"You Don't Need a Counselor..."

I'm taking care of myself. I went for an early walk at Molalla River State Park to pray.

I drank plenty of water. Limited myself to one cup of coffee. I ate though I had no appetite.

We had a marriage counseling session at 10:00.

Brenda called early, asked if she could come over, do some laundry, walk the dog.

I knew the boundaries thing would be part of the discussion in our one hour session, so I didn't bother trying to put her off. We will talk about it later.

I went out to the yard, worked on removing the grass for the walkway I wanted to put in this afternoon.


I showered when she was done. She drove.

"Can I do the rest of my laundry after we're done with the session?"

I didn't say anything.

"What's the matter? You make me feel like I'm not welcome in my own home. Like you don't want me to even come by, that I'm intruding."

I had to answer... "I thought we'd probably discuss that sort of thing during the session. Let's wait until after we are done there before talking about what happens next."

Oh heck... I'm too tired to write this properly... Let me jump right through the whole thing.

The session lasted only a half hour. I explained that all I want is a wife who loves me and I can trust. She talked about how she has been wronged.

The counselor finally suggested we don't need a counselor, we need a lawyer.

We agreed.

The ride home was like sharing a closet with a porcupine-badger hybrid.

She was furious.

Talked about how she wanted to protect me from the financial consequences of a divorce.

"You still don't get it!" I said.

"You keep talking about money, or how you feel guilty about how hard I am working, or how you feel that you aren't needed because we are doing OK. I don't give a shit about any of that.

"When you left the last time I accepted it. I accepted that I would take over. That I would be paying all the bills. That I would be feeding the boys, washing clothes, doing the shopping, housecleaning, making and taking the boys to appointments. I don't want you for the things you have done, can do. I accept that I will do that.

"The only thing I wanted from you was a lifetime mate, someone to love me, and someone I can trust."

She took the blank papers to fill out for the divorce. I told her we will figure out what are our debts, and go refinance the house so she can get what she needs, what is fair.

She left, angry.

And she called back later. Apologized. Understood that this is for real. I am serious.

I told her I love her, that I wish the best for her. That I wish I could see a way for us to find each other, for me to trust her again, but that would take a miracle. She would have to really give up, let God take her, remake her.

We both choked up a little, looking at the smoldering ruins of our marriage.

I went and distracted myself helping a friend with a few chores.

Came home. Distracted myself with working on that walkway with my sons.


A friend from the church came over to pick my brain over ideas on how to create a space at our church that helps kids celebrate God's creation.

Afterward my kids and I did a little last minute shopping for the camping trip we are going on tomorrow (back Sunday afternoon).

OK...

I'm getting a divorce.

I love the beauty of the world, I enjoy the blessings of God, I walk beside my Lord, and I am bleeding inside because a cherished dream has turned to dust.

Beware of Darkness

Watch out now, take care
Beware of the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night

Beware of sadness
It can hit you
It can hurt you
Make you sore and what is more
That is not what you are here for

"Beware of Darkness"
--George Harrison

I've been stoic while with Brenda. I show no reaction, say nothing, when she says and does the things which would, did, get a rise out of me.

There are so many little things that need doing.

I went grocery shopping, pretty much for the month. I used the coupons Brenda had clipped, went to two stores to make the most of them. I'm not used to it, comparisons of quality, price per ounces, what is needed and what is simply tempting because of the coupon...

The counselor was telling Brenda and I about Jeremiah, how much he has improved, how he can tell a narrative now. In fact, his IQ scores jumped from 46 to 62 since the testing after the fire three years ago.

(By the way... yesterday we received from the district attorney papers showing those charges have been expunged from his records! Hurray!)

The counselor was relating how well Jeremiah could express himself. She quoted him:

"Mommy moved in with her boyfriend in Molalla. That's not good. You're not supposed to have a boyfriend if you are married. But it's OK, she's staying with Grandma now. And she sees us."

Brenda stiffened.

The counselor continued. She related how Jeremiah had a fair grasp on things, and was able to remember details of things that indicate he has a pretty good working memory. How his mom prepared his favorite foods.

"Yeah, food is pretty important to him," Brenda said. "But he doesn't remember sitting on the bathroom counter with Isaac so I could brush his teeth while Daddy watched reruns of Star Trek! I've done some bad things. Those he remembers. He doesn't remember me taking him to Special Olympics while Daddy did stuff on the computer! He doesn't remember me working my tail off around the house while Daddy sat in classes to get the education I was paying for!"

I didn't say anything. A moment passed, and the counselor continued explaining the growth demonstrated in our children.

I'm rereading The Shack. I don't know why... I guess I am trying to find solace in a personal God while my heart churns, my mind boils with random thoughts... the new theory of quantum gravity, designing my curriculum for the year, the movement to large scale no-till farming, writing the acceptance letter for the scholarship funding two teams of robotics this coming year, a new connection to a professional animation studio willing to work with my students, my wife's infidelity, how I can better explain why the sky is blue to Isaac, the genetic research into human migration patterns, the oral tradition patterns in the Book of Job, what I might put together for a Sunday Service at our church campout, how to teach my sons to be men, the variations in Mbuti Pygmy music...

And I'm trying to keep my mind from darkness.

I'm writing a little piece on Satan's role in the Book of Job and what it implies for my faith.

I'm trying not to think about my imploding marriage.

I'm sweating in my yard. laying paving stones so the trash bins can hide discreetly behind a fence.

I'm trying not to think about Brenda's anger, turned toward me, her claims of my unfairness...

I had an epiphany a few weeks ago.

I realized that God wants me to be happy.

I can't imagine Him very well. I take what I surmise of His nature from scripture and try to expand it to a consciousness that can contain all the matter of the universe, all the diverse souls of Creation, love so vast it isn't constrained by time and space.

And, swirling underneath it all, is the temptation for a omphaloskeptic dive into sorrow and self pity. To heed the sibilant whispers of darkness disguised as light.

I think that is what Brenda is doing... swirling into darkness.

I've held my hand out to her for as long as I could.

Heavenly Father... My Lord. Bless my wife. She is angry and hurt and full of self-loathing. Stir her heart Lord. Help her to feel You near, to want You closer...

She sees all we have built here, all she has worked to build here, evaporating away.

Tomorrow we go to the marriage counselor. I need to be prepared for her usual onslaught of blame and finger pointing... I've been rehearsing what I might say...

I have made a lot of mistakes, and I have worked hard for years to repair the damage. But I cannot undo the past, and that is the only thing you wish to talk about. And I understand that. Because in the past you can find the moments that support your views, excuse your actions. You are afraid and I understand that. But even in your fear you are failing to see a larger picture. You are missing what I need, the security of a faithful wife, of love. And I get that, also. For in seeing my needs you are faced squarely with your current failures. The fact that you have betrayed me over and over, yet I sit here, watching to see if the Lord will perform a miracle, says that I am kinder, more forgiving, more loving, than you deserve.

Of course, I know I receive such forgiveness and love from God. Undeserved forgiveness. And that is humbling.

That is the miracle I pray for you. Humility. I pray that you will look and see the blessing God has poured over you, and that the only way you can enjoy those blessings is if you humble yourself, give up on being right, on justifying yourself, and open your heart fully.

You are hoping I will relent and let you move back in. You are hoping I will fall back into my own self-destructive habits which have allowed you to hurt me so much. Those hopes are not well-founded, though they certainly have precedent.

I'm not sure if I can rediscover a trust for you, but that is a prerequisite for me to allow any woman, you or someone else, into my heart and home again.

