Kiss and Breakup

We found the little Mexican food restaurant tucked into an awkward crook of Highway 99W. It looked old, but in good repair. Garish neon lights, the sort given out by beer vendors, filled each window, evidence they spend very little on decor. The gravel parking lot was packed.

Such a non-descript little restaurant surrounded by expensive cars told me that this was a place with quality but inexpensive food. I was right.

“Please Seat Yourself” the placard said.

I saw a booth in the corner that hadn’t been bussed yet. I spotted a towel used for cleaning tables, and wiped a few tortilla chip crumbs and spilt salsa, moved the condiments about to throughly wash everywhere for Brenda and I. I wanted this quiet corner for the conversation I was pretty sure was going to happen.

We were having a good time. The ride to the restaurant was friendly, pleasant.

When Jorge asked us if we wanted anything to drink and she ordered a mango margarita, I knew I was right about her, about us, about tonight.

“Make that two, Jorge,” I said.

He smiled, a little puzzled over how I knew his name (I spotted it on the computer by the kitchen where I had gotten the damp towel).

We talked about the financial crisis, and the presidential campaign, and how good the food was probably going to be.

I let the conversation drift over pleasant topics until we were nearly finished with the delicious food (I had a carne asada burrito with guacamole).

“Well, have you decided how you are going to make the changes you were talking about?”

(I knew exactly what was happening, and where this was headed.)

“What do you mean?”

“Well, last week you came to me and said you had made a mistake, that you wanted to be my wife, that you wanted to grow old with me. You said you wanted to be a mom to the boys. you went to our pastor, you went to women in our church, and you told them that you wanted to get right with God, that you wanted to rebuild your marriage. But... you are drinking, and your emotions still change quickly, and I know you. So... You really aren’t making any changes in your life, are you?”

“No...” she said quietly.

“I knew. It’s OK. You called John didn’t you?”

She held still for a moment, nodded ever so slightly.

“Brenda, I knew you had. I know you very well. A week ago you said all those things, and you meant them. But, you cannot stand to be alone, and you simply haven’t the strength and will to be true without my forcing you. And that isn’t what I want.

“It’s not good for you. You have been deceiving me and yourself. I know you love me, and we have been best friends, but you aren’t a wife.

“I need a wife who will be a wife. I need someone I can trust. A partner. A helpmate. I need someone who wants to walk all the way to the grave with me. And you can’t do that.

“And I want you to be my friend. But right now you aren’t my friend. You lie to me, you deceive me, or try to. You do not have my best interests at heart.

“You cannot be happy with a life with me. And I cannot be happy with a life with you because I do not trust you, and I cannot trust you because you are not trustworthy.

I took a breath. I was speaking softly, kindly, compassionately. She watched me steadily.

“I do not want you to live with me because of guilt, or shame, or a sense of responsibility. Let it all go. Let me go.”

“But it isn’t fair to you,” she said. “It isn’t fair to leave you with those boys, make you do all the work.”

“Now, no one is making me do anything,” I replied. “I am choosing my own life. I love those boys, and yes, it is going to be hard, but that is the way it is and I can find joy in my life even when I have a lot to do. I can still appreciate the rainbows, and the sunrises, and the dog running across the fields at Mollala River State Park.”

“But it is too much for you. It isn’t fair that I leave you to do all the work.”

“It’s not that bad. This whole life is only a few decades long. Most people throughout the world, throughout time, work very hard. And it doesn’t matter. I love my life.

“I don’t like this mess you and I are in. But I like living this life. I am the Lord’s servant and I will do whatever task He sets before me.

“And I know why He has asked me to do the things I have done this last year and a half. He had me take you back again and again and again, so you would see love and forgiveness acted out in your life. He told me to stop last Spring because He wanted you to come to terms with who you are and help you find your way, find a chance to come back to Him, and me, and the boys.”

“And He reminded me of my wedding vows a week ago so I would give you the chance to go to church, to have the elders pray over you. I really felt a sense of burden being lifted from you that night. You were freed of some heavy burdens you have been carrying for a very long time. And that has given you the chance to make a choice for your life free of the garbage. You can be free now. And that is a gift God has given all of us, free will.

“So... Let’s kiss and breakup.”

Against her will she smiled.

“I know,” I said. “I’m so weird.”

“But in a cute way.”

So... I took her back to her sister's. Along the way I said reassuring things to her. I told her she is a good person, but this whole mess is turning her into a liar. She doesn’t do it very well, but she is doing it frequently, and if she doesn’t stop it will become too easy for her.

I parked in front of her sister's house. I told her she needed to take off her wedding ring. I told her it isn’t right for her to talk to another man and wear that ring.

We chatted a while. She worried about the boys, details. Asked about Friday. Should she go?

OH YEAH!!! THAT'S BIG NEWS!

On Friday Isaac is being sworn in as a U.S. citizen!!!!!

“Of course you should go! You’re his mom! You need to be there. You also need to be at his graduation and if he gets married, at his wedding. I will never talk down about you to those boys. I want you in their lives as much as is reasonable.”

There was a hesitation.

“I want to pray for you before you go.”

She didn’t say anything.

“It’s going to be OK,” I told her. “Go on. Have a good life. Find out the things you need to learn to find out who you are and what God wants of you. This is good for me, too. This is a lot of hard work, but the on-going stress of this mess, of dealing with you, is too much for me. It isn’t fair. I deserve better.”

We held hands. She clutched mine tightly, running her fingers over my wedding band.

I let it go on for a little while.

Then I pulled my hand away and gave her left boob a squeeze. She looked up startled.

I was grinning.

“Just one last time!”

She laughed.

“Now let me pray for you, OK?”

She nodded.

“Heavenly Father. Thank you for my wife. Thank you for all she has done for me, all she has given me. Thank you that through her I was able to get these boys into my life. I pray Lord that You will bless her, watch over her. I know she has accepted You as her savior and that whoever has been placed in Your hands cannot be taken away. I pray You will bring people alongside her, to keep You in mind for her, that You will guide her path so some day she may come to You again. And this whole life is so short. She will be joining You in a few decades at most, and that is all that matters. I know her choices have not pleased You, but I ask You to bless my wife, to take care of her. I claim this prayer through the name of my big brother, Jesus Christ, who ushered me into Your family and in whom I can claim anything. Therefore, I claim protection over Brenda. Help wash away the guilt and shame and regret and help her find her way through this life, for I can no longer help her. In the name of Jesus, Amen.”

We hugged tightly. She put her hand to the back of my head and pulled my face into her hair. She clung tight.

“Text me over the next few days so we can organize getting together to go to Portland on Friday with Isaac. Take care of yourself.”

I backed the van around the corner, pulled left toward home, and removed my wedding ring before I got to the stop sign.

It Has A Certain Ring To It

I like writing. For me, it’s relaxing. I think over an idea for a day or two or three and make a mental list of examples or supportive concepts which would dovetail into an interesting bit of insight into my own nature.

It’s a part of that watcher in me, I guess. I look at how I am feeling, what I am thinking, and I shift the pieces about until it makes something coherent, something which tells me something about myself, I write it out.

