Friday is our monthly day of 24 hours of prayer at our church. I have the 5:00 a.m. slot.
Walking and praying is one thing, a time of personal reflection and talking with the lord, but setting aside time to be completely alone, in a quiet room dedicated for just that purpose, is a different thing.
When I go on those walks to pray I move about, contemplating, whisper thanks, praise, petitions for wisdom and serenity. Though I am in prayer, it is too often born of nervousness, anxiety, and that makes for poor prayers, restless contemplation.
When I set aside an hour or two for prayer in that quiet corner of our church, the walls contain my nervous pacing, slows my racing mind. Though I may begin by striding to and fro, the twenty some feet of the room turns me about, casts my vision back upon the table set for communion, the bookshelves, the candles, the writing table. I slow, and slow, and slow...
There is something about setting aside a time of prayer in such a place that is conducive to more than communication with God, more than an opening of my heart to the Holy Spirit. It is a balm for my mind, a sip of cool peace for a thirsty soul.
I have been distressed these last few months.
I’m looking forward to the quiet time I have set aside this week.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Fifty-Two laps
April 27, 1956, Santa Ana, California.
Today’s my birthday. I’m fifty-two years old. I once thought such an age was just short of decrepit, but it doesn’t seem as old now as it did then.
Still, it is a bit of time. More than a half century. I’ve ridden this green and blue ball of dirt around and around the sun, and that fiery hearth for earthly life has swum over 410 billion kilometers around the galaxy, a distance of approx. 0.04 light years, in that time.
When 52 seemed to be ancient I was young enough to be fairly certain I knew the truth about life. Now that I’ve spent a little time skating along this entropy-driven line through the fourth dimension (time), I feel I really don’t know much about anything.
I like playing with big ideas, trying to fit a crude lay knowledge of science with a crude lay knowledge of theology to the experiences filtered by five senses. It’s much like a dog chewing on the edge of a book. I like the way it feels in my teeth, but I really don’t have any idea what I’ve got ahold of.
I often sit at this glowing screen, tapping at the little squares of plastic that make up the symbols of written language, and expound on things I know nothing about.
My current appreciation of how right I am, about how smart or wise I am, hasn’t really improved too much from that 18 year old who started growing that thin beard.
I too often think I have a clue when I haven’t even begun to understand the question.
People keep mistaking me for someone who has a hint about what is going on. They too frequently make the mistake of thinking that because I read stuff like Scientific American and books by Stephen Hawkings (the lay stuff off course), and relate it to passages from the Bible or books exploring theology, that I might have some indication of what I’m talking about.
Of course it isn’t my fault people are foolish enough to take me seriously.
A good example about how clueless I am is the Sargasso Sea of confusion my ship of life is currently plying. I have the rudder of my faith to keep it steady, but I haven’t any charts or course set that I am aware of.
I just keep doing what seems to be the right thing each time a demand for a decision presents itself.
My wedding ring comes off, my wedding ring goes on. I brace myself for a divorce, I welcome my wife back home. I even offer my facial hair up for my students to reshape, and settle in on the look they give me. I facilitate a class at church to examine the theology of a novel, and I wing it each time I do so.
So...
Fifty-two years old, and as confused as the day I was first thrust into the light of this world and didn’t even realize that the horrid sound I was hearing was my own birth wail.
I’ve received a number of birthday greetings from family and friends, folks from the blogosphere and acquaintances in town. It is nice to have their love and friendship.
I just wish I was a little more grownup than I am, that I understood what I am, what I am doing, where I am going, and what I should do next.
Of course...
...for an eternal being...
I’m still pretty young.
Today’s my birthday. I’m fifty-two years old. I once thought such an age was just short of decrepit, but it doesn’t seem as old now as it did then.
Still, it is a bit of time. More than a half century. I’ve ridden this green and blue ball of dirt around and around the sun, and that fiery hearth for earthly life has swum over 410 billion kilometers around the galaxy, a distance of approx. 0.04 light years, in that time.
When 52 seemed to be ancient I was young enough to be fairly certain I knew the truth about life. Now that I’ve spent a little time skating along this entropy-driven line through the fourth dimension (time), I feel I really don’t know much about anything.
I like playing with big ideas, trying to fit a crude lay knowledge of science with a crude lay knowledge of theology to the experiences filtered by five senses. It’s much like a dog chewing on the edge of a book. I like the way it feels in my teeth, but I really don’t have any idea what I’ve got ahold of.
I often sit at this glowing screen, tapping at the little squares of plastic that make up the symbols of written language, and expound on things I know nothing about.
My current appreciation of how right I am, about how smart or wise I am, hasn’t really improved too much from that 18 year old who started growing that thin beard.
I too often think I have a clue when I haven’t even begun to understand the question.
People keep mistaking me for someone who has a hint about what is going on. They too frequently make the mistake of thinking that because I read stuff like Scientific American and books by Stephen Hawkings (the lay stuff off course), and relate it to passages from the Bible or books exploring theology, that I might have some indication of what I’m talking about.
Of course it isn’t my fault people are foolish enough to take me seriously.
A good example about how clueless I am is the Sargasso Sea of confusion my ship of life is currently plying. I have the rudder of my faith to keep it steady, but I haven’t any charts or course set that I am aware of.
I just keep doing what seems to be the right thing each time a demand for a decision presents itself.
My wedding ring comes off, my wedding ring goes on. I brace myself for a divorce, I welcome my wife back home. I even offer my facial hair up for my students to reshape, and settle in on the look they give me. I facilitate a class at church to examine the theology of a novel, and I wing it each time I do so.
So...
Fifty-two years old, and as confused as the day I was first thrust into the light of this world and didn’t even realize that the horrid sound I was hearing was my own birth wail.
I’ve received a number of birthday greetings from family and friends, folks from the blogosphere and acquaintances in town. It is nice to have their love and friendship.
I just wish I was a little more grownup than I am, that I understood what I am, what I am doing, where I am going, and what I should do next.
Of course...
...for an eternal being...
I’m still pretty young.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Blue
I started feeling blue this afternoon.
I have decided to try to work things out with my wife, mostly because she says she wants to and because I see indications she has had a change of heart.
I see our Lord has been reinforcing those feelings of hers through a series of events. Brenda is starting to see miracles around her, good things coming from bad. That last part is something she has trouble doing.
She could have been killed in that accident a week ago. She has driven too frequently without a seat belt. She got a ticket for that a couple of weeks ago. She was belligerent to the officer at the time. Now she sees that without that ticket she probably would not have had her belt on and she may have been killed. She went to the police station and left the ticketing officer a thank you card.
Several factors in the last instants before the accident placed the vehicles in such a way that the impact was more toward the front of her car than directly against the driver’s door. Again, she probably would have been killed.
Each of the persons in the other vehicles had their belts on. Two adults and five children. Even the ones in the parked car. Again, very fortunate.
The insurance looks like it will be able to cover everything for the other cars.
Being without a vehicle put a great deal of strain on getting things done, with Brenda driving me to work so she could have the van and I getting rides from coworkers.
But, out of the blue, someone gave her a car (Geo Prizm, 204,000 miles, but runs good). Well not exactly gave. Sold it to us for $2. They also insisted on buying a new battery and paying the title transfer fees.
The incredible news that Jeremiah has been granted permanent residence status when it looked like we would be eternally wrapped in the red tape streaming from immigration, Homeland Security, and the general grinding cogs of beuacracy, was good news beyond our best expectations.
Today, she got the news that the job she was hoping for, praying for, is hers. Twenty hours a week, $19,000 a year. Hours are perfect for her to be able to get the kids off to school.
She is seeing a lot of good things come her way, and she isn’t the type of person who sees the good in things.
Still... she has mixed feelings about the situation. Her affair was as much about running away from the challenges of our lives as it was about the excitement she got from the affair itself.
So, last night, I could tell she was missing... him.
That bothered me.
A lot.
I was busy today... I had a lot going on in my classes, so I was distracted. But in the back of my mind and in the depths of my heart, worries and anxieties were growing.
I had to work a little late. But I think I was trying to work a little late. For when the girls I was helping work on a video left, I found I really didn’t want to go home.
My friend and coworker told me some nice things this afternoon as I was locking the door to the classroom. Things about how I have kept my hand in events around the school (videos for assemblies, lead singer for a Battle of the Bands staff band, raffling off my beard to encourage kids to raise money...) and he said he knew I was going through a lot, yet I still did good work.
Secretly I disagree with him. I suppose I have done what is expected of me, and perhaps a touch more... but I haven’t done nearly the quality and creative teaching I expect of myself. He said I am a good man, but I know myself to be weak, fearful, full of doubt.
Someone told me they had shown their wife one of my posts and she had said that I have “the patience of Job.” First, I don’t think Job had a lot of patience. Endurance, but not patience. But it was nice to hear anyway.
So I have folks who tell me nice things. And I am needful of such encouragement.
Good news about Isaac. His IEP meeting this week went well. It appears he has been working so hard, doing his very best, and that with the tutoring classes he is getting, and his determined avoidance of special ed. classes, it is looking like he will earn a regular high school diploma like any other kid.
I am proud of my son.
I was watching Jeremiah play solitaire on the computer, and I was astonished how fast he is at sorting those cards. He was moving and placing them faster than I could follow. Much faster than I could have done it. It made me feel that he has a skill for seeing patterns and sorting, and maybe he will find work which will suit him.
I am hopeful for my son.
I have lots of good things going on around me. Still, I have nagging feelings which drag on me.
Frankly, I’m depressed.
Yeah.
I’m always writing spiritual takes on the events of my life, about how I see God working in my life. Truthfully, I’m a pretty screwed up person. I think that the image I project in these posts is one of someone a lot better than the person I really am.
I yearn for my wife’s love. I ache for an end to the challenges which seem to face us.
Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I am just emotionally worn out.
I have deep doubts about my wife’s future fidelity, but I cannot express them to her for fear my doubts may encourage them to come true.
I have a lot of good traits. I am strong in many ways, but secretly, in my deepest heart, I am rather insecure about many things, especially... am I loved?
My appearance has changed lately. I was pretty lucky with the beard thing. I expected to get Elvis sideburns, or an Abe Lincoln beard, or tiger stripes, or random splotches. Instead the student who won the drawing at the Battle of the Bands fund raiser just had me shave my cheeks and remove the “soul patch.” Since the school year began I haven’t gone in for a haircut once. So I have this hippy look happening with my hair, and a well-groomed look in my “goatee.”
There have been times in my life where I changed parts of myself, (from “Bill” to “Will,” from long hair to conservative cut, etc.), and the events of this past year tend to make me want to have some outward change. Perhaps this new look in hair and beard could be that for me now.
I’m wearing my wedding ring. It makes me feel awkward somehow. I felt awkward the couple of weeks I had it off. When I had it off I was embarrassed and took to hiding my left hand. Now it is on again I still feel awkward about the circumstances and I continue to hide my left hand.
My life is full of blessings and miracles. I have things in my life which make me happy, things I see which I find beautiful, a marriage which may be on its way to restoring itself.
Still... I am feeling blue today.
I’m not sure why.
I have decided to try to work things out with my wife, mostly because she says she wants to and because I see indications she has had a change of heart.
I see our Lord has been reinforcing those feelings of hers through a series of events. Brenda is starting to see miracles around her, good things coming from bad. That last part is something she has trouble doing.
She could have been killed in that accident a week ago. She has driven too frequently without a seat belt. She got a ticket for that a couple of weeks ago. She was belligerent to the officer at the time. Now she sees that without that ticket she probably would not have had her belt on and she may have been killed. She went to the police station and left the ticketing officer a thank you card.
Several factors in the last instants before the accident placed the vehicles in such a way that the impact was more toward the front of her car than directly against the driver’s door. Again, she probably would have been killed.
Each of the persons in the other vehicles had their belts on. Two adults and five children. Even the ones in the parked car. Again, very fortunate.
The insurance looks like it will be able to cover everything for the other cars.
Being without a vehicle put a great deal of strain on getting things done, with Brenda driving me to work so she could have the van and I getting rides from coworkers.
But, out of the blue, someone gave her a car (Geo Prizm, 204,000 miles, but runs good). Well not exactly gave. Sold it to us for $2. They also insisted on buying a new battery and paying the title transfer fees.