Ah well...

These posts of late are not the sort of writing I care to do. They aren't pithy, they ramble too much. They aren't insightful, my mind isn't clear enough to make the connections between my experience and my faith I know are there (but someday I will again).

But, they are a fair record of the bits and pieces of flotsam drifting around the site of my sinking marriage.

That's enough for now. I think I'll avoid going any further along these lines tonight. I'm tired. I'll go pray. It keeps my mind from spinning in darkness. It is not what I am here for.

Changing the Subject

To my delight the last day or so there have been several comments about my garden.

I'm planning on writing about today's interactions with my family and faith later this afternoon or evening, but I thought I'd indulge myself with a change of subject for a moment and post some photos of my garden.

Bush beans, sunflowers, cantelope, corn

Artichokes

Yellow Neck Squash

Tomatoes

Strawberries

Boundaries

I don't understand her.

Obviously.

She moved out, I accepted it. She stayed with him only a few days. I told her she couldn't move back.

She asked to keep some clothes here as there was no room at her mom's and they were getting ruined in her car. Not having an immediate reason to say "No", I agreed, to find she was already in town, ready to unload.

Since then I have told her clearly she cannot come back, she needs to find another option.

Tantrums, anger, resentful resignation... But still, there seems too many ways for her to find a reason to be here.

We had to go over bills, her money is directly deposited in our account, I had just gotten my monthly pay. It was useful, having her explain the automatic withdrawals, the bills that haven't come in yet... The boys walked around with grins on their faces.

We have an appointment for the boys Wednesday morning... psych testing in preparation of Jeremiah's ability to receive disability, Isaac's school courses for his senior year.

We have another counseling appointment Thursday morning, marriage counselor.

And every step of the way, through all this, I have been seeking to make clear the boundaries I wish for our home.

And she wedges the crack open each time.

After the bills she wanted to talk. Somewhere private.

"OK."

She suggested my favorite restaurant in town.

She misses running with the dog, he constantly moans and whines for her. She called to ask if she could take him for a run this morning.

"OK."

Isaac was just coming down for the morning, she started fixing him his favorite breakfast while I was setting up the sprinkler in the yard.

I know, I know...

This is crazy.

She moved out. She made a choice. I have made it clear she cannot come back until I trust her and see us living the rest of our lives as true partners, truly married. (I can't see it now.)

She is operating out of guilt and a sense of responsibility. She has begun working on getting back in only after I have made it clear I don't wish it.

--------------

I have been writing a little at a time on this post all day, and have had to take many breaks to do various tasks... I'm hoping to finish right now... but this is a heads up in case the flow seems odd.

--------------

I've been thinking about us, and the boys, and the marriage counselor's appointment on Thursday, and the comments and emails, and my faith, and the whole snarled mess twisting around in my heart.

When Brenda had the accident that totaled her car, she said it was a wake up call. That she knew she wanted to be my wife. That she had really screwed things up and wanted to fix it.

She begged me.

I said yes, with the usual caveat that this was the last time.

But it wasn't. And I felt her slipping away just weeks into her return. That was when my tired heart began to accept the end of our marriage.

When she packed her stuff in a rage and moved back to John, I was calm, accepting of the situation. I told her I loved her, wished her well.

It didn't last long, and she has been trying to slowly work her way back. She has accused me of being mean, of making things hard for her, for a lot of things. She has made threats about taking the equity out of the house, hoping the fear of higher mortgage payments might soften me enough for me to just drop the whole mess.

But, I have been quietly suggesting she find an apartment, or some other solution, gently dissuading her from helping me in this home, with the boys.

The ties of counseling sessions for the boys and us are somewhat legitimate reasons for us to work together.

But...

With this last move of hers I have finally given up on my dream of having a lifelong mate. It is a hard dream to shake... but, the tatters of that dream are drifting away.

She still doesn't get it.

She appeals to my sense of fairness. She appeals to me in terms of possessions, money, our children.

She doesn't see what my needs are, though I have said them clearly, even written them out.

I want a partner. I want a mate. I want someone to share my life with. I want someone I trust.

She does not fit such descriptions.

I'll go to counseling... because I believe it is fair, honorable, loving. But I have trouble imagining anything will come of it because, she isn't changing.

She isn't seeking to change how she deals with the world, with me. She still blames her unhappiness on everything but herself.

She isn't seeking to change her relationship with God. She still blames Him for evils of the world which spring from free will.

She isn't even seeking to stop drinking, believing that this crisis in her life gives her adequate excuse to cut herself a little slack.

My kids are pushing for me to relent. My wife is pushing for me to relent. Many friends are pushing for me to remain strong, tough love stuff. Many friends are encouraging me to continue to pray, to seek the Lord's direction.

I really haven't much in me anymore that makes life simple, clear.

Except...

I cannot allow this pendulum relationship to continue to hurt my children.

I cannot allow this horology to move my family through crisis after crisis.

I cannot allow this see-saw of my heart, my self esteem, to continue.

Oddly enough, this determination makes it easier for me in the large view of things if not the short term. I feel I can be patient with her, go to counseling, speak with her. The tougher part is the small things, the moments when she wants to help, needs a little something.

I am rehearsing in my mind the things I want to say at the counselor's. My need for stability, for love, for faithfulness, for trust. My need for stepping off this merry go round.

And, my willingness to be available for a miracle. For helping her find her way to God. I would love to see her completely surrender her will to God.

But though I am willing to see it, even pray for it, I find it unrealistic to expect it.

Here's the thing. I want to be a good man. I really want to do what is right. I want to please God. I want to be obedient and true. I am willing to do some very hard things if I believe my Lord is asking it of me.

She doesn't.

That needs to change. I am firm in this resolve.

Heavenly Father, I lift all I have, all I am, up to You, offer it up to You. I am Your servant. Tell me what You wish me to do, and I will obey. Even when the offering hurts, such as when I gave You Willy, and You took him, I am willing to obey. I offer You my home. Guide me as I work with these boys. Guide me as I manage this house. Guide me as I deal with Brenda. Thank you for the blessings You have continually poured over me. Thank you for my friends. Thank you for the advice and encouragement and prayers of so many who obviously love me for reasons I don't quite get. Help me to remain steady and true and obedient and strong. Help me to guard my home, to set healthy boundaries with my wife and with my life. All I have is Yours. Amen.

--------------------------

Random shift just to lighten things up:

Question in an email from a friend:

What's your favourite thing to grow in your garden?

My answer:

I love to grow corn because it is so visible and tastes so good fresh (I sometimes it eat raw, right there in the garden).

I love to grow the sunflowers because most years (not this one) they reach 10 feet tall and are so beautiful.

I love to grow strawberries because of all the things in my garden, they are the sweetest, most flavorful things the garden produces... and this year, the plants have finally matured enough to produce abundantly and all the red is pretty. It bothers me that the world is missing out on Oregon strawberries. California produces large, beautiful berries with no flavor, and so many people buy them up because of their appearance, most folks don't know what they should taste like. Oregon farmers can't seem to compete. BUY OREGON STRAWBERRIES!

I love to grow tomatoes and lettuce because they are so useful, going straight into the kitchen on such a regular a basis.

So... not much of an answer.

Hard to choose one thing.

I guess corn.

Whew! That was such a change of topic. So refreshing!

Growing a Spine

Brenda is really ticked. She called several times, sent text messages...

"You are making it hard for me to do the right thing."