I like the patterns in writing. The pattern of sentence length is fun... writing long sentences when I want the reader to slow down, think a little. Short ones? Good for a little punch. Prompts the reader to speed up.

I try to be careful about word choice. It isn’t perfect, but it’s eclectic, and hopefully, accurate. Mark Twain said: “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.” I know I’m thrilled when an author hits it just right.

My own style is a little odd, perhaps unique. In college I had a class in literature where a major portion of the final was a collection of twenty paragraphs taken from twenty different works by twenty different writers. We had to identify the authors based on the style of the passage from obscure works.

I break the rules of grammar all the time, for effect. I like throwing out words and phrases and expressions and idioms, and piling them on without commas and too many “ands” so the reader is left a little breathless at the list. And I like beginning sentences with the word “and” so it ties the current idea firmly to its predecessor. And sometimes I like to end a sentence with a preposition as a joke to myself, breaking a rule because I like the sound it ends on. I like creating a pregnant pause with ellipses... just for the mental breath it causes the reader to take.

But, just because something has a nice ring to it, does not mean it fits with the overall idea of the post. This is a journal. One that is perhaps a little too public, but there should be a point to each post, even if they are written primarily for myself.

People like things in threes, we think in three, we like to group things in threes. I will often have three points to each post. I especially like it when the points seem to be random, going off at 90 degree angles from each subject, and bringing it back together at the end. Just as we like to think of the past, present and future, tall, medium, and short, the good, the better, and the best, I like three subjects to wander about and drive them back together in a surprising fashion.

Perhaps we like threes because our physical dimensions are threefold. Or we sense the trinity of the universe and are drawn to that magic number. Or perhaps it is because our lives are made up of growing up, raising children, and watching them raise theirs.

I like the sound of that, it has a nice ring to it... raising my children and watching them raise theirs.

I’m in a strange place right now. My wife is out of my home, yet trying very hard to find a way to convince me to let her return. She has used all sorts of arguments, points of logic, and emotional leverage. But I have created a space around my children to protect them from this emotional upheaval, and I must be certain before I can let her come back.

I was ready for the divorce. I was surprised by the last minute plea for us to reconcile. And I wondered if it was what God would have me do.

“Will you love her, comfort and keep her, and forsaking all others, remain true to her, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health until death do you part?"

I like the sound of that solemn question. It has a nice ring to it.

Those were the words that came to mind when Brenda asked me to take her back.

I was asked that question, and with all the power of a vow, the strongest of all possible promises, I said “I will.”

It does not matter she did not keep her side of the vow. A vow is a commitment a person makes, not a bargain. (Yes, yes, there is ample reason for me to feel freed from that vow, scriptural support.) I vowed. It was my vow, and I can set it aside only after very careful, methodical, and thorough consideration.

So, she asked to come back, and I was reminded of that solemn promise.

Brenda said she had made a mistake, she loved me, she wanted to grow old with me... I did not say “Too late.” I said “I will have to pray about it.”

And it seems to me, that though a divorce would let me stop this roller coaster ride, I will have to be patient. I will have to obey. I will have to continue to love, to comfort and to keep.

But I do not have to subject my children to the ride. We are keeping this quiet.

She has taken to wearing her wedding ring again. I wondered for a day or two before putting mine back on. Does it signify I believe we are committed to each other? Does it mean I have wimped out and caved? Does it mean I believe it will work this time?

No... The gold band around that finger, a never ending circle, really says no more than “This man is involved in a serious relationship and is committed to it to the extent that he is unavailable for any dalliances beyond friendship.”

So, I put it back on.

And it keeps falling off.

My weight loss this past year has made my fingers thin enough I find it slipping all the time. Interesting metaphor there.

But, regardless of the situation, I believe in marriage, strongly enough to cautiously watch my wife to see if she is sincere, and I wear the ring to show her I am willing to try.

I like marriage, what it stands for, the strength it lends individuals, families, and society. I like marriage because of the symbology found in its vows, its ceremonies, and its bit of jewelry on my finger.

Marriage.

It has a certain ring to it.

God is Using This...

Another early morning walk with the dog... watching the sky turn from black to the white of thin fog... and with a good six hours of sleep. That much sleep makes me feel calmer, more clear headed.

And, as usual, my thoughts, prayers, even the couple of worship songs I sang in the field (with the accompaniment of a hidden coyote), were about surrender and obedience.

I feel strangely calm.

I don't feel so calm when I'm talking to her.

I feel guarded.

I've started the Saturday morning ritual of laundry, and the boys are still asleep.

I love those boys so much.

This latest strange twist in the melodrama I've been calling a marriage always carries with it the undertone of my concern for those sons of mine.

The previous post brought out so many thought-provoking comments...

The last one was interesting:

Anonymous said...

Could it be that God is using this to bring Brenda back to Himself but not to you?

September 27, 2008 6:35 AM

Yes. I have suspected that may be the case.

This latest twist does not bring feelings of joy, or hope, or anticipation, or desire, or any of the emotions I would expect if this were about me, about what I need for my own emotional health.

The strongest feeling is caution.

While I walked this morning I thought how this past year has aged me more than physically, and I wondered if I have thrown away a year that could have been spent preparing myself, my heart, for a life with someone else who could be the wife I desire. And now, I wonder if this is the beginning of another year that puts my own emotional fulfillment on hold while Brenda and I do some sort of dance which results in another man tapping on my shoulder and asking to cut in.

Those thoughts and feelings are born of my desires to gain the things I believe may bring me happiness.

Why not pursue my own happiness?

Because I follow where my Lord leads, and for now, I am allowing Brenda to explore the possibility of reconciliation with me, in the prayers that this may lead to her own healing, to bring her to a place of faith so she may become who God wants her to be.

This life is short. Less than a hundred years.

Even if I do not get the things in this world I have wanted, a life-long mate, my spirit, and I suppose my soul if I read scripture correctly, this sojourn through the realm of mortals will be plenty of a life for me to reflect upon, to share, with spirits, (and souls) I encounter in the vast two dimensional expanse of time we conveniently label eternity.

I'm not eager to have her back. I can wait a long time, and I can be satisfied if it ends in any way the Lord wills it to end.

More Than Are Dreamt of

Horatio:
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

Hamlet:
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Hamlet Act 1, scene 5, 163–167

I love science, what Hamlet refers to as philosophy. Since philosophy means “love of knowledge,” that suits me. I make no distinction between wanting to know of the things we call science and the things we call theology. It’s all good.

And he is right. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in any man’s philosophy. Science pushes the boundaries of knowledge continually, and with each step forward, truer mysteries of the universe deepen.

This is a difficult post for me to write on many levels. Some of you, dear readers, are going to think one thing of me, others something quite different. But what, in that play Polonius ironically advises his son (to better keep lies straight) I say earnestly: “to thine own self be true.”

Brenda called me in my class room just as the last of my students filed out for their lunch.

She was crying.

She wanted to meet me.

If I skipped my preparation period, skipped my lunch, I would have one hour, 24 minutes.

I went.

I’ve never seen her like that.

She was broken. Desperate.

When I got home, she was standing in the driveway. Her car was packed with all of her things. She had left John.

