I got grumpy yesterday.
Oh, I had reasons. The sort of reasons that are reasonable, except the fervor to pursue wasn't.
I was irritated at someone, I pushed the right pressure points, I got what I thought was right.
It was one of many things in the background, making me grumpy.
I had a dream I can’t shake. A strange one. Nothing theological, or insightful, just strange. It was about a native American girl who journeyed through mountains on a mighty journey, and as she walked a narrator told her story. She walked down forest covered valleys, snow capped peaks towered above. As the story unfolded, the colors slowly shifted to brown, her sepia form becoming a drawing, and then lines in a book, fading to brown letters on yellowed paper. The narrator-turned-reader's voice faded away... I continued to read silently, following her tale that seemed very very old. It felt that centuries passed while I slowly read from an over stuffed chair.
The process slowly reversed, the voice returned, the words became sketches and then drawings and then a sepia tone silent film with the sing-song voice of a gifted narrator. The colors slowly shifted to color until she was paddling across a mighty river, shining in vibrant colors.
It is strange to be able to remember my dreams so well... I sometimes confuse what really happened with what I only dreamt. It's like I am living a separate life where anything can happen. The memories get mingled.
I have been down to three or four hours of sleep each night for about a week. Well... most of the past year and a half. I don’t know how I’m still functioning at all.
This economy is bad news for schools. We are probably going to get our incomes sliced, some colleagues will lose their jobs, classroom sizes will get larger, we might have to shave days off the calendar... I’ve never seen public education in such a tight spot.
Jeremiah’s birthday is Tuesday. Brenda may come over Saturday and we will have a party. We are chipping in and buying him something a little extra special.
“This may be the last birthday he is here,” I said.
She reluctantly agreed.
Today the grumpiness and anxiety peaked.
At 3:30 Brenda and I, Jeremiah’s transition program teacher, the county mental health representative , and his brokerage manager (funds to help with respite care) met in Oregon City.
We talked out the various scenarios. The close group home I would like to see Jeremiah in, people who care, a place that is near, is unlikely. No one wants to take the risk of having him live with them unless they have a sprinkled facility. If none is available, they will put him in whatever space is available. If we do not manage one of those options, Jeremiah can apply to work at a Christian Summer Camp, but we would have to convince people we have yet to meet that the move would be in his best interest.
I argued against the items in his file which made him look like a fire risk. I promised there was no need for a sprinkler system. I suggested I could raise the money to pay for a sprinkler system.
To no avail.
Brenda and I walked outside.
I broke into tears.
“I love that boy. I want what is best for him. I don’t like this situation.”
She was less sympathetic.
What bothered me the most was the look of shock and confusion on her face. She really doesn't know who I am.
Got home, fed the boys.
Ran to the pharmacy and picked up the sleeping pills prescribed for me last night.
Now, I’m winding down... the sleeping pills are kicking in... my ears are ringing.... I’m on one of those logs that flow down the Willamette River when it is flood... I can try to watch where I am going... try to stay on the upper side of the twisting stump...
June is coming... Jeremiah is going to go somewhere... money will become tighter... I’m going to Thailand... the ringing in my ears is hypnotic...
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Fat Tuesday
Today is Fat Tuesday. It is a day for partying! Mardi Gras or Carnival, from New Orleans to Rio de Janeiro, Goa to Nice, wine will flow until midnight.
The reason for this tradition is because tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. That is the beginning of Lent, a time set aside to reflect on the issues of salvation and damnation, of the intersection of Man and God, mortality and eternity.
So the day before is the last chance to indulge until after Easter.
Odd thought... If you are a person of faith, cram in what might be a sin before the peer pressure at church makes you behave for a month or so.
Many people choose to give up something for Lent. They decide they will do without chocolate, or wine, or something they feel interferes with their spiritual growth, a simple reminder of their spiritual path.