The incredible news that Jeremiah has been granted permanent residence status when it looked like we would be eternally wrapped in the red tape streaming from immigration, Homeland Security, and the general grinding cogs of beuacracy, was good news beyond our best expectations.
Today, she got the news that the job she was hoping for, praying for, is hers. Twenty hours a week, $19,000 a year. Hours are perfect for her to be able to get the kids off to school.
She is seeing a lot of good things come her way, and she isn’t the type of person who sees the good in things.
Still... she has mixed feelings about the situation. Her affair was as much about running away from the challenges of our lives as it was about the excitement she got from the affair itself.
So, last night, I could tell she was missing... him.
That bothered me.
A lot.
I was busy today... I had a lot going on in my classes, so I was distracted. But in the back of my mind and in the depths of my heart, worries and anxieties were growing.
I had to work a little late. But I think I was trying to work a little late. For when the girls I was helping work on a video left, I found I really didn’t want to go home.
My friend and coworker told me some nice things this afternoon as I was locking the door to the classroom. Things about how I have kept my hand in events around the school (videos for assemblies, lead singer for a Battle of the Bands staff band, raffling off my beard to encourage kids to raise money...) and he said he knew I was going through a lot, yet I still did good work.
Secretly I disagree with him. I suppose I have done what is expected of me, and perhaps a touch more... but I haven’t done nearly the quality and creative teaching I expect of myself. He said I am a good man, but I know myself to be weak, fearful, full of doubt.
Someone told me they had shown their wife one of my posts and she had said that I have “the patience of Job.” First, I don’t think Job had a lot of patience. Endurance, but not patience. But it was nice to hear anyway.
So I have folks who tell me nice things. And I am needful of such encouragement.
Good news about Isaac. His IEP meeting this week went well. It appears he has been working so hard, doing his very best, and that with the tutoring classes he is getting, and his determined avoidance of special ed. classes, it is looking like he will earn a regular high school diploma like any other kid.
I am proud of my son.
I was watching Jeremiah play solitaire on the computer, and I was astonished how fast he is at sorting those cards. He was moving and placing them faster than I could follow. Much faster than I could have done it. It made me feel that he has a skill for seeing patterns and sorting, and maybe he will find work which will suit him.
I am hopeful for my son.
I have lots of good things going on around me. Still, I have nagging feelings which drag on me.
Frankly, I’m depressed.
Yeah.
I’m always writing spiritual takes on the events of my life, about how I see God working in my life. Truthfully, I’m a pretty screwed up person. I think that the image I project in these posts is one of someone a lot better than the person I really am.
I yearn for my wife’s love. I ache for an end to the challenges which seem to face us.
Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I am just emotionally worn out.
I have deep doubts about my wife’s future fidelity, but I cannot express them to her for fear my doubts may encourage them to come true.
I have a lot of good traits. I am strong in many ways, but secretly, in my deepest heart, I am rather insecure about many things, especially... am I loved?
My appearance has changed lately. I was pretty lucky with the beard thing. I expected to get Elvis sideburns, or an Abe Lincoln beard, or tiger stripes, or random splotches. Instead the student who won the drawing at the Battle of the Bands fund raiser just had me shave my cheeks and remove the “soul patch.” Since the school year began I haven’t gone in for a haircut once. So I have this hippy look happening with my hair, and a well-groomed look in my “goatee.”
There have been times in my life where I changed parts of myself, (from “Bill” to “Will,” from long hair to conservative cut, etc.), and the events of this past year tend to make me want to have some outward change. Perhaps this new look in hair and beard could be that for me now.
I’m wearing my wedding ring. It makes me feel awkward somehow. I felt awkward the couple of weeks I had it off. When I had it off I was embarrassed and took to hiding my left hand. Now it is on again I still feel awkward about the circumstances and I continue to hide my left hand.
My life is full of blessings and miracles. I have things in my life which make me happy, things I see which I find beautiful, a marriage which may be on its way to restoring itself.
Still... I am feeling blue today.
I’m not sure why.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Changes
Brenda wanted to go with me to take Isaac to the prom Saturday night. It started at 8:00, went to 11:00, and we got there a little over an hour early so we could eat.
Since the restaurant at the prom had meals averaging around the $35 range we decided to eat elsewhere. We found a place that served pizza during the day and liquor after 9:00.
Isaac was so sweet. He gave the homeless woman out front two slices of pizza and a couple of bucks.
Brenda has been asking me if she might come back... She is trying to stay sober (it had only been 48 since her last drink) and wanted to go to an AA meeting.
So I went to my first AA meeting. It was called “Scully’s,” in a converted living room of a very old, tiny house in Southeast portland. There were about 20 people there, nearly all of them smoking cigarettes, and three smoking cigars. Brenda and I got coffee, found a seat near the front window, and just as the meeting started a large black man with Tourrette’s sat beside Brenda. It was an interesting evening.
Brenda and I had a fairly good evening, though she complained about having to take Isaac to the prom. Most kids his age are able to get themselves around.
Still... things went pretty well, and Brenda kept hinting that she wanted to work things out between us. She had moved back to her AA sponsor’s, and wanted to come back home.
Sunday morning was hectic. Get the boys fed, get everyone ready for church, pick up my mother in law and get to the church in time to pray with the pastors a half hour before church began.
I invited Mary, my M-I-L, over for lunch, but she declined. When we got home from dropping her off Brenda was still there.
Again she hinted at wanting to work things out, but...
She left to go to the post office and then to her sponsor’s house.
The phone rang a few minutes later.
“Will! It’s me! I’ve been a in a really bad wreck!”
“Are you OK? Are you hurt?!”
“No, I’m fine. I’m at Douglas and third.”
“I’ll be right there!”
I switched off the oven that was warming up lunch. Raced to the van, maneuvered through town as quickly as possible, getting there before the police.
We emptied the contents of the car into the van. I scraped my hand getting the after market stereo out (I wouldn't make a very good thief, I had to break the surrounding dashboard to get at it).
She kept worrying about getting to and from her sponsor's house without a car (we only had liability insurance, with a $25,000 cap).
"First things, first," I told her. "Let's get through this and we'll figure it all out."
She broke down.
She said she was so sorry.
She said that the accident was a wake up call.
She asked me to let her come back.
We went home.
I called some friends.
Two women from our church came over, spent over two hours.
We talked.
And Brenda seemed to finally break down.
She gave up.
"I want to be your wife," she said.
"I want to be your husband," said I.
So... she's back.
I have no idea if this will really work.
"...forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us..."
When I say The Lord's Prayer I mean it. I am asking God to cut me some slack, not to hold things against me, just as much as I am willing not to hold things against others.
I know, this is insane. I haven't any reason to believe it will work.
But, I believe I must give her the chance if she asks.
I'm no saint. I'm not anyone special.
But, I feel I have to do this as long as it does not hurt my kids.
To be frank, I'm feeling awkward, embarrassed, more uncertain than ever.
So many folks have been reading this blog, praying for me, praying for us. I wonder if they will think I'm a spineless wimp tumbling in whichever direction the wind blows. I think some may feel I am doing the right thing, and they will try to make me feel better about this.
I don't want anything but to do the right thing. And that's the rub. I am no longer sure what is the right thing.
...Forgive me my sins as I...
Since the restaurant at the prom had meals averaging around the $35 range we decided to eat elsewhere. We found a place that served pizza during the day and liquor after 9:00.
Isaac was so sweet. He gave the homeless woman out front two slices of pizza and a couple of bucks.
Brenda has been asking me if she might come back... She is trying to stay sober (it had only been 48 since her last drink) and wanted to go to an AA meeting.
So I went to my first AA meeting. It was called “Scully’s,” in a converted living room of a very old, tiny house in Southeast portland. There were about 20 people there, nearly all of them smoking cigarettes, and three smoking cigars. Brenda and I got coffee, found a seat near the front window, and just as the meeting started a large black man with Tourrette’s sat beside Brenda. It was an interesting evening.
Brenda and I had a fairly good evening, though she complained about having to take Isaac to the prom. Most kids his age are able to get themselves around.
Still... things went pretty well, and Brenda kept hinting that she wanted to work things out between us. She had moved back to her AA sponsor’s, and wanted to come back home.
Sunday morning was hectic. Get the boys fed, get everyone ready for church, pick up my mother in law and get to the church in time to pray with the pastors a half hour before church began.
I invited Mary, my M-I-L, over for lunch, but she declined. When we got home from dropping her off Brenda was still there.
Again she hinted at wanting to work things out, but...
She left to go to the post office and then to her sponsor’s house.
The phone rang a few minutes later.
“Will! It’s me! I’ve been a in a really bad wreck!”
“Are you OK? Are you hurt?!”
“No, I’m fine. I’m at Douglas and third.”
“I’ll be right there!”
I switched off the oven that was warming up lunch. Raced to the van, maneuvered through town as quickly as possible, getting there before the police.
We emptied the contents of the car into the van. I scraped my hand getting the after market stereo out (I wouldn't make a very good thief, I had to break the surrounding dashboard to get at it).She kept worrying about getting to and from her sponsor's house without a car (we only had liability insurance, with a $25,000 cap).
"First things, first," I told her. "Let's get through this and we'll figure it all out."
She broke down.
She said she was so sorry.
She said that the accident was a wake up call.
She asked me to let her come back.
We went home.
I called some friends.
Two women from our church came over, spent over two hours.
We talked.
And Brenda seemed to finally break down.
She gave up.
"I want to be your wife," she said.
"I want to be your husband," said I.
So... she's back.
I have no idea if this will really work.
"...forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us..."
When I say The Lord's Prayer I mean it. I am asking God to cut me some slack, not to hold things against me, just as much as I am willing not to hold things against others.
I know, this is insane. I haven't any reason to believe it will work.
But, I believe I must give her the chance if she asks.
I'm no saint. I'm not anyone special.
But, I feel I have to do this as long as it does not hurt my kids.
To be frank, I'm feeling awkward, embarrassed, more uncertain than ever.
So many folks have been reading this blog, praying for me, praying for us. I wonder if they will think I'm a spineless wimp tumbling in whichever direction the wind blows. I think some may feel I am doing the right thing, and they will try to make me feel better about this.
I don't want anything but to do the right thing. And that's the rub. I am no longer sure what is the right thing.
...Forgive me my sins as I...
Saturday, April 19, 2008
It Has the Ring of Truth
I went to a men’s breakfast at our church this morning. The food was what one would expect for a meal prepared by men. Sausages, eggs in pans mixed with varying degrees of spicy peppers, coffee and muffins and bagels and other artery blocking manly food. But hey, we had some oranges and strawberries laid out too.
I took a corner table, mostly with guys I don’t know very well, and kept my left hand covered as much as possible so no one would notice my wedding band is missing. Not that they would. Guys don’t tend to notice things that do not produce a physical reaction of some sort.
It was an informal little get together. There were the great grandpas and the expectant dads, but mostly guys in between, like me, guys beginning to sport more salt than pepper in their beards.
They had sheets of paper laid out on the tables so we could jot down ideas, things we could do together to foster a sense of brotherhood, the whole iron sharpening iron thing.
The list included what one would expect, fishing and camping trips, canoeing, climbing Mount Hood. I slipped in poker, mentoring, and a commitment to prayer.
Of course we couldn’t have such a get together without some sort of a speaker. And being the informal affair it was we got our pastor to say a few words.
Well, perhaps not few... he spoke for 45 minutes. But the points he made were few. (Hmmmm... that sounds like he must have rambled quite a bit, but really, it came together quite nicely and the drifts into discussion of postmodernism, secularism, and pluralism worked in some way to show how things that are of true value are threatened).
His chat was about the three areas we need to do well in if we are to leave a legacy, to live worthy lives: love God, love our wives, love our children.
I, of course, thought about my failures in those areas. Especially that of my wife.
It would be easy for me to go into a rant about the fickleness of the feminine heart (yeah, I know, men are just as, if not more, delinquent in this regard). I could talk about how I have been hurt and wail at the unfairness of my life.
Instead, I have been thinking about how self-absorbed I was when I was young. How selfish and oblivious I was to her needs. Perhaps one of the worst parts of the domination men tend to have over women is their complete blindness to that domination.
As I have grown older I gradually began to grow up, see further, see her. Unfortunately, she had drifted away as I grew.
Now I am much more the someone she had hoped I would have been when we were younger, but we are now in the middle of this huge mess.
When we went to the immigration office Tuesday I put my wedding ring back on, thinking its absence may not look good for the stability we are promising for Jeremiah. She put hers on as well.