She wanted to come back.

She said all of the things I had wanted to hear from her. That she loved me. That she wanted to be my wife. That she wanted to grow old with me... and more.

That made me cautious. It was all the things I wanted. Was she saying the things I was most likely to respond to? Or was there something else, something more?

I told her I wanted to think about it. I wanted to pray about it.

She said she had been to the church. She had shared everything with the pastor (a good friend) and two women I trust.

I sent them emails, asked them if she seemed as sincere, as broken, to them as she seemed to me.

They said they were impressed. They believed her sincerity.

I told my friend, the monkish pastor, the guy who feels comfortable enough to tell me what he thinks, even when it is something I don’t want to hear, or is about what I am doing wrong, I’d like to talk with him, within a couple of days, face to face, not via email.

He replied there was an elders meeting at our church that night, ending at 8:00. I could come then.

I got there at 7:00. Spent an hour in the Prayer Room.

And we shared.

I reviewed the past year, my ambiguous feelings, my need for wisdom, for God’s direction.

My friend told of Brenda’s honesty that day.

We prayed.

I began to feel an urge to go talk to her. She is staying at her mom’s.

As we shuffled in our seats, preparing to take our leaves, I was reminded of something.

“Oh... One more thing.”

They sat back down.

“I want you to know that when I asked all of you to come and pray over Jeremiah, over the sense that there was something wrong, something evil, clinging to him, some darkness from Haiti prompting dark thoughts, dark actions, that from that moment on there was a much lighter feeling about Jeremiah. He stopped having those thoughts. He stopped having those nightmares.”

They were pleased to hear it. One of them said there was something he had been wanting to share for some time... something about the night of the fire, the fire started by Jeremiah.

“Brenda and I were in the basement, and she was ahead of me a few steps. She had gone around the corner and up the stairs, and was just standing there staring. She was staring at the fire. She wasn’t moving. Just standing there.

“I pushed her out the door. And then I turned around to look at the fire, to see if I could put it out or something. And of course I couldn’t it was too big. But I saw something.

“In the middle of the flames was a figure. All black. And I had this sense of evil. Of something malevolent.

“I went back later, after the fire was out, to see if there was something there, some feature of the building, or some object, that could have made that shape in the fire. There wasn’t anything. It had felt like I was looking at Satan.”

We were silent for a moment. This thing he saw... the flashes of evil I had seen in the shadows in Jeremiah’s room, the strange knocking on the walls there, the recording of Jeremiah’s voice on a neighbor’s answering machine that wasn’t him, rapid, evil, ugly words, articulated in a way he does not...

I cleared my throat.

“Brenda told me something about that night also. She said that when she was going down that hallway, just ahead of you, and got to that corner, she had an oppressive sense of evil. Something frightened her. She didn’t want to go on. But she went up the stairs, and there was the fire, and the sense of evil grew, seemed to just hold her.”

We thought about how many times Brenda has spoken about the fire, how it had affected her so deeply, changed the way she felt about Jeremiah. Changed everything.

My friend, the bookish keeper of our small flock, said he had always felt there was some unfinished business about the fire. That the church had not dealt with. That they had prayed with Jeremiah about it, seeking freedom for him... but they had never addressed the obvious toll the fire had taken on Brenda and I, especially Brenda.

And we thought about evil... We thought about the subject that none of us are comfortable with... we thought about the words in scripture:

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. --Ephesians 6:12

“We need to pray over Brenda,” my friend said.

“When?” said another.

“How about now?” I asked.

I called her. She came.

We talked. We covered the previous conversations.

We prayed. Fervent prayers for deliverance, freedom. We prayed for protection. We prayed for blessings. We prayed for the breath of God to fill her.

And a lightness seemed to fill the room. A weight seemed to float away.

And there was something else. Three people have told me, people who have been praying for us, praying for wisdom, and strength, and healing for each of u as we go our separate ways, three people said that they each, that day, had sudden;ly felt they should pray for the miraculous healing of our marriage.

Earlier I had told Brenda that we were going to go ahead with the things we planned. The review of the divorce papers the next day at the courthouse. That we would just see how we had done with filling them out, that we would not have to do anything with them, but we had that appointment, we should keep it.

It was awful.

We sat in that clerk’s office. Sheet by sheet we went through the stack of divorce papers, signing in places, making small changes. It took a little over an hour.

“Well, that’s it,” the clerk said. “All you have to do is have your sons sign the forms that they do not contest you won’t be getting child support, and then file them upstairs. Just turn in the packet and pay $381.”

Those papers lay on the floor between the captain’s chairs in the van on the drive back to Canby. Those papers lay between us.

She wants to move back in.

But... I feel very clearly that I should not let that happen.

But...

I also feel very clearly that I should not file those papers.

What the heck is going on?

I am certain that this past year I was supposed to forgive Brenda. Keep taking her back. This wasn’t some wishful fantasy on my part to try to hold the shredded remains of my marriage together (though there was some of that). It had been clear direction, the deep sense that it was right, what my Lord wanted of me.

I didn’t understand it. It seemed that I had been asked to be hurt, over and over and over.

I told Brenda once, when she was complaining about how good deeds we had done had not paid off for us, that she obviously didn’t get it.

“Look at this past year. This year has been hell for me. It has not paid off for me. So why do I feel I was supposed to do it? I think it was not for my benefit. It was for yours. I think that someday you will look back on what I did this year, at my forgiveness, my steady love, and understand a little better about forgiveness, about love, about undeserved grace. Someday this past year may be what helps you to find God, to understand the great love He has for us.”

At that time it was also clear the time had come to let her go. It was time to begin the divorce. It seemed clear to me God did not want me to take her back, though she asked a couple of times. She was to live with her choices for a while.

But now... today... that feeling is gone. Instead, I feel something else.

I feel the echo of the words I said over a quarter of a century ago...

“I vow to love and to cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to forsake all others, until death do us part.”

What?

WHAT?!?

Yeah.

My vows.

Those are the words I hear.

And yet... it seems clear that I am not to let her move back in right away. It seems clear we need time apart. We need to break the pattern of the actions and reactions we have always done... the seeking to prove ourselves right, to get our way in even small, insignificant things.

It seems clear I need to grow up. I need to bear the burden of running this household. Of working during the day, and then cooking and cleaning, and doing laundry and paying bills.

It seems clear we need space to grow a little... both of us... that we are like plants that have become root bound in our pots. We need a little space to grow deeper roots, to send out new branches, to be who God wants us to be, and learn who we are... ourselves and each other.

And it occurs to me... what a strange thing. To be told to continue to forgive, to continue to take her back, while she continued to deceive me, betray me. To be told to stop... to let her go... to let her live with her choices... And now, frankly, as strange as it sounds, to forgive her again, and stand in the door of our home, and, lovingly, tell her to dive into the river, to wash away the pain and guilt, To let herself flow with our Lord, and that I would be alongside her. I would join her. I will walk into that river, and wash away the crud that clings to me. To take on responsibilities I should, to say “No” to the projects that distract me from my family.

And that when we are both ready, when we have been washed, and we have dried, and are ready to relearn our love... to walk through the door of our home together... even as the boys move on.