I’ve had a couple of traditions these last few years around Lent. I start it, on Fat Tuesday, with watching The Passion of Christ. Not easy viewing, but it puts me in a respectful mind set.
I also choose something to give up. Either for Lent, or permanently.
That can be tough. It isn’t so bad if it’s just for Lent. I can go without anything for a few weeks. But life style changes, those are more difficult. I’m making a couple of those sort this year.
When Willy died Brenda and I began to lose each other. Neither of us knew how to help the other.
She grieved the loss of the closest thing she would have to a biological child (he looked like me, and we brought him home when he was less than a day old). She knew she would not bear a child.
I grieved him, and I swallowed gallons of poisonous guilt.
Neither of us knew how to help the other, we swam alone in the dark waters of our hearts.
But... my faith grew. I saw pain and suffering more clearly, and I saw beauty more easily. And I felt the presence of God in my life.
Her faith shriveled. Disappointment spread through her until its vines wrapped tightly around every part of who she is. It’s not that she didn’t try. She read and prayed and joined groups... but her faith became less and less of who she was, until it was only for show.
Now I am at a point where my faith has taken up such a central position in my life that when seasons such as this come along, I see the opportunity to challenge myself, to find areas where I should grow, mature. I take it seriously.
Some think religion is a crutch. Perhaps... Or maybe it’s a staff.
I try not to pick and choose the elements of my faith. I don’t mix the reincarnation, shakras, and the global embracing of all avatars as messengers of God. I do think carefully about areas where there is tension in my beliefs. The intersection of science and faith (I have yet to discover true disagreement there).
If my faith doesn’t challenge me, if it isn’t bigger than me, then what good is it? If it is a cobbled Rube Goldberg contraption on my own plate of dishes from the smorgasbord of theology (sorry about the mixed metaphor there), then it be would nothing more than a mirror of myself (and another mixed metaphor for good measure!).
I’m not sharing my Lenten resolutions here, no need to add false humility to my plentiful faults, but I resolve to make changes.
What is the point?
My life is a bit of a mess, wife (er... ex), kids, juggling household duties with professional ones with parental obligations...
I find that the more I learn the more confused I become (probably a healthy thing, that...).
My faith grows more solid every day...
I don’t know if this quirky approach I take to my life, to my faith, will bring me the things most think equal earthly happiness... a partner... but... I think that it is helping me to become someone a little better, a little truer to who I was created to be.
I might “miss out” on carn(iv)al joys, the over indulging of Fat Tuesdays, but I am satisfied with this path.
It has the added benefit of being a good example for my children, but truly, there is only one Being I am interested in pleasing.
May the Lenten Season bring all of you a little closer to joys and pleasures that last longer than living this life of flesh.
The reason for this tradition is because tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. That is the beginning of Lent, a time set aside to reflect on the issues of salvation and damnation, of the intersection of Man and God, mortality and eternity.
So the day before is the last chance to indulge until after Easter.
Odd thought... If you are a person of faith, cram in what might be a sin before the peer pressure at church makes you behave for a month or so.
Many people choose to give up something for Lent. They decide they will do without chocolate, or wine, or something they feel interferes with their spiritual growth, a simple reminder of their spiritual path.
I’ve had a couple of traditions these last few years around Lent. I start it, on Fat Tuesday, with watching The Passion of Christ. Not easy viewing, but it puts me in a respectful mind set.
I also choose something to give up. Either for Lent, or permanently.
That can be tough. It isn’t so bad if it’s just for Lent. I can go without anything for a few weeks. But life style changes, those are more difficult. I’m making a couple of those sort this year.
When Willy died Brenda and I began to lose each other. Neither of us knew how to help the other.
She grieved the loss of the closest thing she would have to a biological child (he looked like me, and we brought him home when he was less than a day old). She knew she would not bear a child.
I grieved him, and I swallowed gallons of poisonous guilt.
Neither of us knew how to help the other, we swam alone in the dark waters of our hearts.