"...I guess it feels very unfair that no matter how much of our belongings I may have paid for nothing is mine anymore. Oh I know that was my choice but damn it feels a lot like there is no longer any reason for me to stick around! There's nothing for me here that I couldn't have regardless of where I was staying, so what's the use?"

"I am not sure it is worth it to work so hard for a relationship I have not been happy in for such a long time. I guess I could rent a storage space for my stuff while I am at Mom's but it will really reduce the chances of our ever working things out at least I can probably afford that better than an apartment and have access to my personal belongings until I get a full time job. I'd rather not force you to take out a loan on the house at a time when I know it will put more of an economic strain on you. Perhaps I can afford my own place in a few months."

She will be up soon and off to work. Her anger will smolder all day, in her mind creating more justifications for the way she feels, the unfairness of my actions.

I just typed up the following letter and put it on her windshield:

Brenda:

I am so sorry that we are in this place, and most especially about how you are feeling.

It is partly my fault. If I had treated your betrayal during your first affair this seriously, demanding a separation that gave us both space to work on our relationship without the muddiness of something in between, it may have been fixed then. I was weak. I wanted you back (I still do), but I sent you signals that what you had done wasn’t so bad.

I made it worse by responding the same way the second time you moved out.

And the third.

Each time I took you back I said I would not ever do it again. And in letting you walk back again again, I lost a piece of my self respect, and gave you the impression it was OK to betray me.

I believe that your coming and going from our home is confusing to the boys, as it is to me. It needs to be treated as serious as it really is.

You chose to move out. You said you would not help, or return.

I believe we both need some space to heal.

It hurts a great deal that every time we speak you use some sort of threat to get me to do what you want. You have not told me anything that makes me feel that I am nothing more than a disposable piece of shit.

You constantly threaten if I do this or that you will not be likely to work on our relationship, which is the only part of this that matters to me.

You continue to tell me how important John is to you without saying how important I should be, or that I am loved, or that I am worth anything. Instead you threaten legal issues, emotional issues, tell me how little you will do to help.

I don’t give a shit about any of that. I just don’t want this yo yo stuff to continue. Four times you have left me for another.

If things were reversed, I believe you would have kicked my ass out the first time, demanded a permanent legal separation, and had me demonstrate I could be faithful before I would be allowed back in the house.

Somehow, in our society, if a man were to do the same thing he would have been kicked out on his ass and made to live on his own the first time.

This is not what I want.

When you read the last letter I wrote you said: “You’re right. It’s true. You deserve this.”

But, you have not done anything yet to provide for me what I need.

I am so sorry that we are here. But this is exactly what you said you would do, and now you have been trying to back away from that.

Show me I can trust you. Convince me I can trust you. I can’t have you hurt me or the boys this way any more.

I feel like heel.

Here it is 5:00 a.m. I have been up since 4:00... after going to bed at midnight.

Friends

I have a lot of friends.

That continues to surprise me because I never had much in the way of friends growing up. I have a buddy from junior high, but no one else from school.

Kids thought me a little odd I suppose. Sort of the science nerdy type... though I could physical if pushed.

But... I have a lot of friends now. People in my church love me. My Moon Howlin' buddies would be available for me any hour of the day. And there are folks at work who are much more than colleagues.

And, I have you.

I don't think I can convince you how much I appreciate all you have done for me.

I'm just a guy in an odd corner of the internet, and I have so many people dropping in to read my posts, to leave words of encouragement, to pray for me daily.

I am deeply honored and very surprised. (I don't like the word "very" but what the heck, I'm going to use it now). How is it that so many people care that much about me?!

The comments I have been receiving have buoyed me. They are a touchstone I can rub against, test myself and see if I am who I think I am.

I appreciate you so much!

OK... what's going on... The interactions with Brenda the last few days has revealed something to me... something about me.

I am codependant.

I depend on her in ways that are not healthy. Part of my identity is tied to not only being a husband, but being her husband. It has been very difficult to hold my ground as I try to set boundaries she so deftly crosses.

Today, after church, I took the boys out. It was only 11:30, but I decided if we weren't home we couldn't get drawn into anything with her. There was a 2:00 movie we could catch, and we killed time until then.

It was difficult, wandering the mall with the boys. My heart was pounding. I felt woozy. I suppose not eating today might have something to do with that.

She called about 1:00, asking where I was. She was at the house because "she was doing some cleaning at her mom's and needed some other clothes to work in."

The message was clear. I had the windows and doors locked. She was ticked.

I can see she has not realized what I need... I told her to reread that letter from Friday. I can see that she hasn't taken me seriously.

On the phone she said "You're making it very hard for me to do the right thing."

A couple of things about that remark.

First, it implies I am responsible for her actions, that her doing the right thing depends on me.

Secondly, it implies that her motivations for trying to work things out come from a sense of guilt and responsibility.

That isn't enough for us to be married.

I don't trust her.

That's enough right there.

That I even entertain the idea that there may be a way for us through this shows how far down the road of codependance we have come.

She is responsible for herself.

I suggested again she get an apartment (hence the above statement).

This is tough for me.

It is tough because of all the responsibilities for this home I have picked up.

It is tough because I do not want to give up on the fantasy I had for my life, of being true to one woman. (I have not kissed another woman since I met Brenda February 29, 1980.)

It is tough because I have entwined my life so much with hers that even when we have gone this far apart, I feel that pushing her away, setting these boundaries, is like ripping out a part of me.

That was a little melodramatic, wasn't it?

But... it is how I feel. It hurts more than I can find words to express.

So...

I'm off to an Al Anon meeting.

God bless you for your friendship.

Metacognition

Went to see Brenda last night. I'm not sure what I expected, so I went prepared. I wrote something for her to read:

---------------------

Brenda: I’m just not sure of your intentions. Much of that can, and should, wait until we see the counselor. But, though you have “left” John, I’m unsure if this means anything.

After your first affair you were very remorseful. So much so that we had a second marriage ceremony. We exchanged vows again. That seemed about as earnest as things could get.

This past year you have moved out three times. The last time you came back was after your accident. You called me first at the time of the accident. I came immediately to your aid.

You said you knew that the accident was a wake up call. That you had to change. You begged me to take you back. You said you’d sleep in the van. You said you would do whatever I said to make it work.

That lasted only a few weeks.

You then betrayed me again.

Now we are on the merry go round again.

You have moved out from John, but when it comes to my asking you what you want to do, you have only the vaguest answers:

“I moved in to my mom’s,” does not address how we are to move forward.

That is a lot to ask me to believe after the times you have broken your word, hurt me and our kids.

A change where you “let go and let God.” A change that makes us partners, not slaves to the past or each other.

If you are not willing to really make such changes, then it would be best if we call it quits. I can’t take any more of the yo yo stuff.

I deserve more than this.

---------------------

"Yeah. You're right. OK."

Over the next few hours (we walked around an REI tent sale, had dinner, sat in her motel room and talked) I didn't see what I was hoping to see.

A repentant Brenda. A woman who sees and owns her mistakes. A woman I could trust.

I have toyed with the idea of giving myself a little break. A couple of days to catch my breath somewhere. A short retreat.

I thought about having Brenda here to watch the boys, but I know it isn't a good idea.

She said she wants to want me. She wants to want to be my wife. What a tepid answer to all my questions!

She has been thinking that this is about the boys. This is about finishing the job of raising them.

"And what about after they are moved out? What about us then?" I asked.

"Well, hopefully we would have learned to love each other again and can stay married."

