Genesis 1:32

From our perspective 13.5 billion years is a long time.

Perhaps it is an appreciable amount of time even for those comfortable with eternity.

Science has four separate approaches to measuring the age of the universe, and they all land somewhen in there. 13.5 billion years.

Some of my brothers and sisters believe it to be quite a bit younger, and that’s OK too. They may be right.

Still, the evidence is the universe has spent that much time expanding, and cooling, since it blossomed from the tiniest of all possible space... none at all.

Just about any other Christ Follower knows more scripture than I, but it seems to me that the arguments proposed against such a date stand upon several assumptions.

I’m not referring to the usual ones of what “day” or “world” means.

There is the assumption that the biblical account of creation is referring to the creation of everything. The common usage of the word, Genesis, is “beginning,” though the Greek root of the word, gignesthai, is more accurately translated as “to be born.” What is being born seems to me to be life and relationship... not nescessarily the maternity ward.

A straight forward reading of the Genesis story indicates that there was more to the situation than is commonly described.


In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.
-- Genesis 1:1-5

Hmmmm... Did you catch that? Before God began creating He “was hovering over the waters.” The universe was already here. In fact, the world was here as well, there was a location, "the surface of the deep," a great sea.


Then He rolls up His enormously creative sleeves and created light... the world, the atmosphere, opened and light poured down. (Much as science says the early atmosphere cleared of its sooty cloak.)


After He made that fundamental, that foundational, change to the world, He looked, claimed it right, labeled it good, and let darkness fall, let day come, and enjoyed that first day.

Interesting to note that the first day happens after He created light. From the Judaic perspective each day begins at the beginning of darkness and ends with the failing light of the following evening.

Then the first day, after God did His creative work.


The universe existed before His work in this place, His artistic sculpting of our world, of us.

And I am certain there was a time and place even before there was a time and place.

I wonder... perhaps there was an eternity in which He shared Himself with the others who came before us... the powers, and dominions... the time, place, realm of angels.

I wonder... perhaps there was an eternity before that... an eternity... a time and place where He dwelt in the community of Himself, the Triune mystery of three perspectives, three separate eternal beings so powerful, so mighty, so close to each other that they blur in our limited vision into a single force of Aware Love.

In that first eternity He was creative. He was Love and He was Work, fashioning a time and place for eternity, a place of shining glory, a place of purity untainted by the stain of self centeredness, the stain Man is dyed in.

In that eternity He was at work.

And in the eternity which followed, the eternity of spacious spirits, mighty enough to turn their powerful gazes upon the whole of the new creation He made, He fashioned, the universe.





And within that time and space of four dimensions, of linear time, the taut line of time that stretches from the moment of the expansion of all matter from an infinitely small space to one that is at least 26 billion light years across, He went to work again.


He took up His artist’s tools and fashioned our world, sculpting and shaping and bringing light upon the surface of the deep.

Fascinating to think that for every member of the foundation of The Church, Christ and His twelve, there was a billion years for the preparation of the Creative work which culminated in this ball of dirt rolling around a candle in the darkness, which in turn swirls around this island of billions of stars, the Milky Way, which flows with thousands of other such islands, a small portion of the pulsing, expanding, twisting strands of structures too large for our world’s largest of mechanical eyes to discern.


The important point here isn’t the size and age of this particular universe, the recent addition floating within the greater realm of heavenly eternity.


The point is work.

What is it like beyond the veil of our four dimensions?

What is it like beyond the edges of time, before this universe began, beyond the edge of time, when entropy completes its enormous meal of linear time?

There is work.

God worked before us. He worked within eternity and made... this.

And He worked before that. He fashioned eternity as well.

He worked.

What will it be like, when we slip into eternity?

I think it will be work.

Well, not the sort of work we think of as work. In this universe we tend to think of work as something unpleasant... some sort of exertion, fashioning temporary order out of the inexorable tide of entropy.

I’m very fortunate in that regard. The work I do, the creative tasks given me to teach the children of my neighbors, is more like a purposeful framework for me to express the blessings He has given me... creativity, curiosity, even a touch of parenting.

I’m not sure how many “days” have passed since He laid down those creative tools which fashioned this world. Perhaps one. Perhaps many more. Since that week of creativity, He has let loose the force which opposed Him.

Since that week of creativity He has guided a family, a clan, a nation, to shape His message to us, to provide a setting for His entrance into mortality. Since that week of creativity His body, the Church, has grown to help guide Man onto the trail ending in eternity.

Certainly when we slip into that larger reality it will be the beginning of a new day for us.

I think eternity will be something like that.

The aspects of who we really are, the us that isn’t limited by mortal bodies and the demands of expressing ourselves through these limited senses bound in four dimensions, will be free to fully be, fully work, fully express the talents He gave us, so we may go to work with Him.

