some architect or marketing guru think "Heh, I know. Let's make it really loud in our stores. Full of lots of clunking and clanking and hissing. And let's have the person who calls out to let you know when your drinks are ready be as loud as a Lake Superior foghorn. "Double frappe mocha decaf, extra foam, moosed, " Judges award 9.8 for decibels and the Richter scales are at least slightly tipped. Sheeesh, trying to sit inside one of these by yourself, seeking to be reflective or to just quiet the mind, is a real exercise in entering into an almost zen-like sound filtration mode, mentally holding the cacophony at bay. Maybe they really don't want people just hanging out at their shops. Like McDonald's, with their intentionally designed uncomfortable seating. Lingerers need not apply. But no, that doesn't make sense, they actually have big stuffed one-person chairs as if they are actually inviting you to stay and practice your zen for the day. Oh well, it all works much better when with a group of people and have your group's conversation to focus on. Still love their French roast with 1 ice cube to tone down their efforts to mimic the same temps as the surface of the sun. No judgements, bless you Caribou.
Why do I like the things that I do? Like flashlights. It's not that I own that many but nust say that I sure do love them. All sizes, with swivel heads, l.e.d.s, high tech looking, little baby ones, headlights to the ones cops carry that double as a weapon. And jackets, I could never have too many. Want one for every iteration of weather. And who knew it, I love colored glass. Don't collect it but love to look at little, brightly colored glass figures and artsy pieces like the ones that show up at Uptown art fair. And sounds...I'm mesmerized by wind chimes. Wouldn't mind one hanging on all 40 trees in the backyard. All sizes from the high-pitched triangle sounding ones to the 5' long tubes that send out sounds that submarines can hear one mile deep. And glass exhaust pipes on trucks....that low, rumbling sound that makes even a cruddy looking truck sound like the very depth of power. I marvel at what I like...it seems so random and not connected to anything else. Kind of frivolous stuff but vaguely interesting to me as I wonder where it all comes from.
And then there is the wearing of one's favorite team jersey. It seems cute to me when I see a little girl or guy wearing a purple #4 Favre jersey. But on a dumpy looking 50-some year old, complete with an expression that seems to scream out, "I support this team with my last breath and it's just a burden I bear for the team." Every fiber of me wants to shout out "As if!" As if your wearing of that jersey is doing anything beyond merely making you look pathetic. I'm sorry. I am to be judged for my judgement but it has to be said. There is a time and a place for this...like at the Metrodome on game day perhaps. But in Walmart on a Tuesday afternoon? The concept just plain ol' misses me. It's my blog and I get to say such things that by being said actually rival the stupidity of what I am observing in others. OK, I'll call this one a draw.

Maybe three is enough for now. I have more and I will return another day when it seems like it would be fun to give er' another go. But for now, there is a Super Bowl that our team was supposed to be in but instead CHOKED. Maybe if I, in my 6th decade would have worn a Vikings jersey to Target on a Thursday morning I could have tipped the scales of the NFL gods....we'll never actually know now will we? Santiago out!

Wash, rinse, repeat.

2010-01-10T06:50:00.003-06:00

So it is again that time of the year when, at least for all of us in sales-related occupations, all the numbers flip back to zero. Twelve months of brand new, quota-achieving challenges lay ahead, with the invisible twists and turns still yet to be revealed.

In looking back to last year's January post, I see I was aiming for more joy and abandonment. The whole joy thing is elusive for me...I unfortunately have it linked with giddiness and that is neither an accurate nor particularly helpful linkage.

The abandonment part was at least partially achieved. One sign is that in 2009 I actually stopped fretting over balancing the ol' check book to the penny. Yes sir, I had months when I was up to $20 off and I just abandoned the search for the difference, accepted it and adjusted my balance accordingly. For those who roll through life more casually, I'm sure this hardly rates as a "sign" of abandonment to you. Sorry, but for me it represents a significant change for this guy who has pursued even nickel differences for the last 40 years. And there have been other signs of loosening my excessive grip on things...that is good. Santiago can be such a tyrant and so driven in certain areas and seeing him soften a bit is encouraging.

So not just a new year but a new decade! Although we sometimes seem to attribute an inflated importance to the passage of time, it's also not good to let it just slip away by total default. For me, intentionality, which I am not sure is even a legitimate word, feels like something I should be about in the coming year.

One thing I want to be more deliberate about is a certain type of mental/spiritual hygiene. Hygiene is perhaps not the most alluring of concepts. It brings up connotations of excessive hand washing and germaphobia. Nonetheless, it seems something I need to be about. Why? Because to be frank, my 2009 goal of living with more joy and abandonment in my life really has something else fueling it from behind that is even more core, more vital....the strong desire to avoid pain. By pain I am meaning something more effusive than mere physical pain. It's the angsty, is that all there is, disappointed expectations, endless struggle, why does it always fall peanut butter side to the floor, more month than paycheck kind of thing. Someone said that pleasure 'whispers' but pain 'shouts'. It's not so much that I hunger for joy but that I loathe the inner pain. Of course I want more joy and abandonment because they connote a pain-freeness. In my 60's I'm aware of a certain tiredness with some aspects of life. I just want to be done with a number of things and chronic inner pain and turmoil are right up there at the top or the list.