I had a soda with dinner last night I had never tried before (Brenda had a beer). Moxie. I like vintage sodas, Sarsparilla, root beer, Verner's Ginger Ale. This one has an aftertaste that is bitter and... odd. Like the conversation we were having last night.

She mentioned that she needed to do laundry. There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Well, I'm planning on doing laundry tomorrow, but you can come over and do yours too if you need. But you need to let me know when you are coming first."

Another uncomfortable pause.

After a while she said that there was a laundry place at her mom's apartments.

I didn't say anything.

After a while I said, "You're going to need an apartment. You can't stay forever on your mom's couch."

"An apartment!?! I thought I'd be moving back in a few weeks when the boys go back to school! How can I afford an apartment working part time?

"I feel like I am losing my home!"

"You aren't losing it. You threw it away.

"I've been telling you, if we are going to move forward together, I need to be convinced that I can trust you. That is up to you. You can't do that in just a few weeks. And truthfully, our conversation tonight hasn't shown me any signs of improvement. You are still blaming circumstances for your actions. Most of this we can talk about in counseling. But I'm not getting the sense that there has been any real change in you."

The conversation went on like that for a while.

She mentioned that half the house belongs to her. I think that was supposed to frighten me because of the financial burden refinancing would mean in order to give her her share. House payments would certainly go up, and things are already tight. I told her I have always been ready to do all of that.

She mentioned how I told her I felt robbed, and that she was doing this because I am asking her to.

"No, when I told you I felt robbed by what you have done, I wasn't asking you to come back so I could regain the help and love I need. I was telling you that to share how I feel, my emotions. That has nothing to do with the fact that I accept the responsibility of this house, these children, and that I am willing to move on."

She is bitter, like that soft drink, and she isn't showing that what I need is important to her besides the burden of work I am doing in caring for these boys. And that is more about her guilt than her wanting to help me.

She was lying on the bed, feeling sorry for herself. Saying she wished she was dead.

I finally had enough. Patted her shoulder, told her to take care of herself and get some sleep. She didn't reply.

I went to the door, stepped outside, turned...

"You should be thinking about the mess in your heart and how you need to grow. You should be hugging me, kissing me, telling me I am loved."

I shut the door. Went home.

I know I'm not dealing with all of this very well. I see how my heart and mind works.

I'm not convincing her of anything except perhaps that I am serious about working things out and about being firm if they don't.

I know other things about myself as well.

I know I am very tired. I am drained emotionally, physically, spiritually.

And I see how my mind is working. Metacognition.

I see I have been rolling back and forth through the first four stages of grief and have only just begun to tentatively take step five. I see I am motivated by reaching for Maslow's third level of needs. I see I am more driven by empathy for others than self preservation.

We have a counseling session on Tuesday. It is something I will do because it is the right thing. But, I don't have any faith that she will change.

Last night she says that I have changed in the last few years which adds to her guilt. That implies that she sees the problems stemming from causes outside herself.

She still doesn't get it.

I'll continue to be aware of who I am, and try to find my way through this. Mostly likely, without her.

Lord, give me strength, peace, and wisdom. I am in need of Your guidance. --Amen.

Odin's Day

After a day of working around the house, the boys and I watched a movie... and were scooping ice cream when she called.

"I was wondering if I could bring some of my clothes over and keep them there. They are getting ruined packed in the car."

My first impulse was to say "No," she doesn't live here, her stuff should be moving out, not in. But I couldn't think of a good reason to say it. Crammed into her car they wouldn't be any good to wear to her job at the bank, and her mom's small apartment wouldn't have any place for them.

"OK."

"Good. I'm already in town and I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Already in town. Already driven a half hour to get here. Already assumed she would get what she wants.

She came, moved clothing from the trunk of her car to our closet while I sat in the wicker chair on the porch, eating a cup of ice cream covered with strawberries from our garden.


Trip after trip, calmly reversing the packing she had done a week ago in such fury.

When she was done she came out, said she was going to say "goodbye" to the boys, go back to the motel in Tualatin.

I nodded.

I walked her to her car.

"I went through the mail. Most of it was junk, so I threw it away."

Again, just taking over. Probably was junk.

"So, tell me, what's going on? What are your plans?"

"Well, I'm going to start staying at Mom's Saturday."

I waited.

"What do you want?"

"I want to know whether or not we are working on this marriage or moving on. Telling me that you're staying at your mom's isn't very informative. I want to have a clear idea of where my future is headed before I go back to work in a few weeks. Are we working things out, or are we getting a divorce?"

"Well, I only have two choices, stay at Mom's or," her voice lowered, "go back to John's."

I stood there, frowning a little.

"What?"

"That was a pretty tepid answer to my question."

"What do you want to hear?"

"The truth. Clearly. I don't want a limbo where you slowly regain what you have thrown away. I want to know that we are going to work on things or not. I need to know that you have really changed, and I'm not seeing that.

"This isn't like before. You can't just easily fix this.

"You have to convince me. I have to believe that there has been a real change. I'll give you the chance to show it, but this is really up to you to prove it, and it has to be soon. I am not going into another year at work with this kind of uncertainty in my home."

She was quiet. Hugged me... haltingly. Left.

I went in. Did dishes.

She called an hour later.

"The soonest I can go to a counselor with you is August the 13th."

Wednesdays are her usual day off, but there are appointments already throughout the day next Wednesday, and the week after that her boss has asked her to work to fill in for someone.

I asked, found a couple of other days of the week when she doesn't work in the morning so we aren't limited to just Wednesdays.

Wednesdays.

Woden's Day.

Wednesday is named after the Norse god Odin. He sacrificed an eye in a bargain to drink from the well of wisdom.

Wisdom is my constant prayer request.

My children miss their mother. When Isaac asks, I tell him plainly that I have grave doubts about whether or not we can work it out.

"What are the chances?" he asked last night. "What percentage would you give it?"

"I can't answer that. I think right now she would come back if I said she could. But I don't think it would last. I won't let her come back unless I believe it is forever, and tell you the truth, Honey... I just don't trust her. I won't let her come back unless I see that she has really changed, and she is a long ways from showing that she is even close to that change."

Tears formed in his eyes.

"I know this is hard. But it is the way it is. I'm working to figure it out, make our lives steady, something you can trust. And I would do a lot to make that happen. But most of what needs to happen is inside Mommy's heart, and there isn't much I can do about that. I cannot give you an idea of the chances because I cannot see what is going on inside her... if she is ready to give up on the way she has been seeing things, and comes to rely on God, and see Him as someone she can trust, someone Who loves her."

I'll see if I can arrange those counseling sessions, but I am skeptical they will do any good.

I do not see a changed Brenda. I do not see a Brenda who has grappled with her demons and turned her heart around, turned her heart over to God.

I see a Brenda who is operating out of a sense of guilt and shame. Perhaps a sense of responsibility, knowing she has dumped everything on me, the challenges in raising these boys.

I see a Brenda who still does not know herself.

I do not see someone I trust.

I see someone I love. Someone I swore to love in sickness and in health, and she is very ill inside.

But her illness may be more than I can handle. Her illness costs me too much.

The hard part is maintaining boundaries. She steps so deftly around and over them.

I still avoid confrontations with her.

So, I settle for letting my silence speak my unease, my concerns, my displeasure.

She knows me well enough to understand those silences.

I'll contact the counselor's office today. I will try to set up a regular set of sessions on Wednesdays. I'll seek to create a space where we can discuss what is going on without letting it degenerate into something destructive.