But... my faith grew. I saw pain and suffering more clearly, and I saw beauty more easily. And I felt the presence of God in my life.
Her faith shriveled. Disappointment spread through her until its vines wrapped tightly around every part of who she is. It’s not that she didn’t try. She read and prayed and joined groups... but her faith became less and less of who she was, until it was only for show.
Now I am at a point where my faith has taken up such a central position in my life that when seasons such as this come along, I see the opportunity to challenge myself, to find areas where I should grow, mature. I take it seriously.
Some think religion is a crutch. Perhaps... Or maybe it’s a staff.
I try not to pick and choose the elements of my faith. I don’t mix the reincarnation, shakras, and the global embracing of all avatars as messengers of God. I do think carefully about areas where there is tension in my beliefs. The intersection of science and faith (I have yet to discover true disagreement there).
If my faith doesn’t challenge me, if it isn’t bigger than me, then what good is it? If it is a cobbled Rube Goldberg contraption on my own plate of dishes from the smorgasbord of theology (sorry about the mixed metaphor there), then it be would nothing more than a mirror of myself (and another mixed metaphor for good measure!).
I’m not sharing my Lenten resolutions here, no need to add false humility to my plentiful faults, but I resolve to make changes.
What is the point?
My life is a bit of a mess, wife (er... ex), kids, juggling household duties with professional ones with parental obligations...
I find that the more I learn the more confused I become (probably a healthy thing, that...).
My faith grows more solid every day...
I don’t know if this quirky approach I take to my life, to my faith, will bring me the things most think equal earthly happiness... a partner... but... I think that it is helping me to become someone a little better, a little truer to who I was created to be.
I might “miss out” on carn(iv)al joys, the over indulging of Fat Tuesdays, but I am satisfied with this path.
It has the added benefit of being a good example for my children, but truly, there is only one Being I am interested in pleasing.
May the Lenten Season bring all of you a little closer to joys and pleasures that last longer than living this life of flesh.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
What is in the Glass?
As their father practiced the audio/visual part of the worship team’s rehearsal, they were engrossed in books.
I felt a twinge of envy.
A lot of babies in the church lately. A lot of happy young couples. And couples in the evening of their lives, a long road together behind them.
I felt a twinge of envy.
I’ve heard pop science sources say we may exist in a multiverse where every possible decision creates alternate realities.
(Absurd. The universe is probably a multidimensional [12+], and perhaps more than one dimension of time, but thinking every decision of all people, everywhere, all the time creates other realities... makes choice meaningless.)
If there are more dimensions of time, then everywhen exists, including the future.
A things are happening, will happen, and have happened. We think of the past is exactly the way we should think of the future.
The choices we make create consequences in future slices of time.
Organic brains store new information in the direction of entropy, so we perceive the future as fluid... Doesn’t make it so.
We are more than our organic selves.
We are also minds and spirits.
The future is partially created by the choices I make.
I choose.
Brenda was here the majority of the day yesterday.
I wanted her to spend real time with the boys, not sit in a darkened theater and then walking around stores.
She rented a couple of movies, made popcorn, and taught the boys to make a dish they haven’t had since she left.
I did my best to stay out of the way... did chores, ran errands.
Where I am in my life isn’t where I would have chosen to be... My choices put me here.
I look back on the big moments that shaped our relationship. When we met. Vacations. Adoptions, death. Disappointments and good times.
Those moments were born of choices we made.
Looking back at those choices...
My choices matter.
I can wish for things I don’t have, a faithful wife, gifted children who read for pleasure...
Wishing doesn’t matter.
Choices do.
I choose to be holy.
Not that I can be holy.
But I can set my heart on the path of making choices that sets my life apart for Him.
I can follow His lead, do His will. I choose to be His servant.
I choose to love, apart from wrongs of others. I can choose not to punish those who transgress. I can choose to lose the record of wrongs done. I can choose to give mercy, love, grace. I can choose to be mercy, love, grace.