So OK, what's the deal with the hygiene bit? Heh good, I'm glad you asked because I would like to attempt to articulate it as a means of seeing all this more clearly. (Aahh, the blog as a "thrashing room", a place where vague thoughts that only occasionally scamper across the radar are brought in to be wrestled with, shaped and bridled in an attempt to move them out of the shadows and into more known-ness).

I see the source of a good deal of the pain I experience in my journey as emanating from agreeing with things about myself that just aren't true in Christ. Now granted, all of what follows is based on my worldview which includes the core belief that I am a redeemed, restored, new creature in Christ. By virtue of his complete work for me on the cross, his resurrection and his ascension, the old has passed away, the new has come. He has offered me an easy yoke and a light burden. But concurrently with this truth is the fact that my life is also opposed. I have an enemy. It's this enemies' goal to keep me away from the truth and light of the kingdom of God in order to keep me blind to the fact that my cell door is open, I have been ransomed and released and the kingdom of darkness no longer has claim on my life.

But this fallen world, under the dominion of my enemy, has a different way of valuing me. It would have me view myself exclusively through the worldly filters that are placed before my eyes at virtually every step of the sojourn. Their are advertisements everywhere coaxing me to compare myself to the standards they offer. In the work-a-day-world I am aware of incessant promptings to compare myself against the achievements and progress of peers. Well-meaning people in my life sometimes say things that later I notice have morphed into arrows lodged in my gut. In my parenting, in my purchasing, in my planning and in every other 'p' thing there is a standard raised up by the system of this world, the matrix, that presents itself as the most 'logical', 'intuitive' (albeit twisted) choice every time.

I was born into this matrix. I am in it but not of it. Yet still, I must swim in it's pool every day as I conduct the various aspects of my life. It is impossible to do this without getting wet, even soaked, with the false valuations of modern day Babylon. The rulers and principalities of this world offer up a daily barrage of judgements, accusations and apparent final verdicts which more times than not feel like accurate assessments of my life.

What am I to do? My choice is to either 1.) try and ignore them (seemingly futile for anything more than a couple of hours), 2.) agree with them, or 3.) reject them. I propose that it's the agreements I make, most times unconsciously, that bring about the lion's share of the pain that I so want not to have.

Thus the 'hygiene'. If these agreements are mostly made without me noticing I have done so, then to free myself from their poison requires me to see they have occurred and get busy breaking each and every one of them. Other times, perhaps more and more often as I practice this 'hygiene', I am aware of the mental choice placed before me. I can see the prosecution's case against me, the proposition I am being asked to agree with (ie. "You never get this right", "Every thing you do is half-assed", "Quite fooling yourself, this is beyond you and your anemic capabilities"). The invitation and tidal pull is to just surrender to these verdicts on me and inevitably spiral downwards into the agonizing dejection and depression I seemed to have justifiably earned. Regardless of whether I catch it before or after the fact, each agreement with anything other than kingdom truth must be eradicated, washed away with the anti-deceitful/microbial soap of the Gospel truth. The faster this occurs, the less time walking along under the illusory spell of deceitful half-truths and the pain they inevitably produce.

So, how to keep clean amidst this hellish concoction of half-truths, and false light? Really, the classic disciplines are forever relevant for just such a purpose. Feeding on the Word, spending time in prayer to soak in fellowship with the Author of life, being in the company and fellowship of like-hearted co-travelers. All these are helpful, even crucial. But more recently, the most helpful of all is just keeping my mind and thinking right.

Here's an example: it's Sunday evening and it's common to get the Sunday night dreads...having to go back to work tomorrow and deal with all that is involved with making a living in a 100% commission gig. But it's not merely laziness or love of relaxation that stokes these smoldering fires into life. It's the gnawing dread and anxiety coming from my fear of failure, fear of not being successful, not measuring up, that cry out for my attention.

Boom! It's right there that the discipline needs to be applied. Stopping the process of giving such negative thoughts further time and energy and replacing them with the fact that I am going back to work with Jesus at my side. I am depending on him for my life, not my skill, not my cleverness. I am depending on him to come through for me and my family. It's not all resting on my shoulders. His love for me is not in doubt. His being 'all in' for me is not in question. I douse the flames of fear with the cool water of Kingdom truth. That is the hygiene I have learned is not just 'kind of a good idea'. It's a critical discipline of survival for a guy who finds himself behind enemy lines, opposed and walking through a fallen, rigged world.

Keep washing Santiago, keep washing.

The myth of Norman Rockwell

2009-12-23T06:10:00.000-06:00

So here comes the Christmas holiday! Our house is specially blessed this year in that Inga and the kids are with us for a week....first time having all the grandkids for Christmas in 9 or 10 years. Skylar is 11, Keenan is 9 and Jordan is 7. Although it doesn't feel once-removed, I am technically the step-Dad and step-grandfather of these beautiful creations. However, I suppose it's that very fact that lends some objectivity to these next 7 days. With blood family there is a whole raft of emotional baggage and hot-buttons present...pretty tough to experience much objectivity there.