I think eternity will be like going to work with Dad.

I wonder what kind of work He will have us do.

Jason

When you have finished reading this post... please read the 6th comment. It gives the falling action for this short narrative.


“I don’t want to fall.”

Jason’s eyes aren’t usually locked onto mine, but they were yesterday.

“I don’t want to fall,” he repeated softly.

I took his hand in mine. I knelt and put my face directly in front of his.

“You won’t fall. I am going to be with you all the time. I won’t let you fall. You are going to have a good day. You won’t fall, you’ll have fun, and you are going to get a medal for bowling today.”

He smiled.

“Do you remember me? I’m your coach, Will.”

He smiled. I could tell he remembered.

“Will.”

“Jason! That’s the first time you’ve said my name! You are going to have a great day today. You are going to win a medal!”

“Will,” he said. He smiled.

They were delaying the opening ceremonies as long as possible (the Eugene/Springfield Special Olympics bowlers were running late... their bus had failed to show).

Jason had come to lane 16 very slowly. Very slowly. He kept freezing up when the pattern in the carpet would change, or the carpet gave way to linoleum, or the linoleum gave way to wood. Unsure if the change in appearance that filtered through his cataracts meant the floor had a step up or a step down, he stood, staring down, trembling.

This has been my second year coaching Special Olympics bowling, and Jason has been on both of my teams.

Last year he was ornery.

He was much quicker. He would grab his ball, an iridescent gold ball, and try to shuffle past me to an alley with all the pins awaiting in a tidy wedge... much more fun to throw at that clear target than the one or two pins he was supposed to go for to pick up his spare.

He sure got mad at me.

I pulled every trick I knew to keep him in his lane, get to the correct spot, wait his turn. I’d pretend I didn’t see him trying to get behind me as I slowly backed into his path, animatedly pointing down the correct lane and exclaiming what a great shot he can make.

He wasn’t so ornery this year.

His mumbled whispers this year were generally indecipherable. His fear of falling slowed him to frequent halts.

He began this season carrying the ball from the return rack and awkwardly throwing it down the lane. That didn’t last long. Within a couple weeks he was using the ramp for every throw.

Yesterday... it took him so long to shuffle up to the ramp I had set for him. His eyesight had dimmed and though he could tell when the floor changed from linoleum to wood, he could not tell if the transition was smooth, or a step up, or a step down. He feared he would fall.

Yesterday... when I handed him the sixteen pound ball (he pushes it so weakly he needs the heavier ball so it has the momentum to knock pins down...), he stood trembling. He trembled because the ball was now too heavy for him to hold. He trembled because (I could see it in his eyes) he feared the weight would cause him to fall.

In that moment, when he stood before the ramp, trembling with exertion and fear, I realized Jason was not going to be a resident of this world much longer.

I realized how fond I am of him.

The ornery Jason of a year ago, the one who argued he wanted to use that bowling lane, that there weren’t any pins at the end of the alley, that it was his turn now, that Jason is gone.

Yesterday, the Jason who had flashes of clarity, who looked into my face and said “Will” who smiled when I jumped up and down and shouted how he had gotten a strike, that Jason is fading fast.

I have had a high schooler working with me for the last few weeks. I’ve been showing him how to coach these athletes. Great kid. He was there.

Because it was the Special Olympics State Championship Tournament U. S. Bank had over a hundred volunteers to help. A woman from the bank was there volunteering.

There was also a representative from the group home where Jason lives to assist.

And there was the owner of the group home. All of us helping and encouraging Jason.

Encourage. Giving him the courage to move past his fear of falling. To have one more day of bowling.

The other two athletes I was to help didn’t show. There were five of us helping Jason. Just us on lane sixteen. I smiled to the people from the group home, they smiled back, took seats.

My heart was sinking.

As I watched Jason I knew this would be the last time I would work with him. He couldn't walk to and from the lane any more. His fear of falling immobilized him more than his lack of coordination.

I grabbed a chair. Sat him in front of the lane, the ramp before him, and handed him the lightest ball I could find.

I placed his hands on the ramp, showing him how to aim it.

I placed his hands on the ball.

“OK, Jason. Push! Push hard!”

Jason’s face screwed up in a determined look, he shoved as hard as he could, as fast as he could.

The ball didn’t move very fast. I didn't even watch it roll away.


Three games of ten frames. Thirty frames with Jason sitting in a chair. We brought him the ball, he shoved it, smiling softly when we cheered. He even got a couple of strikes.

When there were only two frames left I looked at the woman from U. S. Bank. I looked at the kid from the high school.

“This is probably the last game he will ever bowl,” I said softly.

The teen looked a little confused and concerned. The woman’s eyes grew moist.

