Doing My Best

Watching the Beijing 2008 Summer Olympics leaves me impressed with the skill, hard work, determination behind of these people who are the best in the world at what they do.

I'm not really into sports, but the precision and strength and control these athletes have over their bodies is impressive. Beautiful. The graceful gravity-defying contortions of the gymnasts, arms slicing precisely through water, the rapid spin of a huge man as he whirls around and around hurling the shot put an incredible distance... hard to believe.

I'm a generalist. I don't perfect any particular activity. I do my best at many things and accept the results.

I write and rewrite my posts, tightening up phrases, changing the patterns of sentence length, substituting a word for a better one, seeking rhythms of alliteration and parallelism, shifting topics in series of illustrations, nice little tricks, but I'm not a Sam Clemens or a Ernie Hemingway.

I dabble in art. The work I do may be heartfelt, may be unusual, but it is pedantic, not ground breaking.

I work hard at teaching, seeking to inspire, encourage, educate, but some students are moving on to the high school and I might have better connected to their hearts and minds, better prepared them for their future in high school, been just a little more inspiring, a little more focused.

Though I am not an expert at any particular thing, I try hard to choose correctly, let my conscience and my faith guide me moment to moment.

This past year has been a real test for me. I have had to prayerfully weigh the demands of my faith, my children, my wife, my heart, my integrity, my desires in the hanging cups of the balances of my mind, body, and spirit.


This past year I have strove to be obedient to God, doing each day what I thought He was telling me to do. And, though the result (getting a divorce) could have been made a year ago with a clear conscience, I know the hurt and effort of this last lap around the sun was the right thing, what I was supposed to do.

Still, the desires of my own heart strove against many of those choices, actions, held my roller coaster car firmly to the roiling rails of events when I would have preferred to stop the ride.

When Brenda moved out a month ago a peace settled in my heart. Her storm of words, her anger driving her to stuff belongings into boxes and suitcases, washed against an oddly peaceful acceptance in my heart. I lovingly told her I would miss her, I wished her the best, I would pray for her.

And when she left him only two days later to move in with her mom, I clearly felt I could not let her return.

But that didn't mean a part of me wasn't scared, didn't yearn for her, didn't grieve over the loss of my dream of loving one woman all of my life.

The final acceptance of what must be dawned in my heart, in my mind and spirit, in the 24 hours beginning this Monday afternoon. This post is the other part of the tale I told in the previous post.

She came over after work Monday, bringing a six pack of beer. She drank five of them. I drank half of one. She wanted to try absinthe, I made two for us.

I sadly told her how much I loved her, but I couldn't see a way I would ever be able to trust her. That it was all too clear she would not really be able to give her life over to God, to allow the Spirit to cleanse her heart, for her to be reborn into someone I could trust. I would have to go on without her.

She graciously accepted the truth of that. She honestly accepted the responsibility for her actions and their consequences. She admitted how she truly loves me but has let her heart nurture anger and resentments which closed her off from my love until she had spent all the trust left in our marriage. It was such a blessing to hear her words.

In that time together, Monday afternoon, we revealed our hearts to each other, seeing the deep love, affection, care we have for each other in the light of a future in which such feelings are no longer enough.

I told her how much I hurt, how I ache for her, how I knew it was over.

Somehow the affection we hold for each other led us to agree completely to a divorce, yet acknowledge our concern for each other to the extent that she would spend the night here. That there was no expectation of sex, but that we each needed the sense of love that we have lost.

This is embarrassing for me to admit... this strange night of my life when we accepted with resolution the dissolution of our marriage... and that I wanted to feel loved so desperately I was willing to hold her as I released her.

We hid from our children as best we could the fact she would spend the night... we didn't want their hopes to rise for we knew the tide would soon go out again.

We held each other close. We just lay there, talking about the last three decades.

We kissed tenderly like we haven't for years.

We made love.

It wasn't sex. We made love like we haven't made love in the years since Jeremiah burned down the church. We made love gently, tenderly, lovingly like we haven't since Willy died in 1992.

We awoke Tuesday morning, still great tenderness between us.

And, oh so strangely, with the knowledge we weren't going to be able to repair our marriage, we made clear our resolve to end all this.

I told her she is likely to let her heart stray again. That I will never be able to trust her as I should be able to trust my wife.

When she came over after work on Tuesday I brought up the divorce again. It is a clear path now. We have details to wrap up, but the agreement is clear.

"I feel strange about last night," I said.

"I know... But we are still married..."

Yeah. We are still married and there wasn't anything wrong, anything sinful, about our spending the previous night like that. But, though it was tender, kind, loving, it was also "farewell," and a little strange.

I have tried to be honest in this on line journal, this weB-LOG. I am embarrassed over my weakness in letting her back in my bed Monday night. I know I was desperate for affection, to know someone cared for me. I am embarrassed to reveal I could not stride away from my marriage like a resolute John Wayne into the sunset of some western.

I have hesitated to write this post because it shows I am vulnerable, I was willing to hold someone close I knew I was going to turn away. I'm unsure if it was honorable.

But each time we have spoken since then, and it has become frequent as we discuss the details of dissolving this marriage, the clarity of this future sinks deeper into my heart, our hearts.

I knew it was coming. When she left that last time, when I felt the Holy Spirit give me peace in the face of her anger, something changed within me, told me it was indeed time to make this the last time she would move her things out.

There. I have said it.

She was here last Monday night, in the center of the agreement of our divorce, and we loved each other as a man and wife should.

This post is a sort of embarassed confession. I don't want this journal to only show the parts that make me look good, but be a fairly honest record... successes and failures.

I am spent. I am tired and I need a break. I am going to take off Friday night and drive to the coast, find some quiet little town near beaches and forests and soak in the presence of the Lord as I rest from the recent emotional and physical exertions... house repairs, caring for my sons, a few other projects, my garden...

I'm not perfect, I do nothing extremely well... but I'm doing my best.