Anyhow, we're just 48 hours into out time together and I've noticed some storm clouds that have seemed to roll in. You see, concurrent with the Swope visit is the fact that about 12 are coming tonight for an hors-d'oeuvres-type of Christmas celebration, 18 are coming to our house for a full-blown dinner on Christmas Eve and 15 for Christmas dinner. Wow! That is alot of entertaining at a house where the Queen of the house (I love you to pieces Sandra!!) is the kind of woman who is a staunch member of the "all my ducks must be lined up in neat rows well in advance" party. Her world view, when she is the hostess, calls for near perfection, complete with a terrific presentation of whatever is being served in a house that is dusted, vacuumed and neat. Hey, I'm not suggesting there is anything wrong with this. Yes, some people are more casual in their approach to such circumstances and breeze around as if they are benefiting from having had a goodly dose of Valium for breakfast. Perhaps it's a generational kind of thing. I know my Mom was very similiar to Sandi in her approach and I would even see her dusting the underside of vases in preparation.

Nonetheless, there is a perfect storm a brewing. The Swopes come from a decidely "use it, drop it" kind of strategy. The concepts of picking up and putting away are not part of their value system. So on one hand you have Sandi, well aware of how she raised her children and how they were forced to behave while under her tutelage. On the other hand you have her daughter who long ago freed herself of such priorities as neatness and who requires little or nothing from her children in this category.

So, here is the whirling dirvish Swope clan in the same house where lot's of company is coming where the less-than-casual Queen bee is in full-production mode yet also really wanting to enjoy her time with the kids! Yowser! I pray God's grace, God's adaptability and even his Kingdom teflon to lubriciously coat our family and the proceedings of these next days. For it's the thief's ever present strategy to steal, kill and destroy. How like him to want to come in and rob the joy of these days of shared moments. Jesus come...as we celebrate your invasion into this fallen earth I ask you to reign over all family sensitivities, all propensities for mis-understandings, hurt feelings and assorted irritations.

And so I rejoice at this opportunity to be together with family. Thank you for the messiness of it all. Thank you for the substantial healing you have brought to my heart. I notice it in the virtual absence of dread that has normally accompanied the holidays in the past many years. January 2 is no longer my holiday goal...that feeling is gone. Bless the Lord oh my soul! I flop back into your arms and just say thank you Father for blessing us with each other. I am seeing Jesus shining through the eyes of those around me as they deliver tangible pieces of his love for me. Man that feels wonderful! Thank you for transporting me into the sometimes elusive "Christmas spirit". Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

The magic of words

2009-12-12T08:05:00.006-06:00

So I see it's been 10 months since my last visit to this blogging experiment. Really what leads me back today is just this latent desire to write and the pleasure of using words to express thoughts. I find hitting just the right combination of words that spot-on nail what I am attempting to articulate absolutely satisfying.

Really coming back today is prompted by my meeting with Mark and a passing comment I made about writing and his encouraging response. There have been a few others over the last year as well (thank you Rob, thank you Kevin). My dilemma is content. I don't want to simply prattle on in some self-absorbed treatise. And yet I'm not an expert in any particular area which is beckoning me to write on . And still there is this desire to express (suddenly I see movie clips in my head from Close Encounters of the Third Kind with Dreyfuss compelled to express Devil's Tower in whatever medium he could find, from mud to mash potatoes).

I do it in emails and email responses mainly. A couple of times there have been writings to accompany Sandi's art. Like little demitasse glasses of writing are these short pieces. But they often have contained some of the essence of what so intrigues me about writing. Namely, in the process of asking God what he would have me say, sort of abandoning my typing/writing fingers to him and having his words filter through the stained glass of my unique personality, I often end up writing words that are this weird combination of me and not me.

I confessed this to Mark at our coffee meeting. I say "confessed" because I have never really understood the feeling I often get when I go back and read my "own" words and find them ministering to me. Even to type it here seems unseemly, narcissistic even. But Mark's encouragement came in the form of assuring me that this experience has been cited by no less than C.S. Lewis and G.MacDonald, two men who I respect immensely.

Mark went on to describe that truth is truth, it is not owned by us, it is the very nature of God and given to us by him. But when we write, as Christians, seeking the guidance and blessing of our Father as to our words, we are in a position to express truth, uniquely filtered through our personality. Thus Jeremiah and Isaiah expressed the truth of God but not without their Jeremiah-ness and Isaiah-ness shining through as well. That so resonates with me. I so want to be about that. To find a way to more regularly be a sort of "river bank", (thanks Mark), that channels the revelatory water of truth mixed with my James-ness. Lord that, that is something in which I would be blessed to be fathered by you. Father me in this Lord....