I had her take a picture of Jason and I.


This athlete... the one who was so ornery last year... he won’t be around long.

I drove home, Jeremiah nodding off in the seat beside me.

Leon Russell serenaded.

Jason will be gone.

Soon.

My eyes moistened.

This past year I lost my wife.

As stupidly unimportant as it sounds, I lost my dog.

I don’t like it.

Loss.

I lost my first child.

How much of our sorrow is caused by our difficulty in handling loss?

Loss of health... loss of wealth. Loss of friendship, loss of love.

May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You
pleasing to You
May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You my God

You're my rock and my redeemer
You're the reason that I sing
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes
Every hour and every moment
Lord I want to be Your servant
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes

I do. I want to be His servant.

I feel loss more keenly when I believe things are mine. My athlete. My wife. My son.

But, truly, there is only one thing I have. Choice.

Everything else isn’t mine. Thinking they are is an illusion and leads to pride. Nothing is permanent. Not even the things that are a part of who I am are mine. Creativity. Curiosity. My health.

I feel unsettled. I have no clear idea what shape my future will take. My marriage is over, one of my sons is dead, another will move out by June, the last... well... he’s 18 and I don’t know how long he will be around.

I will miss Jason.

With each thing I think is mine, and then learn not only it isn’t mine, but the loan has been called in... I... well, I learn.

May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You
pleasing to You
May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You my God

You're my rock and my redeemer
You're the reason that I sing
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes
Every hour and every moment
Lord I want to be Your servant
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes

I am satisfied with that. I see not only do I need nothing else... I have nothing else.

Rewards

I’m listening to Bach.

I didn’t used to listen to classical music much. When others came within ear shot it felt I was being pretentious. If someone was near, I listened to Bonnie Raitt or Joni Mitchell.

I find myself alone more... or at least “in charge” and I can listen to whatever I like. Sometimes it’s The Beatles, sometimes it’s Pink Floyd or Blind Willie Johnson or The Moody Blues or Tom Petty or Mbuti pygmies.

I’m learning to do what I want, when I want. It is strange to me.

Of course, much of what I do is dictated by the needs of my home... laundry, vacuuming, dishes, cooking, parenting.

Though I can make choices about what I do, it is harder to choose what my heart feels.

Lately I have had bouts of depression. Nothing serious... just... sad.

I think my dreams trigger it. I still sleep six or less hours a night.

I dream.

Apparently it is unusual, but I remember my dreams. I remember them pretty much as I would any other experience. I don’t recall every moment of my waking life, and I don’t recall every moment of my sleeping life either... but what gets forgotten in either is about the same.

Except the memorable.

If I see a car accident... the details are sharp, clear. The memory remains.

It is the same when my mind imagines dark dramas while my body rests.

So... if Brenda is particularly cruel in a dream... I remember. If my children are threatened, I remember. If Brenda is raped in some dream... I remember.

It feels like a betrayal of my mind.

Why should my own mind conjure horrors? I’ve enough to deal with without carrying around memories of evil visions.

It feels like betrayal.

The topic Sunday night at the Al Anon meeting was “Loving Detachment.” The idea is we should love the alcoholic without permitting them too much control over our lives, over our hearts.

There is a part of me I have referred to as “the watcher.” It understands what I am feeling and why. Those remembered college courses in psychology provide explanations for my moods, my stages of emotional recovery, my emotional growth.

It isn’t detached, it is observant... it loves me... watches over me. It tends to be a little distant, flat affect, logical, but there is a sense of concern, of caring for myself.

I understand I have been through a lot this past year and a half. I understand such things will echo in my heart and mind for a while. I also understand my subconscious needs an opportunity to sort things out. That is a big part of what dreams are for.

I just I don’t need new visions of what is hurtful and ugly.

Putting a septic tank in order is a messy business.

I called my father this evening. He didn’t get his run in as he liked. There was a qualifying run. He let his engine builder run for him... but by afternoon the wind in the Mojave Desert was kicking up and it was clear the meet was going to be shut down. He left without twisting the throttle that releases 400 horses to gallop in unison across flat desert.

He told me his wife is ordering the tickets for me to go to Thailand this Summer, first class, round trip. I’ve never flown first class. (Portland to Atlanta, Atlanta to Dallas, Dallas to Paris, Paris to Bangkok...)

I’m sitting in the waiting room at my doctor’s (he’s a brother in Christ), listening to Bach, trying to understand I am free to make such plans.

I was raking the lawns yesterday. I drove a stake in the center of the backyard, put a tape measure on it, and raked the leaves into a circle with a radius of ten feet.

I don’t know what I will do with that circle... Some sort of garden. Perhaps flowers... perhaps a pattern... Maybe it will be a place to sit... a little bench amidst herbs and fragrant blooms. It might be the home of one of those giant pumpkins people enter in contests (a 500 pound homage to my living room.)