I seek wisdom from the source from which Solomon found it, not Odin.

The counselor I have in mind is a christian.

Let's see if she can work some wisdom into our lives on Odin's Days.

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

I fell asleep last night without going to my sons and praying with them, talking with them, blessing them.

I was exhausted.

I awoke this morning feeling like I have the flu. No fever, but overly sensitive hearing, sense of touch, waves of nausea, and wanting to stay in bed.

But I got up, and I'm at the computer. My mind won't stop, won't rest.

Brenda is at a motel not too far from her work. She invited me to come see her, but I haven't. She needs time to think without my input.

And I'm thinking too.

OK... enough of a preamble. I am obviously avoiding what I sat down to write.

Though it is true that this mess is of Brenda and my choices, I keep thinking about him, John. I've had a recurring impulse to go see him.

I know where he works. I know where he lives.

I've shared this with some folks, and their advice ranges from "If it is true, if it is honest... do it." to "You go over there and I'll bust your chestnuts." In between are ones that suggest I pray about it, listen to my heart, listen for God's direction.

Last Sunday's post ended with a passage from scripture:

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,"says the Lord.

On the contrary:
"If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
--Romans 12:17-20

What I want to do is go tell him off. I want to tell him he is a weasel. That he continued a relationship with a married woman, and though he let her choose when to come and go he did not have the courage to force her to choose, to seek an exclusive relationship, and did not honor commitments she had made, honor the value of marriage. That as a man I see him unworthy.

I wanted him to see my face, know that there is a person here, someone who loves his family, and is being hurt by his choices.

I wanted him to know that my children are being hurt.

And... I secretly imagine the whole range of possible interactions with him from the above through breaking his nose.

It's the sort of thing my father taught me a real man would do (and I did once, 26 years ago).

I'm not fond of oft used phrases, but one keeps coming to mind this morning: "Where the rubber meets the road."

Do you know why rubber makes such a good material for tires?

It is a little sticky, and it comes apart.

When you drive down the road, molecules of rubber stick to the road and are ripped away from the rest of the rubber. You could think of it as your tires slowly unraveling. That is what a lot of that dust is around roads.

When tires are especially hot, or if they are being pushed across the road rather than rolling (skidding), particles are ripped away, not just molecules, leaving a smear of tiny bits of black on the pavement.

Those characteristics of rubber make them good at holding your car firmly to the road, but at the cost of continually spending itself.

I was looking at the tires on my van. I am going to need to replace them sooner than I want.

"Where the rubber meets the road."

That is the place where there is the cost of the tires. The place where the quality of the rubber demonstrates its effectiveness.

Did you notice the cost involved in the passage of scripture I just quoted?

If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Oh, come on!

I get along with just about everyone I meet. But if I have an adversary right now, besides the warring in my heart and the tensions between my wife and I, it is John.

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

OK... I get it. But I don't think I can do it. Could I go see that man and not only avoid breaking his nose, but demonstrate love to him?

Could I say or do something that would show him that I see he has a soul, is a tormented person like everyone else on this world, and that I wish him well?

I don't know I could.

I don't know I could be kind to him. To follow Christ.

If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic.
--Luke 6:29

Could I do that?

I'm too tired to try.

I guess I'm saying that sometimes I feel my faith asks an awful lot of me... and I don't know if I could do it.

I appreciate that my faith is larger than me. If it was all wishy washy, asking nothing of me, then it would be no grander than my own heart, my own conscience.

I just don't know if I am as big hearted as I would like to be.

Quick Note

I just reread the previous post.

Obviously I was a little fed up. I don't usually use such language.

She and I took the boys to their counselor's for their testing (evals needed for determining how we can best help them).

She told me she was going to stay with her mom for now. This afternoon she called and said she was in a motel for a few days.

I think that is a good idea. She needs some time with herself.

I have started another post. More theological/philosophical. I tend to do that. When I go so far one way I go a different direction to give myself a break.

But... not going to work on it tonight. Just too tired.

Took the boys to see a movie this afternoon. Wall-e. It was pretty good. Little hard working robot falls in love. Cute.


Believe it or not, I felt a little choked up at the end, when he finds true love.

Walked Isaac through fixing Hamburger Helper and cooking up some yellow crook neck squash from the garden. He has a ways to go... he is so scattered. But he'll get there. I told him we will take turns cooking each night, the three of us.

Well... I'm going to go put on some pajamas, crawl into bed.

Thanks everyone for your prayers and putting up with my rough edges.

A Conversation Yesterday Afternoon

"I don't see how you could ever take me back."

"I don't either. You have really screwed up. You have burned a lot of bridges.

"You have betrayed me time and again.

"The only thing working in your favor is that I love you and I vowed to love you in sickness and in health, and you are sick."

Her eyes teared up.

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"Yeah... you feel torn... all that. Listen, I know you think he is a good guy and all, but that's bullshit."

I tore into it.

Mockingly: "Whatever you want... I will always be here for you. Call me if you ever need anything. I'm not going to push you."

"Bullshit! He was interested in sex. Yeah you are too. And maybe I haven't given you everything you want there, but you really haven't tried with me... not for a very long time.

"He was interested in sex. And he's an asshole."

She looked shocked. I never, never, swear.

"He has no integrity. If he had he would have insisted you make a choice. Me or him. But no... he let things roll along. He may not have pushed in ways you recognize, but he didn't tell you to choose. He didn't tell you to stop calling him.

"He was making love to a woman with a wedding ring on her finger! He didn't care. Instead, he was fucking another man's wife! I'm a pretty gentle guy... But kicking his ass but would be a great release for me. I see a lot of good in the world, along with the bad. And he is a bad man. He has no moral backbone.

"And I have been without a spine too. I have catered to you, let you get away with too much.

"And this is bullshit.

"I don't know how we could fix this. I don't know what we can do to heal this marriage.

"I know this. You would have to change.

"You would have to stop looking around you for happiness.

"The world is a hurtful, sad, awful place. But you don't have it nearly as bad as you think. Think about the children in Africa, orphaned because their mothers have died of AIDS. Think the many children there who have AIDS. Think how that continent is filled with people who really have some things to really be unhappy about. There are children who have had their arms lopped off because of the wars there. Children who have been forced to kill their parents. The entire world is groaning under the most awful things.

"And you are unhappy because Willy died?!

"You are unhappy because God gave us two children who are handicapped?

"You are unhappy because your husband hasn't paid as much attention to you as he should have?!

"Lot's of people have handicapped children. Many people I know have kids who are autistic, have cerebreal palsy.

"The world hurts. And God isn't doing it to them. Or to you. The world is all screwed up because human beings screw it up. And He is doing His best to alleviate the damage, to make good come from it.

"You think your life has been hard?

"I've been through the same stuff with you. I hurt too. And I see suffering, I see hurt, I see how horrible the world is.

"But I also see how wonderful it is. How beautiful it is. Look at that sky! Look at how many shades of blue there are between the horizon and way up there! It is so amazing!

"Look at how that cloud is shaped. I'm not sure I've ever seen a cloud moved into that "S" shape before. There must be a peculiar twisting of wind up there to do that. Really cool.

"Look at that tree over there. See how the ivy is growing way up there, choking its bark, yet look how strong and healthy and beautiful it is. Look at how many different sorts of green are in it!

"I don't know what you need to get better. But you are sick and I would love to help you get well, whether or not you are my wife.

"You think happiness is about what happens to you. About circumstances. It isn't. As long as you think the things that happen around you dictate whether or not you are happy, you will always be unhappy because things will never be exactly as we want.