The dilemma though still seems to be this content thing. I can be aware of a desire to write at certain times but it is shut down by "what to write about?". My current wiring has me as a guy who, if you put me in a room for an hour with a blank whiteboard, when you come back it will still be blank. I don't create so well ex nihilo. I do much better synthesizing pre-existing chunks of thought, rearranging, adding, deleting, further developing, responding, that sort of thing. Maybe I'm just an editor and should leave the heavy lifting of original writing to those more gifted and called? Other than my status as a child of God, do I even have a platform from which to write? Or is it all just a lot of self-deluded, self-absorbed drivel?

I guess at the very least I have this blog. It is a platform of sorts and there really are no outside expectations that it must measure up to. There is the bit about other's being able to comment but even that can be turned off as I understand it.
But what Lord would you have me write about? One subject, many little vignettes, just about my experience on this sojourn? I am willing, even desirous, but need your guidance.

Well good, this felt good. To get this up and out of me is either a start or perhaps just an end in itself...either way, this felt good. Thanks for dropping by again Santiago...don't be such a stranger.

Day of the Heart

2009-02-14T06:15:00.005-06:00

Valentine's day....as a man, this Hallmark creation has always brought with it a bit of tension/apprehension for me. Somehow, at a very early age, I got the message (that I believe persists to this day) that this is mostly about men delivering a respectable showing of love and affection to their ladies and not vice versa. At least that is how Madison Avenue's messages have conditioned me.

It all started so innocently in grade school. Creating those decorated brown paper bags that hung from our desks. Then, on the big day, walking around and dropping in the Valentine "card", worth approximately 10 cents, into each of your fellow students bag. But ah yes, for me there was almost always one fair-headed maiden that was special and I poured over my selection of cards, purchased by my Mom at Kresges in St.Paul. I would look for one that had a certain punch to it, something that would somehow communicate my special feelings even though they would forever be left unspoken in actuality.

As years advanced, and having a girlfriend became a bigger deal, the not-so-subtly implied expectations of Valentine's Day did too. I would become aware of hearing vague hints of what so and so was planning to give his girlfriend. The first time I heard of a guy who was investing $10 into gifting his steady, I started to understand the incredible depths that one could go to "express" the otherwise silent pinings of the heart.

I wonder if other guys feel like me in this. That is that Valentine's Day raises virtually no expectations for the average guy in terms of receiving. The real "guy" expectations revolve around figuring out something to say, do or give that will meet what we imagine are the expectations of our better-halves. Next to her birthday and Christmas, Valentine's Day looms in 3rd place for a day when the invisible balance scales of relational life make an appearance. Our offering is weighed and ultimately deemed to be merely adequate, perhaps a home-run or, may you be spared this fate, badly found lacking in emotional depth, creativity and heartfeltness.

OK, OK I know. It's by now obvious that I have some performance anxiety around getting Valentine's day "right" (as I do for all gift-oriented days). But Valentine's day has this special twist...it's not necessarily about how much money was or was not spent, not about delivering results that are according to any necessarily traditional formulas....no it's about expressing the heart. It's an opportunity to somehow try to show what too much of my everyday life may not have been delivering. (Of course this is not all that different from any gift-giving event but please cut me some slack as this post is about VDay)

Sandi and I have been married now for 8 years. Let me just say unequivocally that our partnership was and is a God-thing, not expected, didn't see it coming, almost bailed before it could happen but am now so grateful that I didn't miss His lead on this blessing. Sandi really is a "low maintenance" kind of gal. Those seem like such crude words to describe any part of this beautiful woman of faith but it's true. So manning-up for gift time is really not a major challenge like it can be for guys with girls who have mountain high expectations. Nonetheless, I still have a huge desire to somehow express my love for her on such "gift" days in a manner that is intentional, that meets my own internal standard and avoids any hint of being merely an automatic pilot type of offering. It's just that I broke the freaking curve so early in our relationship.

We were married in 2001 in January so that first Valentine's Day for us was also my first post-marital debut as a gift giver. We had the blessing of an incredible honeymoon in Playa del Carmen. It was idyllic and I can only hope that some day we might get to do something together that even comes close. My pea brain was working overtime to come up with something that would fulfill my internal "apropos meter". It was my first appearance as a husband to Sandi and to her friends and family and I wanted to do this first Valentine's Day right!

Our initial dating was built around Caribou, specifically the one at 96 and Hogdson in Shoreview. We became aware of each other by some match-making efforts of my pastor's wife, Jill Herringshaw. It all started so innocently by phone and we probably talked together a dozen times before we ventured out to meet face-to-face. Caribou was to be that initial meeting place and it continued to be so for a couple of months....always sitting at the same table. We were married within about 9 months of that first coffee date. (Heh, when you're in your 50's you don't necessarily need years of courtship!) And now I'm needing a suitably good idea for this 1st Valentine's Day. It came as most of my really good ideas have since....it came from that still quiet, inner voice of God himself.
And he said, "Buy the table".
Obedience came next and, after some weeks of finagling with Caribou corporate, I got the go ahead to buy "our table" for $125. Yep, if they can retire some athlete's jersey well then, by cracky, this table of ours was going to be taken out of public service too.