That afternoon I took mine off again. It is Saturday, she is still wearing hers.
She wants to repair our marriage.
I love her. I do not trust her, and I have trouble believing she has really changed, that this couldn’t happen again.
She wants to move back, but has agreed that staying with her AA sponsor is best for now.
And I feel like a heel.
I write these posts to work through my thoughts, my feelings. but a side effect of this blog is the input I receive from others, folks who share of themselves, holding up mirrors for me to see my reflection in.
And there is quite a range.
Here are some fine examples:
My heart is deeply burdened for both you and Brenda. I know that you know that the ghosts you write of are brought to your mind by our enemy, the evil one. Believe, truly believe in your heart that Jesus can and will give you victory over those ghosts, every time they come to mind, when you ask Him. You'll have to ask over and over again because it is an ongoing war. But Jesus cares, and He never gets tired of hearing our pleas and helping us.
you keep saying she needs to figure herself out before she comes back... You are her life Will... l..... let go and let God have dominion over your marriage... where do we become like Christ and say we can forgive and move on.....I do not know when Brenda started to drink or if it was before or during your marriage... you vowed through good times and bad... sickness and health
she is so messed up Will. I would love a healthy Greenleaf family but you keep bouncing back and forth. Choices shouldn't be based on emotion at this point. She needs to make decisions and stick to them. Not TRY to stick to them. How many times has she started and stopped AA, made decisions not to lie, not to see him, to be honest? She needs time on her own.
When you are totally committed to and in love with someone, it's hard to see anything beyond that. Someone could say to you, "Hey buddy, she's stabbing you repeatedly in the heart. RUN!" And you would still reply while coughing blood, "No she's not. I'm fine."
You need to wake up and see that the small gestures she makes is not going to work in the long run. Yes, she is miserable and so are you, but this open door policy needs to stop. Even if that means she can't see the boys right now (or perhaps at a place away from your home), so be it. They'll be better off by having your constant presence with them, without the turmoil between you and Brenda. Don't be in a wyshy stage and allow yourself to be swayed by every little positive step she makes. Close the door and give her the chance to heal. You as well.
Brenda is coming over all the time. She is trying to continue all she has done here. I try to make it clear I need to be the one to fix meals, clean the house, wash clothes. But a week of good intentions do not erase a year long affair.
She was over yesterday for most of the day. She wanted to help Isaac get ready for the prom, take him to it in Portland.
We went together, and I accompanied her to an AA meeting.
I know I am being weak here. I know I am having trouble setting boundaries. She comes over to help, but in the end is it help?
I cannot accept her back, I cannot send her away.
In full honesty with myself I believe she is going to sneak off and see him. I believe it will be obvious.
Should I put that ring back on? Should I insist she spend as little time here as possible? Should I just concentrate on my kids, my faith, and let things rest for a while in my heart, her heart?
I took the ring off because I thought there was no hope for our marriage. I took the ring off because she was living with another man and had picked up divorce papers.
I framed that empty finger against the newly planted peach tree, in front of the recently removed cedar of leabanon.
A freak hail storm yesterday did not damage that tree, but lent the sort of symbolsim I see everywhere... that life is full of unexpected changes.
The little tree is blossoming in the yard filled with hard pebbles of ice.
I put a ring on her finger, so she would always be reminded she was mine. She put a ring on mine to keep me mindful of her.
All those bits of advice ring in my ears... circles of advice, well meaning, heartfelt aphorisms ringing with sincerity, ringing with truth.
I know I need to let her heal apart from us. She is still so bitter, so volatile. I've told her to let me take care of the boys.
I keep thinking about that ring of gold, a symbolic circle pledging continued devotion...
I have no idea if I should wear it as a symbol of my own vows, my own commitment toward a healthy life with her, until she finally proves it is pointless.... or remove it for now as a gesture of recognition that we are not living our lives as a married couple.
Gestures and symbols... Words of advice and whispers from my heart... they all have the ring of truth.
I took a corner table, mostly with guys I don’t know very well, and kept my left hand covered as much as possible so no one would notice my wedding band is missing. Not that they would. Guys don’t tend to notice things that do not produce a physical reaction of some sort.
It was an informal little get together. There were the great grandpas and the expectant dads, but mostly guys in between, like me, guys beginning to sport more salt than pepper in their beards.
They had sheets of paper laid out on the tables so we could jot down ideas, things we could do together to foster a sense of brotherhood, the whole iron sharpening iron thing.
The list included what one would expect, fishing and camping trips, canoeing, climbing Mount Hood. I slipped in poker, mentoring, and a commitment to prayer.
Of course we couldn’t have such a get together without some sort of a speaker. And being the informal affair it was we got our pastor to say a few words.
Well, perhaps not few... he spoke for 45 minutes. But the points he made were few. (Hmmmm... that sounds like he must have rambled quite a bit, but really, it came together quite nicely and the drifts into discussion of postmodernism, secularism, and pluralism worked in some way to show how things that are of true value are threatened).
His chat was about the three areas we need to do well in if we are to leave a legacy, to live worthy lives: love God, love our wives, love our children.
I, of course, thought about my failures in those areas. Especially that of my wife.
It would be easy for me to go into a rant about the fickleness of the feminine heart (yeah, I know, men are just as, if not more, delinquent in this regard). I could talk about how I have been hurt and wail at the unfairness of my life.
Instead, I have been thinking about how self-absorbed I was when I was young. How selfish and oblivious I was to her needs. Perhaps one of the worst parts of the domination men tend to have over women is their complete blindness to that domination.
As I have grown older I gradually began to grow up, see further, see her. Unfortunately, she had drifted away as I grew.
Now I am much more the someone she had hoped I would have been when we were younger, but we are now in the middle of this huge mess.
When we went to the immigration office Tuesday I put my wedding ring back on, thinking its absence may not look good for the stability we are promising for Jeremiah. She put hers on as well.
That afternoon I took mine off again. It is Saturday, she is still wearing hers.
She wants to repair our marriage.
I love her. I do not trust her, and I have trouble believing she has really changed, that this couldn’t happen again.
She wants to move back, but has agreed that staying with her AA sponsor is best for now.
And I feel like a heel.
I write these posts to work through my thoughts, my feelings. but a side effect of this blog is the input I receive from others, folks who share of themselves, holding up mirrors for me to see my reflection in.
And there is quite a range.
Here are some fine examples:
My heart is deeply burdened for both you and Brenda. I know that you know that the ghosts you write of are brought to your mind by our enemy, the evil one. Believe, truly believe in your heart that Jesus can and will give you victory over those ghosts, every time they come to mind, when you ask Him. You'll have to ask over and over again because it is an ongoing war. But Jesus cares, and He never gets tired of hearing our pleas and helping us.
you keep saying she needs to figure herself out before she comes back... You are her life Will... l..... let go and let God have dominion over your marriage... where do we become like Christ and say we can forgive and move on.....I do not know when Brenda started to drink or if it was before or during your marriage... you vowed through good times and bad... sickness and health
she is so messed up Will. I would love a healthy Greenleaf family but you keep bouncing back and forth. Choices shouldn't be based on emotion at this point. She needs to make decisions and stick to them. Not TRY to stick to them. How many times has she started and stopped AA, made decisions not to lie, not to see him, to be honest? She needs time on her own.
When you are totally committed to and in love with someone, it's hard to see anything beyond that. Someone could say to you, "Hey buddy, she's stabbing you repeatedly in the heart. RUN!" And you would still reply while coughing blood, "No she's not. I'm fine."
You need to wake up and see that the small gestures she makes is not going to work in the long run. Yes, she is miserable and so are you, but this open door policy needs to stop. Even if that means she can't see the boys right now (or perhaps at a place away from your home), so be it. They'll be better off by having your constant presence with them, without the turmoil between you and Brenda. Don't be in a wyshy stage and allow yourself to be swayed by every little positive step she makes. Close the door and give her the chance to heal. You as well.
Brenda is coming over all the time. She is trying to continue all she has done here. I try to make it clear I need to be the one to fix meals, clean the house, wash clothes. But a week of good intentions do not erase a year long affair.
She was over yesterday for most of the day. She wanted to help Isaac get ready for the prom, take him to it in Portland.
We went together, and I accompanied her to an AA meeting.
I know I am being weak here. I know I am having trouble setting boundaries. She comes over to help, but in the end is it help?
I cannot accept her back, I cannot send her away.
In full honesty with myself I believe she is going to sneak off and see him. I believe it will be obvious.
Should I put that ring back on? Should I insist she spend as little time here as possible? Should I just concentrate on my kids, my faith, and let things rest for a while in my heart, her heart?
I took the ring off because I thought there was no hope for our marriage. I took the ring off because she was living with another man and had picked up divorce papers.
I framed that empty finger against the newly planted peach tree, in front of the recently removed cedar of leabanon.A freak hail storm yesterday did not damage that tree, but lent the sort of symbolsim I see everywhere... that life is full of unexpected changes.
The little tree is blossoming in the yard filled with hard pebbles of ice.
I put a ring on her finger, so she would always be reminded she was mine. She put a ring on mine to keep me mindful of her.
All those bits of advice ring in my ears... circles of advice, well meaning, heartfelt aphorisms ringing with sincerity, ringing with truth.
I know I need to let her heal apart from us. She is still so bitter, so volatile. I've told her to let me take care of the boys.
I keep thinking about that ring of gold, a symbolic circle pledging continued devotion...
I have no idea if I should wear it as a symbol of my own vows, my own commitment toward a healthy life with her, until she finally proves it is pointless.... or remove it for now as a gesture of recognition that we are not living our lives as a married couple.
Gestures and symbols... Words of advice and whispers from my heart... they all have the ring of truth.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Ghosts
When I was in kindergarten and first grade we lived in a small town in northern California: Willows.
Our strange two story house built in the 20s, with the ornate moldings inside and out, was dwarfed by a larger, more ornate house of the same era across the street.
There was an old couple who inhabited just a few rooms on the ground floor, and the remainder of the house was uninhabited. Lights never shown through the cracked window panes of the second and third floors.
My brothers and I thought it haunted.
So, of course, in the tradition of boys of those years, we dared each other to sneak in.
We didn’t see any ghosts, though we got spooked a couple of times by dusty shadows and creaking timbers in the upper rooms during that memorable trespass.
There has been other times I thought I’ve seen ghosts, for real. Some of them during my sojourn into eastern mysticism.
I think it is natural for people to believe in ghosts. After all, Christ Followers believe in angels, and one spirit form hints at others.
The Bible says King Saul used a medium to summon the spirit of Samuel (I Samuel 28).
Since my experiences in that ashram during the 70s I have phobicly avoided such mystic experiences, though some have come none the less.
I think my life, our lives, are filled with ghosts of other sorts.
I have clung to the ghost, the memory, of my first child... and I have often thought of him, written of him. I think that his death is something I am slowly coming to terms with... I suspect the reason I still carry the burden of grief for him is not so much that I miss him, or that I blame anyone for his death, but because, deep down, I have not been able to forgive myself. Though my mind tells me it was not my fault, I still harbor the self recrimination and beat myself with that ghostly flail. The heart can be a stubborn organ.
I haunt myself with that ghost, the ghost of a child frozen in my mind, in my heart, at three and one half months of age.
As Saul sought to conjure the ghost of Samuel, I think I, perhaps others, conjure other ghosts to haunt us.
When I go in to the new building of our church, I smell the new carpet and my eyes roam across freshly painted walls, I feel a small trepidation deep in my heart over the knowledge my son started the fire which resulted in that building. I hesitate for a moment over the thought of who and how many people I love could have been hurt or killed. I permit that building to be a ghost to me of an event I should let go.
For my wife it is worse. For her the guilt, and anger, and regrets she has over our son being behind that fire haunts her as much as the cherubic face of Willy does me.
Those who have attended that church for more than a few years are familiar enough with the old building to see the ghostly reflections of the old shape in the walls, even though the architect did a masterful job in using the old foundation to look as if the new shapes of the walls are intentional. The old governing board room is the nursing mothers’ room. The large window with the cross was the pastor’s office. That little jog beside it was the old entry. The recess beside that was the library, though now it looks like it was perfectly designed for wheelchair access to the stage.
We see ghosts of the old in the shape of the new.
It took a few days, but I have gotten Brenda to go stay with her AA sponsor.