Bitterness, anger, resentment, those are poisons I sometimes take, hoping they will hurt someone else.
They only hurt me.
The glass isn’t half empty.
The glass isn’t half full.
The glass is overflowing.
What we upset ourselves with is the blessings which flow out and away from us... we look at what we wanted, what has spilled across the table of our lives... Children who excel. Personal lives filled with perfection that is more imagining than any reality....
Though we see those things flowing away we wish were still in the glass, the glass is is still full.
That is enough.
I felt a twinge of envy.
A lot of babies in the church lately. A lot of happy young couples. And couples in the evening of their lives, a long road together behind them.
I felt a twinge of envy.
I’ve heard pop science sources say we may exist in a multiverse where every possible decision creates alternate realities.
(Absurd. The universe is probably a multidimensional [12+], and perhaps more than one dimension of time, but thinking every decision of all people, everywhere, all the time creates other realities... makes choice meaningless.)
If there are more dimensions of time, then everywhen exists, including the future.
A things are happening, will happen, and have happened. We think of the past is exactly the way we should think of the future.
The choices we make create consequences in future slices of time.
Organic brains store new information in the direction of entropy, so we perceive the future as fluid... Doesn’t make it so.
We are more than our organic selves.
We are also minds and spirits.
The future is partially created by the choices I make.
Purify my heart
Let me be as gold and precious silver
Purify my heart
Let me be as gold, pure gold
Refiner's fire
My heart's one desire
Is to be holy
Set apart for You, Lord
I choose to be holy
Set apart for You, my Master
Ready to do Your will
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from within
And make me holy
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from my sin
Deep within
Let me be as gold and precious silver
Purify my heart
Let me be as gold, pure gold
Refiner's fire
My heart's one desire
Is to be holy
Set apart for You, Lord
I choose to be holy
Set apart for You, my Master
Ready to do Your will
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from within
And make me holy
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from my sin
Deep within
I choose.
Brenda was here the majority of the day yesterday.
I wanted her to spend real time with the boys, not sit in a darkened theater and then walking around stores.
She rented a couple of movies, made popcorn, and taught the boys to make a dish they haven’t had since she left.
I did my best to stay out of the way... did chores, ran errands.
Where I am in my life isn’t where I would have chosen to be... My choices put me here.
I look back on the big moments that shaped our relationship. When we met. Vacations. Adoptions, death. Disappointments and good times.
Those moments were born of choices we made.
Looking back at those choices...
My choices matter.
I can wish for things I don’t have, a faithful wife, gifted children who read for pleasure...
Wishing doesn’t matter.
Choices do.
I choose to be holy.
Not that I can be holy.
But I can set my heart on the path of making choices that sets my life apart for Him.
I can follow His lead, do His will. I choose to be His servant.
I choose to love, apart from wrongs of others. I can choose not to punish those who transgress. I can choose to lose the record of wrongs done. I can choose to give mercy, love, grace. I can choose to be mercy, love, grace.
Bitterness, anger, resentment, those are poisons I sometimes take, hoping they will hurt someone else.
They only hurt me.
The glass isn’t half empty.
The glass isn’t half full.
The glass is overflowing.
What we upset ourselves with is the blessings which flow out and away from us... we look at what we wanted, what has spilled across the table of our lives... Children who excel. Personal lives filled with perfection that is more imagining than any reality....
Though we see those things flowing away we wish were still in the glass, the glass is is still full.
That is enough.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Kids
Every night, as I sit beside Jeremiah in his bed, we talk over his day.
We usually cover significant events of the day, the weather, upcoming events, and what is “stuck in his head.”
He sometimes gets preoccupied with certain thoughts, which can lead to trouble, such as the fire he started in our church three and a half years ago.
“Anything else you thinking about, Buddy? What else are you thinking about lately?”
