Tithing

Caveat: Please, dear reader, do not take this post as something I propose anyone else do. I have been giving this matter a great deal of thought, and the following is the conclusion I have come to in regards to my own life. I am certain that the Lord would have others do differently. Perhaps even have me do differently at some future date.

Also, I know it is crass to write about one's money, but it is germane to the point of this post, so please bear with me.

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The final two bills I was expecting came in today and I paid them... telephone and utilities.

The Garbage pick up, the last bill of the month, will be $37.

My final amount in my checkbook is $361.98. I have $137 in my wallet. Isaac will need $10 a week for lunches, four weeks: $40.

My paycheck was $3,300.

Not too long ago, when I was paying the bills alone for the first time in over a quarter of a century, I wrote a post wondering about my tithe to the church.

There were a lot of comments, running quite a gamut.

It is reassuring to have so many friends who read this blog. I can always find someone who agrees with me and feel good about what I do.

The real question is, what does my heart tell me?

When I first got my paycheck I wanted to tithe 10% of it right off the top. Then pay the bills.

If I were to do that now I would have to deposit $10 out of my wallet to cover the garbage bill.

Could I do that? Could I make it until the 25th on $87?

We have plenty of food in the cupboards. I'd have to buy fresh milk... perhaps another item here or there I don't anticipate.

I know that the "Sunshine Fund" at work will hit me up for $10 this month. The PTA will want me to join for another $10.

$67?

When I think about how tight that is it makes me nervous.

$67.

What does my heart tell me to do?

It says, "trust me."

Some folks think that tithing is about funding the church. I don't think that is the case.

I know Brenda felt that way. She often felt frustration and resentment over the extra money we paid toward the building fund, an amount we made sacrificially giving partly because Jeremiah burned down the church (she felt more obligated in that respect than I).

The Church isn't a corporation.

The Church isn't the building, or the organization, or staff, or the services it provides our community (Habitat For Humanity, Food Pantry, Benevolent Fund, etcetera), or what it provides for those in distant parts of the world. All of that is just stuff... just the visible stuff of what the Church does, not what it is.

The Church is God's adopted children. The Church is people who follow the Lord.

Tithing has nothing to do with that. Or little to do with that.

The Church is me. The Church is the folks who believe... who love, who care, who give water to the thirsty, food to the hungry.

The King will reply "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." --Matthew 25:40

and

The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you." Jesus said, "Feed my sheep. --John 21:17

That is what the Church is. It is caring and loving. I know, there are many out there who make a lot of money off their congregations. I cringe when I run across them or their messages.

But I'm not talking about what others do. I'm not talking about what perhaps most do. I am talking about what I should do, who I am, what I believe the Lord God, Creator of All Things, wants me to do.

So... if the Church isn't the buildings, and the people and the staff and the folks who say they represent the Lord God, and it isn't about paying my dues to this organization, but rather being a part of the adopted children of YaWeH, then where does tithing come in?

It doesn't.

For me, from what my heart tells me, tithing is about thanking God for what he has done and putting Him first.

I did that once and it really cost me.

A lot of this tithing stuff comes from the Old Testament. In that context it was ten percent. The New Testament says nothing about how much it should be.

In the Old Testament the people of God gave Him 10%, first. The first of the crops. The first of the livestock. And, often, dedicated their first child to God's service.

I did that.

I told God that if he gave me my heart's desire, if He gave me a child to love, then I would dedicate that child to Him. I would, in front of witnesses, proclaim that that child was the Lord's.

I did that.

I invited friends over for a feast of gratitude and prayed a prayer of dedication for my first child, Willy.

And God accepted that gift.

That child left this world a few months later.

Oh...

It is a terrifying thing to have God call in a marker.

Oh...

Still, it was what I knew I should do, and I did it.

And God gave me two more children.

True, they have been a challenge. Too much of a challenge for my wife.

But I take great joy, enormous joy, in having them in my life, in being privileged to raise them.

I believe in God.

This isn't a church thing. It is a Church thing.

I believe in God.

I could give whatever I wish to Him. I wish to give Him my trust. That trust, for me, amounts to 10%.

I look at the stars as I walk under predawn skies and I feel loved, cared for. I feel the being who holds all things together loves me, personally.

Oh I know. Jesus died for everyone. He died for people who have lived all over the world for a score of centuries. But, I believe, I really believe, He loves me. Me.

I believe in Him.

So...

I'm going to trust Him.

I'm going to give Him the first of the financial blessings He provides me.

I am going to write a check for $330.

I'm going to trust that the God who made me, who made the universe, can take care of me for a few weeks.

Once again, dear reader, this post isn't about you. It's about what I am feeling, what I am thinking, what I am going to do.

I am not suggesting anyone do anything in particular with how they may live their lives.

But...

Would you like to watch this?

I'll let you know how it works.

I am taking a risk. A small risk.

It is a small risk because, I believe in God, and I believe He loves me personally, and He will make certain that I and my children are all right.

Of course, I do have a credit card if things get bad... a safety net. But I don't believe He wants me to go into debt just so I can tithe 10%.

Many of you have been following along on my little journey... this strange journey of the Curious Servant.

You know I am the sort of fellow who loves God, appreciates beauty, and drinks deeply of the joys and sorrows of life.

Stick around this month and see how this turns out.

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A note on something completely different. Isaac and I worked together quite a bit today, scraping the walls of the house, putting on primer. We also cleaned the house because tomorrow we have guests for dinner. Each week we are going to invite someone over to share our meal, and tomorrow is a widow from our church, her two children, and Mary Ann, my mother in law.

We made spaghetti sauce from scratch! Every bit of the sauce is made from tomatoes from our garden. Cilantro, onions, garlic, basil and oregano from our garden.

What fun to pick vegetables from beside our home and put them into a blender, put them into a pot, and serve them to friends!

When I made pies from peaches grown in our yard last week for our guests, I put one in the freezer. It is thawing for tomorrow. Yum Yum!

Don't those 'maters look good?!

The sauce thickened up real nice!

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Final note. Today is Brenda's birthday. Today is Willy's birthday.

Isaac called her, left a message. She called back, asked for him. We didn't talk otherwise.

I Sense Something

I'm looking forward to going to church on Sunday.

I'm looking forward to community, and friends, and prayer, and most especially, worship. Oh yeah... the sermon might be enlightening too.

The people there are my family. They pray for me. They have brought food, and listening ears, and good advice. One of them came to my classroom this morning and wiped down computers and counters and such. My classroom is ready for students (but my lessons aren't).

There is a room there where I can lock the doors and be alone, be quiet. The Prayer Room.

There are a lot of nice things about that place. There's a coffee bar that mixes whatever coffee drink you'd like. For free.