Three hundred and fourteen not-so-square feet.


Whatever it will be, it is another change I am making in my home. A place for something new.

I have talked with Isaac several times about this trip I am planning, and how I want him to know all he needs to know for a few weeks on his own while I am on the other side of the planet.

I’ve told him there will be a vegetable garden, and something else in the middle of one yard... and he is to keep an eye on them...

There was a Special Olympics Pizza party Sunday. The team of athletes I coach each got a trophy.

None of them seemed to mind that everyone else got the same trophy. For each of them their trophy signified they were special. It told them that they had done something worthy.

Jeremiah keeps talking about his trophy... about the beautiful “reward” he got. I keep correcting him it is an award, not a reward... he doesn’t get the distinction.


It was fun, watching those athletes hold up their trophies to each other, smile so broadly, hug and high five each other.




I think for many of us we want recognition when it is unique, something particularly special.

I read of a study that asked people if they would rather have an income that was more than they were getting, though less than others, or an income less than they currently get, but more than everyone else’s. The majority would rather get less as long as it was more than others.

Not these Special Olympics athletes. Each is pleased to get a trophy, it is no matter everyone got the same “reward” with the same praise and the same applause.

I wonder if sometimes folks think the same about salvation? I wonder if they think it isn’t so special because God is willing to accept everyone into His eternity. I wonder if sometimes folks think they aren’t special because, though Christ died for them, He also died for the rest of humanity?

I think they would lose that perspective if they really looked hard at that trophy, that "reward."

On Sunday morns I worship.

I consider the scope of creation, and as much of the Creator as I can grasp... and I am humbled, I am lifted up... I am insignificant and I am special. I am the smallest of things in a grand universe, and I am of great importance because He has His eye on me. My heart leaps and I find joy brushing away memories of dark dreams.

What does it matter He calls to all His sheep? That He calls each formerly mortal soul forward and embraces them with the power of the love that binds the universe together?

Each night Jeremiah mentions how much he misses his mom, how much he misses his dog.

I wish I could take that hurt away.

I get a little pissed at Brenda, thinking how little she appreciates who he is, how wonderful he is, how worthy he is for a “reward.”

He didn’t do anything special to get that trophy. He just showed up every Saturday to practice.

I didn’t do anything special to get eternal life. I just opened my heart and let love flow in, and flow out.

New Journeys

Tomorrow my dad is hopping on that custom bike of his and going for another world speed record.

It's a nitro fueled, 400 horse, open faring bike an he hopes to push it well over 200 mph.

There has been only four or five people who have managed to get a motorcycle to those speeds without a faring. The wind wants to yank you right off.

I told him to do his best to keep both wheels on the ground.

He flew in this week from Thailand. That is where he lives nowadays.

He wants me to come visit him this summer.

I need to have Jeremiah moved into a group home by June.

There is a source of funding for handicapped adults here. Jeremiah has been selected. The money comes available January 1. But... if he does not start drawing on it by June, then he is withdrawn from the list and won't be considered for it again. The money is to cover his living expenses in a group home... a place where there will be people to watch over him, help him. The fund would provide $6000 a month.

I need to have Jeremiah moved into a group home by June.

Isaac tuned 18 on November 2. He struggles with things... but I have been working with him and he is slowly learning to be a little less scattered, and is learning to cook, do dishes and laundry, clean house. I think by this Summer he will be able to do for himself.

So... I think I'll take my dad up on his offer and go to Thailand this Summer.

I have a friend I've known since the 8th grade in Southern California. He and I used to go on trips together. Mostly up and down the West coast. But we also went to Mexico, Tahoe, Las Vegas... Once, we drove from So. Cal. to Pendleton, Washington in '79 to watch a total eclipse of the sun.

He has some health problems, and needs to take time off work now and then.

I told my dad this morning that I'd like to spend that month with him from June 15 to July 15. Then my friend and I will do another road trip together... like we did 30 years ago. He and I will plan some trip along the West Coast, and then explore the area around my home... the Pacific Northwest.

This last year and a half has been a rough one.

But I've done a lot of growing.

By this summer my kids should be OK, and, for the first time in three decades, I can take a breath, and look around a bit.

So, there are my plans. I'm going to Thailand for a month, and then a road trip for a week or two after that.

I'd like to figure out how to write on that trip, keep posting to this blog I am fond of...

This blog has been about spiritual journeys. Metaphysical journeys. Journeys through corporeal life.

It looks like I will add a couple physical journeys to the journal of the Journey of the Curious Servant. I'm sure those journeys will add interesting perspectives.

1961

The distant moon hung steady in the sky, an unmoving constant behind barely moving mountains, rapidly moving silhouettes of trees, and the flashing stripe on the road...