“It’s going to be my birthday pretty soon.”
“That’s right! What do you want for your birthday?”
“I dunno... There are a lot of things... but they cost a lot of money... but I can save up for them.”
“Sure! Hey, I know! I’m going to go down to the river and find a nice round rock and paint it! That will make a good present!! What color would you like? Purple? Red? Yellow?”
“I don’t want no rock!”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Well. I’ll just have to think about it some and see if I can come up with a good present for you... though it would be hard to do better than a painted rock!”
“I don’t want no rock!”
“OK, OK! Well, what else is going on in that noggin of yours?”
“I dreamt of Rocky last night. I miss that dog.”
“I know...”
“And I dreamt about Mom... But... that’s what happens sometimes. It’s OK.”
“Yeah, it’s OK. I’m here, and I love you, and I will always make sure you are safe and as happy as can be.”
That is the conversation almost every night. Every night.
The details about birthdays might be replaced with New Year’s, or Christmas, or Independence Day, but, every night... he misses his mom and his dog.
I wish I could heal that hurt.
Isaac thinks about it too... but he refuses to talk about it.
Isaac is 18. Jeremiah will be 20 in a few weeks.
They are children. Always will be.
My children.
If I could give them some of my mind I would do it. Make it so they could find their way a little easier...
Still, they are wonderful as they are.
I spoke with my mom tonight. She is worried about me going to Thailand this Summer. She’s afraid my father will be a bad influence on me. She has a point... but I’m too different from him to succumb to his carnal influences.
I will always be her child, I suppose.
I’m anxious about my boys. I am charged with their care, and I must find Jeremiah a place to live by June if he is to be cared for all his life. A part of me wants him near always. I won’t live always, so it is best I figure this out and find him a place...
Isaac asks his questions sometimes... (Tonight was: “Dad, why do you get diarrhea when you drink a lot of juice sometimes?”) But he doesn’t talk about the things that hurt.
This awkward place I’m in... trying to do my best for my children... I want to help them. But there are things I cannot do. I cannot make Isaac share what is really bothering him. I cannot prevent dreams of a dead dog and a missing mother from entering Jeremiah’s sleep.
I can only do what I can do.
I think I’ll find a nice four or five pound rock and paint it yellow.
We usually cover significant events of the day, the weather, upcoming events, and what is “stuck in his head.”
He sometimes gets preoccupied with certain thoughts, which can lead to trouble, such as the fire he started in our church three and a half years ago.
“Anything else you thinking about, Buddy? What else are you thinking about lately?”
“It’s going to be my birthday pretty soon.”
“That’s right! What do you want for your birthday?”
“I dunno... There are a lot of things... but they cost a lot of money... but I can save up for them.”
“Sure! Hey, I know! I’m going to go down to the river and find a nice round rock and paint it! That will make a good present!! What color would you like? Purple? Red? Yellow?”
“I don’t want no rock!”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Well. I’ll just have to think about it some and see if I can come up with a good present for you... though it would be hard to do better than a painted rock!”
“I don’t want no rock!”
“OK, OK! Well, what else is going on in that noggin of yours?”
“I dreamt of Rocky last night. I miss that dog.”
“I know...”
“And I dreamt about Mom... But... that’s what happens sometimes. It’s OK.”
“Yeah, it’s OK. I’m here, and I love you, and I will always make sure you are safe and as happy as can be.”
That is the conversation almost every night. Every night.
The details about birthdays might be replaced with New Year’s, or Christmas, or Independence Day, but, every night... he misses his mom and his dog.
I wish I could heal that hurt.
Isaac thinks about it too... but he refuses to talk about it.
Isaac is 18. Jeremiah will be 20 in a few weeks.
They are children. Always will be.
My children.
If I could give them some of my mind I would do it. Make it so they could find their way a little easier...
Still, they are wonderful as they are.