And... there is the toxic catalyst lying in a cupboard at work. In the large stationary store envelope, with its proper seals, carefully filled out forms and check marks and explanations and notarized signatures. The divorce papers.

I possess a tool of destruction. I can, with a 15 minute drive and less than $400, have this marriage end within a week.

It is more authority I should have.

It is true I would not do it as long as I thought there is a chance for things to work out, that she was in agreement. It is true I would not do it without clear instructions from my Lord.

But the ability to do it whenever I wish is a loaded gun lying within the room of our marriage, the room that has begun to unexpectedly have a light shine in it.

She is wearing her wedding rings again. I have not put mine on. I think that I am being told something about that.

I pause because it would mean I capitulate. I pause because it seems insane to open myself up to the hurt she can cause me, and my sons, again.

But... I am the Lord’s servant.

I wrote recently that I was his, and that all He need do is tell me, and I will obey.

This is almost harder than anything else I have done.

But this is not a thing of emotions. I have written of how a part of me is a watcher. It observes how I feel, why I feel, trots out the psychology and experience I have and explains myself to myself. And in the last couple of days the watcher within me has taken control. I have not let my feeling dictate my actions. I have cautiously, methodically, listened and prayed, and pushed the part of me that tends to fall easily into emotional responses, deep down into a quiet corner, and I have looked at my heart.

I know God is real.

He is more real than I.

I know there are forces of evil in the world. It is a topic I shy from. I especially avoid thinking about the chapter of my life that included living in an ashram, being associated with Kali worshippers... Yes... Kali... For those who know what I refer to, that is more than enough said. For those who don’t... please don’t look it up. Just let it lie. It is a part of my life that came and nearly killed me, and I was delivered from through a miracle, and I don’t want to talk about it.

Ever.

But...

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. --Ephesians 6:12

I love science. I have a deep faith, one that makes me feel that my beliefs are stronger, deeper, more real, crossing more dimensions of time and space than my physical body inhabits.

And there is more.

There are things that cannot be explained. And there are wonderful things in the process of being explained. I am so excited about the Hadron supercollider! I am thrilled at the mapping of dark matter and dark energy in distant galactic superclusters. I am so excited to learn more of these new theories of quantum gravity!

But... those are the things of men. Those are the mental gymnastics of men. And there is more to all of this than being a man, of being mortal.

There is also obedience.

I’m wary of the path that seems to be opening before me. But the light of my shepherd, the Shepherd, is shining down that path.

I will obey.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

(FYI: The above picture is created by writing out prayers with Sharpies. Different colors of the letters, words, forms the image. Click to enlarge.)

A Hasty Note

It has been about a week since the last post.

I have not written for several reasons. First, I was busy. Secondly, I have been very tired, exhausted. Third, the two posts I was mulling over, working on, did not feel to have complete thoughts behind them.

Then there was yesterday.

I am still trying to understand everything that happened.

I need to get ready for work... I have a busy day. I need to stop by the store, pick up some pocket folders, and get to work by 6:30 a.m. I will need to rush out from work at the end of the day to get to the appointment at the courthouse for the clerk to review the divorce papers. Brenda will be there.

Then I rush home, make sure the boys have something to eat, and then get back to school for the study skills training session I am doing tonight, tomorrow night, and the Saturday afternoon.

A good friend tells me I need to start saying "no" to these extra projects (I have a robotics after school club starting up as well).

But all this aside... I do have something to write about. Something big. Something I see the Hand of God in it. Something startling.

But, in these few moments of my first cup of joe of the day I haven't time to write it properly.

So... If I may... there have been many of you praying for me, for my sons, for Brenda, for my marriage. This strange tale of mine, this Journey of the Curious Servant, has included portions of reality I do not care to look too closely at, dark forces.

All this seems to be coming together.

So... if you could say another prayer, one asking the Lord to work in mighty ways in my life, our lives, and if you could add prayers for strength, wisdom, and protection, those prayers will cover the current chapter of this strange tale, and I will debrief you as soon as I can.

I love you all.

--Will

Thank You

Heavenly Father, Sovereign Lord...

Thank You for all the blessings You continue to pour over me, over my life.

Lord God, Maker of All Things, thank You for the joy that buoys my spirit, beneath my frustrations, impatience, and, frankly, anger. Thank You for the deep reality of my faith which permits me to be confused without quitting, permits me to feel sorrow and know it to be a passing thing.

Oh dear Master, Creator, thank You for the mysteries which bring me such wonderful questions. Thank You for the simplicity beneath the complexity which inspires me to learn more of what You have done. Thank You for the billions of pinwheels of billions of stars which comforts me in my brief life, knowing that there is so much that is grander than me. Thank You for the beauty and mysteries of magnetars, and galactic superclusters, dark matter and dark energy, and all the wonders which have never been revealed until this generation.

Lord God, Jehovah, YWH... thank You for the wonders of this world, this four dimensional ball of dirt filled with the wonders of life. I love the beauty You have placed here, and the skill, the ability, to appreciate beauty, a skill shared by no other creature on this world. Thank you for the waterfalls, and rivers, and forests. Thank You for the orange full moon, the lady bug on the leaf, the Half Dome in Yosemite, the carved passages of mighty glaciers. Thank You for the sharp, newly born Himalayas, scraping the edge of the sky in that amazing collision of continents. Thank You for the diversity of this world. Thank You for the plants that scrub our air, and feed so many things. Thank you for the predators and the prey which balance each other, keeping each species healthy. Thank You for the connection between the wolf and the elk, the elk and the trees, the trees and the beaver, the beaver and the pond, the pond to the swamp, the relationship of the swamp to the flowers which are the only food for that particular butterfly. Thank You for letting me see the connection between the wolf and the butterfly. Thank You for the Joy I feel in witnessing all of this.

Father, thank You for the patient pace of Your creation, the graceful settling of ecosystems, creating fertile soil for our crops, rivers to replenish, oceans to feed and give us adventure.

Lord, thank You for my church. Thank You for this family of neighbors and friends, brothers and sisters, who love me, care for me. Thank You for their eagerness to help me, to walk beside me, to put their shoulders to the tasks I have been given. Thank You for that place to pray and to worship, That place where I can be quiet and feel Your breath on my spirit. Thank You for their acts of service, and thank You for teaching me the discomfort I feel in accepting their gifts is a form of pride. Thank You for reminding me of how Your Son knelt and washed feet. Thank You for showing me that service is healthy, is good. Thank You for the lessons You give me.

Abba, thank You for my family. Thank You for my children, the sons I longed for for so many years. Thank You for granting me this experience. Thank You for my wife. Thank You for the gifts I have received through her for nearly three decades... and... thank You for the sorrows I have gotten from that relationship, the struggles which have made my heart grow.

Thank You Lord for the lessons that hurt, the lessons that show what I could not otherwise see.

Thank You Lord for the things I do not want to thank You for. Thank You for this mortal life that places me in situations where I hurt, where I learn lessons to carry into eternity. Thank You for this body which hungers, and tires, and aches, and thirsts. Thank You for this mortal experience, one You found worthy to share with us.