"I'm terribly unhappy right now. You have robbed me of some precious dreams I have had for my life.

"But I rejoice in this world. I love this world. It is full of beauty. Nature, God, even people are beautiful, if you look past how much they hurt and hurt others.

"Suck it up. Life is less than a hundred years long. And that is nothing. I know eternity is real. What we learn here are the things which shape us into unique beings, creatures who will bring something unique to eternity because we have gone through this bizarre world of pain and beauty.

"I don't know how we could find our way back to each other now. You have really screwed up. But I'm not saying it is impossible. But I can tell you this. You can't start by staying with him.

"You need to change. Really change. I'm talking about a miracle.

"And it is possible.

"I'm not sure what would be the next step for you. Start by talking to people you trust in our church. Talk to Rxxxxx. Talk to Cxxxxx. Talk to Cxxxxxxx. Get your head on straight. Start by seeing God as someone who isn't vindictive but truly loves you despite how screwed up you are."

It went on like that for a while. Then I gave her a hug, peck on the top of her head. She hugged back, kissed my cheek.

She will be here in a few minutes. We are going to take the boys to the psychologist this morning to continue their IQ and personality evaluations so we can document their needs.

Later.

Moral Inventory

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
--Step 4, Al Anon 12 Steps

I've been going to Al Anon meetings for about a year. It's an organization that helps the flip side of relationships with an alcoholic. Helps us to cope with the alcoholic. Understand the alcoholic, and the disease. Understand the habits and behaviors common in those who live with alcoholics.

"Al Anon" sounds a lot like Alcoholics Anonymous (A.A.). It isn't and I really don't know why it is called Al Anon.

At any rate... who am I? What are my weaknesses? What are my strengths? How did my marriage get to where it is (failed).

According to Al Anon I should do a moral inventory, the good and the bad, discover my weaknesses, ask God to remove them.

I met Brenda a couple of months before my 25th birthday. I was immature.

I had been easy going, sliding through life, not really thinking about the future.

I hitchhiked around quite a bit, living mostly off of weeds and such I found along highways, guided by a book on edible plants.

When I came back from a trip a couple of weeks after meeting her, I found she had moved in.

She was, is, a take charge kind of gal.

She found the tickets I had stuffed in a drawer, and got them paid. She organized the bills, and saw that they were paid as well.

I resisted a little at first, but she was so nervous about things when I was handling the checkbook I finally let her do it all.

She was good at it.

I was immature.

I gave away my responsibility. Those were my mistakes which sowed the weeds which eventually choked our marriage.

So... who am I now?

I am intelligent. Not especially so in terms of problem solving, or, especially, in reading people. But I am intensely curious about things, all sorts of things. So I constantly gather bits of information and I string it together.

I am creative. Art. Writing. Teaching.

I am emotional. Perhaps more than is seemly in a guy. It makes me empathetic. I am affected when reading about suffering, injustice, cruelty. I am moved by music, art, movies, literature. The upside of that is that I appreciate beauty... in space, nature, people. The downside is I feel sorrow easily.

I am easy going.

And there it is.

A defect of character can be a strength gone wrong.

Easy going can easily slide into being a doormat.

I have avoided conflict.

I have avoided conflict to the point of appeasing her.

I have avoided conflict and let her, and others, step over boundaries I should maintain.

I have avoided conflict because I didn't want to do the harder work of sticking up for myself.

I see now that much of the mess of my marriage was from my own weakness.

I still feel robbed.

I believed that a marriage should be forever. That I wanted to live a life with only one true love. That I wanted to grow old with one person, walk through life with one person.

That is gone.

And I feel robbed.

I had a big part in letting that happen, but I feel robbed.

I am 52. Most of my life is behind me now. I will not die with the history I thought I would have. So I feel robbed.

Hmmmmm... So much for easy going.

OK... back to the moral inventory...

I am spiritual. I think about faith and God and eternity and my soul, and I wrestle with how those things play out in my life and in what I learn of the world.

I am a bit lazy. I would rather read or write or draw than sweat. I let Brenda sometimes do what I should have done (bills, taxes, etc.).

I have a low libido. I am more interested in companionship than sex (though I want that also, just not as often as others seem to). That also was a source of the problems in our marriage. Our culture makes it pretty clear I'm not normal in that respect.

I am honest. I may be uncomfortable with it, but if asked directly, I will almost always answer any question. Sometimes I say more than I should. (Like now?)

I love my sons. I wanted children of my "own." It wasn't in the works (she is barren), but I adopted three. One died. The other two have disabilities. And I love them all fiercely.

I am metacognitive. I watch how my mind works and I am forever assessing why I think the way I do and why. I evaluate what is knowledge, what I surmise, what is faith, what is emotion. I don't always balance it very well, but I am aware of it.

I love easily. I have friends I love. I have music I love. My faith is guided more by love than fear. I seek justice for others because I care.

I am not always as nice as I pretend to be. My heart races when I think of the other man. I've had thoughts about going over there, kicking in his door, and beating the crap out of him. I couldn't do that to her, but somehow it seems not so impossible to think about doing it to him.

She once told me he smoked pot. I've thought about sending postcards to his work, his neighbor, the Molalla P.D. saying he does.

Now, these are momentary flashes of fantasy... when my heart starts pounding...

I would not act on them.

But, I'm not the saint some folks think I am.

Yeah, I'm basically a pretty gentle person. But this past year has been such a strain.

And I'm upset. I'm ticked. I'M PISSED OFF!

But... I love the Lord. I will do as He says, and I won't break the guy's nose.

I digress... (but I am aware of it!!! : ) I think sometimes it is healthy to rant a little... Everything in moderation, even moderation!)

I am not mechanical. Not very manly. My father expected more of me. When I have to work on a car or lawn mower or plumbing or water pump, I don't succeed because I am facile with it, but because I think really hard about it and don't mind if I have to do it more than once.

I am prideful. I relish the praise of others. (Especially her.)

I am awkward in public speaking. I do it occasionally. Folks say I am pretty good at it. But I am really just concentrating really hard, speaking really carefully, and forcing myself to be more than I really am. I'm pleased each time I succeed, mostly because it was a challenge.

I am steady. Not always an interesting thing. I keep at things I have set for myself to do.

Hmmmm. OK. I have run out of steam. I even cheated a little and pasted in a couple of things from emails I have written, and now I've run out of steam.

So... I guess I will call this a work in progress.

Anyone have any insights, good or bad, about who I am that I can add to my moral inventory?

Bed Time

It's been over a half hour since I told the boys to get ready for bed.

They're dawdling.

As I passed Isaac in the kitchen I patted his shoulder.

"I'm almost ready," he said. "I'm just getting some water."

"No, I wasn't, I mean I wasn't saying... Uh, yeah, it is bed time. But I wasn't hinting that you are taking too long. I was just letting you know I love you. That I know you are having a hard time.

"So am I. I'm just under a lot of stress right now. We all are."

"I'm guessing Mom is too."

"Huh. You know, you're right. I've been thinking that since she is the one who left, that she was... I don't know...

"But you're right. She is probably having a lot of stress too."

We fell silent for a moment.

Isaac spoke.

"If she is looking for happiness, then she must not be happy."

"What did you say?"

"If she is looking for happiness, then she must not be happy."

"Isaac, that was a very astute thing for you to say. I'm astonished."

He stopped and looked at me in surprise. His face beamed at the praise. It must be one of the few times someone has said he has said something very smart.