I spoke with my mom tonight. She is worried about me going to Thailand this Summer. She’s afraid my father will be a bad influence on me. She has a point... but I’m too different from him to succumb to his carnal influences.
I will always be her child, I suppose.
I’m anxious about my boys. I am charged with their care, and I must find Jeremiah a place to live by June if he is to be cared for all his life. A part of me wants him near always. I won’t live always, so it is best I figure this out and find him a place...
Isaac asks his questions sometimes... (Tonight was: “Dad, why do you get diarrhea when you drink a lot of juice sometimes?”) But he doesn’t talk about the things that hurt.
This awkward place I’m in... trying to do my best for my children... I want to help them. But there are things I cannot do. I cannot make Isaac share what is really bothering him. I cannot prevent dreams of a dead dog and a missing mother from entering Jeremiah’s sleep.
I can only do what I can do.
I think I’ll find a nice four or five pound rock and paint it yellow.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Valentine’s Day II
I just reread last year’s Valentine’s Day Post. That was a bad one.
I’ve got a little Bob Marley playing... It’s Valentine’s Day and I went and got a haircut. I strode past the clump of men with anxious faces at the greeting card aisle. I’m not doing the Valentine’s thing this year.
I wrote about Moral North the other day. I think there are things that do not flow from there, that direction from which rightness, goodness, love flows.
I think there are things that don’t feel right, don’t feel like they flow from Him, yet don’t feel they are from moral south either.
I resent Brenda’s life.
I resent that for her today is a special day... her first Valentine’s Day when she can openly celebrate it with John.
I resent she goes to concerts, goes fishing every other weekend, goes out to dinner and movies.
What is this feeling? Jealousy? Envy? If so, I might concede they are truly negative. I think it is simply a sense that it isn’t fair.
Singing': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright."
The sense of justice flows from moral north, I know it. I think that’s the kernel within this feeling. She did wrong and it has hurt my children, hurt me. Hurt her family too.
I have overlayed that feeling with a bit of the negative. Jealousy and envy, not good things... But natural.
Part of living this mortal existence is doing the mortal stuff. It is simply messy. Just like being hungry or tired or having to defecate urinate and sleep, simply hurting a little is a part of the deal.
There are a few men I love enough I hug them. That isn’t a machismo-filled, John Wayne sort of act, but I love those guys.
I met with one of them yesterday.
He is a fellow of deep kindness, someone I can tell anything to... He, some others, and I, talked one night about our weak areas, and he wanted to be reminded to be humble... so I call him “Lowlife,” (he has a nickname for me, but I can’t repeat it).
Lowlife and I were sitting in Starbucks.
I talked a little of what I have written here... and I talked about an idea that's been rolling about my noggin’ for a few months... (I’m almost ready to share it here.)
I shared other of my hair-brained ideas with Lowlife. We sat for an hour in that corner.
I think we are already much greater than we think we are.
The universe’s 12+ dimensions are more than another set of strange dimensions as we know them, I think they are a part of our daily existence.
I think our spirits and minds exist in a non-entropy driven realm, it is our true selves, and we live this mortal life as marionettes. Our true selves can not reach very deep into this thin realm of three dimensions, through the limitations of brains and bodies.
We reach through the narrow window of three dimensions and live these strange little lives, living and loving, sorrows and joys.
Such a brief little time on this Punch and Judy stage! I’ve only 30 or 40 years left. Then I can set the puppet down.
Isaac thought Brenda was coming today to show him her puppy. I just couldn’t tell him that today is the sort of holiday she will want to spend with someone else. I texted her and she called my son to say it won’t be today.
I don’t know if I will find someone else to share my life, if Valentine’s Day will someday mean something good to me again.
I have a lot of love in my life. My children, my friends. Lowlife. Even some very special folk who I’ve stumbled across in the internet.
I think time doesn’t move. We perceive it does because the entropy-driven aspect of our mortal selves sets up a slice of the time line in such a way as we perceive it is movement. But that is an illusion... time, from before it was to when its edge flows off into nothing, is always happening, always happened, always about to happen.