Thank You Lord for those who have more than I, so I may learn to be satisfied with what I have. Thank You Lord for those who have less than I, so I may learn gratitude and generosity.

Thank You Father, for this whole awful, smelly, painful, beautiful, wondrous mess of a world held together by You... held together to the tiniest of what we have discovered and surmised, and yet, granting us the freedom to reject You while You support us. Thank You for making my faith a voluntary thing, so I have the wonderful privilege of giving to You something that is mine.

Thank You Lord.

Guide my path... tell me what You would have me do... I will obey.

-- Amen

Work

She has finally responded to the text message I sent over the weekend. She says they will be back late Thursday or early Friday.

She says she is willing to pay half the fees, and that we should wait until my pay day.

Nah... I am willing to pay the fees and I don't want to wait. I'll beg the money if I have to.

There has been so much stalling on her part, I don't want any built in delays.

Perhaps I put it a little strongly, but I texted: Come Friday, sign papers. I don't want this nightmare 2 last 1 second longer than it has 2.

She's been on vacation.

With her boyfriend.

Meanwhile... I'm working on the house, doing laundry, grocery shopping, going to IEP meetings for my kids, writing lesson plans, grading tests, grading projects, cleaning the house (today we steam clean the living room), blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda yadda, the thing, the thing, thing...

I think my default emotion is happy. And underneath all this other junk, I feel it still.

But lately I have been ticked off.

My wife is on vacation with another man.

Work is a good distraction. Teaching students, sparking curiosity, fostering self expression, building up team work, these are tasks which make me smile, help me focus on something tangible.

Work is a good distraction. I've spent several hours every evening touching up the paint in places around my house. I run in every little while, check on the boy who is fixing dinner, give him some suggestions. One side of the house has its second coat of trim. I love pausing after a completed task, critiquing the quality of what I have done.

Work is a good distraction. I got up early, about four, dragged the living room furniture onto the back deck so I can steam clean the carpet this afternoon. I poured baking powder on the stain from Rocky the day we locked him in to keep Brenda out. Then it was another 45 minute walk with Rocky in the fields lit by a full moon, and back home before the sun poked its face over the Cascades.

Work is good.

We are made for work.

Even though Adam longed for a mate, someone he could talk to, a colleague, a partner (just as I long for one), he didn't get one. Not right away.

Instead, God put him to work.

The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him." Now the LORD God had formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field.

But for Adam no suitable helper was found.

Genesis 2:18-20

Even animals work. They gather, or hunt, or , at the least, strain food from their environment.

Work is good.

At least, it's good for me.

Pointless Post

I've some really great friends. Many came over this week and worked on my house, scraping, priming, painting.

There are a few details to touch up here and there, and various bits of debris from frenzied work crews... disposable roller wrappers, empty cans of paint, various tools and such... but as soon as I get it picked up I'll take a picture of my place to show off what a great church family I have.

I don't know what's the matter with me.

One minute I'm happy, goofing around with my kids, or talking with my friends, the next I'm pissed. I take Jeremiah to Special Olympics bowling (I'm a coach) and I start feeling anxious, and then depressed, and then angry.

I either keep the radio off or I listen to classical music because just about every song seems to be either extolling the virtues of love or moaning about someone who has run off, or as the Coen bothers put in in O Brother Where Art Thou: "R-U-N-D-O-F-T."

Ticks me off to think of her telling me she has made a mistake, while planning a several day trip with... Hmmmm... I better not go there.

Ticks me off to think she has been "working" on the divorce papers for six weeks, and I finally go get the papers and do it in a single evening. And now she is too occupied to come look them over. I... Hmmmm... better not go there either.

I was walking the fields of Molalla River State Park before dawn again this morning. As the sun rose it chased the fog around a bit until the fog simply gave up. There was a hot air balloon to the west.

What am I writing about? I haven't a clue.

One of the athletes I coached last year was on my team again this year, but he has changed so much they took him off my team, moved him over to a team with lower abilities. Last year he was a pistol. He'd get mad when I blocked his way from throwing his ball down the wrong lane or prevent him from going out of turn. This year he can barely walk. I helped him over to the new team. I held both his hands, me backing up, him shuffling along, slight alarm in his eyes as he thought he might stumble now and then. His eyesight, balance, strength, and mental abilities have decreased a great deal.

I spoke with a fellow there who runs a group home, a place I think would be good for Jeremiah. Jeremiah has been given access to a fund that would support him in a group home, but he needs to be in the home by June or the fund goes away and he will not be considered for it again.

This guy enquired about Brenda.

I told him.

Sympathetic pain was clear in his eyes. This big guy, this professional, kindly man, reached around my shoulders and gave me the deepest hug. There in that crowded bowling alley I suddenly felt vulnerable. I don't know him too well, but the affection he showed was so genuine, so heartfelt, I felt my heart leap into my throat, my eyes grew moist.

He looked steadily into my eyes... "I'm so sorry Will."

I didn't know what to say... so I said... "Twenty eight years..."

I cleared my throat, smiled, and started acting like a real man again.

I concentrated on the athletes around me, while a sadness settled over me which I covered with a plastic smile.

I'd like to write something beautiful right now. I'd like to write something about the incredible majesty of galactic superclusters booming their ten thousand year beat from the throbbing of their enormous hearts of infinitely compressed matter.

I'd like to write something about the drifting fog in the park this morning, or how I felt closer to God while standing on the bluff over the Willamette River.

But... I can't seem to stay focused on anything for too long.

Just came back from shopping with the boys. Just about every person I saw there sparked some sort of feeling in me. Young couples with little children... whole families.

I found myself looking at the women in the store. And this is kind of weird. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't that I wished to ask them out or anything. It wasn't that I was wondering if they would be good mates. I just saw women there, young, my age, older, and I wondered... will I always be alone now? I don't want to hook up with anyone, but I am so unused to this new life, so unused to an empty bed, I feel confused. I wonder if anyone would ever want me... a middle aged guy who can't seem to think in a straight line anymore.

The moon is full tonight, and I think about my moon howlin' buddies, three of whom showed up to help this week.

I think about the challenge I have in getting a simple little headset intercom system for my TV studio at work for under a couple hundred bucks. I think about all the things I want to do this year for my students, better than anything I have done before, and I find I haven't the time and energy to sit down and get creative with a curriculum map. Something I should have done two weeks ago.

I'm thinking about my garden, losing its annual battle with weeds as winter approaches because I am spending less time there. I'm thinking about that spot on the rug where Rocky had an accident and how I need to rent a steam cleaner. I think about Brenda off on a little trip with her boyfriend while I wash clothes. I think about the great friends I have who come to my aid, who love me greatly. I think about crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head.

I think about everything, and I think about nothing.

And when I am pointing in all directions it is clear I have no point at all.

And that is the point of this post.

How Can I Help?

Brenda has consistently asked me that question ever since she dumped this mess in my lap.

"How can I help?"

The only thing I have asked her to do is fill out the divorce papers.

It's been more than a month.

After work today I drove to the courthouse in Oregon City (dang those metal detectors are sensitive! I think it was the fillings in my teeth that were setting the alarm off because they took my keys, change, cell phone, watch, belt, and nearly my dignity [never had much of that anyway] in trying to get that portal to let me pass without screeching).

