Out of the Swamp

Glory! How blessed I am that where I last left off is not the rest of the story. How incredibly thankful I am that the redemption and restoration of the crucified, resurrected and ascended Lover of my soul is having the last word! Not to go off like some raving evangelical religious guy, but Praise God he has some more for me!
I have told of the day I was shaving and got smitten with this delayed conviction of what I had unleashed. That was nothing less than the day that Jesus waded into my fetid swamp, knocked me out, slung me over his shoulder and started to carry me on the journey out. And a short journey it was not....

So much of those days during the two-year separation and following the divorce are like lost time. The healing and recovery that was underway was way too imperceptible to bring any kind of visceral relief. No, the noise and chaos of just trying to survive, keep my job, find a way to continue to be a father to my precious daughters and not drown in the dark tank of depression that dogged me resulted in an overall numbness that defied description.
Initially my struggles were to find housing that would be appropriate to bring my girls into for weekends together. That took a while. In one twelve month span, I moved at least eight times, sometimes in places that were safe for two girls aged 6 and 7, other times not so much.

For instance, there was the "season" I moved into one of those "rooms for rent" within a private home. Sounded good, scoped out the place in a drive by...nice, suburban split level in Maplewood. Met the lady, toured the place and signed up. Things got decidedly more dicey, however, within days of move in. When I would go down to watch TV in the communal family room there was always a cast of unsavory characters that would seem to perpetually be there and others that would endlessly drop by with their Dobermans. A normal evening was like a clip from one of those Discovery channel programs: "Inside Folsom Prison". I noticed, in checking for my mail, that the pile almost always had a number of envelopes addressed to a wide variety of people with return addresses like: State Dept. of Corrections, Parole Office, Ramsey County Courthouse etc. So much for bringing my girls over....I lived there for three weeks, broke my rental agreement and literally backed out of the house with my paltry belongings and their vicious threats that I would not be getting away with this.

Fortunately, things did eventually start to get better. After living in a friend's apartment that was paid up for five more weeks, trying another "rental in a private home" deal, house sitting out in Afton for the winter, I eventually got an apartment in the ghetto of Woodbury (yes, despite it's well-known affluence, there is one and if you come with me I will show you). This was my new base camp which provided some welcomed stability and a home near my girls that would accommodate frequent visits. Those frequent visits were a major thumbprint of God's redemptive work in my circumstances.

The two years leading up to our marriage dissolution could not have been more acrimonious. For a time, it seriously appeared as though the girl's mother would be taking them and moving back to her hometown in Idaho. I had absolutely no recourse in the matter. Those were the darkest of days, anticipating that separation, feeling helpless to prevent it and getting schooled in the non-rights of fathers in such situations. (Source of some frustration: How do the courts expect to foster fathering in children's lives when all that is most commonly offered is "visitation rights".....how do you effectively parent with just "visitation" rights?) I began to gain some understanding of what must sometimes be behind some of the abductions we endlessly hear/read about. Yet, very soon after signing the final papers things started to turn decidedly less caustic. It was as if a major point had been made, some justice had been served, a penalty had been exacted and now there was room for the entrance of at least minimum levels of cordiality and some additonal leeway in making more accommodating visitation arrangements.

Now living within 14 miles of the girls, every other weekend began to morph into the addition of 1 or 2 weeknights as well. I would drive the girls to their schools the next morning. This felt so good, to be more dynamically in J&J's everyday life. Those were the days learning the rules of Mom's House, Dad's House (a book that was helpful at the time). My highest priority was my daughters. The end of our marriage was the beginning of me becoming an infinitely more dedicated father. Within a couple of years, I was able to buy a townhouse in Woodbury which offered even greater feelings of permanency and increased stability.
Every other weekend and a couple of weeknights with my kids gave me hope that perhaps I could protect them from the worst effects of "a broken home". I heard myself often saying, "You have a full time Mom who loves you and a full time Dad who loves you, just not under the same roof". Sounds better than it really is, kind of skirts around and ignores the true impact of it all but certainly a distant consolation prize. To this day(and with no thoughts of ever stopping), I continue to be concerned and vigilant for the fallout of this trauma upon their fragile lives. (It's just that now, at 23 and 24, they are outside of so much of my grasp but for prayer, thank you God for prayer!)

Meanwhile, I spent post traumatic years in a charismatic Lutheran church (now there's a juxtaposition for ya', kind of like the Lord slipped the Scandinavians a spiritual mickey) that many had come to over the years to find a place of healing. But healing did not come quickly...I spent more than a year merely attending the "blue haired ladies service" doing little more than just staring at the cross and trying to hear from God. I made no effort to meet anyone or to participate...I simply came to present myself to God and pray for forgiveness and for my girls. After several years, I tentatively stepped out and became involved in altar prayer and some men's ministries. And then, five years ago, my time at that church came to an abrupt end, not by my efforts but through direct intervention from Kingdom emissaries. The time came when I couldn't get one thing from a service, it was as if the church had turned to brass for me, even though everyone else seemed to be having no problems. Every inquiry of mine to Jesus was met simply with "Your time here is over", but with no direction for any alternative/Plan B.