A few moments in my life something unusual slipped into these four dimensions and took up residency. They never stopped happening, and in the familiarity with which the accompany my life explains feelings I always had. I think I felt them before they happened. I feel them still. I think every instant of eternity exists forever. Which is why I think we are larger than we think.
If we could really see ourselves as the beings we are beyond these bodies, we would be astonished at how truly limitless we are.
But until then...
I’ll live through this marionette. I’ll consume and excrete. I’ll grow tired and become rested. I’ll be satisfied and I’ll be resentful. I’ll think thoughts limited by the constraints of an organic brain processing thoughts an inorganic mind.
It’s Valentine’s Day and I don’t have to stand in front of shelves of the cards extolling virtuous wives, undying love, passion that never dies...
(I wish I did.)
But... life is good...
"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright.
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright.
I’ve got a little Bob Marley playing... It’s Valentine’s Day and I went and got a haircut. I strode past the clump of men with anxious faces at the greeting card aisle. I’m not doing the Valentine’s thing this year.
Singing': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright!"
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright!"
I wrote about Moral North the other day. I think there are things that do not flow from there, that direction from which rightness, goodness, love flows.
I think there are things that don’t feel right, don’t feel like they flow from Him, yet don’t feel they are from moral south either.
I resent Brenda’s life.
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Saying', ("This is my message to you-ou-ou:")
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Saying', ("This is my message to you-ou-ou:")
I resent that for her today is a special day... her first Valentine’s Day when she can openly celebrate it with John.
I resent she goes to concerts, goes fishing every other weekend, goes out to dinner and movies.
What is this feeling? Jealousy? Envy? If so, I might concede they are truly negative. I think it is simply a sense that it isn’t fair.
Singing': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright."
The sense of justice flows from moral north, I know it. I think that’s the kernel within this feeling. She did wrong and it has hurt my children, hurt me. Hurt her family too.
I have overlayed that feeling with a bit of the negative. Jealousy and envy, not good things... But natural.
Singing': "Don't worry (don't worry) 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright!"
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright!"
Part of living this mortal existence is doing the mortal stuff. It is simply messy. Just like being hungry or tired or having to defecate urinate and sleep, simply hurting a little is a part of the deal.
There are a few men I love enough I hug them. That isn’t a machismo-filled, John Wayne sort of act, but I love those guys.
I met with one of them yesterday.
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you-o-o-o:"
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you-o-o-o:"
He is a fellow of deep kindness, someone I can tell anything to... He, some others, and I, talked one night about our weak areas, and he wanted to be reminded to be humble... so I call him “Lowlife,” (he has a nickname for me, but I can’t repeat it).
Lowlife and I were sitting in Starbucks.
I talked a little of what I have written here... and I talked about an idea that's been rolling about my noggin’ for a few months... (I’m almost ready to share it here.)
I shared other of my hair-brained ideas with Lowlife. We sat for an hour in that corner.
I think we are already much greater than we think we are.
The universe’s 12+ dimensions are more than another set of strange dimensions as we know them, I think they are a part of our daily existence.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be alright. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be alright."
Every little thing gonna be alright. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be alright."
I think our spirits and minds exist in a non-entropy driven realm, it is our true selves, and we live this mortal life as marionettes. Our true selves can not reach very deep into this thin realm of three dimensions, through the limitations of brains and bodies.
We reach through the narrow window of three dimensions and live these strange little lives, living and loving, sorrows and joys.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright" - I won't worry!
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright" - I won't worry!
Such a brief little time on this Punch and Judy stage! I’ve only 30 or 40 years left. Then I can set the puppet down.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright."
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright."
Isaac thought Brenda was coming today to show him her puppy. I just couldn’t tell him that today is the sort of holiday she will want to spend with someone else. I texted her and she called my son to say it won’t be today.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, oh no!