I told her I need her to prove I can trust her again, and I don’t think I can do that if I let her simply slide back into our home without dealing with the ghosts of her affair still trailing her so closely.
We have talked about how we might rebuild that trust.
It is going to be difficult, though the overall need is plain. She needs to become someone who cannot conceive of doing such things, such betrayal, ever again. Then, I need to be able to recognize that change in her.
I don’t know if we can shake that ghost. Can I shake the specter of the other man, a man I have still never laid eyes upon?
She told me that if she stayed with her friend she might be more sorely tempted to contact John again. She really wants to move back home.
But, in saying that I can see that she has not completely broken free from him. There is a passive/agressive threat hidden in that statement, that if I don’t allow her back she might go to him.
I said that if she sees him again, it will, somehow, come out.
I have told her that for as long as she does not contact him I will not ask for the divorce. For as long as she strives to regain her integrity, seek to become only mine, then I will do all I can to help her. But she must prove herself as someone I can trust before I open my heart to her again.
So the events of these past few months haunt us.
We drag so many shadows with us through our lives.
My children still have deep fears haunting them from Haiti. I still fear the looming image of my father when I stood only 2/3 of what I do now.
When I sit in our pastor’s office, I usually take the right side of the maroon couch, the spot closest to where Jeremiah played with that candle, huddling near the ghost of that event.
Perhaps one of the sweetest victories we will grasp when we leave this earth, when we become fully spiritual beings, will be the exorcism of all the ghosts we have collected along the way.
Our strange two story house built in the 20s, with the ornate moldings inside and out, was dwarfed by a larger, more ornate house of the same era across the street.
There was an old couple who inhabited just a few rooms on the ground floor, and the remainder of the house was uninhabited. Lights never shown through the cracked window panes of the second and third floors.
My brothers and I thought it haunted.
So, of course, in the tradition of boys of those years, we dared each other to sneak in.
We didn’t see any ghosts, though we got spooked a couple of times by dusty shadows and creaking timbers in the upper rooms during that memorable trespass.
There has been other times I thought I’ve seen ghosts, for real. Some of them during my sojourn into eastern mysticism.
I think it is natural for people to believe in ghosts. After all, Christ Followers believe in angels, and one spirit form hints at others.
The Bible says King Saul used a medium to summon the spirit of Samuel (I Samuel 28).
Since my experiences in that ashram during the 70s I have phobicly avoided such mystic experiences, though some have come none the less.
I think my life, our lives, are filled with ghosts of other sorts.
I have clung to the ghost, the memory, of my first child... and I have often thought of him, written of him. I think that his death is something I am slowly coming to terms with... I suspect the reason I still carry the burden of grief for him is not so much that I miss him, or that I blame anyone for his death, but because, deep down, I have not been able to forgive myself. Though my mind tells me it was not my fault, I still harbor the self recrimination and beat myself with that ghostly flail. The heart can be a stubborn organ.
I haunt myself with that ghost, the ghost of a child frozen in my mind, in my heart, at three and one half months of age.
As Saul sought to conjure the ghost of Samuel, I think I, perhaps others, conjure other ghosts to haunt us.
When I go in to the new building of our church, I smell the new carpet and my eyes roam across freshly painted walls, I feel a small trepidation deep in my heart over the knowledge my son started the fire which resulted in that building. I hesitate for a moment over the thought of who and how many people I love could have been hurt or killed. I permit that building to be a ghost to me of an event I should let go.
For my wife it is worse. For her the guilt, and anger, and regrets she has over our son being behind that fire haunts her as much as the cherubic face of Willy does me.
Those who have attended that church for more than a few years are familiar enough with the old building to see the ghostly reflections of the old shape in the walls, even though the architect did a masterful job in using the old foundation to look as if the new shapes of the walls are intentional. The old governing board room is the nursing mothers’ room. The large window with the cross was the pastor’s office. That little jog beside it was the old entry. The recess beside that was the library, though now it looks like it was perfectly designed for wheelchair access to the stage.
We see ghosts of the old in the shape of the new.
It took a few days, but I have gotten Brenda to go stay with her AA sponsor.
I told her I need her to prove I can trust her again, and I don’t think I can do that if I let her simply slide back into our home without dealing with the ghosts of her affair still trailing her so closely.
We have talked about how we might rebuild that trust.
It is going to be difficult, though the overall need is plain. She needs to become someone who cannot conceive of doing such things, such betrayal, ever again. Then, I need to be able to recognize that change in her.
I don’t know if we can shake that ghost. Can I shake the specter of the other man, a man I have still never laid eyes upon?
She told me that if she stayed with her friend she might be more sorely tempted to contact John again. She really wants to move back home.
But, in saying that I can see that she has not completely broken free from him. There is a passive/agressive threat hidden in that statement, that if I don’t allow her back she might go to him.
I said that if she sees him again, it will, somehow, come out.
I have told her that for as long as she does not contact him I will not ask for the divorce. For as long as she strives to regain her integrity, seek to become only mine, then I will do all I can to help her. But she must prove herself as someone I can trust before I open my heart to her again.
So the events of these past few months haunt us.
We drag so many shadows with us through our lives.
My children still have deep fears haunting them from Haiti. I still fear the looming image of my father when I stood only 2/3 of what I do now.
When I sit in our pastor’s office, I usually take the right side of the maroon couch, the spot closest to where Jeremiah played with that candle, huddling near the ghost of that event.
Perhaps one of the sweetest victories we will grasp when we leave this earth, when we become fully spiritual beings, will be the exorcism of all the ghosts we have collected along the way.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Good News, Strange Developments
“Are you, or have you ever been, a member of an organization which promotes violence, or terrorism?
Blank look.
The interviewer’s mouth creased in a small smile.
“Have you ever been a member of the communist party?”
Jeremiah looked confused.
I butted in.
“He doesn’t understand. The only organizations he’s been involved in are our church, Boy Scouts, and Special Olympics.”
“I understand,” the man across the desk said with a friendly smile. “These are just standard questions.”
Across the country April 15th is a day many of my fellow Americans are nervous about filing their taxes. My wife and I were wondering what the future would hold for Jeremiah.
We were in an office in the Federal Building in downtown Portland. We were all dressed nice. I had put my wedding ring back on for the day.
The man across the desk did not seem the sort to go to the extreme of deportation, but we feared he may feel required to deny Jeremiah many of the opportunities which accompany permanent residency, and then, citizenship.
But it wasn’t like that at all.
Brenda and Jeremiah had the two seat directly in front of the desk. I was pulled up behind and between them. Our attorney sat to the right of us.
The questions were generally routine, except perhaps the first few.
“Why have you waited so long to file for permanent residency?”
Brenda replied, “Because we didn’t know we had to. In all the people we dealt with, the attorneys, the home study people, social security, we were never told we had to do anything.”
He smiled.
Bottom line... the friendly man behind the desk was not a typical bureaucrat, or someone inexperienced with dealing with unusual immigration cases. He had enough experience, enough seniority, that his recommendations carried a lot of weight. And he was a man who saw the reality of the situation and what he could do to fix it.
Brenda had picked up a letter from the asst. district attorney of our county which explained the situation behind the fire at our church nearly three years ago. he too out a highlighter and marked three passages, out it in the file.
After the routine questions he said that he was inclined to approve the permanent residency application. It may take a little while to get his supervisor’s approval, but he would see if he was available right now.
Five minutes later he returned. Asked for Jeremiah’s work permit, saying he won’t need it anymore. He literal rubber stamped the whole thing.
He reached into a drawer, pulled out a huge rubber stamp with small letters describing some sort of bureaucratic approval, and began stamping papers and signing in the areas of the stamping. He stood up, shook our hands.
Tears welled up in our eyes.
The biggest hurdle for Jeremiah had been cleared. he has permission to be a permanent resident in the United Sates of America.
In five years he would be able to apply for citizenship.
I could hardly believe what had just happened.
on the steps leading out of the court house I stopped a stranger.
“Pardon me... We’ve just had a rather significant event of our lives happen. would you mind taking our picture?”
She smiled, stepped back to get us fully in the picture, and snapped the picture.
It is such a relief!
Rapid shift...
Brenda wants back.
She moved out from John’s. Asked to sleep on the couch. of course I said yes.
I ran home this morning for something I had forgotten and found her replacing her things in drawers, closets, shelves.
“I have not agreed to this.,” I said.
She got angry. Threats, rants.
I simply said that if she wants to work on something, or change the situation she needs to talk with me, come to an agreement.
She sent me a text message:
hi i am walking
rocky right now
have been thinking
more and you are
right. I will go back
to kerri’s that
is the best thing
to do. i cant
expect you to
trust me i have
already destroyed
any chance of that
I am sorry about earlier.
i am not
doing so well right now
as you know
i guess its all going to
just take
some time, i will
pick up jeremiah
and meet you at
your house at
3:30
I have no idea what is going on, what to think, any of it.
I think about love, forgiveness, protecting my family, believing in marriage, sticking up for standards for myself, just doing the right thing.
She is right. I haven’t much reason to trust her.
I hope she can be all right.
I hope that whatever happens He will say... “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
Blank look.
The interviewer’s mouth creased in a small smile.
“Have you ever been a member of the communist party?”
Jeremiah looked confused.
I butted in.
“He doesn’t understand. The only organizations he’s been involved in are our church, Boy Scouts, and Special Olympics.”
“I understand,” the man across the desk said with a friendly smile. “These are just standard questions.”
Across the country April 15th is a day many of my fellow Americans are nervous about filing their taxes. My wife and I were wondering what the future would hold for Jeremiah.
We were in an office in the Federal Building in downtown Portland. We were all dressed nice. I had put my wedding ring back on for the day.
The man across the desk did not seem the sort to go to the extreme of deportation, but we feared he may feel required to deny Jeremiah many of the opportunities which accompany permanent residency, and then, citizenship.
But it wasn’t like that at all.
Brenda and Jeremiah had the two seat directly in front of the desk. I was pulled up behind and between them. Our attorney sat to the right of us.
The questions were generally routine, except perhaps the first few.
“Why have you waited so long to file for permanent residency?”
Brenda replied, “Because we didn’t know we had to. In all the people we dealt with, the attorneys, the home study people, social security, we were never told we had to do anything.”
He smiled.
Bottom line... the friendly man behind the desk was not a typical bureaucrat, or someone inexperienced with dealing with unusual immigration cases. He had enough experience, enough seniority, that his recommendations carried a lot of weight. And he was a man who saw the reality of the situation and what he could do to fix it.
Brenda had picked up a letter from the asst. district attorney of our county which explained the situation behind the fire at our church nearly three years ago. he too out a highlighter and marked three passages, out it in the file.
After the routine questions he said that he was inclined to approve the permanent residency application. It may take a little while to get his supervisor’s approval, but he would see if he was available right now.
Five minutes later he returned. Asked for Jeremiah’s work permit, saying he won’t need it anymore. He literal rubber stamped the whole thing.
He reached into a drawer, pulled out a huge rubber stamp with small letters describing some sort of bureaucratic approval, and began stamping papers and signing in the areas of the stamping. He stood up, shook our hands.
Tears welled up in our eyes.
The biggest hurdle for Jeremiah had been cleared. he has permission to be a permanent resident in the United Sates of America.
In five years he would be able to apply for citizenship.
I could hardly believe what had just happened.
on the steps leading out of the court house I stopped a stranger.
“Pardon me... We’ve just had a rather significant event of our lives happen. would you mind taking our picture?”
She smiled, stepped back to get us fully in the picture, and snapped the picture.
It is such a relief!
Rapid shift...
Brenda wants back.
She moved out from John’s. Asked to sleep on the couch. of course I said yes.
I ran home this morning for something I had forgotten and found her replacing her things in drawers, closets, shelves.
“I have not agreed to this.,” I said.
She got angry. Threats, rants.
I simply said that if she wants to work on something, or change the situation she needs to talk with me, come to an agreement.
She sent me a text message:
hi i am walking
rocky right now
have been thinking
more and you are
right. I will go back
to kerri’s that
is the best thing
to do. i cant
expect you to
trust me i have
already destroyed
any chance of that
I am sorry about earlier.
i am not
doing so well right now
as you know
i guess its all going to
just take
some time, i will
pick up jeremiah
and meet you at
your house at
3:30
I have no idea what is going on, what to think, any of it.