First(?) paragraph... 1961 book project

Spent time on Veteran's Day writing on that little project (see previous post).

Spent time with my kids, too.

We decided the other day that each of us would learn to cook one special food. That we would learn to make it... and then learn to make it just a little unique, so we would each have a "specialty."

Last night we dined on Meatloaf a la Isaac.

"The onions make my eyes burn!"

Ta da!

"Isaac's dinner is real good. Schezuan beef is harder," Right?"

"Yeah it was great. And your Schezuan beef is going to be tricky. But we'll figure it out, won't we!"

Yeah. And it will be good too!"

Jeremiah is pretty excited about his turn.

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

Brenda and I are learning how to be Ex's. (Is that the right way to handle the plural form of "ex"? Doesn't seem right... Ask me sometime about how the regular use of the " xxxxx's" is the result of a contraction.)

She has been over several times this week. The type of conversations change. She was asking to come back, and then about how much she regrets her actions and is sorry, to awkward chats concerning specifics of details needing signatures (refund check) or items forgotten. There are awkward moments when we are unsure if we should hug or something.

I'm beginning to feel invigorated about teaching again. Lots of new ideas.

I'm a little surprised at the standard of cleanliness we are maintaining in the house. I wasn't a fraction this good at it when I was 20!

Floors are swept daily. Living room vacuumed every other day. Dishes are done and trash cans emptied. Strange blessing... Without Brenda here, insisting she was the only one who could do something right, my sons are learning to learn the skills they need.

We spend a lot of time together in this orange living room... the pumpkin with our image waving arms in full scale.


Isaac and Jeremiah miss their mom and their dog... Jeremiah talks about it each night when I put him to bed. But they are accepting it. Isaac thinks is better now. He loves her, but... this is better.

I still wish I'd gotten old with one person. But I also see that whatever life I live... it is about experience... not on what I'd like to have. Life is just a hiccup in eternity.

Tonight some folks from church are coming over. We are forming a writer's group.

My robotics team has got a long ways to go to be ready for the regional tournament December 13.

Life is interesting.

I think... overall... we are doing pretty good.

And Yet Another Blog

I have thought, for most of my life, about writing something large. A book.

I've started a blog to use to begin assembling that book.

Those who might like to watch this thing take shape, you are welcome to tag along (and comment).

Not sure what I might call it, but since things seemed to really begin in that year, I am calling it 1961.

You can find it here: http://journey1961.blogspot.com/

Notes.

Today, I'm taking both boys with me. Breakfast, Special Olympics coaching, and the study skills training I am doing this afternoon. Meanwhile, Brenda is picking up the rest of her things.

Here is a bit of something for my online journal to store:

Letter 1 to Brenda:

Brenda:

Shoot me a text when you have your things loaded. I wish I could be there to help, but I don’t think I want the kids to see this.

I know that taking your things out is hard. I know you have changed your mind. But, you need to change your heart too. Know you are loved. God loves you in ways that are so immeasurable, you will never be able to see them. I know this faith stuff is real, though it is experience I cannot show or prove.

Love Jeremiah. Love yourself. Hell, go ahead and love John. Love comes in so many shades of emotional experience. You are loved.

I had trouble telling you why you cannot move back. But I’m going to try a little right now. You want to try again. You are very sorry about the hurt, hassle, and inconveniences that have happened in these last few years. You want to try again.

But from over here, from where I am standing... I see the same problems we have had reappearing, no matter how much we want to try again. You are so angry. Your hurts and resentments, and disappointments have consumed you. Far more than alcohol has. Yes, I believe you need to be freed from alcohol. But, much more strongly, I believe you need to be freed from the tyranny of your own emotions. That would be hard for you to do here.

From over here, from where I stand, I realize there are some things I want in my life. I had wanted biological children and a lifelong mate. And it really wasn’t such a hard adjustment to drop the word “biological” from that dream.

Now that the second part of that dream is gone, and I think about what my future will be like now. I don’t know if I will find someone else, love someone new (though that isn’t hard to imagine really because I am finding it easier and easier to love everyone I meet... feel good about being around them...). I do know that if I did, it would be a relationship built on partnership. It would not be a giant chess match laid out in a mine field.

I want to live without fear of getting into a fight, live not mentioning all the things I want to do for fear of you becoming upset.

Any way... I’m not here to point out the mistakes either of us have done. Just to say... good luck to you. I love you. I know God loves you. And in his flawed way, John loves you. The darkness of your hurts is what should be your greatest focus right now. See Jeremiah for the wonderful person he is. Take joy in things that are small, beauty in nature, beauty in people, beauty in your own heart.

Will

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

Letter 2 to Brenda (specifics)

Please take everything you will ever want. I am going to consider that anything left today is something you aren’t coming back for.