Which more or less brings me to the present. After coming to WH as a casual visitor a couple of times (because my girls were going there and liked it) I ended up discovering that this was to become my new church body. And over the last five years there has been a marked crescendoing of healing, outfitting for ministry, clarity of identity and generally growing a bit more comfortable in my own skin. I expect I have returned to where I could have been some 15 or 20 years ago if I hadn't taken some very wrong turns.
Describing all this has been pure work. As a rookie in blogging (twelve posts and counting), I have experienced some deep satisfaction and even some fun in birthing some posts. This has not been like that but still seemed necessary. I liken it to those corporate websites that always have little sections you can click on like Product, Contact, About Us. Yes, this has been About Me, it provides some background and some historical perspective on who I am today and how I got here. Tentatively, I plan on coming back to post about....ahhh, never mind.... This 500'Flyby has nothing to do with my plans. I just hope to be back soon with more of who knows what.

James, you have worked hard...come over here and rest under the Big Pine...cease striving and know that I am your Lord and go before you in all you do.

The Kadunce

Good to be back. It's also good to let the blogging thing go for awhile and exercise letting myself feel, yet not accept,pressure to add something fresh for those few friends who may drop by only to see cobwebs hanging from my last post. I have determined that to truly make this my own, I have to eradicate visualizing visitors, to eradicate all feelings of needing to somehow be like a polite host who feels responsible for attending to my guests.
(Also, someday soon, I want to begin a post without an opening bit about my thoughts re: blogging. Just blog man! Blog at will! Let er' rip Santiago!)

Put Sandi on a plane today- along with 400 other women she is off to Frontier Ranch for Captivating and a long weekend of inviting God to speak directly to her heart and to bring his light and life and to personally meet with her amidst the Rockies. I'm so blessed by her!! Today I was truly smitten by the grace of God upon my life. Driving back from the airport this morning, I felt somehow transported to a place where I could get more of a 30,000 foot view of my life and the hand print of God was all over the picture that came into focus. So if anyone saw a silver-haired man crying while driving on westbound 494 at 7:30AM, I must take the rap!
Married just over 7 years, we are really an unlikely couple in so many ways. Sandi's conservative, Swedish reserve, her more refined tastes in general, her artistic sensitivities, and normally favoring a sense of decorum and order. And then there is moi, with a propensity for shooting from the hip, lover of organic realism and quick to dive right in the middle of all that is broken or limping with a directness that is most often not all that cuddly toward any response smelling of avoidance.
Yet, God brought us together, even taking me aside at one point and making it vividly clear that Sandi is for me and the only one who is going to get in the way would be me. Yikes! What's a fella to do?
I'll tell you what he did. He asked her to come up North to Naniboujou lodge and on a hot day in August, 2000, I took Sandi to the Kadunce river. We put on old tennis shoes and walked up the middle of the river (more of a creek actually) and let me tell you, it is a glorious thing to do. You never leave the creek, walking right smack down the middle of it. Flat open spaces gradually grow rock walls on each side which just get higher as you proceed. Soon, you are where no one else can see you unless they too were in the creek. Eventually we came to a small waterfall and a rock grotto with sheer rock walls that ascended above our heads maybe 40', even turning in towards each other at the top leaving only about a 3' or 4' opening to let in the light of the clear blue sky.
And so it was there, in that grotto, full of sharp rock shards underfoot, with only the sound of the waterfall, with filtered light streaming in from the restricted opening overhead, that I searched for 2 flat rocks. Once found, I laid them amongst the shards, got down on my knees, reached into the small fanny pack that I had brought along to pack-in the diamond ring, opened the box and asked this dear woman to marry me. And she was silent. In the background, the waterfall made it's quintessential waterfall noises and time seemed to stand still.....to stand oh, so still...standing still.... Oh my gosh! She wasn't going to say Yes! Finally, after about a minute posing as an hour, she smiled and agreed and I was transported into a blended-family adventure that percolates along even as I write. (Sandi has since stated,on more than one occasion, that the time of silence was her way of just taking in the moment and burning it into her memory.)

Getting married to another "mature" (code word for older) person with children is about giving each other lots of space, not having preconceived notions or assumptions about necessary changes or obvious new priorities,ie. who is going to stop or start doing what and whens. One of the more difficult areas was the church thing. Both of us were pre-involved in different local bodies and neither of our choices resonated with the other. In a sort of unspoken fashion, we made room for the differences with no power play attempts to convert the other. Despite the eye rolls that we often felt coming from others("You're not fellowshipping together? Ewhhh!), Sunday mornings took us down a forked road.
All this to say that Sandi getting on that plane today put a bit of a magnifying glass on all that Jesus has done in merging us increasingly into one flesh without our overtly trying to make it happen. We now enjoy worshipping God together in the same church, ministering together every Sunday morning by praying for/with others. Somehow, things just came together and the Spirit of God went behind the scenes where no mere man can go. He slowly rewired us and has increasingly made the manifestation of the spiritual truth "the two shall become one" into a beautifully unfolding see/touch reality.

Driving to work today from the airport, I could clearly see the tapestry that he has been weaving, but this time from enough distance to better appreciate the incredible depth and saturated colors of the threads that are now beginning to form such an intricate design. And I just wanted to blog tonight to say Thank You Father for what you are doing! I want to brag on you Lord! Your ways truly aren't our ways and forgive me for all the times I lack trust in you. You don't deserve such fickleness and I don't deserve your involvement in my life. I exalt You Lord for your unmerited favor upon this vessel of clay. Thank you Holy Spirit for your unceasing pursuit of my heart and the profound gift of Sandi in my life. You, Lord, are the hero of this story and I belong to you! Let me shout it again from my housetop...."Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory! Selah!