So...

Two things.

1. Brenda is looking for happiness, and still hasn't found it.

2. My son can make some astonishing connections.

I Need to Rest

It’s Sunday... day of rest.

I am restless.

-----------------

I fell asleep last night about 1:00 a.m. I awoke again at 4:00. Third day in a row.

So much for doubling the dose of the sleeping meds. If I’m not going to sleep, I’m not going to sleep.

-----------------

I went to Molalla River State Park early this morning. Rocky romped along the road, through the field I have already written of, sixteen years ago under a March Moon.


The moon was up again... waning and gibbous, two days past full... traces of fog drift over cut grass.

I prayed. For wisdom, strength, peace. I prayed for patience with my children, wisdom to guide them as they ache and hurt. I prayed for Brenda, that... I don’t know, that she would be ok.

I got home... moved towels from washer to dryer, got the sheets off beds and stuck them in the washer. Showered, shaved, got ready for church.

I growled a little too much at Isaac when he came to get into the van... shirt still unbuttoned... after a one hour warning, a half hour heads up, a fifteen minute call, a ten minute countdown, and a two minute “pull it together.”

I had to pick up my mother in law for church (since Brenda is unavailable), and arrived in time to spend a little time dedicating today’s service with the pastors and worship team.

While I do the work that needs doing, while I focused my heart and mind on the lyrics, I ached.

-----------------

Brenda called yesterday morn.

“Is it all right if I come over for a bit?”

“Sure.”

“I’m already in town, so I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“OK.”

I sat in the white wicker chair on the front porch.

I didn’t want this conversation inside where my sons might hear.

She was penitent without being repentant.

She apologized for the mess she made of our lives.

She apologized for the hurt I was (am) feeling.

I said nothing for quite a while. She did nearly all the talking. I nodded agreement now and then.

She said something that surprised me a little.

She said that I have been doing a lot for a long time. That in working with the boys, cooking, housework, yard work, it just made her madder and madder. She said I was a good father. She said I would make someone a good husband. She said that the more I did, the angrier she got. She said that sometimes her rage just overwhelmed her... and she doesn’t know why.

She said that she had really wanted to make our marriage work. For a while.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

I stood. Went to the van. Returned with a copy of a post I had written about a month ago... “What I’d Like to Say.”

She read it.

I watched.

Her eyes welled up with tears several times, but they never spilled.

“You’re right,” she said.

“I’m not trustworthy. I lied to you. I’m a bad person.”

I finally replied.

“Yes... you are sick. We all are. I hope... I pray... you will find healing.

“I love you.

“Take care of yourself.”

She said goodbye to Isaac (Jeremiah had gone fishing with a friend... see pics at bottom of post). She came out to where I sat on the porch. Kissed my cheek.

She left.

I sat there thinking about how all the things I have done this past year did not create an atmosphere of partnership, of working together.

Instead, it made her angrier at her hidden feelings, her hidden desires, her deceptions.

In growing a garden, picking cherries, making pies, doing housework and house repairs, I only made her feel worse.

I had tried to do my best, serve my family, and in being a good father, home owner, employee... husband... I had made her feel worse.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,"says the Lord.

On the contrary:
"If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
--Romans 12:17-20

That seems a strange passage to me...

Have I heaped coals on her head?

Has she been burned by my forgiveness and serving?

-----------------

It seemed that nearly every song today held special meaning for me...

............

Trade These Ashes In For Beauty
and Wear Forgiveness Like A Crown
coming To Kiss The Feet Of Mercy
I Lay Every Burden Down
at The Foot Of The Cross

............

Blessed be your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be your name

Blessed be your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be your name

............

The message today was about service to others.

I like that.

I would rather look outward right now, for how I might help someone else, than look inward.

I have no clue what I’m saying here.

I need to rest.

-----------------

Trout

17 pounds of fish

I sit in this spot, in the pastor's office, every Sunday before the service.
We dedicate the service to God... bless the worship team.
It is at this exact spot that Jeremiah played with fire three years ago.

The Judgement of Other Men

Things are a little rough... to be expected...

I try to live my life with integrity.

I try to live my faith.

I fail.

I value too much the judgement of other men.

There are too many parts of my life where I consider the views of others.

--How I turn a phrase.

I take pride in the beauty of writing well.

--My art

I take pride in the praise of others because I know how to hold a pen.

--How I pray.

Puffing myself up, making myself look good, I mention I pray, making sure my name is on the sign up for our church's monthly 24 hours of prayer.

--How I reveal myself.

I take pride in honesty, transparency... I take pleasure in the comments people make about my frank self revelations.

...and here is where it gets sticky...

--My wife.

I love her.

I don't trust her.

I think about forgiveness so I can have her in my arms, even if it is an illusion...

And I think about how she betrayed me, and how much I hurt... And how I long to hold her again, and then...

...here it is...

...my shame...

I wonder what people would say if I took her back. (Weak? Doormat? Wimp? Wuss?)

And the shame of that stiffens my resolve when I should have spine enough to shove these feelings aside, suck it up, and just move on without her (because, apparently, I haven't really had her).

I value too much the judgement of other men.

It is nothing.

Of what value are the praises of others, mere mortals?

The praises of others are no more than a fart in a hurricane.

If I have courage, any guts, any faith, I would only consider my heart and the judgement of my God.

She Left

The Voice of God

The moon was nearly full, but for most of the evening it skated behind thin clouds, a smeared bright spot in the sky. I stepped away from the fire under the cedars and the broad old oak several times marking its progress.

Down the gravel drive, through a field of drying hay, the clearing beside a creek had belonged to a blackberry patch that morning. We stuck chunks of meat and brats over the coals, opened beers and sodas.


“When have you sensed the unmistakable presence of God in your life?”

I have some buddies. We gather every once in a while around a fire and talk. I call it our Moon Howlin'.

It took us a while to get to the real conversation. We warmed up through discussions of books and such. But, we get there.

One of us, a straight-forward, blunt, frank fellow, threw out the question. It hovered over the orange tongues of flame licking the evening air.

“The unmistakable presence of God.”

For me the presence of God is a spectrum of interactions ranging from an impulse to do something, say something, to moments intersecting eternity.

“How about you, Will?” the frank one asked.

I cleared my throat, signaling I would share, but needing a moment to martial my thoughts, though I had been thinking and writing about this topic all week.

“Two come to mind.”

“Two is good. I can handle two.”

The others murmured agreement.

“1976.

“I was pretty sick. I was staying with my uncle in Ojai, California, and I was very sick. Dying.

“I went down to that river bed often. I was very sick. I wasn’t expected to live long.”

I told them this story:

I had joined an ashram and in the previous years spent too much time doing things I am still uncomfortable talking about. Spiritual things. Yogic things. Explorations of meditation and diet and... searching and exploring what I know are not right, not for this life anyway.

Once, in Ojai, while walking slowly along the Ventura River bed, I saw 17 California condors in a single dead tree. It was estimated there were fewer than two dozen of them left in the world. I was looking at the majority of an entire species.

Those enormous vultures, creatures who’s diet consists of dead things, sat in that dead tree, looking at me uncomfortably. I stared up at them. They grew restless, dropped off their perches, their enormous wings flapping slowly.


A few weeks later I knew it was time.

I walked down to the river bed.

I lay down on the sand. I felt my body slowly giving up. I began to pray.

I didn’t pray I might be saved. I didn’t make excuses for what I had done, for the extremes of fasting and meditation and explorations of astral planes. I didn’t beg for another chance.