There's a food pantry which serves dozens of families twice a month.

The new sanctuary is clean and lovely. To the right the window frames form a cross. Behind the stage the molding in the wall forms another. And on the left is a cross made of the charred laminated beams from the former sanctuary.

There are all these things there which make it a good place.

My greatest pleasure there is the flip floppy thing that happens to my heart during worship.

I have wondered why Brenda has had so much trouble believing God does not mean her harm.

I have no idea why she does not sense the God I do.

I suspect there is a difference between folks, a range of sensing.

Sort of like vision. Snakes "see" infrared, far outside the range of humans. It is part of the same elctromagnetic spectrum we see, just a little further to one side.

I happen to be able to see just a smidgen further into the other direction than most people, the ultraviolet. (Something I discovered while using a spectrometer in a physics class.)

I guess I'm a little strange.

But then, if you have been reading my ramblings for any length of time, you already know that.

I think there is something about the way I sense myself that makes it easier for me to sense God.

When I worship I shut my eyes. Always.

There is a part of me that watches. It watches how I think, how I feel, what stages of maturity and cognition I am operating under. And, the watching part of me senses something somewhere inside, deep inside, that responds to God.

When I worship, when I turn my thoughts to God, there is something that moves deep inside. It sort of flips around. It sort of shakes itself and ripples through my thoughts, through my emotions. It sometimes happens when I am nature, when I see great beauty. It sometimes happens when I listen to Bach. When I think about magnetars, and quarks, and the Himalayas. It almost always happens when I shut my eyes on Sundays and worship.

I think that means something. I think that means that when I worship I am operating on a level different than my mind, my emotions. I think that means I am sensing the reality of God.

I wish Brenda could feel that.

But... she is no longer someone I am to worry about, someone to watch over.

She and I haven't spoken since the other night, when I turned and walked away from the sight of her standing beside him in his doorway.

That sounded a little pained, didn't it?

Well, I suppose it was. Of course it hurts a little.

But there is relief in knowing the end of this relationship has come.

I wish she knew how to sense God. It may have saved our marriage, but more importantly, it may have saved her. Oh, I don't mean salvation in the Christian sense. I believe that once in His hand thing.

It might have saved her from the questions which have cost her serenity.

I don't know why I feel this thing in my chest, this moving thing that slips around like a fish in dimensions beside these four. But I know it isn't my imagination. It isn't a part of my mind or my emotions.

I think it is like the light thing. Just as I can see a few more of the absorbtion gaps in a spectrometer than most folks, I can sense the Lord God through the sense of my own spirit as well as my soul.

It's the part that dances when I worship on Sundays.

I'm looking forward to going to church.

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Personal note: I got a full night's sleep last night. Huge difference! Isaac and I had a good day today. We waded around the Molalla River panning for gold.

Changed some automatic withdrawals from our joint checking to my personal account and closed the joint account.

The locks have been changed.

I got a little of the primer on the house exterior today. Few more days at that and I can start on the final coat.

Anyway... I'm doing a bit better.

Sending Up a Flare

OK folks... bear with me. I'm not thinking clearly, but I need to let some of you know some things, others of you how you might pray, and the rest of you... well, as always, you are welcome to just look over my shoulder as I write.

For the sake of expediency... here are bits of emails I've sent about what is going on:

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OK... I'll fess up...

Tuesday Brenda came over... begged me to take her back. Said she'd sleep on the couch, whatever.

I told her no. That if she is to get back together with me it cannot be from John to me. She needs to be on her own, figure things out, give us space to grow.

Ticked her off.

Wednesday she came over to take the boys shopping for school clothes. I was OK with that.

When I came home the laundry had been done, dishes washed, house cleaned, dinner fixed. We talked about closing the checking account... working out details of our separation. She left...

Here's the part where you're going to get mad at me...

I went to the library to mail some stuff. Drove past Mary's. Brenda's car wasn't there.

Went home. Fed the boys. Played games with them. Put them to bed.

Got in the van. Drove to Molalla.

Her car was in front of his house.

I tore a page from my notebook. Wrote: "See ya around. -Will" Put it under her windshield wiper. Just wanted her to know that I knew.

Got in the van. Made a U turn. Stopped in front of the house.

The temptation came over me. It wasn't enough that she know in the morning. I wanted her to know now.

Got out. Pounded on the door.

John opened the door.

"Tell Brenda I said 'Hi,' " I said.

She came to the door.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," I replied as I walked to the van.

Got in. Drove off.

Pulled over a mile down the road.

Got out my cell phone, sent her a text message: "File the papers"

Drove around. Got home late. Stayed up praying and brooding until after 2:00. Woke up at 5:00.

I'm done.

I'm changing the locks.

She can come get her stuff, but John is not going to enter the house. She will have to find friends or relatives to help her. If she needs John to help, I'll drag her stuff onto the lawn, lock the house, take the boys somewhere.

I know how adamantly you did not want me to go over there. But, it was the proof I needed that she really, truly, cannot make up her mind. I was civil, Hardly said a word... Just "Tell Brenda I said Hi," and "nothing" to her. But she knows I know, that I am fed up.

I'm done.

I'm going to change the locks.

I'm going to insist she move her stuff out... but John can't come into the house.

She can find friends, relatives, whatever.

If that isn't good enough, then I'll put her stuff on the lawn and lock the house and she and John can come get it while the boys and I go panning or something.

I've had it.

I've had it.

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OK, so those are the compiled emails...

What I need:

I need prayer.

I'm exhausted. I'm anxious and worried. I have kids who need me, need special help. I have been getting 5 - 7 hours sleep each night for months. Last night was about three hours. I need serenity, calm, peace. I need prayer.

I need to pull it together. I've got to finish getting my classroom together, slap primer on the parts of the house I have scraped, and a zillion little households tasks that I'm not sure what they are.

I need to be able to concentrate on my programs, my curriculum, my lesson plans, and I need to do it now.

If you have a moment... say a little prayer.

P.S. One weird little twist. Saturday is Brenda and Willy's birthday.

Mercurial

When I was a kid, 11, 12, 13, I would visit my dad and he'd take my brothers and I to work with him. He bought a loader and started removing orange groves and buildings for the growth boom that California experienced in the late 60s, and 70s.

We had all sorts of adventures, many dangerous. It was a different time. People took whatever misfortunes that came from putting oneself in dangerous situations. There was freedom in that. Freedom to get hurt was tied to freedom to take risks.

It was exhilarating to be a kid in situations where entire buildings were available for anything our imaginations could conjure. From riding the roofs of collapsing buildings to knocking each other off our feet with the blasts of fire hoses used to control dust.

I discovered that many buildings had a special treasure in them, which I began to collect.