I think about love, forgiveness, protecting my family, believing in marriage, sticking up for standards for myself, just doing the right thing.
She is right. I haven’t much reason to trust her.
I hope she can be all right.
I hope that whatever happens He will say... “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
Sunday, April 13, 2008
There’s no Point to This
It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m sitting with Jeremiah on a couch covered in cat hair in a narrow little beauty shop wedged between two buildings, maybe a dozen feet wide, while Isaac gets his dread maintenance in the back.
My heart is racing.
I shared at church today about Jeremiah’s meeting with the immigration folks on Tuesday. I asked for their prayers. I didn’t tell them that my wife is living with another man.
My heart is racing.
It is unlikely they will determine he should be deported to Haiti. But beside that unthinkable possibility there is a range of outcomes, most of them not very good for him.
I read this morning a news story about a U.N. policeman in Port au Prince, Haiti. That is the place where my children were before coming to the United States fifteen years ago. During a riot the officer was pulled from his U.N. marked car and executed in the street.
I miss my wife.
I don’t know where I’m going with this.
I facilitated a Sunday School class this morning, a discussion of the novel The Shack. My voice hardly trembled at all during the whole class.
Because of my request during the service folks were asking for details about the interview on Tuesday.
Jeremiah tells me he is scared.
So am I.
I just paused to ask Jeremiah what he is thinking about. He nervously told me he is thinking about Tuesday.
“But everything will be alright, right?” he asked.
His eyes were on mine, and then slipped off and back again, and out the door, and back again.
“Look at me,” I told him.
I held his eyes with mine.
“Nothing is going to happen to you. I’m your dad. I love you, and I will protect you. You are a good boy and it is going to be OK.”
“All right.”
I should have taken a Xanax today. It can’t be good for me to have my heart hammering in my chest hour after hour like this.
The Bible tells me not to be anxious.
We had a fundraiser Friday night. It was pretty cool. Our students fielded a dozen air bands (they lip synch to songs, pretending to sing and play instruments). There was everything from hip hop to mariachi bands. I was the lead singer for the staff band, The Majestics. I somehow managed to look like I was comfortable duck walking and singing “Louie, Louie” while they pulled out the stops with the lights and turned on a fog machine.
There were lots of prizes, and the kids raised over $9,000. One incentive for them was for every $5 they spent on The Battle of the Bands merchandise they got their name in a drawing for my beard. So, sometime soon, one of the students will shape my beard and mustache any way he likes and I’ll wear it for a week.
I’m pretty open to almost anything they want to do, but there was a suggestion I get a Hitler mustache, and I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.
I want to write something interesting in this post. I want to turn my mind to spiritual matters, or matters of science, or something else besides the two issues which grip me, make me tremble.
I wrote something yesterday. It is much better than this weird little post, this essay which has no point at all. Still, this little bit of random thought, this soliloquy of anxiety and fear, belongs with the other posts which chronicle my life.
I guess I’ll post this Monday afternoon. I imagine I will want to write about the experience with immigration on Tuesday, and so this meaningless bit of writing will rest at the top of my blog for only a short period.
I like that. I want to write about better things, deeper things, but all I have today are random paragraphs that have no point.
My heart is racing.
I shared at church today about Jeremiah’s meeting with the immigration folks on Tuesday. I asked for their prayers. I didn’t tell them that my wife is living with another man.
My heart is racing.
It is unlikely they will determine he should be deported to Haiti. But beside that unthinkable possibility there is a range of outcomes, most of them not very good for him.
I read this morning a news story about a U.N. policeman in Port au Prince, Haiti. That is the place where my children were before coming to the United States fifteen years ago. During a riot the officer was pulled from his U.N. marked car and executed in the street.
I miss my wife.
I don’t know where I’m going with this.
I facilitated a Sunday School class this morning, a discussion of the novel The Shack. My voice hardly trembled at all during the whole class.
Because of my request during the service folks were asking for details about the interview on Tuesday.
Jeremiah tells me he is scared.
So am I.
I just paused to ask Jeremiah what he is thinking about. He nervously told me he is thinking about Tuesday.
“But everything will be alright, right?” he asked.
His eyes were on mine, and then slipped off and back again, and out the door, and back again.
“Look at me,” I told him.
I held his eyes with mine.
“Nothing is going to happen to you. I’m your dad. I love you, and I will protect you. You are a good boy and it is going to be OK.”
“All right.”
I should have taken a Xanax today. It can’t be good for me to have my heart hammering in my chest hour after hour like this.
The Bible tells me not to be anxious.
We had a fundraiser Friday night. It was pretty cool. Our students fielded a dozen air bands (they lip synch to songs, pretending to sing and play instruments). There was everything from hip hop to mariachi bands. I was the lead singer for the staff band, The Majestics. I somehow managed to look like I was comfortable duck walking and singing “Louie, Louie” while they pulled out the stops with the lights and turned on a fog machine.
There were lots of prizes, and the kids raised over $9,000. One incentive for them was for every $5 they spent on The Battle of the Bands merchandise they got their name in a drawing for my beard. So, sometime soon, one of the students will shape my beard and mustache any way he likes and I’ll wear it for a week.
I’m pretty open to almost anything they want to do, but there was a suggestion I get a Hitler mustache, and I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.
I want to write something interesting in this post. I want to turn my mind to spiritual matters, or matters of science, or something else besides the two issues which grip me, make me tremble.
I wrote something yesterday. It is much better than this weird little post, this essay which has no point at all. Still, this little bit of random thought, this soliloquy of anxiety and fear, belongs with the other posts which chronicle my life.
I guess I’ll post this Monday afternoon. I imagine I will want to write about the experience with immigration on Tuesday, and so this meaningless bit of writing will rest at the top of my blog for only a short period.
I like that. I want to write about better things, deeper things, but all I have today are random paragraphs that have no point.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Circles and Lines
I like circular plots. The sort of stories in which characters move out, go upon some sort of journey, and return again, changed.
Dorothy, tired of her life, dreams of going somewhere different, so her life can be different, only to find the things she really cherished were at home. Her journey changed her heart so it recognized what was important.
Ishmael tires of life on land, so he takes a job on a whaling vessel, and by the time he floats back to shore clinging to that coffin, his journey witnesses monomania and hubris, changing his views on faith, life, and humanity. His returns marks his deep change.
Ged saves his village with magic, and is sent to develop his powers at Roke... releasing an evil he discovers is really a part of himself. His journey takes him out, and returns him, scarred, yet wiser.
There is a pattern to such novels, a satisfaction in the circular, that rings true to my own experience of life. It seems I am always returning, yet never the same.
I like to write that way. Most of the posts on these blogs have that sort of pattern in the topics. I start out on one topic, get the reader used to the idea I’m exploring, and then I go off on a little journey. I head somewhere else. The journey may wind around a bit, but I usually bring it back and show how the journey ends where it began.
Perhaps it is because our lives are filled with cycles that we appreciate circular plots.
The moon waxes and wanes, crescent to gibbous, and the rhythm of that cycle beats in our hearts on a nearly genetic level.
The seasons roll, rebirth of life in the Spring, growth in the summer, harvest in the Fall, rest and fallowness of Winter, the slowing of the cycle in preparation of the rebirth of another Spring.
Hours of the day, seasons of the year, the rotation of generations, even the ebb and flow of wars seem to return again and again. Perhaps never exactly the same, but close enough for us to feel the familiarity.
“History never repeats itself, but it often rhymes.” -- Mark Twain
The other sort of journey is the line. I think most of us feel our lives are such stories. We are born, our lives wind around, events large and small mark the mileposts, and there is never any returning. If we do come back to where we had been once before, we feel that either we or the place has changed so much that it isn’t the same any more.
What is my story? What sort of plot am I living?
Brenda and I spent time together yesterday, this morning, this afternoon. We spoke honestly. We talked about where we are, what it would take for us to repair our marriage.
Not going to happen.
She feels guilt, shame, regret. She worries about our kids, how this will affect them. She is sorry about the burden this will place on me.
She wants this new life.
We talked about how we can work through this, move from husband and wife to friends, working together.
Throughout this I have tried to be honest, with myself, with her.
It has been a difficult journey, one that isn’t finished. I have tried to accept my faults, my failings, and that isn’t an easy honesty. I have failed in my marriage, and much of the mistakes I have made I see clearly now.
Brenda says I will find someone else.
Whatever.
I know... She is trying to help me see I have a future. She knows how important it is to me to share my life with someone, and she feels, well, sorry for me.
She tells me I’m intelligent, creative, sweet. That there are women out there who would love me.
I’m not interested.
Two things dominate my thoughts today. My children and my faith.
My self esteem has taken a beating, and the thought of other women... well... doesn’t seem... Hmmmph. Some writer, I am, I can’t put it into words.
There is another side of the self esteem issue that is more healthy.
I know I am insignificant. I have a fair concept of the size of the universe, a fair handle on the the number of stars in galaxies, the way galaxies dance together, form clusters, reach toward each other in spinning motions that take millions of years, how some form groups... I know of the 10,000 year beat of the thrumming of galactic superclusters.
I know I am insignificant. A single life form on a small ball of dirt on the edge of a rather ordinary island of stars inhabiting a place in the universe that has no particular difference from any other place in the universe.
Except...
I feel something. I sense something.
I know I am significant...
to God.
That doesn’t necessarily make things easy.
As I have wrestled with the issues in my life I have turned, again and again, to what my faith tells me to do.
Sometimes, being a Christ follower is a lot tougher than one would guess. I think about Jesus, what He did, how He lived, and it makes my decisions more difficult.
For example, if I worked hard at my marriage, if I got us into counseling, and worked to restore it... I know, I really know, she would hurt me again. She would not remain faithful.
I think about Christ, how He knew Judas would betray Him. Yet He loved Judas. He taught him and walked with him, and shared His life with him.
Could I do that? Could I offer her my heart, knowing she would betray it again someday?
This isn’t the trite teenage look at life, wondering “What would Jesus do?” This is my knowingly walking into a future that will hurt me, will harm me.
If I wrestled my heart to a place of submission where I could forgive her, really forgive her, would that be enough to call it a marriage?
Looking at His life, trying to follow His example, is tough.
Perhaps the struggle is enough. Perhaps in examining my life, in seeing my faults and weaknesses, and hers as well, perhaps in the climbing over of rough terrain, I gain the strength, the spiritual muscle, which is enough for the lessons set before me.
At any rate, it is clear it is over. We have talked, and been reasonable, and tried to help each other. And we will continue to work together, as we need to.
I thought about Robert Frost’s poem about the road diverging in the woods, and I know I have such a choice before me.
I share this choice, it is hers as well as mine, but I accept that this marriage has failed, that I have not been able to grasp onto it in a way that will save it. And I accept it. I accept my failures, own them.
My future will not be the one I thought it would.
I told Brenda this afternoon that no matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, I want to live my life to the end and feel I did it with as much integrity as I could.
I didn’t say it, but I know she heard the echo my words were creating...
“...well done good and faithful servant...” (Matthew 25:21)
Some day I expect to live in grandeur greater than the most majestic chorus of beauty sung by dancing galaxies. Not because I will have earned it, for I cannot, but because someone has thought me significant enough to give that to me.
It isn’t the sort of love I long for in my heart today, but it is enough for me to do my best, my very best, in loving my children, forgiving my wife, making tough choices.
I’m unsure if I should see this as a lesson along a long road of life with many twists and turns and rough terrain... or perhaps it is the return of a journey, the coming home part of the circle plot that this small life has told in its living.
Dorothy, tired of her life, dreams of going somewhere different, so her life can be different, only to find the things she really cherished were at home. Her journey changed her heart so it recognized what was important.
Ishmael tires of life on land, so he takes a job on a whaling vessel, and by the time he floats back to shore clinging to that coffin, his journey witnesses monomania and hubris, changing his views on faith, life, and humanity. His returns marks his deep change.
Ged saves his village with magic, and is sent to develop his powers at Roke... releasing an evil he discovers is really a part of himself. His journey takes him out, and returns him, scarred, yet wiser.
There is a pattern to such novels, a satisfaction in the circular, that rings true to my own experience of life. It seems I am always returning, yet never the same.
I like to write that way. Most of the posts on these blogs have that sort of pattern in the topics. I start out on one topic, get the reader used to the idea I’m exploring, and then I go off on a little journey. I head somewhere else. The journey may wind around a bit, but I usually bring it back and show how the journey ends where it began.