I got another set of the "Dissolution of Marriage" forms, drove home, fed the boys, and started in on them. I flagged with PostIts anything I think she should have input on, needs a signature, a notary, or she has the information. It's 10:00 and I just finished.

I filled in that I would pay any fees, that I want no child support, but I want clear title to the house and I would assume our debts.

I sent her a text message, saying we need to get together now, make an appt. for someone at the courthouse to look it over for us, and file.

After getting it done in one evening, it seems pretty clear that she has been stalling on this.

So I did it.

How can she help?

Get over here, sign the paperwork, and go file them with me.

Moving on...

The Way it Is

A friend from work was over yesterday with a bunch of other folks from church and we made HUGE progress on the house! This project is actually going to get done!!!

My friend asked me if I had seen his wallet; he thought he might have left it at my place.

So, since my lunch and my preparation time are next to each other, giving me a tad more than an hour, I ran home to look for it.

A knock at the door.

It was Brenda.

Wednesdays are her day off.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Are you OK? Is there anything wrong?”

“Everything’s fine. Dxxx Gxxxxx lost his wallet and I’m here looking for it. What are you doing here?”

“I was just driving by and I saw the van and I thought there might be a problem, so I stopped to see if I can help.”

“No. It’s OK. I can handle it.”

She looked upset.

“Is there any mail for me? Is there anything you would like me to do?”

“There’s a zillion things that need doing, but I’ve got a handle on it. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do worry. I know this has got to be really hard and I want to help if I can.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s a challenge, but I’m figuring it out.”

“Well, I feel guilty. It isn’t fair that you have to do so much.”

“You’re right. It isn’t fair. But that is the way it is. I’ll manage.”

She looked more upset.

She saw the pile of mail. Some of it opened, set aside for bills to be paid from my next check. More of it still unopened, unsorted.

“I can help you with those. I can sort them for you, help you figure it out.”

“I know it’s a bit of a mess. I’ve been busy. But I have a couple of weeks until I get paid, and so it isn’t a priority right now. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I can help.”

“I know you want to help. But, this is the way it is. It’s my responsibility. You made a choice.”

“I think I made a mistake.”

“Yes, you did.”

Uncomfortable pause.

“Well, I can just look these over and see if I can help sort them.”

I didn’t say anything.

If she looked them over she would once again see a small part of the mess she has left behind.

She started shuffling through the papers. I didn’t say anything. She took it as tacit approval.

As she went through it her hands trembled, her face reddened, her eyes grew moist.

“This isn’t fair, that you have to handle all of this. I will help if you want.”

I didn’t say anything. I stood there, arms folded. I did my best to wear a small, friendly smile that said: “I care about you, but I’m not budging on this.”

“I was thinking of coming over this afternoon after school.”

“Why? To go over the divorce papers? Is there something I need to do? Something that needs my signature?”

“No. Just to see the boys.”

“Well, today wouldn’t be good. I have a meeting right after school, and then I am rushing home to get Jeremiah because there is a meeting for him I want to attend in Oregon City.”

She shuffled through the papers, efficiently sorting bills from junk, pulling out things I might be interested in. The papers trembled in her hands.

“I shouldn’t have done this to you.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry I did this.”

“I am too. I’m also sorry for you. You are really going to regret this someday.”

She nodded.

I continued.

“This will wear off...” (she nodded) “...and you’ll be stuck with the choices you made.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“No. You shouldn’t have flirted with another man. You shouldn’t have started this affair. You shouldn’t have continued to deceive me when I was willing to forgive you, help you. You shouldn’t have convinced yourself that this was love so you would feel less guilty.

“You are more intelligent than he is. You will have little to talk about. He is willing to place the blame on you for his mistakes, and that character flaw is going to show up in many ways. One day you will see you have very little in common with him... aside from the sex.”

“I should go.”

“Yeah, you probably should. I have to eat lunch and get back to work.”

She left quickly.

I feel a little sorry for her.

Just not sorry enough to sacrifice myself or my family.

Lives in the Balance

Rocky’s dog tags jingled in the hush the world takes just before it awakens to a new day.

Starlight isn’t enough to clearly see my feet. I navigate by listening for the sound of my footsteps on packed earth.

Nightmares again last night and another early morning walk to pray the shadows from my heart.

The ugliness a bad dream leaves clings, cloys to me long after I awake..

The ugliness of a bad dream makes it easy to wonder if there is a God.

A ridiculous question for me. I am more certain of the existence of God than I am of my own. I find it more likely I am a temporary abberation in the dream of an almighty being than He is a fantasy of my own mind or the group consciousness of my culture.

Still... the mood a terror-filled dream brings is one that makes one wonder if the goodness, the beauty, the loveliness of the world aren’t false memories.

I see God in the world, in my life. The fact I can appreciate beauty, a skill which has no evolutionary benefit, tells me He is real. The fact I can sense what is right, what is wrong, tells me I have an internal moral compass, something pointing to the true north of all realities. That I have experienced my heart leaping in joy, even during great sorrow, tells me my faith is grounded on a bedrock of reality.

Still, while walking beneath the stars this morning, the nightmares which have plagued me the last four nights discourage, make me fearful, sorrowful. They make me feel I am worthless, I am a failure. They make me feel my anger is worthy, righteous. They make me feel that I am seen in the eyes of others as a person who cannot keep the love of a woman, cannot succeed in something as simple as living a life of partnership.

But, those are feelings. They are not real.

The truth is far different.

There was some paint peeling on my house. I scraped the bubbled paint off, took a sample in to get a gallon of matching exterior paint. A wall along a side street was bad. The paint peeled off in long, disheartening strips. The wall near the deck was the same.

As I moved about the house, rubbing, scraping off loose paint, the scope of my little repairs grew. Meanwhile my marriage exploded, my responsibilities grew, my work began anew.

I began to feel overwhelmed.

I felt the gentle push to trust in God, and to teach my sons how to be hosts, to prepare meals, how to engage in conversations.

I nervously decided to tithe.

After paying my bills I had $67 left to carry my family nearly a month.

A card came in the mail containing a $50 bill for gas and a gift card for $60 worth of groceries. Brenda came by and unexpectedly gave me $50 for my share of a closed bank account. A check came in the mail reimbursing me for something I must have inadvertently overpaid, $300. That trampoline I have wanted to haul off as scrap was taken by a neighbor who gave me $35 for it.

Yesterday afternoon men from my church showed up at my house. They brought paint brushes and scrapers and by sundown the entire house had been scraped and painted with primer paint. They will be back today to put on the exterior color coat. They will be back Saturday to do trim or whatever else needs doing.

This morning I walked in the darkness, the jangling of metal tags on my dog the only sound in the stillness of the fields. The jangling of my nerves from four days of nightmares telling me that all is a mess, that I should give up, go crawl off somewhere and curl up.

His wife said to him, "Are you still holding on to your integrity? Curse God and die!"

He replied, "You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?"

In all this, Job did not sin in what he said. Job 2:9-10

Are you still holding on to your integrity? That is what the cloying shadows from my bad dreams ask me.