Mercury.

Since the melting point of mercury is far below freezing it is a metal that is liquid at room temperature. That can be fun.

I would go through buildings that were going to be ground up and sent to the dump, and find mercury switches in the thermostats and light switches.

I'd break open the glass capsules with the shiny liquid, the quick silver, and roll it around in my palm.

I saved it. Capsule by capsule, building by building, I collected the stuff.

I have a bottle half full of it that I haven't opened in 30 years.

It is fascinating to watch this metal, a substance we usually think of as hard, unchanging, roll and flow about like water.

The surprising thing about mercury is its weight. One does not expect a liquid to be so dense, so heavy.

Brenda called this morning.

She told me she wanted to come back. I told her I didn't trust her. She is mercurial.

When I came home I saw she had been there, her stuff was in the bedroom.

I paid the bills (I got paid yesterday), and then ran around town getting things photocopied and mailed. The boys went with me and after doing my business we scouted locations on the Molalla River to try panning for gold.

She was there when we got back.

She asked if she could sleep on the couch. Try to work things out with me.

"No."

She was upset, said she wanted to try to heal our marriage, that it would be hard to become intimate, love each other, if I didn't let her stay here.

I said no.

She took her things over to her mom's.

I guess John is probably hurting tonight. She has left him again.

I went to hear my friend and pastor talk about how to study the Bible tonight. The whole time there I thought about her.

He asked me to open things with a prayer. I prayed the appropriate prayer... but my heart was very heavy.

It isn't fair that I say things to her about wanting her to get healed, saying we cannot repair our marriage until she is whole. It isn't fair because it implies that there is a way to repair this mess. Maybe there is. Probably not.

I sound pretty wishy washy, don't I?

Keeping her out of our home is tough for me. I love her. I have trouble giving up the dream we will grow old together.

But compared to her, I'm rock solid.

But... how faithful am I?

Confession: Last month when I paid the bills for the first time, it scared me. Money is very tight. I wrote a check to our church, my tithe, but, I didn't put it in the offering on the next Sunday I was there (and I missed several Sundays for various reasons).

I wrote "void" in the checkbook, tore the check up. I told myself that the Lord doesn't want me to jeopardize my family's groceries, and I didn't tithe. I told myself I would tithe the next month.

Now the next month is here.

I paid bills today. My paycheck was a little over $3,300. After paying the bills (and estimating the amounts for the bills that have yet to come) I have $359 left until my next pay day. I have $60 in my wallet. If I tithed 10% I would have $89 to feed my boys until the 25th of September.

We do have food in the cupboard and freezer...

Still...

How steady am I? Does my faith flow as easily as mercury? Does it change according to the surface it rides on? Or am I faithful enough to be firm, be as solid as the silver that mercury mimics?

Tithing isn't about paying my church dues. It isn't about coughing up money out of guilt or obligation. It's about being thankful, putting God first, being obedient, trusting Him.

Do I trust God to care for me like I say do?

Will I write that check?

Comfortable and Fair

It's unpleasant (this whole mess).

Human beings prefer lives that are comfortable. Physically comfortable. Emotionally comfortable.

When we, aw...

OK...

Me.

When my comfort is disturbed, when I have to change, have to adapt to circumstances I do not like, I resist.

My first resistance is to ignore it. Deny it. Disbelieve.

That was my first reaction when Willy died. It was my first reaction when I suspected my wife unfaithful.

When Willy died I didn't want to believe I was no longer a father. When Brenda betrayed me I did not want to believe that the future I envisioned was not to be.

This seems natural. It makes sense we do not want to be uncomfortable, for our lives to hurt.

But, on further reflection, I think it is a little odd. Why should we expect it be something it isn’t?

I don't know much about childbirth, but it seems to me that the transition from the safety of the womb to this world must be, at least, uncomfortable, at most, terribly frightening.

We come into this world uncomfortable.

And it continues. We discover what it is like to be hungry. No wonder babies cry so much! Suddenly they need to be fed. And they grow tired, unused to the noise and input that keeps them awake longer than they would like.

The first few days, first few weeks, of our lives are filled with learning this world is an uncomfortable place.

Yet, here I am, 52 years old, and I am surprised when I get hurt.

When I was a toddler I fell down. I skinned my knees learning to walk, probably in just in learning to crawl. Falling from swings, and bicycles. Hitting my thumb with a hammer, almost every lesson I learned, almost everything I know, what "hot" means, what "sharp" means, what cold, and itchy and rough and sad and angry and nearly everything I have experienced, told me the world is uncomfortable.

And it surprises me.

Why is that?

Why should I be surprised my marriage has failed? She is human. She has been fashioned like all the rest of us, to think about her comforts, pleasures, wants, needs. How could I expect she put me before herself?

Yet I did.

It is odd humans expect the world to be comfortable.

We also expect it to be fair. Or at least we feel it ought to be.

Why? There is little evidence it should be.

Tyrants have ruled and hurt and killed throughout history, throughout prehistory.

Disease has swept through families and villages and nations throughout time.

Even the earth beneath us has risen up and hurt us without warning. Volcanoes have spouted death, the oceans have risen and washed away lives.

Yet, we have this sense that things should be fair. They simply aren't. The world is not made that way.

So why do we think life should be comfortable and fair?

I think it is because, deep in our hearts... or rather, deep in our souls, we know that on the grand scale of things, happiness, comfort, fairness, is built into who we are, is what our maker wants for us. Deep within us we have the sense of rightness for us, a sense that joy is the fabric from which the universe is made.

Because, deep within us, we sense eternity. We carry the proof of a loving God within our natural expectations that life should be comfortable and fair.

There is a lack of “proof” God exists... no signature of the artist on the canvass, at least not the sort everyone can see.

And... there is an abundance of “proof” God exists.

We believe life should be comfortable, fair, when all the evidence is to the contrary.

And more... Why do we sense so many things which provide no advantage for our survival? If evolution were the only force behind what we are, why do we have the sense of beauty? Why do we feel joy? Why do we care about strangers? The environment? How is it we can offers ourselves? Self sacrifice. Service to others.

Last week I was in the Prayer room at church. I was praying out loud, singing, writing prayers on the walls. And I was hurting. I was grieving.

But there is a part of my mind which seems to always monitor how I am thinking, evaluating myself. And that part of me, looking down on the emotional, hurting part of me, saw something beneath the pain.

I saw joy.

I saw that below, or behind, beneath, what I feel now, there is an underlying truth of beauty and joy and wonder.

If all I am is my mind, the emotions it conjures, the tempests of my heart, why would I sense peace and joy and love deep underneath? Why would I be tossed about in a stormy sea, and clinging to the broken mast, and know that in the depths of the ocean is a calm, wondrous, joyous love?