February 14, 2001 arrived and Sandi and I headed off to Caribou to have coffee together before we went to work. "Our table" was all decked out in a huge red cellophane wrapper kind of in the shape of a gigantic Hershey's kiss. When Sandi asked "Where are we going to sit?", I simple said "At our table!" Sandi, being a polite and proper sort was having none of that...she said we couldn't because it was evidently being used for some sort of Valentine promotion or something. I, in my Italian-way, insisted and I finally got her to sit with me "at" our table although we had to hold our coffee cups as the tabletop was not available. While she was in no way comfortable sitting there (she hates anything that even comes remotely close to being or making a spectacle, which, by the way, I have learned to have fun with many times over the last 8 years!), she couldn't help peer inside the red cellophane wrapper. You see, the Caribou folks had been ever so kind and besides packaging this all up so perfectly they had also put some extra gifts inside. There were several pounds of coffee, a mug and a beautiful pink heart made of small, tight, pink rosebuds. And, of course, they had my Valentine card/envelope propped up inside addressed simply "Sandi" (which I had cleverly brought to them the night before).

So Sandi is sitting there, fidgeting in her seat, not liking all the people who keep looking over at us, feeling like we are in an inappropriate, unauthorized area. (The manager had told many of the customers, in a hushed voice naturally, of what this red table deal was all about so they kept looking at us, shooting these all-knowing smiles and head nods...poor Sandi, she must have felt like she was in a bad dream!) But intermittently, she can't help but try and look inside the red cello "kiss" to figure out what all those goodies were in there. Mind you, this was some thick cello and it wasn't easy to instantly see what was inide. Finally, after I was sure she was going to bolt for the door instead of staying where she didn't feel like she belonged, she noticed my card with the name "Sandi" written in my handwriting. All she said was "Wait a minute....what is going on here?"

Well, suffice it to say that after spending some considerable effort to convince her to reach under and get that card, she finally did so. The card pledged my love afresh but it also had some cryptic reference to the table now being ours Oh, she was blessed alright by it all, but the best part was at the end of our time. I hoisted the table onto my shoulder when leaving. Sandi just looked at me, surely thinking that I had already lost it and we had only been married 39 days!
I assured her it was all proper and Sandi and I and the table left Caribou with the judges awarding perfect 10's for my first Valentine (and with all the husbands in Caribou and any who may be reading this now scowling at me and virtually shouting at me with their eyes, "Curve breaker, fellowship of men betrayer!")

Today, that table sits in the corner of our dining room as a testament to how it all began. And I have yet to come up with anything that will beat that V Day gift. Note to self: when making an initial effort perhaps you should leave room for future improvement!

Happy Valentine's Day to all!

Santiago out....

2009

2009-01-01T09:45:00.005-06:00

It's that time again...when there is a sort of pause in the action as one just-completed year passes and a "brand new shiny one" (as Di would say) presents itself. Sitting here, wondering about my posture towards all this. After some 60+ years of sojourning this orb I have taken a range of positions...from blase' disregard of any particular new projects or directions to all out efforts to change things up and take a new lease on life.

For 2009, there are several things I'm aware of that are worthy of being intentional about. Probably foremost is my sincere desire to walk in more joy and abandonment. My many years of walking as a believer have not been ones where peace, joy and contentment would be the most accurate descriptors . I so want to emulate/appropriate Paul's testimony of being content in all circumstances. Really tired of experiencing life in a conditional mode....good things happening, ducks lining up nicely = I get to be joyful. Lousy things going on, insufficiencys, broken stuff and people = I don't get to be joyful. Want to break out of this formula....set this prisoner free Father.

Another thing is a felt need to change my attitude about the marathon of life. I believe it is indeed not a sprint but must be approached as a marathon, complete with pacing, needing endurance and requiring an intentional focus. Too much of my thinking/outlook has been circling around the feeling like I'm somewhere after mile 24 and really yearning for the finish line. Guessing that I need to do some recalibration and an internal reset appropriate for my true place in the race that is most likely more like mile 19 or 20. (Of course, this is where the "wall" can nastily show up....). Gird up those loins Hoppy, there's more to be done.

There's work stuff that is screaming for me to either get more thoroughly in or get the heck out. There's life realities that prevent any sort of "getting out". There's too much lingering resentment being offered to me as a fruit to eat and I have eaten it too much and too often. That agreement has got to go! On one hand, the natural energies have noticeably ebbed. On the other hand, the requirements of living well in the remaining days seem to have ramped up in difficulty. So, if doing life isn't getting any easier coupled with depleted levels of what I am calling natural juices, it seems the need to be intentional, to avoid the default settings has got to be my strategy.

Intentional is just a good word for me right now. Really doesn't come that easy for the recovering hedonist in me. Would love to roll more on cruise control. Sorry Santiago, that dog won't hunt.