Few things to remember.

If you take photo albums, please leave pictures that are important to me. I think you would know which ones. And if there is some doubt here or there which of us should have a particular photo (or anything else), go ahead and take it.

What else...

Your exercise equipment is under the tarp in the backyard.

Your bicycle. You can take one of the other ones no one uses for John.

Books. Grab anything you want. Sheesh... there are probably 1500 of them. Go wild. You can also take the bookshelf your stuff is on. You can fit half the library on it. You’ll need to unscrew the brackets that hold it to the wall.

Your grampa’s desk, and your hope chest of course. Please check that there aren’t papers in it I may need.

Take the futon. We don’t need it (and frankly, don’t want it).

Take whatever dishes, silverware, cooking utensils, whatever, that you want.

Do not take any extra paintings without talking to me.

Do remember to take the picture of the little girl.


Take the piano!

I’m enclosing a little metal “stone” impressed with an angel. I want you to have a little something from me.


Give me some time to get this household rolling. I want you to see the boys often, but, for now, NOT JOHN. Maybe some day, but not for a while yet. It would not be good for them and they have said they don’t want to see him.

Take anything you want. Leave nothing you want.

Take care of yourself.

Will

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

Letter to John:

John.

I would prefer to be here. But, I don’t want my children seeing Brenda move her stuff out, and so I am with them.

Please be careful when moving stuff. Careful of what you are taking out, careful of the things that remain, and careful with the walls, corners, etc.

And be careful with your life. I have heard you once were a strong Christian. Dude, believe it or not, you still are. If you gave your life to Christ, and meant it, no one, no thing, can pluck you from His hand. Not even yourself.

I won’t extol the flaws I see in your character. I think you know them well enough already.

But I will say I know you have many wonderful traits that God has made in you. Find them. You have made some really poor choices, but set your heart on a path of drawing closer to God and things will get better, and better.

If you want to stay with Brenda, you know the right thing to do is to marry her. If you do that it would remove an obstacle from your walk... the one that leads to eternity.

I have no problem with seeing you. I wish I was here to help, and supervise. But, though I love you as a fellow person, and a brother in Christ, there are few people I have felt this pissed off at. It would be wise for us to deal with each other with the former in mind, be respectful, kind, and well mannered. There isn’t any reason to make a fist.

See you around.

Will

Name This Post

One

Two

Nine

Eleven
Butch Wax

Twenty
No more Butch Wax

Twenty-Five
(with volcanic ash from Mt. St. Helens)
(Definitely no Butch Wax)

Twenty-six
(Borrowed suit... beautiful bride)

Twenty-seven
Grease was everywhere except my hair

Twenty-eight

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Finally... the post begins!...
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“I want something different. I’m sort of reinventing myself, looking for new beginnings, and I want a different look.”

That’s a dangerous thing to say to a hair stylist who sports a spikey hair thingy and several studs arranged haphazardly on facial features.

“Ooooooo Kaaaaaaay... Any ideas about what that might be?”

Brad is a pretty good guy. I’m tempted to call him a kid, but he is in his twenties and I hated it when people called me that at his age. Besides, he really is good at what he does. He knows hair styles.

“I think I want conservative.”

He smiles.

“But different. Something out of the ‘50s. Make me look like Perry Mason.”

He laughed.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

A half hour later I walk out with a sharper taper to my hair, and it is combed more to the side. Forward, over, and back. I go next door to the store and buy a tube of Brylcreem.

Bryl-creem, a little dab'll do ya,
Use more, only if you dare,
But watch out,
The gals will all pursue ya,--
They'll love to put their fingers through your hair.

(I was using butch wax when this commercial was out)

Fifty-two

I have a weird sense of humor. I found the whole thing very amusing. I need a little amusing right now.

I am trying to reinvent my life.

I have to.

The life I expected... growing old with Brenda... you know, a geezer walking on the beach with a white haired woman beside him who still wants to hold his hand... just ain’t going to happen.

I was just starting to get a little more sleep, but with Rocky’s death I’m back to three or four hours each night (the other night I kept taking sleeping pills throughout the night, only to discover in the morn they weren’t sleeping pills. I had placed my blood pressure medicine on the wrong shelf.

It's a little fun discovering who I am. I can be any person I want.

I’ve gone through changes before.

When Willy died, I went to a grief support group. When I called, they asked me if I was a SIDS parent. I thought, “Oh, is that what I am now?”

When I adopted these two boys I became a father again. Another sharp change in my life. One I still embrace.