Because...

I am His.

I am nothing. a bit of protoplasm on a spinning ball of dirt on the edge of a galaxy of billions of stars of a galaxy swimming among hundreds of billions of galaxies, in a single brief moment of the time line of this universe... I am a whiff of smoke, I am a cloud of molecules held together in the form of a man for a brief span of a few score years...

And I know that the being which created the whole thing, who holds the universe together as a single thing, a made thing, from creation to the end of time, as easily as I might hold a hat... I know that being who is impossible for me to imagine, has seen me, knows me, cares what happens to me, loves me.

That is why I believe in comfort, fairness, joy.

Because He gave me a soul that senses... eternity.

Carry On

"Carry On"

One morning I woke up and I knew
You were really gone
A new day, a new way, and new eyes
To see the dawn.
Go your way, I'll go mine and
Carry on
-Stephen Stills

I like the psychologist. She is professional, thorough, and most importantly, kind.

We were sent to her three years ago so Jeremiah could be evaluated for fire starting tendancies. Was he a threat to others? What is his IQ? What psychological scars does he carry from his early years in Haiti?

While we were at it, we had Isaac evaluated.

We learned the scope of their handicaps. A lot of it was bad news.

But there was some good news as well. We were told that both boys were performing far above what is expected of people with their handicaps. That they had developed coping skills, and used their fullest potential to do more than is seen in almost any other person with similar levels of intelligence. She was surprised how much we were able to coax the best from them.

She gave us suggestions on how to help them further. I listened to her suggestions, found the spiritual basis for them, and combined her suggestions with ways that a father is supposed to guide his children according to scripture.

I was supposed to gently prod Jeremiah, understand his thoughts, determine what he might be fixating on, redirect him to healthy thoughts. I prayed with him every night. I asked him about his fears, what he was thinking about, and I prayed a blessing over him each night.

I was supposed to coax Isaac out of his shyness, get him to open up, talk more. So I prayed with him each night also. I required he have one question for me each night. Anything at all. And I prayed with and for him. And in those prayers I let him know my own concerns for him, prayed for blessings that would help him make friends, talk with others. So... I told him about stars, and Jesus, and sex, and why the sky is blue. I told him he was loved and he has a big heart, and I am proud of him.

Now the three years have passed, and we hope to plot a path for Jeremiah to be able to move into and through the world with outside help (I won't always be here for him and he should always have an advocate), we went back.

She spent an hour and a half going over with us the test results of the boys. They have changed a great deal in the three years.

Jeremiah has lost the dark thoughts. His interactions with others are reasonable and above normal for someone with his IQ, which, by the way, rose 18 points. He is doing much better with what he has. She was more than surprised. She was astonished at the healthy changes she sees in Jeremiah.

Isaac has also improved incredibly. So much so he will not be eligible for benefits. His IQ went from 74 to 83. Though he still has problems, such as not realizing his limitations, and not interacting socially as well as we would like, he is much more capable in many ways (and he knows why the sky is blue).

Again, she was astonished. It is rare that IQ points change this much. Normally such changes only happen when someone is removed from an insitution where they do not have to think for themselves, and placed in an environment that enriches their mind, responsibilities.

In the light of their future we told the psychologist of our impending divorce.

She said what we have done for these boys is amazing. She said we have helped them become so much more than they could have been without us.

She cited all the work Brenda did in helping them with their schooling, with their development. She said she was amazed at how much effort and energy we put into them.

She said that we should be very pleased at the job we have done, and that it is obviously one of the main stressors that has cost us our marriage.

She implied the other factors, the death of Willy, the affairs, the financial struggles.

As she spoke I could feel the weight of those years. I looked at Brenda, and I could see the weight of those years in her eyes.

I could also feel the love we still have for each other. And that it isn't enough.

She reached for my hand, squeezed it. The counselor smiled sadly.

We wrapped things up, finalizing details of the reports which should be changed to make them more presentable to agencies which might be of help to Jeremiah and setting school goals for Isaac.

I got up, thanked her. Held the door open for Brenda. She preceded me down the stairs, opened the door into the waiting room for me. I went ahead and opened the outer door for her.

We walked across the parking lot together. The clarity of the future of these boys, the responsibilities I am taking on, the assistance she can offer from time to time, echoing in our minds from the conversations on the way there, and through the discussion in that office.

I moved quickly to the van, unlocked the door for her, held it open as she slid in.

I moved around to the driver's side, got behind the wheel, inserted the key in the ignition.

I looked at her. She at me.

And all the tension of the past year, all the hurts and joys and triumphs and failures of the last 28 years swept over me and I bent my head to the wheel... Tears flowed down my cheeks silently. My shoulders shook.

On the way home we talked about the details of the divorce. How we can make things easier for each other. How we can be fair to each other. How in many ways this is very unfair to me, but that I am ready to accept the job of caring for these boys for the next few years, get them out on their own.

Brenda feels a lot of guilt and shame. I let her accept the responsibilities for her misdeeds, and I acknowledge my own.

I am a little overwhelmed with what I know lies ahead of me. Caring for these boys. Work, house work, budgeting, shopping, laundry, guiding their spiritual growth, setting up programs and systems that will keep them going, keep them safe, even without me, though it may take a few years for that to happen.

And I am sad. I hurt to know that I was mistaken about my wife, about the future I thought would be.

I see how this ache I am feeling is similar in many ways to what I felt when Willy died.

Which, oddly enough, is comforting.

Willy's death is a deep wound in my heart, and I put perhaps more blame on myself for it than is logical. But... I can live with the loss of that boy.

I accept my share of the failure of our marriage, and it is a fresh wound on my heart that will probably last a long time, perhaps all my life... and I will probably take more blame for it than I should. But... I will be able to handle the loss of my marriage as well.

The comforting part is the beyond. Willy's death happened almost 16 years ago. And I am OK. I love God. I see beauty. I love others.

These past few days I have been waking up knowing that this time it is for real. There isn't any turning back now. Oh, I could probably talk Brenda into giving it another try, but, I don't want to. I am ready to move on. I don't hear a whisper telling me to hold her up, to hurt myself or the children in more of the roller coaster ride we have been on for the last year.

I have woken the last few mornings knowing she is really gone.

I have woken the last few mornings knowing that my life will be different, that there is a new day.

And... unbidden, a song from Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young comes to mind:

One morning I woke up and I knew
You were really gone
A new day, a new way, and new eyes
To see the dawn.
Go your way, I'll go mine and
Carry on

Sire of Sorrow

"You can’t step in the same river twice; between the first time you step into the river and the second time you step in the river, both the river changes and you change." --Heroclitus

I should be in bed. Today is about to turn into tomorrow. My doctor told me today I need to get more sleep and eat better. And yet, I'm sitting here tapping at this keyboard.