So all this blabbering to say this: James, I'm calling you up and out. Your time to rest will come but not yet bro, not yet. Purpose and determination might sound exhausting but they are the shoes you need to be shod with. And an attitude of gratitude is yours to be had as you practice His presence. After all, the Lord is near. It's not as though there are no reasons to rejoice. So get your head back in the game, don't look for the easy ways out, expect the effort that is required and take in the sights and mini-vacations that may be offered along the way. And don't forget, this world is not your home, but there is a real beauty that is reported to have been prepared with my name on it....but not yet, not yet.

The Holidays

2008-12-13T13:52:00.011-06:00

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

Thank you so very much

2008-11-27T13:21:00.006-06:00

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....

And now, for something completely different...

2008-10-11T09:35:00.009-05:00

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!

Yes it's mine...I own it.

2008-08-31T05:37:00.007-05:00

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.

Nothing really...just a quick note.

2008-07-06T14:07:00.006-05:00

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......

Joy? Really?....joy?

2008-06-03T14:00:00.002-05:00

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....

Random X 6 = me

2008-05-25T23:38:00.001-05:00

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

Thrashing about on a Saturday night

2008-05-17T23:20:00.004-05:00

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....

Now is all I have

2008-05-12T22:20:00.005-05:00

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.....

Out of the Swamp

2008-04-20T05:48:00.010-05:00

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.

Who's your worst enemy?

2008-04-16T06:57:00.010-05:00

(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

A tale of Two Scenes

2008-04-12T07:14:00.008-05:00

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....

The Kadunce

2008-04-03T21:52:00.006-05:00

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!

Blogging bump in the road

2008-03-23T05:13:00.000-05:00

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....

Really, this is embarrassing.....but it's there....

The Blob

2008-03-15T08:02:00.000-05:00

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!

Restless leg syndrome

2008-03-11T15:35:00.000-05:00

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....

Standing in the gap

2008-02-28T03:53:00.000-06:00

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.....

"That's a negative Blueleader" (Pt.2)

2008-02-26T07:29:00.000-06:00

OK, good to be back. I'll return to the thoughts about pessimism that were left to marinate in just a minute but first...... Feeling compelled to also continue my inner dialogue re: blogging, my motivations, my hesitations etc. So yes, 500' Flyby will go public or there just seems little sense in blogging vs. personally journaling. The journal is the private venue...blogging is for putting stuff out there and maybe finding like-minded folks, to be known for who I am, to risk showing up at the nudist camp in all my ordinary glory....
However, now that I've been reading various blogs I am concerned with the whole sub-community thing that can go on. On one hand it's cool but on the other the back and forth comments, my anticipated internal pressure to acknowledge comments is not something I am excited about...seems like a sinkhole of time and effort and yet another "thing" requiring maintenance. And there is the addictive quality that seems to swirl around the blog universe and fighting a new addiction is another item would rather avoid. So, not sure about how to handle that...wonder if there is such a thing as to just blog away and if there are any comments to just leave them sit there with only silence in return? Etiquette check in aisle 3 please!
Having given myself to more noodling time to this whole subject of being more optimistic, of daring to believe and to attempting to see more things as half-full has not felt particularly productive. I do seem to have a built-in abhorrence to naivete, to being perceived as a rube who blissfully struts around in the midst of his narrow-minded ignorance. Distinctly desire to avoid that whole syndrome seen on that phase of American Idol where truly deluded contestants, who actually believe they have talent, sing for the judges who then trip over themselves grasping for words to express just how horrible each performed (well, at least Simon does). Somehow this seems to fuel my propensity to see the half-emptiness of life. Perhaps reading this type of admission/insight someday will lead me to further conclusions but for now it seems relevant (although not admirable).
Came across a quote by an old Italian thinker who said "....pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will".....the one a spur to action the other the resilience to believe that such action will have a meaningful outcome , despite adversity. Yeah, that feels right for me. It feels better to not have it be an either or type of deal....either a pessimist or an optimist but doses of both in differing amounts in light of the circumstances at hand. Is this a cop out? Just another example of relativism? I'm sure it is from some perspectives but, for now, it is my choice to go this way, the more complex, nuanced way of grey instead of the artificiality of pushing it into either black or white.
So, for me, the glass is neither half-full nor half-empty. It appears to have varying degrees of fullness depending on where I stand and from which perspective I happen to view it. So yes, I have been too mono, too much from the half-empty school of naysayers. But for me the alteration I seek is not to be found in trying to leap to the opposite side, to positivism. Instead, I feel right about going more stereophonic by adding, seeking, illuminating the positive, the half-full aspects of each scenario with which confronted and combining those views with the up-to-now chronically available negativity. Now that is something that feels achievable, honest, stretching and worthy of effort.
If nothing else, this blogging can serve to temporarily fix discussions in time. Better to try on certain thinking's like a new pair of pants in the dressing room. One day, when I return to check out how they look in the mirror, if they make me look fat then out they will go for something more fitting. Ah, isn't life just grand!?
Luego, Santiago (Note to self: this post just didn't bring that certain sumpin'- sumpin' of satisfaction that comes with dead-on expression.....keep at it Skipper)

"That's a negative, Blueleader" (Pt.1)