I have had so many jobs, done so many different things... Let’s see... heavy equipment operator, head cook in a vegetarian restaurant, editor of a corporate magazine, milkman, insulation installer, construction laborer, graphic artist, newspaper delivery, newspaper telemarketer (sorry!), made moccasins, inept subsistence farmer, cook in homestyle cookin’ type restaurants, construction estimator, custodian, after school YMCA guy, baker, smoothie guy, waiter, dish washer, teacher...

After writing that list I wonder why I resist change. Change seems to be the only constant thing in my life.

It’s the only constant thing in the universe. The universe continues to expand (we think, it may be possible that we are just in a rather thin section of the universe, in which case the local expansion would make it look like the entire universe is expanding).

Brenda is lobbying for me to let her come back.

A character flaw of mine is I am a pleaser. I want to do for others. Too often at too great a cost to myself.

But, I am clamping down on that flaw, and am not willing to let her return.

She may be asking to come back... but I do not trust her. She wants to return to ease her guilt, not because she loves me.

She thinks she can rely on the part of me that wants to please, to help.

Though that part of who I am has not changed that much, the rest of me has. I do not want her back.

Simply put, I want a wife who loves me.

It isn’t too much to ask.

If I can’t find one... I’d rather do without.

I am nervous about the coming year. Jeremiah needs to be in a group home by June. Isaac has turned 18, and in July I am planning on going to Thailand for a month. He will learn to be independent, on his own, while I am away (after I spend the next six months preparing him).

By this time next year I will have lost many things I love. A wife, a dog. One child will move away, and the other independent enough to do so.

My heart swells with what hurts and what brings joy.

Oh... If it wasn’t that this world, this universe, is so beautiful, grander than my mind can grasp (for no matter how far I stretch to embrace it, the more I learn is out of my reach), I would not be able to handle it all.

I am changing now.

Long ago swordsmiths would heat and fold, and beat, and heat, and fold, and heat, and beat, and fashion swords mixed finely with iron and carbon... tools able to hold an edge, tools flexible yet strong.

It isn’t any fun at all to be between the Smith’s tongs.

My appearance has changed over the years, reflecting the inner changes.

I change the outward aspects of my life to express the inner changes I am going through. I cut my hair and rub Brylcreem through it. I hug my children and paint the living room orange and their images on the wall. I wrestle with my thoughts and stammering my mental dialogue through a keyboard I toss them into the internet sea, digital notes in virtual bottles.

There are more changes ahead.

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Well... not sure what to call this rambling piece. Want to propose a title? Give me a title. Or vote for one of the ones below... and I’ll rename this strange soliloquy.

A Little Dab’ll Do Ya

Between the Tongs

Note in a Bottle

Changes

Or... Bowiesque: Ch... Ch... Ch... Changes!

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One Last Pic... My son casting his first ballot




: )

Folk Art

Last night I brought the boys into the living room.

"I think we should learn to cook. Really cook. We eat too much hamburger helper, macaroni and cheese, tacos. Let's try some new things!"

They looked at me skeptically.

Especially Isaac.

"I think each of us should learn to cook one new dish. It can be our specialty. We can each fix our specialty once a week."

Still skeptical.

But after we threw some ideas around... we came up with some ideas of what we would each like to learn to prepare.

Jeremiah wants to learn how to make Sichuan beef.

Isaac wants to learn to make meatloaf.

Dad wants to learn to make Thai Panang seafood.

They got excited about the idea.

There is an area on a wall in the living room that used to display a large painting.

"I think we should do something with that space."

We got out a camera. Took the first picture you see below. Then after dinner tonight, we did one more thing to make this house our home.

Click to Enlarge

Alternate Ending

There’s a lot of name calling in my life.

It’s affectionate. I have a lot of good friends. They refer to me as Turkey Breath, or Lowlife, even S***head (that one always makes me smile).

It’s practical. How they refer to me tells me which “me” I should put on.

If someone calls me their “moon howlin’ buddy” they are telling me they are there for me. If I want to talk at 2:00 a.m., then call. If I want advice, they give it, kindly, with gentle honesty. If I need prayer, they will each do it,right then and for as long as I need it. If I am stranded in the hills somewhere, it is one of them I would call. If I need someone to help me move something, or lift something, or anything that any or them have the ability to provide, it is available.

If a child calls me “maestro” instead of “teacher,” when they, in their excitement, slip into their native language, I know they think of me as someone who holds a lot of status and they will be respectful, affectionate.

The names are serious. They encourage. They say I am introspective. I’m eclectic. They call me creative, kind.

If I’m called neighbor or mister or sir or dude or subscriber or “the man who has two kids” or “the guy who just got a divorce” or “his dog just died” or “the guy who needs to mow his lawn,” I know how to react, how to act. I know what sort of conversation I should engage in, what attitude to take in my thinking. I hear their voices, I see myself reflected in their face, body language, and I see who I am to them. They provide me a mirror. They show me a reflection of myself, I learn a little more about who I am.