I'm 52. How the heck did I get here so fast? Fifty two is supposed to be old. I'm supposed to be all grown up. I'm supposed to be experienced, wise. And I find I am just as foolish as I ever was. More so.

In 1980, when I first met my bride, I thought life would roll along, I would somehow find my way, you know, work, children, a long life with her.

The children thing was a disappointment. Ten years into our marriage it became clear that she was not going to get pregnant (but we kept hoping, praying). I gave up on that dream before she did.

I had the other dream... A lifetime with one woman. Someday I would be like those elderly couples you see, holding hands, life-long partners... This year I have given up on that dream. Well, more like this Summer... or... really, this week.

We altered our dreams to fit the circumstances. We adopted Willy. I took his birth mom to her doctor appointments, held him when he was less than a day old, took him home. Named him after me. Gave him to God. That ended sadly.

We adopted Jeremiah and Isaac. I especially thought Isaac would carry on in the world for me. He has a lot of good qualities, but... he is himself, and I am not leaving children behind with my interests and talents... That's OK.

I started the other blog, Job's Tale, to deal with the sorrows I felt in life. And I started this blog when the latest crisis came along. Writing is an outlet for me. (I'm hoping that if I write this post I will be able to release the tension that is keeping me awake.)

I'm a little embarrassed by Job's Tale. I wrote some good stuff there... it is a good journal of my thoughts for that period of time, but, I think it was a little immature to think of my problems in the light of the Book of Job.


Though, in my defense, I was really trying to understand the underlying concepts and principles of the book, and I thought I would share some of my literary views of the work, its patterns and structures (it never went in that direction).

I started reading the Book of Job the way many do. Out of crisis and confusion.

I had a soundtrack for it. There is a song by Joni Mitchell about it. "Sire of Sorrow (Job's Sad Song)".

Let me speak, let me spit out my bitterness-
Born of grief and nights without sleep and festering flesh
Do you have eyes?
Can you see like mankind sees?
Why have you soured and curdled me?
Oh you tireless watcher! What have I done to you?
That you make everything I dread and everything I fear come true?

Once I was blessed; I was awaited like the rain
Like eyes for the blind, like feet for the lame
Kings heard my words, and they sought out my company
But now the janitors of Shadowland flick their brooms at me
Oh you tireless watcher! What have I done to you?
that you make everything I dread and everything I fear come true?

([Antagonists:] Man is the sire of sorrow)
I've lost all taste for life
I'm all complaints
Tell me why do you starve the faithful?
Why do you crucify the saints?
And you let the wicked prosper
You let their children frisk like deer
And my loves are dead or dying, or they don't come near
([Antagonists:] We don't despise your chastening
God is correcting you)

Oh and look who comes to counsel my deep distress
Oh, these pompous physicians
What carelessness!
([Antagonists:] Oh all this ranting all this wind
Filling our ears with trash)
Breathtaking ignorance adding insult to injury!
They come blaming and shaming
([Antagonists:] Evil doer)
And shattering me
([Antagonists:] This vain man wishes to seem wise
A man born of asses)
Oh you tireless watcher! What have I done to you?
That you make everything I dread and everything I fear come true?

([Antagonists:] We don't despise your chastening)
Already on a bed of sighs and screams,
And still you torture me with visions
You give me terrifying dreams!
Better I was carried from the womb straight to the grave.
I see the diggers waiting, they're leaning on their spades.

([Antagonists:] Man is the sire of sorrow
Sure as the sparks ascend)
Where is hope while you're wondering what went wrong?
Why give me light and then this dark without a dawn?
([Antagonists:] Evil is sweet in your mouth
Hiding under your tongue)
Show your face!
([Antagonists:] What a long fall from grace)
Help me understand!
What is the reason for your heavy hand?
([Antagonists:] You're stumbling in shadows
You have no name now)
Was it the sins of my youth?
What have I done to you?
That you make everything I dread and everything I fear come true?
([Antagonists:] Oh your guilt must weigh so greatly)
Everything I dread and everything I fear come true
([Antagonists:] Man is the sire of sorrow)
Oh you make everything I dread and everything I fear come true

I have listened to that song so many times for so many years that sometimes it fills my dreams. I have sung it in the woods, I have sung it in our Prayer Room. I have prayed it to God. I have let it play while I wrote many posts (it is playing now).

The song's title comes from Job's friends, arguing that our pains, our griefs, come from our own actions. We are the sires of our own sorrows.

And I believe it.

I know it.

Though the story of Job is set in the framework of a debate between Satan and the Lord God, I really believe that the countless aches and pains of humanity are primarily of our own making.

Even in the death of Willy, I had something to do with that.

And this current sadness which storms through my chest... human actions. Hers... mine.

I know that this is another episode in a mortal life... an ephemeral thing.

It's just that I have tried so hard for so long, and I have been hurt so many times, I am ill-equipped to handle the flood of feelings and thoughts I am having.

I wish I was on the other side of all this already.

But that's the point of a mortal life, isn't it? To go through it, not around.

Perhaps it is my artistic nature that I feel things this intensely... That sounded callous, didn't it? I imply the sadness of others can't be as bad as mine... That isn't true.

Still... I know people who have gone through this sort of thing with hardly a backward glance. I walk through my days, going over my mistakes, her mistakes. I carry the prickly, spikey, heavy burden of my life's experiences close to my heart. I let it pierce me, change me.

And I'm 52 now. Fifty two is supposed to be old. I'm supposed to be all grown up. I'm supposed to be experienced, wise. And I find I am just as foolish as I ever was.

Oh you tireless watcher!
What have I done to you?
That you make everything I dread and everything I fear come true?

There will be a day when this will be something that happened, not something that is happening. That will be better.

([Antagonists:] Oh your guilt must weigh so greatly)

So here I sit... passages from scripture, images of my wife with another, Willy's blue face so still in my arms, appreciation for the wonders of the universe, and this ache... all rolling around inside.

I know this.

I know what this is.

It's called grief.

And it will pass.

But, not tonight, not right now.

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

Brenda:

I really don’t know what to say, but I need to release this frustration, anxiety, fear, hurt.

Can you and I be friends? I hope so. But today, at this moment anyway, I am so hurt I can’t stand it.

I can never trust you. That is a fundamental truth. I can never trust you.

I think about the last three decades and I ache.

I really thought marriage was forever.

Yeah, yeah... I made a lot of mistakes, did a lot of things wrong.

But I grew. I keep working on myself, improving myself, holding myself to a higher standard.

And you threw it all away.