The feeling of defeat, the sense of being a failure, the sense of an overwhelming list of things to do, the confusion of losing what I thought was mine for a lifetime, they are telling me I am alone, that there isn’t any grand, supreme being who loves me and is watching over me.

But...

I trusted $67 would be enough if I tithed. And I find an additional $495 falling into my wallet.

I feel exhilaration when the dawn’s glow illuminates the ground fog cloaking my dog and his jingling IDs.

I feel loved, cared for, supported, by my church family who saw my need and swept in with tools and tackled a job that had outgrown my ability to complete on time.

I feel a twisting living thing in my spirit when I close my eyes to worship on Sundays.

What is this thing that is happening? How is it that my faith, as strong and solid as it is, feels pushed by a few bad dreams?

Because there is a balancing act going on.

There is a spiritual balance that holds my faith in one cup, and my doubts in another.

On the side where I place my mind and heart, the cup descends, pressed by the weight of my choices, my feelings.

It may be my own psyche, it may be the work of something more sinister. But the balance swings where I want it to. The balance moves at my will.

I believe my wife will regret what she has done. I believe she will find little satisfaction in her choices. I believe she will find not only regret, but darkness. I believe she is weighting the wrong side of the balance.

I believe, what I choose to do, what I think, feel, believe, is what puts my life in the balance.

Disoriented

I've mentioned I have a vivid dream life, that I recall my dreams pretty much the same way I recall any memory of my waking life.

It almost seems I live a second life in my dreams. There are places I have come to know, I revisit frequently, which I have never seen with waking eyes.

Sometimes when I am awake, I think about something someone said or did, and then realize that it didn't happen in my waking life. I sometimes confuse my dream memories with the real ones.

It happened several times last night.

I woke from a dream, and knew Brenda was beside me.

I reached over to her side of the bed. It was empty.

I went to sleep again. Dreamt of strange challenges in shadowy places. Dreamt of searching in woods, wading in streams. I knew I was dreaming, which sometimes happens, and I knew that there was the weight of someone in the bed beside me. I knew Brenda was there.

I woke. I reached over to her side of the bed. It was empty.

I groaned and went back to sleep.

Again I dreamed, building a house on an empty hill, and again I sensed that it was a dream. I sensed that in the waking world, outside my conjured reality, I felt her near, felt the slight slope of the mattress slanting toward her, the hint of warmth from her breath.

And I woke.

I lay still, letting my memories sort themselves. What is real? What is dream? It is confusing when my dreams contain dreams within them, or when the outside world impinges evidence of its reality into my sleep.

I woke and lay there. And remembered she is sleeping in a different bed, in another town.

I didn't reach over to run my hand under empty covers.

When I hiked around in my younger days the sun was the most reliable guide for direction. It rose in the east. It always rose in the east. And as it reached its zenith, I knew my shadow was pointing slightly north.

But if I woke in foggy weather, if the sun dimly lit an evenly illuminated sky, I would not know where was east. "Orient" means east, a direction pinning the other points of the compass neatly splayed out in 90 degree increments. Not knowing east, not being oriented in my world, I waited out the fog, or followed trails I knew would lead me to where I wished to go.

Even in my dreams beng married gave me a sense of direction. Even in my dreams, I long to orient myself to the sleeping form to my right.

I wake to a fog of wondering of slowly sorting memories, seeking to know where the light is.

Fully awake I dress and take the dog under predawn skies to pray and steep my heart in the peace of starlight. I walk and pray and the sun rises behind Mount Hood... to the east.

As my prayers of gratitude and prayers for wisdom rise from deserted fields, I find my direction in knowing my words of praise drift toward the only true light there is.

Sometimes I feel that this life I am living is a little unreal. In looking at my history I find it at least improbable.

And there are those few moments in my life in which I felt eternity intersect with my life, those moments seem so much more real than the ordinary life I live. Those moments make my mortal life as dreamlike as my dream life.

To paraphrase Shakespeare: To sleep, to dream... but there's the rub, for in this sleep of life from which someday we will awaken, the pangs of the heart, the struggle of our families, the insolent barrage from those who daily make us feel less than the eternal creatures we are, makes us long for realities we know not of, to flee from the improbable visions of mortality.

As long as God is in my life I cannot be truly disoriented.

Long day. Busy. Lots of stuff to keep straight, classes, boys, household chores...

I'm going to bed.

Sweet dreams all.

Doing The Right Thing

This situation is a little discouraging.

My marriage has failed.

It feels I have failed.

Perhaps I have.

Perhaps I didn't do the things which Brenda would find exciting. Perhaps I didn't fulfill her needs. Perhaps I made poor choices.

But I've done some things right.

A couple of posts ago I wrote how I was going to step out in faith, tithe 10% of my check.

Tithing update: Today I got an anonymous card in the mail. In it were a $50 bill with a Post-it saying "for gas" and a gift card for a local grocer for $60.

It could be argued someone knows my situation and stepped in to help me in a tight spot. It could be argued someone read my blog and stepped in specifically to help with this tithing challenge.

Whether or not that is the case, it does not change certain truths.

First, I trusted it would be OK, I felt something, heard some whisper, telling me to tithe, and I obeyed.

Second, it is going to be OK.

What of next month? Will I tithe again? I cannot depend, indeed I do not believe, that this will happen this way again. But that does not change the point in stepping out on faith.

It isn't about the rational, the logical. It's not about banking on the predictable. The point is, I don't know what will happen, but I believe that the God I know, the Creator of all things, the Lord of my heart, is able, and will, take care of an obedient servant.

Still doubt?

I can understand that.

My mom once told in a phone call how she had just returned from China.

"China!" I said. "How could you go to China? You haven't any money!"

"Oh, that doesn't matter, Honey," she said. "I knew God wanted me to go, so I went."

"How? How did you go?"

"Well a group from our church was going, a sort of mission trip, and when they drove to the airport, I packed my luggage and rode along with them."

"Without a ticket?"

"I knew that if God wanted me to go He would get me there. So I went to San Francisco with the rest of them to the airport."

"San Francisco! That's 500 miles from where you live! You went to the San Francisco airport to go to China without a ticket?"

"I knew it would be all right."

"So how did you end up going?"

"Well, at the last moment someone else couldn't go, and they gave me their ticket."

"Wow.

"Wow... How much money did you have to take with you?"

"$10."

"What?!"

"I knew it would be OK. And it was. I had a wonderful time meeting people. I walked around the city, I found people who could speak English, they took me in, fed me. And I told them about Jesus, and they translated for the other people. It was really wonderful how God always provides."

And I worry about tithing.

That part of me that watches, the part I've written about that seems to be monitoring what I am feeling, which level of Erikson's stages of maturity I am operating under, which of Maslow's needs I am trying to grasp, which stages of grief are moving my heart over my marriage. The watcher part of me sees a reason, deep inside my heart, to trust in God.

I know I have many weaknesses. I know that being weak is a part of being human.

And I get the other stuff as well. I know I'm sentimental. I know I'm the artsy type that reacts to colors, and shapes, and feels things deeply. I'm not as tough as the other men in my family.