2008-02-22T08:02:00.000-06:00

Wow, sitting down to another attempt at this Blog thing and surprised at the inner conflict that continues regarding the very essence of blogging. Several have asked for my blog address and I have been unwilling to give it, instead desiring anonymity. So what's with that? I thought you wanted to be Mr Transparent? To beam some of your thoughts out into the cosmos and see what happens? Just journal this stuff idiot! Bloggin's for chumps! OK, OK settle down ya'll. Yeah, I do want to speak to the public, but not so eager to do so with that part of the public who already know me. I seem to be more comfortable with being transparent to the "bartender" who doesn't really know me but is a good listener and safe in that you don't have to worry much about being challenged or criticized. For those who already know me, it feels like giving them entrance to my underwear drawer.
So there you go, just sharing this pathetic little take on how I talk a big transparent game but deliver just a veiled, cloaked access to those I know is pretty telling in itself. Hey, it's almost a transparent confession!.... calling myself out onto the carpet and drawing a line in the sand and shouting a last call to board the authentic self bus before it pulls away from the station.
Anyway, this isn't what I came here to write about today. Wanted to wade through some different waters....the whole area of negativism vs positivism in my life. I've always admired positive people.....have wanted to be like them. But for me, to do so, comes off as just an inauthentic act. No sooner than I say yes, I believe that this will all work out well, or that this or that will surely come to pass than my internal alarms start beeping and I find myself merely a poser. What in the world is that all about? (At this point, it would be nice to have a shrink on hand to help me think about this, to be honest about the real roots that feed it....not sure that just a brave desire and a bootstrap approach is going to be sufficient).
Well regardless of the above negative caveat (at least you're consistent Santiago) I have a thought as to why this seems to be my mode of operation. Let's just throw it out and see if it seems to hold up in the light of day......
It seems that I really hate, maybe even fear?, to be disappointed. So, my pragmatic approach, which really just so often seems a mere euphemism for negative, glass-half-full thinking, is my way of inoculating myself against disappointment. There it is, my take on a coping mechanism that I have honed to a fine edge over these 60 years of bumbling through life. Emotional cushioning..... OK, let's see how this chunk of self-analysis looks to me as it lies quivering under the hot lights of the microscope......
First of all, I wonder if this is really it, if this is really the cause of my negativity or just a related symptom, just a referred type of deal that is actually coming from somewhere else? I'll keep this in mind but for now all I can do is ask the question and let it simmer in the background of my brain....
So what's the problem with this strategy Santiago? It has kind of worked for you for these many years, why not just flow with it? Aha, that good question elicits some emotion in me....BECAUSE I AM NOT SATISFIED WITH THIS STRATEGY! IT SEEMS TOO MUCH LIKE A DEFAULT, LESS-THAN-THE-BEST, UN-REDEEMED, UN-BELIEVING APPROACH TO LIFE!
OK, OK settle down and no one needs to get hurt here. So much for the 'all caps' emotional venting of anger and even threads of self-loathing that a quick mouth swish of this brew brings out.
That's enough for this post....subject is thrown out there and time to walk away and let it marinate in the ol' fridge for awhile before coming back to take it from here.
Hasta luego Cisco...