How could I ever trust anyone again? How could I ever get married again? How could I say those words? Those vows? I can’t.

And what am I to do now?

I’m to take care of these handicapped boys. I’m to go to work, keep my career going, and clean this house, feed these boys, and try to hold myself together for them.

You threw away our future. Your future. My future.

I am incredibly sad.

And this past year! It wasn’t enough that you cheated on me, betrayed me. You kept yanking me back and throwing me away again. You kept telling me you were sorry and you loved me, and then turn around and say and do cruel things.

And I hung in there.

I kept praying for you. Trying to build you up, even while you were tearing me down.

And I am so tired. So spent. So frustrated. So hurt.

I’m not writing this to lay a guilt trip on you. In fact I have nothing to gain from saying anything to you. I do not believe my words can help you. I do not believe my pain can do anything for anyone.

But the boys are in bed and I am alone. The way I expect to be for a very, very long time.

You were my best friend.

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

That's life, isn't it? And mine isn't so bad. There are such terrible things happening in the world. I live a comfortable life in a nation that grants me many unearned rewards.

And I am 52 years old. I have changed, I have grown. The river changes, I change. Maybe that's the whole point, eh? Living a mortal life.

Still...

I can't sleep. And today has turned into tomorrow.

God Works in Mysterious Ways

Sunday evening I gave her 24 hours.

I told her she needed to get well. She needed to get off the fence and choose. She was going to dedicate herself to recovery or we would divorce.

I told her I would not tolerate even the smallest communication with John. No visits. No phone calls. No emails. No text messages.

I told her that if she did not choose, then I would assume she was going to continue this back and forth game and I would file for divorce, with or without her help.

She chose.

It was much easier this time to talk about the details of divorce since we have danced around it for so long.

I haven't told the boys.

Now it is late, I should be in bed, but something has occurred to me. It is part of this strange dance we have been doing for so long.

You see, tonight it was clear that she saw this ultimatum as in or out of our marriage. That I was focused on John. That she wondered about how we cold repair our love.

But, I realize now that there has been a gradual change in my view of this mess. It has stopped being so much about marriage, and more about her.

Some time over the last few months, even while I was grieving my dying marriage, I have come to see how deeply hurt she is. That she needs healing.

My ultimatum was for her to resolve to work on her self, her heart. That could not happen while she was still being deceitful, still contacting him. I wanted her to get healthy first, and then we could work on our marriage. Only in her being changed, her heart made whole, clean, could I begin to think about trust, marriage.

Here's the thing... Though she and I have had different hurts, we have shared many of them as well. Loss of dreams, loss of a child, the realization of the handicaps of our children, the burning down of our church by our eldest.

Through these hurts I have grown closer to God.

Through these hurts she has grown further from God.

Even if we were able to rebuild our marriage, forgive each other, love each other, trust... we are so different...

How is that?

I told her tonight it is about choices. How I chose to look at things, accept what is, take responsibility for my mistakes, recognize that pain has come from the actions of others.

She cannot understand how a loving God could permit His children to hurt, permit evil.

It is a very old question.

The strangest part of the question is the differing answers people find within their hearts.

I love God.

Some how I love Him more today than I ever have.

I've noticed the look in my eyes. How smiles have not come naturally, easily, as they once did. I don't particularly care of the careworn look in my eyes.

I also know that deep in my heart is a fountain of joy. It is still there, it will rise and flood my heart, and I will smile freely again. I'm just not ready for it yet.

I know that fountain is there because when I go to the Prayer Room at church, when I pray, and draw, and sing for my Lord in that solitary place, I feel the stirring of that joy, even under the tears of hurt.

Why is that?

The question I have isn't why does God let suffering occur. I am comfortable with the answer He has shown me. The question I have is why me? Why does my heart respond in this way? Why has her heart responded in that way?

I know sometimes God moves people's hearts... Pharoah's, Judas'... Still, there is something within our nature, within the way we each respond to the world, that makes it easier for one person to look upward in reverance and hands raised in praise, and another to look upward with resentment and hands raised in clenched fists.

We have agreed to work on filing for divorce as quickly as possible. I need to resolve this, move on.

I have a lot of hard work ahead of me.

I gladly accept the responsibility for caring for these handicapped boys. I accept that in order to give Brenda her share of our home equity I will have to refinance our home and make payments on that second mortgage. I accept that I will have to work harder to cook and clean and do house repairs, and all of that is fine with me. Really.

God has worked in my heart in ways very different than my wife's.

I love God.

Why is that different than her?

Nothing in the Pan

Brenda spent the last two nights in our home. It was so I could get a break, take some time to think, to pray.

She said I could stay Sunday night as well, that she would see Jeremiah off to his SERP program (a social thing for handicapped adults) Monday morning before she left for work.

But I came home.

I drove leisurely. I was in no hurry. I let those who were in a rush to get to Portland, to freeways and the bustle of life with fewer trees and more road rage, fly on by.

I stopped a couple of times when the road passed over promising looking streams. I hiked down, looking for sand bars, and scooped rock and sand into my pan (see previous post). The mud would lift away in the current, I picked out the larger stones, swished it around. When I got down to nothing but sand I grew gentle with the rocking, sifting the black sand from the rest, searching for flecks of gold. And in each panful, in each creek and river I paused, there were no glints of gold.

I took the six mile detour to look over the house in Timber, Oregon, the place we lived in when we went off to get married. I haven't been there since 1981.

It was a little confusing. Many of the houses I knew were gone, nicer homes in their places. Several hillsides had been clearcut and the ugly stumps stuck out like the rotting teeth of a meth addict. A lot has changed in the nearly three decades since we lived there.

The bridge near my old home has been replaced, the road straightened. That old house which leaned away from the road is still teetering there, still promising to fall over.

I came home.

Brenda had obviously been busy. The house was clean, the laundry done.

Her demeanor: confident. This weekend had given her the opportunity to salve her conscience a little, doing the work she feels guilty in having me do.

And there was something else.

Last Friday night, while waiting for my seafood dinner at a small restaurant in Astoria, she called, upset. She was crying. She was sorry. She was having a bad day. She had made mistakes at work and everything in her life seemed to be coming apart.

I asked her if she would like me to pray for her.

She did.

So I did. In that restaurant I turned the cell phone so the mic was just in front of my lips and I prayed for her. I whispered into the phone, the waitress looking at me with a question on her face, and then understanding. I prayed God would draw near to her. That the Lord would help her to feel Him near. That she would give up... give up the anger, the resentments, the frustrations, the resistance to His will. I prayed that she would sense the Holy Spirit, wrapping itself about her, comforting her, whispering she was loved, that she was special.

She was grateful for the prayer.