“Father, I’m sorry. I have been stupid. You gave me a body, You gave me a mind and a spirit and a heart, and I have thrown it away. I deserve to lose all this. I’m not asking for anything right now. All I want to say is... I am sorry.”

God spoke.

It wasn’t a complicated thing. It wasn’t a divine revelation. It wasn’t anything that would leave a mark on the world, but it left a mark on me.

As I lay there, as I prayed my repentance and acceptance, a wave of light poured down the valley from the mountains. I guess I would describe it as sort of pinkish, if I could say it was really a color that could be photographed or painted.

It wasn’t a crushing wave or anything disturbing the quiet of that evening, but as it swept down and over me a couple of things happened.

I wasn’t tired anymore.

I didn’t feel weak. My mind wasn’t fuzzy anymore.

I felt strong. I felt healthy and clean and whole.

The second thing was the voice.

Hmmmm... Not really a voice.

The words did not pass through the air, did not pass through my ears. The words weren’t even words. They were a complete thought, a complete statement. It was a message compacted into a single idea, a whole, and it came from everywhere and from nowhere, and from deep inside my heart:

“It’s okay. Don’t do it again. Do other things. Get up. I have things for you to do yet.”

I didn’t look up at the faces of my friends as I told this story. I didn’t trust my voice would remain steady if I did. Instead, I launched into the next story.

“March 15, 1993. It was just before dawn and I was alone at Molalla River State Park.

“The moon was enormous. It was yellow, and had shifted toward orange as it descended into the naked branches of trees to the west of the field I stood alone in.

“There was that Oregon ‘Marchiness’ in the air, a promise of the coming Spring.

“And there was a color. Sort of.

“The sky was still speckled with stars, still black overhead, but it also... that color...

“It really wasn’t purple. It was too deep. Maybe a hint of violet. I don’t know... But there was this color to the sky that seemed to stretch from that field where I stood clear through to the stars.”

I paused and looked at my friends. I took one of my usual perpendicular digressions.

“A few minutes ago a small plane passed over us,” I said. “I loved the color that was bouncing off that plane’s white frame as it banked in the sunset. I see these colors around me all the time, and I think, ‘I wish I could mix that color with paint.’ I look at the clouds and I see this range of hues and values and colors I can’t describe. It is all so beautiful. I look across this field and I see that huge oak over there and I marvel that capillary action can raise all that water from those roots all the way to the leaves at the top... it is so beautiful.


“I look at my life and there is so much beauty and wonder and shit and aching and glory and pain and I see how wonderful and how awful life is...

“The color I saw above me that early morning sixteen years ago is with me still, and it is echoed in the colors I see still.

“That color was deep and rich and more real than I can describe.

“The sun was coming up. The sky in the east hadn’t started to lighten yet, but there was a sort of sense that it was about to. There was a sort of anticipation to the sky.

“And I was hurting. It was three months to the day of Willy’s death and I was out alone and I was hurting.

“And it happened...

“Folks think about eternity like it is some sort of continuance of things going on around us. That it is sort of like we just keep getting dragged along this timeline we know, forever and ever. I don’t think that is how eternity is.

“As I looked at that moon, and that sky, and felt the coming sun, and my heart ached for the son I had lost, I shook, I trembled, and I dropped to my knees.

“And I felt connected.

“I felt connected to everything.

“I was with the moon and the sky and the sense of dawn. I was with the stiff cut grass, and the river flowing nearby, and those leafless branches grasping at the sky.

“And God spoke.”

My voice thickened for a moment. My friends remained silent.

“It wasn’t a voice in the air, or anything like that. It came from everywhere, and nowhere, and from deep inside me.

“God said:

‘I know.’

“It was more than a moment. I mean, I know it was only a few seconds, maybe not even that. But it was more than that. That instant shot through me. Not just the me kneeling in that field. It shot through the me that is sitting here with you guys. It shot through everything, everywhere, everywhen.

“I think that is what eternity is. It’s not a continuation of the sort of time we know. It is sideways to the time we know.

“That moment happened sixteen years ago, and it is still happening. It will always be happening.

“That experience was so real. It was more real than the heat coming off those flames. It was more real than you guys are, sitting around, listening to me talk.”


My friends listened. They heard. They talked. We talked.

--------------

Perhaps I mentioned the colors in those experiences because they help to describe what I experienced. Yet I failed to truly describe those colors.

Humans are among a small number of species on this world seeing so much of the spectrum, what we call visible light.

But even that amount of vision is tiny. If the electromagnetic spectrum was a line stretching from San Francisco to Anchorage, Alaska, visible light would comprise about an inch and a half of it. The percentage of the spectrum we see is 3.5 X 10^-28. That is a lot of zeros between the decimal and the 3.5.

I’m a very small creature. I have an extremely brief life span, less than a hundred years. I am a single organism on a small world on the edge of a rather ordinary galaxy, among perhaps hundreds of billions of galaxies.

I’m a very important creature. I have a soul which permits me to feel the reality of The Creator. And, amazingly, astonishly, impossibly, The Creator knows who I am!

He knows who I am, and He loves me.

He cares.

How can that be?!

It is a terrifying, and humbling, and exhilarating thing to know that He who holds atoms together, who hears the 10,000 year beats of super galactic clusters, who spoke creation into existence and stands outside of time and space, loves me.

Those two experiences were eternal moments, places where my spirit leapt out of this entropy-driven linear plowing through time, are just a part of the spectrum of the times He has spoken to me.

There was the beautiful message He gave me in a dream, telling me to adopt my first son.

There was the moment when I was six and the stain glass image of Jesus glowed, and flooded that little church, and He turned and looked at me!

There was that whisper of His when He told me to follow Jim home and permit me to share that troubled man’s burdens.

There was that time in 1974 when I felt enormous hands grip me from behind, lift me out of the path of a car, and set me twenty feet in the opposite direction I was running.

There are moments when I am gripping a fine point Sharpie marker, writing prayers in letters so small I can hardly see them... and I feel... outside.

Or after Willy died, we had gone to get sleeping medicine from Kaiser Permanente, and Brenda and I saw someone running ahead of us in the rain at 40 miles per hour. The wipers couldn’t keep the windshield clear, and we were exhausted from two sleepless nights after Willy’s death, and we both shouted when we saw someone keepng pace ahead of us along the Willamette River.

I cannot prove God exists.

But I know it is true.

I know He is more real than I am because the life I am living seems a pale experience to those moments when He paused the world, stopped the universe, and touched my heart.

Those two experiences especially. Those moments shot through time, I experience them still. I will experience them long after this body I am wearing ceases to breathe.

I don’t know why I have been blessed with faith. Some folks struggle with it. They wonder if it is real, or a delusion of folks like me, or a scam of some televangelist.

I know it is real.

I don’t know why I have been so fortunate as to have this faith.

Hey... I’m not saying everything is lovely. It isn’t. The earth shifts and tidal waves rush across the world washing entire villages away. Diseases creep through water and air and food and children suffer and die. The entire world, our entire history, is one long groan of pain and suffering.

My own life has some ugly things in it.

Yet...

It is all so beautiful. It is so lovely it makes me ache.

The world spins around the sun, and its wobble moves the stars about. If we could experience the night sky of thousands of years in a few moments we would see stars swimming around us in elegant movements just as we see the flocks of sparrows react as a whole, shifting and rising and settling as they ready for dusk.

Life sucks.

Life is indescribably wonderful.