Long run

2008-02-09T07:18:00.000-06:00

For years, Saturday mornings have become the day of the week when it's time for my "long run". I figure that running has been around for me since the late 70's. For many years it was running around the lakes in Mpls., with Lake Harriet being my favorite. For years I was a slave to the watch, always trying to improve my time, which in those days was between a 7:00 -7:30 minute/mile pace. It wasn't until the early 80's that I ran my first 10k race...actually an Aquatennial run that was more like a 7k...I managed a 7:00 pace and almost died after I ran the 1st mile with a neophyte's foolishness in 6:00 minutes. First marathon was Grandma's in June of 1993 (3:59). Twin Cities came right on it's heels in October of 1993 (4:08) New York in 2000 on a dare from Raymo (4:45) and again the Twin Cities in 2001 (4:20) Certainly never threatened to qualify for the Olympics!
So anyways, the long run....sometimes it has disappeared from my routine for months, sometimes it only means 4,5 or 6 miles but now I have gone and done it again...I registered for Grandma's marathon to be run on 6/21/08. Why oh why did you do it Mr? I have had this conversation between my head and heart many times.....it goes something like this:
"How about taking on the challenge of running another marathon?"(heart)
"Yeah, it's tempting...would give us a goal and ultimately another accomplishment BUT you must recall that the increase in training demands so often lead to injury and then you can't even run for aerobic exercise" (head)
This kind of back and forth goes on virtually every year as I read about upcoming marathons, hear of people registering. It's been 6+ years since I ran my last marathon, the Twin Cities in 2001 which I dedicated to my ailing father who ultimately died the following month. Actually, the memory of that grueling affair should have been enough to convince me of not succumbing to the allure of trying it all again at what will be my 61st year of life. I just can't erase the agony produced by once again falling for the 'going out too fast' trap, running with the 345 guys, not understanding that that was their pace, 3:45, and keeping with them for the 1st 10 miles before the grim reaper showed up to collect his dues. Remember praying that Sandi would be at the 13 mile mark like she had hoped to be if she could break away from the hospital where her Dad appeared to be in his last days. And then seeing her, breaking into tears, "I can't do this" "I'm broken, empty, only half way" but not having any other choice because I was wearing a t-shirt that said "This marathon dedicated to my Dad: Art XXXXX". Can't d.n.f. with that kind of commitment on your back....finally getting to Summit Ave, limping along, arm in my windbreaker as a sling, grinding it out, no pleasure, no sense of any particular victory but to get it over with. Yeah, how do like these details Mr.? Gonna do it again eh sucker?
OK, OK, so it maybe wasn't a good idea to run that old film clip. Let's segue from that to the present with only a sore left knee so far, and still taken up with the concept of running another one. It's not racking up the 5th one that draws me this time around....nothing particularly magical about the number 5....4 has served me well. So what in the "sam hill" (by the way, who is sam hill and why do we use his name?) caused me to get online and register and even spend $80 bucks for this dubious privilege?
As usual, understanding my motivations is a foggy enterprise at best. As I look through my personal crystal ball, I see lots of swirling stuff and therein lies my first clue....
Stage of life stuff going on. In my early 60's, kind of almost disoriented about what that even sounds like or feels like. Inside I'm still feeling the same as 30 years ago but AARP keeps knocking on my freak'in door with all kinds of sunset offerings. Sheesh, what's a fella to do?
In-laws needing help, amputation, ramps, elevated toilet seats and shower chairs and grab rails and transfers. And my Mom, bless her 91-year-old- heart, bears deliberate monitoring. Even though she continues to be very independent for her age, still driving, volunteering, pumping her own gas....(well done Mom), still must be intentional with keeping her little 4'10" blip clearly tracked on the radar screen of life.
And work, losing heart about carrying on at H&A. Ten years, longest I've ever worked anywhere with modest returns and limited ability to compete in the accumulation of toys contests that seem all the rage. Not feeling like I have a grip on my 'end game'.
And then there's the ongoing launch, from what is now a distance, of the kids...all in 20's (Inga, sorry you're no longer a kid), all kind of scrapping and clawing through the muddle best they know how
I've heard it call the "sandwich" time of life....caught between the ongoing concerns of your own children and your parents.
Well, regardless, it's amidst the swirl of all of this that my heart and head somehow seemed to conspire and reach agreement that I could use something that's big, that is for me, that will give me a break from the above cycles, and that may even provide, if I'm lucky, some weight control over the 300 lb. monster that continues to gnaw at it's thinning restraints.
So, it's time to quit the traditional Saturday procrastinating. (Oh great, so now blogging can provide yet another source of delaying the inevitable). Time to suit up and go for 10 but better it be 11 this time around in the interest of building up the base.
So good to chat about this....
Just do it!

Proverbial blogging toe breaks the water.

2008-02-03T19:57:00.000-06:00

So it's Superbowl Sunday, I stop watching the game, come down to the computer and, despite my Luddite nature, I sit down and figure out how to create a blog. So strange how things so often work out. (I guess it's obvious I'm not much of a pro-sports fan) Less than 2 years ago I didn't really know what a blog was. And now I sit here wondering in my head about my motivations for doing this. It feels a bit presumptuous (as if I really have something to say) a bit like grandstanding "Hey everybody, look at me, read me". But I have given it some thought and I launch this ...

1.To exercise writing, to make an effort to nail thoughts/observations using the written word.
2. To get stuff 'up and out'....to express and to see what I feel, to get to know me better, to thrash out things that only vaguely make themselves known in my head and that only occasionally.
3.To make an effort at being transparent, a quality I often hear myself saying I value and yet it remains elusive.
4. To understand myself...possibly to be understood better by others.

So, only a couple of hundred words into this and I've discovered something I believe will be important for me as a type of Ground Rule (sure don't want to end up with many of those!). I want to write as an end in itself, not with any type of audience in mind. Although I have no reason to believe anyone will even be able to find this, it feels important not to be wanting to be liked, thought clever, appreciated or any other such performance-oriented thing. This should just be for me, let the chips fall where they may, with no thought given to whether or not I might be resonating with anyone else. I think (hope) that outlook might help make this blogging escapade more presumption-proof and free of endless editing with other readers in mind.

Still, it's interesting to note...then why not just journal?.....(I do).....why a publicly available blog?
The picture that comes to mind with this question is one of those giant antennae dishes that beam messages to outer space just in case there is someone actually out there and to see what happens if they pick up the signal. So yes, it does lend a sort of background excitement to blog. Who knows, perhaps I will meet some like-minded friends, maybe experience some heckling, perhaps Thomas Nelson will call with a contract..... I like that unknown aspect of this deal.

So, I have popped the cork and I'm off, 500'Flyby is launched. Just above the treetops, moving quite fast, no time to dwell in painful detail on any one thing, just bits and pieces, soundbites really. If I need to dwell longer I'll just get a helicopter instead of a fixed-wing and hover.
So long for now....
Can't miss House!