But when I got home... I could sense her confidence again. The willfulness. The taking charge of things that comes easily to her when she is calling the shots around the home, doing chores.

I knew.

She had called him again.

She was back to playing that game, trying to control everything, to have everything. To be in my home, doing the things that made her feel useful, in control of her life.

"Do you want to talk about anything?" I asked.

"No, not really."

"Well, the other day you seemed broken, seemed to need help so much. I prayed for you, prayed that you would find your way back to health, be washed clean.

"Have you been thinking about us?"

"That's all I have been thinking about."

"Well... I think we are pretty much past the thinking stage now. Are you sure you don't want to talk about what happens next? Where we are going?" (I was giving her a chance to come clean.)

"Not really. You have said what you want. I just can't decide what I want."

Yup. I knew for certain. I read her so well. She has contacted him again.

She was folding laundry. Looked like she would be for a while.

"OK. Well, there is something I have to do. I'll be back in a bit."

I got in the van. Drove to Molalla. Drove to his house.

I walked up his drive, he came around the van parked there.

He said he was ready to fight me.

I told him I didn't want to fight, that I would like to find it in myself to love him like a human being, to care for him, but that I was having a lot of trouble bringing myself to do that.

He launched into a littany of his frustrations in this situation. How she keeps coming and going. That he tells her to go back to her family, and then she comes to see him again.

We had trouble taking turns. We both wanted to interupt the other, vent our frustration, vent our anger. Our emotions, his and mine, swung around, anger, jealousy, frustration, bravado, tension. But we slowly grew civil, letting each other speak.

He said he was ready to fight (several times).

I looked at him... sized him up. He has a couple of inches on me, but I am heavier. His biceps are lean and firm, but I know that though mine don't stand out, there is a lot of strength in them. I knew that if I released my anger, released my frustration, we would probably be a fairly even match.

"Come on!" he said. "Hit me. Go ahead. I'm ready for it."

"I can't do that. I am a Christian. I am a Christ Follower. I can't do it. I can't take a swing at you. A part of me wishes you would hit me in the face a couple of times. A couple of good, hard punches. Enough to make this clear I am defending myself."

"Well, let's do it," he said. "I'm willing. I used to act like that all the time. We can go at it until one of us ends up in the hospital."

"No, I can't. There is too big a part of me that says I can't, that I shouldn't, that I won't."

I told him he had to choose. Let her in, or close the door. That I believe she is ill, that she cannot choose. That I am going to force her to choose, and that if he had any integrity he wouldn't allow her in and out of his home either. That he would make her choose. I told him he has hurt me. He has hurt my chldren. He has hurt my wife. I told him I am not going to let this go any further.

He accused me of spying on him. Stalking him is what he said. I set that record straight. I told him that any time I have something to say to him it would be face to face. That he needn't look over his shoulder.

He said he was a man of integrity and that he has told her to go back to her family.

"Look," I replied. "I can understand you may think you have integrity, but in my view that isn't true. I don't want anything from you but for you to stand and hold your position. Choose. I will do the same. I am going to make her choose. And it will be permanent. I am not going to allow you or her to screw with my family anymore. You and Brenda have hurt my children. You have hurt me. You have hurt her. She is too confused. I would like to help her, but she needs to want to help herself.

"I'm going to take you at your word today. I can see your own frustrations, your own hurt. I am going to live my life openly, honestly. If I have anything to say to you it won't be round about. It will be face to face."

"I appreciate that," he said.

I stuck my hand out.

He took it. We shook hands.

"Take care of yourself, John."

I left.

Brenda was still puttering about. I asked her to come into the back yard to talk.

I told her she needs to clean herself up. She needs to become a new person inside. I told her that I don't see she has truly given up, that she is seeking God to heal her.

"I don't know if God wants to help me."

"That's not true. Even now, even after all you have done, He continues to bless you. He holds your very atoms together and gives you complete freedom to choose to do whatever you wish. Good or wicked. You can't blame God for the evil things that have happened to you. What your stepfather did, what I have done, what Jeremiah did... those were the actions of individuals.

"God doesn't pull strings, treat people like puppets. We are all free.

"Hey, I've had a lot of bad things happen to me, and I know God loves me. That is where God really works miracles. Inside. He is inside me. I know he is real and He makes the things that happen bearable. He can also heal you.

"That is the only way you can be happy. You have to give it up.

"I'm willing to take this all over... caring for the boys, paying the bills. I'm willing to sell the house, even though we won't get diddly in this market, and even get an apartment to care for the boys, just to be fair to you.

"But I am not willing to let this standing on the fence to continue.

"I have spent the last two days walking in woods, wading in streams, hiking hills, all while thinking and praying. And much of those prayers were for you.

"But this is it.

"You have 24 hours. Decide.

"If you want my help you must surrender to God. You must stop drinking. Go to AA. See your sponsor. Talk to women in our church. Humble yourself. Get yourself healed, or you will never find happiness.

"If you are willing to get well, I am willing to help you.

"I'm not putting a time limit on your recovery. But I am limiting this continual dance with this other man in our lives. And I'm not sure how long it will take me to believe you have changed, to let you back into my home. I have changed this year and you need to change as well. The point is, you have to change. Drop the crap you carry in your heart and let a miracle happen.

"If you contact him again. If you call him, if you go see him at home or work, if you text message him, if you send him a letter, it's over. I want a divorce.

"And I will know it. I knew it today, and so I went to see him. If you contact him again I will go over there and I know he will tell me the truth."

Her eyes widened.

I told her a bit about my talk with him.

"But this isn't about John. I am willing to love you, to care for you, to help you heal. But I cannot heal you. I cannot fix you. You have to do it.

"I don't care about the things you do around here. I don't need a maid, someone to clean, to do laundry. I need a partner. Someone who will be with me all my life. Someone who will care for me if something happens to me, and someone I can help if they need it from me. I need a partner. I need a soul mate.

"You have 24 hours. If you don't reply in that time, I will assume you are going to continue to play this hurtful game, and I quit. If you won't fill out the divorce papers, I will. If you won't give me those papers, I'll go and get new ones. If you won't help me fill them out, I will hire a lawyer.

"I have spent the last couple of days praying, mostly for you. I will continue to pray for you, but it will be from outside our marriage.

"I'm no longer a wuss. I am no longer whipped. I will not let you do this to me, to my family, anymore. The game is over."

She didn't say much.

She got some clothing for work for Monday.

I told her to come by after work tomorrow to give me her answer.

I've been panning in this creek for too long. I've been looking at my own flaws, washing out the mud from the sand, picking out the rocks. But I'm not going to stay in this same spot any longer.

I'm rinsing out the pan, and I'm hiking on to another spot.