But I know that it is OK. I know I am this way because God made me this way. I know that part of the reason my wife left me is because I am not the sort of man who parties the way she would like, who thinks about things that mean more to her and instead ponder my own interests (art, science, and especially, faith).

I know I am grieving the loss of my wife, made horrible in that she did not leave me in the due course of mortality, but due to the frailty of her own standards, morals, choices.

I know a little about the size of the universe and my minuscule role in it. And I know that despite my microscopic role in this fourth dimension, God knows who I am, what I need, loves me, and will take care of me and my family.

I believe I can rely on God.

I know I can rely on God.

Seasons

Brenda and I have greatly reduced our contact with each other.

It's what I want, but it feels, weird.

There isn't anyway for us to fix this mess at this point. Neither of us wants to do so.

Still, after 28 years, it seems wrong to have days go by and we don't speak to each other, don't send or leave messages for each other. As messed up as it was, as masochistic as it sounds, I am missing her, a little sad.

I once saw an amazing sight that remains a clear image in my head today. A tremendous amount of force had been released and pieces of concrete the size of Volkswagons were flung high into the air. My brothers and I stood, mouths agape, as those heavy slabs of man-made rock rose into the blue sky.

Someone yelled "RUN!"

Jarred out of our astonishment, we raced away as hunks of concrete the size of couches slammed into the dirt around us.

My marriage has exploded. It is a time of falling pieces.

I'm 52 years old. I am not ready to think about another relationship, not in any sense. I have much to do with these boys, and much healing to do before I could turn the proper amount of attention to another soul, but the idea of being single is so strange to me I have thought a little about it.

I'm middle aged. That seems pretty late in life.

Of course... there are many new things that happen in middle age. Our solar system is middle aged. There are probably another five billion years left in it before the hydrogen/helium fuel of our sun runs out and it balloons into a red giant growing slightly larger than our world's orbit. Still, many new things can happen on this world in that amount of time.

Our universe is middle aged. Fourteen billion years from now it will have expanded to the point where galaxies will have spread so far apart light won't be able to keep up with the expanding distance... they will disappear from view, and most of their materials will have spiralled into black holes. Still, many new stars will ignite, grow old, and die in that amount of time, especially in the crowded "urban" centers of their galaxies.

I've probably got another three decades or so in me... as much time ahead of me as that which I spent with Brenda.

So, though my children are nearly grown, though I am in mid career and midlife, this can, will be, a time of new beginnings for me.

My garden is winding up for the year. The lettuce and broccoli I haven't eaten is going to seed. The sunflowers are bowing their crowned heads in recognition of their heavy burden, preparing to drop seeds into soil in the chance they might rise again in the Spring.


I have great soil here. I have never fertilized it. But I think I'll get some manure to spread on it for winter, let the richness of decay seep into and revitalize the soil.

Today was the first day with all of the students back in school.

My Computer Lab
(The TV Studio is on the other side of that window at the back)

These first couple of weeks of school is a time of preparation for the learning to come. Classroom policies, setting a tone, mastering the psychology of classes of students, working them into groups that will do more together than any student would learn alone. This is a time of preparing the "soil" of the class, getting it ready for what is to come.

These are patterns familiar to all of us. We are creatures of cycles. We are used to our spinning world turning to and from the sun, bathing us in solar warmth, and the cool light of distant stars each 24 hours. We are used to the the arc of that sun rising higher in Summer and lower in Winter as Earth's dance does its dosado about good ol' Sol.

Like it or not, I am beginning a new cycle.

There is much about this season of my life I am not fond of doing. There are challenges with the boys, and all the regular stuff in parenting and running a household. And I have to button up the projects I have begun.

I am a little resentful of Brenda's "freedom", though I know that it will cost her greatly in the long run. (I believe her relationship with John, begun under such circumstances, fertilized with deception and self centeredness [on both their parts], will not bear healthy fruit. But, that is not my concern any longer.)

Today the boys and I planted tulip bulbs. I talked with them about the process such bulbs undergo. They need to be buried. They need the cold of Winter. All so they recognize the warmth of Spring and grow into something new. We divided the bulbs up, and each of us chose a part of the yard we thought could use a little more color.

I told them it was like this situation we are in. Mom is gone, things are changing. But we are going to start getting ready for new lives. That just as the leaves will drop from the trees, Mom will move her stuff out. Just like we are burying the tulip bulbs, we are going to start burying the way we have done things and let our home settle down for a Winter. And just as those bulbs will make something bright and new in the Spring, our lives will be different, and even better in many ways. For they need to learn how to do the things that will help them grow into young men able to make their way in the world.

Jeremiah

Isaac

I don't like this situation.

I don't want to be thinking about a new Spring, a new beginning.

But what I like, what I prefer, does not change what is.

Isaac just came in with another bowl of strawberries from the garden. He says he wants to freeze them to eat sometime this winter.


Burying, planting, fertilizing, freezing. Packing things up, filling out divorce papers, deciding how to divide old chores in new ways.

Today the students and staff at school were in great humor. We are all hopeful excited. Even the students who have troubled lives have the gleam of hope in their eyes, that this year things may be different. This year they will succeed. And each of us, the teachers, also feel it... this year we will once more improve our lessons, to better encourage, inspire, educate, foster new understanding in our charges.

The positive mood helped me shake off the feeling that my ring finger is naked, that my life is filled with failures, and that I am embarking on a new journey, one I hope will take me to a better place.

It is a season of change.

Update

I'm propped up against pillows in the bedroom, tapping away at this keyboard.

The closet door is open. The back wall visible for the first time in years. Her clothes are gone. There are similar empty spots on shelves and walls where pictures have been.

I thought this would bother me more than it does.

I feel something, but it isn't regret. It isn't loneliness (though that may come). I'm not angry or frustrated.

I think this feeling is... relief.

I pressed her about the divorce papers. She hasn't looked at them in some time. It ticked her off a little. But she saw my laptop on an Oregon Law website about divorce (or rather "dissolution of marriage"), and the yellow pages open to "attorneys".

She was testy about my being able to do what I wish, but she wasn't going to chip in on attorney fees, and is going to just do as I ask and get this over with.

While I was outside on a ladder, scraping old paint off the west wall, she spent some time with the boys. She told me later she gave them each $10 for lunch money for the week.

Ah... that helps my budget! (See previous post.) My liquid assets just rose from $67 until the 25th to $77.

At any rate.

I feel a little better... a little better able to focus regarding the start of school.

Tomorrow little wide eyed sixth graders will be roaming about, getting used to the great big middle school... a one day jump before the filling of hallways with seventh and eighth graders.

It is amazing the difference that happens to these kids in the three years they are here.

I was so surprised, a little taken aback, the first time one of those little guys fresh from elementary school gave me a hug. It doesn't take them long to learn that isn't the way of things in middle school. Now I can usually side step those good intentioned signs of affections without hurting their feelings, still make them feel valued, important.

At any rate.

This was good timing. I feel more secure in the progress of this train wreck of our marriage, and I can better concentrate on the new school year.

And...

...my discretionary funds after tithing just jumped 15%.