Perhaps it is because our lives are filled with cycles that we appreciate circular plots.
The moon waxes and wanes, crescent to gibbous, and the rhythm of that cycle beats in our hearts on a nearly genetic level.
The seasons roll, rebirth of life in the Spring, growth in the summer, harvest in the Fall, rest and fallowness of Winter, the slowing of the cycle in preparation of the rebirth of another Spring.
Hours of the day, seasons of the year, the rotation of generations, even the ebb and flow of wars seem to return again and again. Perhaps never exactly the same, but close enough for us to feel the familiarity.
“History never repeats itself, but it often rhymes.” -- Mark Twain
The other sort of journey is the line. I think most of us feel our lives are such stories. We are born, our lives wind around, events large and small mark the mileposts, and there is never any returning. If we do come back to where we had been once before, we feel that either we or the place has changed so much that it isn’t the same any more.
What is my story? What sort of plot am I living?
Brenda and I spent time together yesterday, this morning, this afternoon. We spoke honestly. We talked about where we are, what it would take for us to repair our marriage.
Not going to happen.
She feels guilt, shame, regret. She worries about our kids, how this will affect them. She is sorry about the burden this will place on me.
She wants this new life.
We talked about how we can work through this, move from husband and wife to friends, working together.
Throughout this I have tried to be honest, with myself, with her.
It has been a difficult journey, one that isn’t finished. I have tried to accept my faults, my failings, and that isn’t an easy honesty. I have failed in my marriage, and much of the mistakes I have made I see clearly now.
Brenda says I will find someone else.
Whatever.
I know... She is trying to help me see I have a future. She knows how important it is to me to share my life with someone, and she feels, well, sorry for me.
She tells me I’m intelligent, creative, sweet. That there are women out there who would love me.
I’m not interested.
Two things dominate my thoughts today. My children and my faith.
My self esteem has taken a beating, and the thought of other women... well... doesn’t seem... Hmmmph. Some writer, I am, I can’t put it into words.
There is another side of the self esteem issue that is more healthy.
I know I am insignificant. I have a fair concept of the size of the universe, a fair handle on the the number of stars in galaxies, the way galaxies dance together, form clusters, reach toward each other in spinning motions that take millions of years, how some form groups... I know of the 10,000 year beat of the thrumming of galactic superclusters.
I know I am insignificant. A single life form on a small ball of dirt on the edge of a rather ordinary island of stars inhabiting a place in the universe that has no particular difference from any other place in the universe.
Except...
I feel something. I sense something.
I know I am significant...
to God.
That doesn’t necessarily make things easy.
As I have wrestled with the issues in my life I have turned, again and again, to what my faith tells me to do.
Sometimes, being a Christ follower is a lot tougher than one would guess. I think about Jesus, what He did, how He lived, and it makes my decisions more difficult.
For example, if I worked hard at my marriage, if I got us into counseling, and worked to restore it... I know, I really know, she would hurt me again. She would not remain faithful.
I think about Christ, how He knew Judas would betray Him. Yet He loved Judas. He taught him and walked with him, and shared His life with him.
Could I do that? Could I offer her my heart, knowing she would betray it again someday?
This isn’t the trite teenage look at life, wondering “What would Jesus do?” This is my knowingly walking into a future that will hurt me, will harm me.
If I wrestled my heart to a place of submission where I could forgive her, really forgive her, would that be enough to call it a marriage?
Looking at His life, trying to follow His example, is tough.
Perhaps the struggle is enough. Perhaps in examining my life, in seeing my faults and weaknesses, and hers as well, perhaps in the climbing over of rough terrain, I gain the strength, the spiritual muscle, which is enough for the lessons set before me.
At any rate, it is clear it is over. We have talked, and been reasonable, and tried to help each other. And we will continue to work together, as we need to.
I thought about Robert Frost’s poem about the road diverging in the woods, and I know I have such a choice before me.
I share this choice, it is hers as well as mine, but I accept that this marriage has failed, that I have not been able to grasp onto it in a way that will save it. And I accept it. I accept my failures, own them.
My future will not be the one I thought it would.
I told Brenda this afternoon that no matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, I want to live my life to the end and feel I did it with as much integrity as I could.
I didn’t say it, but I know she heard the echo my words were creating...
“...well done good and faithful servant...” (Matthew 25:21)
Some day I expect to live in grandeur greater than the most majestic chorus of beauty sung by dancing galaxies. Not because I will have earned it, for I cannot, but because someone has thought me significant enough to give that to me.
It isn’t the sort of love I long for in my heart today, but it is enough for me to do my best, my very best, in loving my children, forgiving my wife, making tough choices.
I’m unsure if I should see this as a lesson along a long road of life with many twists and turns and rough terrain... or perhaps it is the return of a journey, the coming home part of the circle plot that this small life has told in its living.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Starbuck
Captain Ahab commanded the Pequod to its doom, his monomania driving him to sacrifice everything, his money, his friendships, his ship, his crew. The madness of his powerful ego made his revenge against Moby Dick, a symbol of the power of all nature, more important than anything else in all the world.
His first mate on the other hand cared nothing of the killing of any particular whale. Starbuck was a whaler, willing to kill the white whale if it came within reach, but only as a part of his livelihood. He was in the business of getting whale oil, the stuff for lubricating machinery, lighting lamps, and anointing kings.
Ahab was mad, insane. His insanity more clearly revealed when reflected in the calm eyes of the man charged with carrying out his orders.
The literary term for characters which reflect qualities in another is a “foil,” as in a shiny metal used in the Renaissance to illuminate jewels.
Ahab himself was unable to see his madness though Starbuck tried to tell him, show him.
I think most people look at those around them to help them judge themselves, and the inability to see the norm in those we are near is a dangerous weakness, a step towards a hubris that leads to self destruction.
In short, being near others helps us remain humble, remain true to ourselves, to recognize where we differ and helps us to raise our standards for our own behavior.
That is but one of the benefits of friends.
The other day I wrote of Adam’s loneliness, though he was in the company of God. It is a mistake for us to claim that we find all we need in God, for even God Himself (Themself?) saw that Adam needed a mate, someone like him, in order to be happy.
I was at Starbucks today. I met with a friend. He cares for me, and I for him. He said he’d buy me a cup of coffee, and I told him I would repay him by mentioning him in my blog.
So, my friend, thank you for the coffee. I appreciate it. You are a hero.
Aside from the free dose of caffein, I got something more important from him.
I got to look in his eyes, talk about things in my life, things of importance and things of no import at all. And in the reflection of his eyes I could read myself. I could see the insanity I was feeling as I choked up in commenting about the loving elderly couple I had seen chatting sweetly with each other a few minutes before. I didn’t have to say how that affected me. He knew how I must have seen their marriage, what it meant to me today.
He looked at what I had been writing in my Moleskine and we chatted about the strange idea there.
(Hang on, sideways shift in topic here.)
Here is what I had jotted down:
A Divine Idea
Premise; Act of observation affects the object of observation (a quantum mechanics detail of modern physics). ?: What role does thought play in the universe? ?: Might powerful ideas be spread aside from communication? Independent of speech? They might present themselves to minds. Ex.: God is love. Love permeates the universe in the way that God sustains the existence of the universe, the atoms themselves. Might the concept of love be independent of minds, of thought? If a mind is constrained by the brain (which I believe it is, independent of the physical organ itself), might an idea be constrained by a mind? Could love, as an idea be a “living” thing?
He looked it over, smiled, asked if he could write a quote onto the page. (I’d share it with you, but it would reveal who my friend is, and I’m unsure if he would appreciate that much attention in my blog. No sense in giving him too much of the shadow of notoriety!)
What does all this mean?
Nothing in itself.
In sharing my notes with him I could better judge if what I was thinking made sense, or if I’m nuts. (Of course, that is supposing he isn’t nuts!)
What is more important is the time itself we spent together.
It didn’t matter what we spoke of. What mattered was we were together.
I think God intended for us to be with each other, to share our lives. It occurs to me that people must have people around them or they get strange.
Just as Ahab encapsulated himself in his obsession, in excluding all rational thought or input from others, those who eschew others become... odd.
Think of those we know who live apart from people. The hermits, the loners, the self-absorbed.
I once spent a couple of months alone in a cave, reading. When I rejoined society I had difficulty fitting in.
Is there an example of this in the Bible? Well, Jesus surrounded Himself with people, with friends, with disciples. The company of others is good, healthy I (though getting away to prayer is also important.) Is there a loner in the stories there? Sure. John the Baptist, the wild man of the desert. Though John played a very important role in the gospels, it seems evident he was a little... odd. You know, eating bugs, wearing camel hair clothing and ranting and railing against the establishment.
One of the things I love about where I work are my coworkers. They are family to me.
I haven’t shared much with them of what has been happening in my life, yet it is clear they know something is up, that the are looking out for me, cutting me a little slack.
One of the things I love about where I worship are the members of my church family. Though I haven’t shared much with them of what has been happening in my life, yet the know something is up, and they tell me they are praying for me, the send me notes, they offer to bring food over.
One of the things I love about this blog are the readers who visit. They have prayed for me, sent me encouraging notes, told me I am not alone. And these are people I have never laid eyes upon.
Why do we need people so?
Because we are made in God’s image. Not only have we souls, eternal spirits, but we are built for community, just as God Themself is three individuals in a single being.
From the obvious importance we place on having a partner, to the examples of those who reject true companionship for omphaloskepsis.
It is clear that being with others is healthy, needful, and the way God made us.
Post Script: I wrote this last night, and I guess I’ll toss it onto the blog pile. Brenda was here, fixed and ate dinner with us. She obviously feels much guilt and is trying to do her penance.
And I had nightmares all night.
Invisible evil forces were killing and leaping from body to body, people to animals to heavy equipment. I saw over a dozen people shot in the head, horses kicking, dogs biting, blood and death in nearly every moment.
Brenda and I were staying in an old farmhouse... I wasn’t supposed to be there. The huge old sleigh bed felt like a trap as evil prowled around the house.
When I finally struggled awake I laid in that empty bed, heart pounding, sweating. I took a Xanax.
Brenda wants to come over and do little things for us. I think it may be drawing out the confusion and hurt, especially for Isaac.
His first mate on the other hand cared nothing of the killing of any particular whale. Starbuck was a whaler, willing to kill the white whale if it came within reach, but only as a part of his livelihood. He was in the business of getting whale oil, the stuff for lubricating machinery, lighting lamps, and anointing kings.
Ahab was mad, insane. His insanity more clearly revealed when reflected in the calm eyes of the man charged with carrying out his orders.
The literary term for characters which reflect qualities in another is a “foil,” as in a shiny metal used in the Renaissance to illuminate jewels.
Ahab himself was unable to see his madness though Starbuck tried to tell him, show him.
I think most people look at those around them to help them judge themselves, and the inability to see the norm in those we are near is a dangerous weakness, a step towards a hubris that leads to self destruction.
In short, being near others helps us remain humble, remain true to ourselves, to recognize where we differ and helps us to raise our standards for our own behavior.
That is but one of the benefits of friends.
The other day I wrote of Adam’s loneliness, though he was in the company of God. It is a mistake for us to claim that we find all we need in God, for even God Himself (Themself?) saw that Adam needed a mate, someone like him, in order to be happy.
I was at Starbucks today. I met with a friend. He cares for me, and I for him. He said he’d buy me a cup of coffee, and I told him I would repay him by mentioning him in my blog.
So, my friend, thank you for the coffee. I appreciate it. You are a hero.
Aside from the free dose of caffein, I got something more important from him.
I got to look in his eyes, talk about things in my life, things of importance and things of no import at all. And in the reflection of his eyes I could read myself. I could see the insanity I was feeling as I choked up in commenting about the loving elderly couple I had seen chatting sweetly with each other a few minutes before. I didn’t have to say how that affected me. He knew how I must have seen their marriage, what it meant to me today.
He looked at what I had been writing in my Moleskine and we chatted about the strange idea there.
(Hang on, sideways shift in topic here.)
Here is what I had jotted down:
A Divine Idea
Premise; Act of observation affects the object of observation (a quantum mechanics detail of modern physics). ?: What role does thought play in the universe? ?: Might powerful ideas be spread aside from communication? Independent of speech? They might present themselves to minds. Ex.: God is love. Love permeates the universe in the way that God sustains the existence of the universe, the atoms themselves. Might the concept of love be independent of minds, of thought? If a mind is constrained by the brain (which I believe it is, independent of the physical organ itself), might an idea be constrained by a mind? Could love, as an idea be a “living” thing?