If I spot some gold as I climb away from this creek, good.

If not, I'll be back at the highway soon. I'll start up the van and move on.

Failure

On this little trip to the coast I've been panning for gold.

I found a little in a small water way called Big Creek.

Big Creek passing under Highway 30

Since I'm not doing it for money, but recreation, I take my time at it. I pull out the tiniest flecks of gold. I avoid letting any of the pretty metal slip by. I'm sure some does anyway, but I think I must be doing pretty good because when I go over it again I find that a few of those flecks aren't gold but pyrite. That means I accepted some of those flecks based on their color from a particular angle rather than the true properties of gold.

I've been looking over my life a great deal. Thinking, praying.

New Prayer done with Sharpies

I see things I thought was good, what I thought was right, but on closer examination I find aren't based on the true properties of "good."

When I was in my early 20s I did a lot of hiking and hitchhiking. I was enjoying nature, having adventures. I walked much of the John Muir Trail in Yosemite, the Pacific Crest Trail in the Sierra Nevadas.

It seemed good. I met wonderful people (and some not so much), I saw beautiful country.

But while I was doing that I wasn't growing, I wasn't maturing as I should have been to become a man, to be an adult who could lead his home, to earn a career that could support his family. It seemed good, it glittered, but it didn't pay in dividends of the true properties of "good." It didn't leave lasting good that might have better prepared me for my life, my marriage.

It was bright and shiny, but floated away as easily as a flake of pyrite.

I know I'm a pretty good guy. I know I love deeply, my God, my friends, my church, my wife... I know love covers a great deal.

But it also tends to hide the flecks of "fool's gold."

I am so ashamed of my failures.

Now before you jump to the comment box to write me an encouraging note (and thank you for the thought), think about what that awareness means.

I would say the awareness of failure can be a fleck of gold.

First, awareness of failure is humbling. If I swaggered through my life filled with false self-assuredness I would be lying to myself. I would never grow because I would see no reason to change.

Second, I see that no matter how much I want to be good, to do what is right, I am human and will, by my nature, fail. I continue to think of myself first (even now this post is all about me, not about God). I am human and it is right to remember that.

The failure which tears at me now is my marriage. It is the greatest failure of my life.

It would be easy to point out my wife's mistakes, her failures. Very easy. But that isn't honest.

Did I honor her as I should have? As I swore I would? Did I love her enough? Did I cherish her enough?

I have been walking and thinking and praying.

As I sat on a rock in that creek, my bare feet growing tender in the cool water. As I swirled the mud and sand around the pan I was watching dirt and rocks and debris flow out, watching for flecks of gold worth keeping. As I swirled the mud and sand I was looking at my own mistakes, grieving my own errors.

My life is full of errors. Much of it wasn't even fool's gold. Much of my errors was just like the mud lifting up right away when I dip the pan in the moving water. The water turns brown as the dirt rises from the sand, curling away in the shadows.

(click picture to see the gold)

I know that in the end much of what I have done in this life will vanish, wash away in the flow of eternity incarnate.

That is such a good thing. Such a good thing. A God thing.

In being brutally honest with myself I ache under this self flagellation of examining my mistakes. Though He cannot abide my sin, He won't embrace it, hold it, cling to it. I still do, and some day I will follow His example.


Won't it by wonderful when I can get past this time of painful growth? Won't it be wonderful when I am no longer tempted by selfish motives, selfish self absorption? Won't it be wonderful to slip into eternity where a single day in His courts is worth a thousand elsewhere, where a single day may be a thousand thousand days elsewhere, elsewhen?

I don't think my marriage is going to survive. I don't believe my wife will undergo the kind of internal rebirth, internal cleansing (which only God can do, a true miracle), which would give me the assurance we could be man and wife.

I am quite sad over it. Not just her mistakes, her failures, but my own. I wish I was a better man. I am quite sad about it.

If she does not move on the paperwork soon, I will.

Now... you can jump in and leave those comments if you feel led to do so... but I would like to say that even though this looks like I am just continuing to beat myself up, I am really just taking these few days washing water over my life and looking carefully at the flecks, determining which are gold, and which are the imagination of a fool.

Today's find on my room key.

For Justin

Taking some time for myself. Thinking and praying.

I'm near Astoria, Oregon. Here are some pics.

Queen of the West

This vessel can often be seen cruising up the Columbia and the Willamette to Portland and beyond.

(Wouldn't it be cool if she were really external combustion?)

You can see a large ship in the background. Many ships like to pull in to Portland as the fresh water kills the barnacles clamped on and eating their hulls.


View From my Room Looking Across the Columbia River

Flavel House

Front door

Music Room

Mirrors in front Hall

Kitchen

Astoria-Megler Bridge

County Fair

Every year the cars line up along the streets near my home for a week. We live near the livestock entrance of the Clackamas County Fairgrounds. Mid August is always the time for the Clackamas County Fair.


So... here are some photos of highlights of the County Fair.

Isaac is ready to go to work and the rest of us (except Rocky) are going to see the sights.

Isaac's first job.

He is working with the Funtastic Traveling Shows, they whirl folks around in bizarre rides (I look them over with a dubious' engineer's eye and usually decline to ride), and encourage them to throw rings over bottles, dimes onto plates. Knock all the cans off the pedastel with two small bean bags and Isaac will give you a tacky picture with LEDs glowing on wheels and headlights. He worked hard. I'm proud of him.

Jeremiah losing a couple of quarters.

7 of 12 having lunch

Lion Cub

Just a part of a rather large snake

Panning for gold
They had sand from their mining club's claim in little styrofoam containers. $3 each or two for $5. I purchased $10 worth for myself, about the same for the boys.

Found some!

My small poke of gold (about $50 worth!)

Not shown:

The Methodist Church's Annual pies. I had a slice of Rhubarb/boysenberry and tried a slice of gooseberry.

The whirling rides.

The garden entries... flowers to squash, gourds to tomatoes.

The shows... a hypnotist, the "Sliver Guy" who only goes through his glass balls juggling routine when someone drops a dollar in his bucket, the rodeo, 4-H exhibits, livestock judging and auctions, raffles for a Ford Mustang and a tractor, the scores of food vendors, Pioneer village with demonstrations and sales of old fashioned mechandise, black smithing, leather work, broom making, old fashioned soaps, native American drumming and dancing, fire and rescue depts. demos and kiddie car safety toy car course, booths hawking everything from sunglasses to political views, chickens and llamas and horses and cows and sheep and goats and hamsters and rabbits and just about every critter that is either livestock or pets.

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I'm going to take a couple of days away. I need a break. Not sure where I am going. I'd like to find somewhere quiet. The motels at the coast look filled up. I'll be back Sunday afternoon.