Each day I walk among hundreds of people. Children, colleagues, superiors, friends, clerks, acquaintances, members of my spiritual family. Each person reflects my actions, the projected “me” I find useful for that moment, and I judge who I am by who they are. I am surrounded by mirrors reflecting who I am, each one distorting a little, ripples in the surfaces.

I have an unusual opportunity. I have a chance to see a reflected image of myself without, or at least fewer, distortions. I have the luxury of being honest. I have never really known who I am, except when I was a child and those ideas I had about the moods of clouds, and the way our back alley viewed me as I tore through on my bike. I had ideas about how far away the moon must be by comparing fences and houses. I had ideas about faith, who Jesus was/is/will be, and how I fit into it. I had encounters with the universe which shaped a relationship with my heart, mind, and faith. I was less likely to see a distorted view of myself because I hadn’t quite put it together yet.

But now I am 52. I have resources I have never had before, and I can look harder, more honestly than I have been. I can shed the image of my reflection in Brenda’s face. With it I can shed the reflection of myself as I tried to be a “me” that interacted with her in that peculiar dance we have done through the years. I can read or write or anything I wish, to run our lives the way I see fit.

The quite strange post before this one began as a framework for understanding the order of events in my life, help with writing a different post.

Since posting that strange chronology, I have thought... I wrote of two futures, an attempt at self honesty. I wanted to reevaluate the future I would have had with Brenda, knowing now parts of her I hadn’t understood before. I wanted to write an honest future without her, honest even to diminishing certain dreams.

Any future I write will be incorrect, I haven’t quite figured out how to skip on and off this timeline to see for myself.

I think the two futures were not exactly what they really would be. I think I will succeed in many of the things I want to do. I think there will be many things which will happen I don’t expect. I think my seriousness to be truthful to myself will shape me, new growth resulting in a different future.

It is a profoundly startling epiphany seeing her not the person I thought she was for nearly three decades is someone different, and that the “me” I am, what I do, what I think, what I feel, is made up so much performing the “me’s” needed for the situations I find myself in.

I haven’t a lot of certainty of who I really am, if I strip away all the projections I use, need... to buy an item at a store, or check the validity of a medical bill, or respond to a hurting friend.

At this time I have an unusual opportunity. I can be whoever I want to be. Including the me who walks through life knowing himself to be more than the reflections of this universe, this chamber of mirrors.

Possible futures are sort of like the DVDs advertising alternate endings, I could tell different endings to my story, different than the previous post. There are many possible rewrites, one for each moment I am free to choose what I will do, what I will be. I might walk through life, each step closer to the true me, project fewer convenient “me’s” and simply “be,” more.

How about this one?

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Alternate Ending:

2029 We divorced.

I married four years later. Someone surprisingly kind. It was easy to relax and easy to be comfortable with who I am.

I tore down the house and built that house I’d fantasized. Isaac and his family lived with us . Their children have almost moved on. I found time for doing the reading and writing and thinking I love, I found myself growing closer to God. I became quieter.

I found myself slowing down.

Most of my interactions have been through the latest gizmos they use to make it easier to “talk” to other people. I still make it a part of my life to frequently see a few.

I did surprising things with my art and writing. I was myself, and the Lord blessed me.

I found the journey I began was about understanding who I was before I started reinforcing particular reflections to particular people.

Something about 1961... About my faith... The year I learned things about God no one told me, simple truths I could see before I let reflections blurred my vision.

I found being who I was, how He did subtle things to my spirit when I was very young, made my life more pleasing, to me and to Him.

A good thing too. In caring less about the “me” I need to be, and the “me” that simply loves God and follows my heart, I love people more. The more I enjoy learning and puzzling and singing and praying and being creative, the more the needs of my life were met. I did very well.

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There must be many other alternate futures for me.

My children are upset about their mother being gone. Upset the dog suddenly died. The house is suddenly far more empty than it was. They are trying to please their dad, with all his demands of them to suddenly learn how to do things they never did before.

My children are worried for their father, a little manic lately, and want to make it easier for him. Their kind hearts...

My children are reaching huge milestones in their lives, gaining adulthood (Isaac voted for the first time yesterday! An adult U.S. citizen!). They are trying to figure out what their roles are, what they can do, can’t do,who they are.

There is the chance to see a life that simply does things a lot different than I would have.

I love the conversations I am having with my children. We talk about the real stuff now. We talk about the real way we feel about things, what we really think, what we really might do. Te topics have shifted to important things.

Life is strange.

I am suddenly free to reinvent myself, my future. My home.

This guy, the guy I really am, is free to draw, or write, or pray, or talk with my children, in new ways.

It’s scary and sad and tiring (so very tiring) and exhilarating.