He looked it over, smiled, asked if he could write a quote onto the page. (I’d share it with you, but it would reveal who my friend is, and I’m unsure if he would appreciate that much attention in my blog. No sense in giving him too much of the shadow of notoriety!)
What does all this mean?
Nothing in itself.
In sharing my notes with him I could better judge if what I was thinking made sense, or if I’m nuts. (Of course, that is supposing he isn’t nuts!)
What is more important is the time itself we spent together.
It didn’t matter what we spoke of. What mattered was we were together.
I think God intended for us to be with each other, to share our lives. It occurs to me that people must have people around them or they get strange.
Just as Ahab encapsulated himself in his obsession, in excluding all rational thought or input from others, those who eschew others become... odd.
Think of those we know who live apart from people. The hermits, the loners, the self-absorbed.
I once spent a couple of months alone in a cave, reading. When I rejoined society I had difficulty fitting in.
Is there an example of this in the Bible? Well, Jesus surrounded Himself with people, with friends, with disciples. The company of others is good, healthy I (though getting away to prayer is also important.) Is there a loner in the stories there? Sure. John the Baptist, the wild man of the desert. Though John played a very important role in the gospels, it seems evident he was a little... odd. You know, eating bugs, wearing camel hair clothing and ranting and railing against the establishment.
One of the things I love about where I work are my coworkers. They are family to me.
I haven’t shared much with them of what has been happening in my life, yet it is clear they know something is up, that the are looking out for me, cutting me a little slack.
One of the things I love about where I worship are the members of my church family. Though I haven’t shared much with them of what has been happening in my life, yet the know something is up, and they tell me they are praying for me, the send me notes, they offer to bring food over.
One of the things I love about this blog are the readers who visit. They have prayed for me, sent me encouraging notes, told me I am not alone. And these are people I have never laid eyes upon.
Why do we need people so?
Because we are made in God’s image. Not only have we souls, eternal spirits, but we are built for community, just as God Themself is three individuals in a single being.
From the obvious importance we place on having a partner, to the examples of those who reject true companionship for omphaloskepsis.
It is clear that being with others is healthy, needful, and the way God made us.
Post Script: I wrote this last night, and I guess I’ll toss it onto the blog pile. Brenda was here, fixed and ate dinner with us. She obviously feels much guilt and is trying to do her penance.
And I had nightmares all night.
Invisible evil forces were killing and leaping from body to body, people to animals to heavy equipment. I saw over a dozen people shot in the head, horses kicking, dogs biting, blood and death in nearly every moment.
Brenda and I were staying in an old farmhouse... I wasn’t supposed to be there. The huge old sleigh bed felt like a trap as evil prowled around the house.
When I finally struggled awake I laid in that empty bed, heart pounding, sweating. I took a Xanax.
Brenda wants to come over and do little things for us. I think it may be drawing out the confusion and hurt, especially for Isaac.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Walking in the Meme Light
I know I’m weird.
I take some folks off guard. They don’t know what to make of my weird ideas. Heck, I don’t know what to make of my weird ideas.
A weird idea isn’t necessarily a bad idea. Many ideas seemed weird when people first heard them. Yet many of those ideas turned out to be very powerful.
Still, I can understand how exposure to a continuing stream of weirdness could get old.
Perhaps that is why I lost my wife’s love.
Naturally my mind follows my heart, and I keep turning back to the idea that dominates my thoughts... my wife loves another.
I have a buddy who works across the hall from me. I wander in and out of his room two or three times a day, leaving a little trail of weirdness.
I think he kind of likes it, or at least he pretends to.
I suppose my faith, my beliefs, are a little weird for many folks.
Those beliefs were novel ideas at one time.
“Love your neighbor as you love yourself.”
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
“Bless those who curse you.”
Each night I put my sons to bed, talk with them, pray over them. Then I change into pajamas in an empty room, crawl into an empty bed.
In one sense I feel pretty alone.
In another, I feel like the entire universe is keeping me company.
Interesting idea, that.
I was thinking about being alone while I walked in the woods this afternoon. And I started thinking about Adam.
He was pretty lonely.
Interesting idea.
It seems fairly clear it was a common thing for God to talk with Adam, much as I talk each night with my sons. You know, all that walking in the cool of the evening stuff.
So, Adam hung out with God.
Isn't that an amazing idea?! Imagine walking in that garden, under the moonlight, with God.
But it wasn’t enough.
God recognized Adam needed another:
The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him." Genesis 2:18
Yet, He did not give Adam what he wanted, not right away. Instead, he put Adam to work.
“Now the LORD God had formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field.” Genesis 2:19-20
This is an interesting idea.
Adam had God with him, yet he was alone.
I find myself in a strange place. I find myself alone (well I’ve my kids, but they don’t count in this respect), without someone who can gaze with me at the decades ahead. It makes me feel like a rudderless ship.
But I’m not rudderless.
I’m a pretty fortunate man in that for me faith is so real, so very tangible. I sense God in the world around me. I so love the beauty of this world, and I am so lucky to be living in an age where I can gaze at images of microscopic and images of stellar wonders that were beyond the vision of previous generations. I rejoice in the smells, and tastes, and sights of this world.
I’m pretty fortunate in that I have experienced God so clearly in my life that I cannot feel truly alone.
Sure, I have the distance between me and God that everyone has had since those first orchard thieves. But I was designed to be connected to the universe, I was designed to walk in a very special garden in the cool of the evening, and that some day I will do that, and in some way, I do today.
Still... there is a part of me, a very sore place, that can hardly believe there isn’t anyone else in the bed with me.
How long did Adam work at naming animals? How long did God’s little gardner putter about the wonders and bounty of that beautiful place, but sighed because he was alone?
Isn’t that an odd idea?
He was alive in ways I cannot know, sharing a world with divinity in a way I haven’t felt, and still, he felt alone.
It took a long time for humans to move to where we are now. A lot of ideas.
Abraham told the world there was only one God. That was an idea which was considered very weird.
Moses told the world there was a living God who loved them, wanted to save them, guide them to a better place. Weird.
And Mary told the world she was pregnant with God Himself.
Weird hardly describes it. What a concept! God within the womb of a girl.
My faith is filled with such odd, such weird, ideas.
Ideas which shook the world.
Before I write another word, keep in mind I am aware my weird ideas rank nowhere near the import of those ideas. In fact, I’m pretty sure my ideas are probably quite wrong, and they will wither and die, as weak ideas should.
Richard Dawkins coined the term “meme” for ideas, arguing they thrived or died, they propagate through culture and lives, a lot like the darwinian concept of natural selection. Good ideas, no matter how weird they may be, reproduce themselves through the generations.
Perhaps I’m like some creature which has strayed too near a glowing Chernobyl.
My brain produces weird memes.
I guess I’m saying that though I ache for what I have lost, I know I have someone eager to walk in a garden with me, once I leap out of this sin-filled world... I sense I am made to walk in His company.
I also know I was created to share my life with another, and in losing that it is only natural I ache.
I’ll be OK.
And to me, for now, standing in the light of that idea, it strikes me as a little weird.
I take some folks off guard. They don’t know what to make of my weird ideas. Heck, I don’t know what to make of my weird ideas.
A weird idea isn’t necessarily a bad idea. Many ideas seemed weird when people first heard them. Yet many of those ideas turned out to be very powerful.
Still, I can understand how exposure to a continuing stream of weirdness could get old.
Perhaps that is why I lost my wife’s love.
Naturally my mind follows my heart, and I keep turning back to the idea that dominates my thoughts... my wife loves another.
I have a buddy who works across the hall from me. I wander in and out of his room two or three times a day, leaving a little trail of weirdness.
I think he kind of likes it, or at least he pretends to.
I suppose my faith, my beliefs, are a little weird for many folks.
Those beliefs were novel ideas at one time.
“Love your neighbor as you love yourself.”
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
“Bless those who curse you.”
Each night I put my sons to bed, talk with them, pray over them. Then I change into pajamas in an empty room, crawl into an empty bed.
In one sense I feel pretty alone.
In another, I feel like the entire universe is keeping me company.
Interesting idea, that.
I was thinking about being alone while I walked in the woods this afternoon. And I started thinking about Adam.
He was pretty lonely.
Interesting idea.
It seems fairly clear it was a common thing for God to talk with Adam, much as I talk each night with my sons. You know, all that walking in the cool of the evening stuff.
So, Adam hung out with God.
Isn't that an amazing idea?! Imagine walking in that garden, under the moonlight, with God.
But it wasn’t enough.
God recognized Adam needed another:
The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him." Genesis 2:18
Yet, He did not give Adam what he wanted, not right away. Instead, he put Adam to work.
“Now the LORD God had formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field.” Genesis 2:19-20
This is an interesting idea.
Adam had God with him, yet he was alone.
I find myself in a strange place. I find myself alone (well I’ve my kids, but they don’t count in this respect), without someone who can gaze with me at the decades ahead. It makes me feel like a rudderless ship.
But I’m not rudderless.
I’m a pretty fortunate man in that for me faith is so real, so very tangible. I sense God in the world around me. I so love the beauty of this world, and I am so lucky to be living in an age where I can gaze at images of microscopic and images of stellar wonders that were beyond the vision of previous generations. I rejoice in the smells, and tastes, and sights of this world.
I’m pretty fortunate in that I have experienced God so clearly in my life that I cannot feel truly alone.
Sure, I have the distance between me and God that everyone has had since those first orchard thieves. But I was designed to be connected to the universe, I was designed to walk in a very special garden in the cool of the evening, and that some day I will do that, and in some way, I do today.
Still... there is a part of me, a very sore place, that can hardly believe there isn’t anyone else in the bed with me.
How long did Adam work at naming animals? How long did God’s little gardner putter about the wonders and bounty of that beautiful place, but sighed because he was alone?
Isn’t that an odd idea?
He was alive in ways I cannot know, sharing a world with divinity in a way I haven’t felt, and still, he felt alone.
It took a long time for humans to move to where we are now. A lot of ideas.
Abraham told the world there was only one God. That was an idea which was considered very weird.
Moses told the world there was a living God who loved them, wanted to save them, guide them to a better place. Weird.
And Mary told the world she was pregnant with God Himself.
Weird hardly describes it. What a concept! God within the womb of a girl.
My faith is filled with such odd, such weird, ideas.
Ideas which shook the world.
Before I write another word, keep in mind I am aware my weird ideas rank nowhere near the import of those ideas. In fact, I’m pretty sure my ideas are probably quite wrong, and they will wither and die, as weak ideas should.
Richard Dawkins coined the term “meme” for ideas, arguing they thrived or died, they propagate through culture and lives, a lot like the darwinian concept of natural selection. Good ideas, no matter how weird they may be, reproduce themselves through the generations.
Perhaps I’m like some creature which has strayed too near a glowing Chernobyl.
My brain produces weird memes.
I guess I’m saying that though I ache for what I have lost, I know I have someone eager to walk in a garden with me, once I leap out of this sin-filled world... I sense I am made to walk in His company.
I also know I was created to share my life with another, and in losing that it is only natural I ache.
I’ll be OK.
And to me, for now, standing in the light of that idea, it strikes me as a little weird.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
A Walk in The Woods
Yesterday was our church’s monthly 24 hour prayer. I had the 8:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. slot, and knew the next hour was unassigned. I was looking forward to two hours there.
Jeremiah had gone with someone for an evening at a different church and wouldn’t be back until after 10:30. Isaac would be OK.
I prayed through ultra fine Sharpies on the wall, creating a leather apron on The Carpenter.
I prayed over my imploded marriage, over my parenting, and about my faith. I prayed my gratitude and my praises for He who made things of wood and created things of stars and things of hope and things of life.
The prayers took my heart on a short journey of self examination, confession, sorrow, and release.
I went back for another two hours this morning. Finished the apron.
Finished my prayers.
I got back home before the boys awoke.
On Saturdays Jeremiah has Special Olympics practice. I was going to be a coach this year, with Brenda... but...
I promised I would coach the Special Olympics bowling in the Fall, she can take this season.
It’s good she have this weekly connection with Jeremiah. I’ll spend Saturday morns with Isaac.
Frankly, seeing her each week, working with her there, the place where her boyfriend works, is more than I think I can accept.
Isaac and I went for a work out at the gym. She and Jeremiah were home when we returned.
She and I went over details of the house... bills, accounts, appointments. She rolled Isaac’s dreads.
I talked with the boys about my rereading the works of H. G. Wells. I told them I had requested DVDs of “The Time Machine” 2002, and 1960, and a radio drama of the story from from the 30s on CD.
Brenda pleasantly, if awkwardly, shared in the conversation with only slightly feigned interest. She and I are trying to negotiate a path, new and strange to both of us... a pair of people who care for each other, but who are headed in different directions, though we will continue to share certain responsibilities.
We took the dog for a walk.
A long one.
We spoke of details need doing. Of divorce papers, and the quit claim. We spoke of how to guide our children through the difficult times ahead. About the coming meeting with immigration on the 15th that could result in Jeremiah being denied residency, could even potentially include deportation (unlikely, but a scary possibility).
And we spoke gently. We spoke of how it is clear there is no turning from this path, though we still care for each other.
She hugged me, and told me how sorry she is, and how wrong she has been, and how we can still be kind to each other. We each shed a couple of tears.
I hugged her, told her I miss her, that I love her still, but I know I can never trust her with my heart.
We walked along the old logging road beneath maples and firs, overlooking the river, holding hands.
It was a tender walk, colored with sadness.
We each spoke of our own mistakes, confessing our sins to each other, forgiving each other, accepting this new reality.
I told her how I knew I could never really trust her again and how without such trust we could not have a marriage we would want.
She told me how she is sorry how things have turned out, and knows she spent, threw away, my trust. She said that when I had first discovered the affair we may have been able to make it work had she truly broken off with John and dedicated herself to working toward the understanding of each other we are now, ironically, reaching. She said this final failure of our marriage is hers, not mine.
I told her how I have been rethinking the past 28 years, seeing her, and seeing myself, in a new, more honest, light. How I know myself better, know her better, than I ever have.
My heart swung from sorrow to resolve, and from naked honesty to regret.
The walk was filled with echoes of old affections, reborn in new circumstances. We hugged several times, walked holding hands. She tried to defend her lover, I dismissed him with short arguments regarding honor and living a life without treachery and deceit. We decided perhaps we should change the subject.
I told her she is still my best friend and she cried over her betrayal.
We left our conversation with a rededication to a future where we would seek to help each other, being fair, kind, gentle, honest.
In some ways we are far more honest now than we have been in a very long time. We are free to be honest for there is little left to lose, little left to protect, little left to fear.
She will be back Monday morning, see the boys off to school as I head off to work.
We went over the details of immediate tasks need doing, and vague plans to get together over the divorce papers and changing bank accounts.
She loves me, and I love her.
We trust each other enough to be fair, to be honest and to work toward caring for the children, or at least my caring for them and she helping.
This love cannot extend to a future as man and wife, for there has been too much betrayal.
But... I can learn to live this new life, learn to be a single parent, learn to sleep in a bed alone.
And as strange as it sounds, I think we can do this with affection and caring.
I think I’ll go back to the Prayer Room now.
Jeremiah had gone with someone for an evening at a different church and wouldn’t be back until after 10:30. Isaac would be OK.
I prayed through ultra fine Sharpies on the wall, creating a leather apron on The Carpenter.
I prayed over my imploded marriage, over my parenting, and about my faith. I prayed my gratitude and my praises for He who made things of wood and created things of stars and things of hope and things of life.
The prayers took my heart on a short journey of self examination, confession, sorrow, and release.
I went back for another two hours this morning. Finished the apron.
Finished my prayers.
I got back home before the boys awoke.
On Saturdays Jeremiah has Special Olympics practice. I was going to be a coach this year, with Brenda... but...
I promised I would coach the Special Olympics bowling in the Fall, she can take this season.
It’s good she have this weekly connection with Jeremiah. I’ll spend Saturday morns with Isaac.
Frankly, seeing her each week, working with her there, the place where her boyfriend works, is more than I think I can accept.
Isaac and I went for a work out at the gym. She and Jeremiah were home when we returned.
She and I went over details of the house... bills, accounts, appointments. She rolled Isaac’s dreads.
I talked with the boys about my rereading the works of H. G. Wells. I told them I had requested DVDs of “The Time Machine” 2002, and 1960, and a radio drama of the story from from the 30s on CD.
Brenda pleasantly, if awkwardly, shared in the conversation with only slightly feigned interest. She and I are trying to negotiate a path, new and strange to both of us... a pair of people who care for each other, but who are headed in different directions, though we will continue to share certain responsibilities.
We took the dog for a walk.
A long one.
We spoke of details need doing. Of divorce papers, and the quit claim. We spoke of how to guide our children through the difficult times ahead. About the coming meeting with immigration on the 15th that could result in Jeremiah being denied residency, could even potentially include deportation (unlikely, but a scary possibility).
And we spoke gently. We spoke of how it is clear there is no turning from this path, though we still care for each other.
She hugged me, and told me how sorry she is, and how wrong she has been, and how we can still be kind to each other. We each shed a couple of tears.
I hugged her, told her I miss her, that I love her still, but I know I can never trust her with my heart.
We walked along the old logging road beneath maples and firs, overlooking the river, holding hands.
It was a tender walk, colored with sadness.
We each spoke of our own mistakes, confessing our sins to each other, forgiving each other, accepting this new reality.
I told her how I knew I could never really trust her again and how without such trust we could not have a marriage we would want.
She told me how she is sorry how things have turned out, and knows she spent, threw away, my trust. She said that when I had first discovered the affair we may have been able to make it work had she truly broken off with John and dedicated herself to working toward the understanding of each other we are now, ironically, reaching. She said this final failure of our marriage is hers, not mine.
I told her how I have been rethinking the past 28 years, seeing her, and seeing myself, in a new, more honest, light. How I know myself better, know her better, than I ever have.
My heart swung from sorrow to resolve, and from naked honesty to regret.
The walk was filled with echoes of old affections, reborn in new circumstances. We hugged several times, walked holding hands. She tried to defend her lover, I dismissed him with short arguments regarding honor and living a life without treachery and deceit. We decided perhaps we should change the subject.
I told her she is still my best friend and she cried over her betrayal.
We left our conversation with a rededication to a future where we would seek to help each other, being fair, kind, gentle, honest.
In some ways we are far more honest now than we have been in a very long time. We are free to be honest for there is little left to lose, little left to protect, little left to fear.
She will be back Monday morning, see the boys off to school as I head off to work.
We went over the details of immediate tasks need doing, and vague plans to get together over the divorce papers and changing bank accounts.
She loves me, and I love her.
We trust each other enough to be fair, to be honest and to work toward caring for the children, or at least my caring for them and she helping.
This love cannot extend to a future as man and wife, for there has been too much betrayal.
But... I can learn to live this new life, learn to be a single parent, learn to sleep in a bed alone.
And as strange as it sounds, I think we can do this with affection and caring.
I think I’ll go back to the Prayer Room now.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Goodbye
It isn’t any big surprise.
I knew it would be this way.
We had a meeting with the immigration attorney, preparations our April 15th interview with the INS folks in our attempt to get Jeremiah his U.S. permanent residence. It is a sticky mess, and there aren’t any certainties about getting him a “green card” and then, perhaps, citizenship five or six years later.
I drove. I patted Brenda on the knee as part of our “light” conversation.
I know her so well. Her reaction, or lack of it. The way she avoids looking at me, her excessive need of late to come over and do “mom things”, told me what I suspected.
She fixed a simple dinner for us (mac & cheese, corn, baked chicken) and she started washing the dishes. I told her to let Isaac do it, that I wanted to talk to her.
“You’ve been in contact with John, haven’t you?”
It was more of a statement than a question.
“Yes.”
“I thought so...
“OK... Could you go by the courthouse tomorrow and pick up the paperwork?”
“OK.”
“And see if you can locate a quit claim for the house.”
“OK.”
“I’m sorry it has come to this.”
“So am I. I really didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, let’s try to do this right. Let’s try to be kind to each other. Let’s try to make it through this and still be friends.”
“I’d like that... I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“No, it’s my fault too. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted in a husband. I guess I’m boring, like you said: ‘You’re a good man, and good is boring.’”
“No. I’ve been blaming you all these months and it has been me. I have made bad choices. I have been in the wrong. I just can’t stop thinking about him. I’m sorry.”
We went on like that for a little while. Promising that if things start to get rough on either of us, if we start to get angry, or excessively hurt, we’ll just walk away for a little while until we can talk to each other with kindness, gentleness.
So, it is over.
We are going to file for a divorce.
She loves someone else, she can’t stay true to her word of staying away from him. We have not been sharing each other’s hearts, and burdens, and dreams, and desires as a married couple should, as a married couple must.
We are going to do our best to be friends. After all, we have been best friends for a very long time. We have spent the last 28 years together.
I wish it wasn’t so. But wishing does not change the universe. Wishing won’t change her heart.
She says I have been extremely kind and generous.
I responded by saying she has been extremely fickle.
We smiled a little, hugged a little, even kissed a little. We really do love each other in a certain way. Just not the way that will maintain a marriage.
After the emotional stuff, after the talk about how to gently wean the boys from her frequent visits helping with cooking, shopping, and such, gradually preparing them for the reality of our future, we gave a few hugs, a few squeezes... small signs of affection which indicate how hard it is for both of us to admit where we really are... after all that we let each other go.
At the door I thrust my right hand out to her for a firm hand shake and said “Good luck to you,” the way a prospective employer might after just telling an interviewee that they aren’t quite right for the job.
I wore a small smirk, and she burst out laughing.
We gave each other a deep, long hug. Said goodbye.
I knew it would be this way.
We had a meeting with the immigration attorney, preparations our April 15th interview with the INS folks in our attempt to get Jeremiah his U.S. permanent residence. It is a sticky mess, and there aren’t any certainties about getting him a “green card” and then, perhaps, citizenship five or six years later.
I drove. I patted Brenda on the knee as part of our “light” conversation.
I know her so well. Her reaction, or lack of it. The way she avoids looking at me, her excessive need of late to come over and do “mom things”, told me what I suspected.
She fixed a simple dinner for us (mac & cheese, corn, baked chicken) and she started washing the dishes. I told her to let Isaac do it, that I wanted to talk to her.
“You’ve been in contact with John, haven’t you?”
It was more of a statement than a question.
“Yes.”
“I thought so...
“OK... Could you go by the courthouse tomorrow and pick up the paperwork?”
“OK.”
“And see if you can locate a quit claim for the house.”
“OK.”
“I’m sorry it has come to this.”
“So am I. I really didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, let’s try to do this right. Let’s try to be kind to each other. Let’s try to make it through this and still be friends.”
“I’d like that... I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“No, it’s my fault too. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted in a husband. I guess I’m boring, like you said: ‘You’re a good man, and good is boring.’”
“No. I’ve been blaming you all these months and it has been me. I have made bad choices. I have been in the wrong. I just can’t stop thinking about him. I’m sorry.”
We went on like that for a little while. Promising that if things start to get rough on either of us, if we start to get angry, or excessively hurt, we’ll just walk away for a little while until we can talk to each other with kindness, gentleness.
So, it is over.
We are going to file for a divorce.
She loves someone else, she can’t stay true to her word of staying away from him. We have not been sharing each other’s hearts, and burdens, and dreams, and desires as a married couple should, as a married couple must.
We are going to do our best to be friends. After all, we have been best friends for a very long time. We have spent the last 28 years together.
I wish it wasn’t so. But wishing does not change the universe. Wishing won’t change her heart.
She says I have been extremely kind and generous.
I responded by saying she has been extremely fickle.
We smiled a little, hugged a little, even kissed a little. We really do love each other in a certain way. Just not the way that will maintain a marriage.
After the emotional stuff, after the talk about how to gently wean the boys from her frequent visits helping with cooking, shopping, and such, gradually preparing them for the reality of our future, we gave a few hugs, a few squeezes... small signs of affection which indicate how hard it is for both of us to admit where we really are... after all that we let each other go.
At the door I thrust my right hand out to her for a firm hand shake and said “Good luck to you,” the way a prospective employer might after just telling an interviewee that they aren’t quite right for the job.
I wore a small smirk, and she burst out laughing.
We gave each other a deep, long hug. Said goodbye.
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