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright!
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright!
I don’t know if I will find someone else to share my life, if Valentine’s Day will someday mean something good to me again.
I have a lot of love in my life. My children, my friends. Lowlife. Even some very special folk who I’ve stumbled across in the internet.
I think time doesn’t move. We perceive it does because the entropy-driven aspect of our mortal selves sets up a slice of the time line in such a way as we perceive it is movement. But that is an illusion... time, from before it was to when its edge flows off into nothing, is always happening, always happened, always about to happen.
A few moments in my life something unusual slipped into these four dimensions and took up residency. They never stopped happening, and in the familiarity with which the accompany my life explains feelings I always had. I think I felt them before they happened. I feel them still. I think every instant of eternity exists forever. Which is why I think we are larger than we think.
If we could really see ourselves as the beings we are beyond these bodies, we would be astonished at how truly limitless we are.
But until then...
I’ll live through this marionette. I’ll consume and excrete. I’ll grow tired and become rested. I’ll be satisfied and I’ll be resentful. I’ll think thoughts limited by the constraints of an organic brain processing thoughts an inorganic mind.
It’s Valentine’s Day and I don’t have to stand in front of shelves of the cards extolling virtuous wives, undying love, passion that never dies...
(I wish I did.)
But... life is good...
"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright.
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Dog Advertisement
- Rocky -He died suddenly, about a month after Brenda moved out for good.
Sometimes little scenarios play out. I was Sam Spade, private eye, investigating the death of a Mrs. Gingerbread Cookie (turns out she had staged her death to frame the owner of a jazz club). It was a kick to drop into that personnae... do the film noir schtick.
A couple days ago a message was at my Yoville residence, pretending to respond to an ad I had (not really) run and I ran with it, writing the following response
Initial message:
I think dogs are special creatures... they have a lot to teach us... and thinking of Rocky, I wrote this reply:Regarding the dog advertised...
He’s huge. Much larger than you would imagine (he is 1/2 Irish wolfhound). You will instantly feel that he might be too large for your house. You will find however, he takes up as much room, physically and psychologically, as any other dog, even the smallest.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t eat nearly as much as one expects. Turns out, we usually over feed them.
He does, and he doesn’t bark. Most of the time, you can see the look in his eye that he sees something through the window coming down the street that he thinks might require a woof or two from him. He’ll look at you, and if you just shrug like it’s no big deal, he’ll relax and not say a word. Once in a while he will let it loose. He thinks you really aught to come take a look. Once in a while he’s right.
His temperament is better than yours. At least, its better than mine. He doesn’t keep thinking about things that happened at work and let them affect how he’s begging you to take him for a walk.
You can spend time with him. In fact, it’s required. He doesn’t want someone to just pat him on the head. He wants you to be the boss, and he wants you telling him what he should be doing.
He will come of age with you in that you will learn new things about yourself because of him, and you will feel more and more obligated to him as he teaches you about loyalty and unlimited love.
Yes, he is house trained. Unfortunately, he teaches your sons to urinate the way he likes to... on the tree in the back yard. (This isn't true of my kids, but I thought it amusing to put it in.)
Uh, about the chewing on things... He is going to chew up two or three things. One of them will be important to you and you will freak, and he’ll be sorry. You will then realize you can buy stuffed animals at the thrift store for $3 and he will confine his chewing to them and you’ll be sorry that you freaked out, and in the end, you will be a touch more fond of him.
He will only live about ten more years. It will make you sad, but you’ll be glad you had him in your life.
He’s weird looking and people will always be asking you what kind of dog he is, and he’s big, but he doesn’t jump up on folks.
He’s free if I get good vibes from you.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
A Piece for the Comment Section
I reread the post I wrote last night, and felt like writing a comment to myself.
So I did.
Then I figured, nah, the comment is a piece of the journey and belongs up here with all my other scribbles.
So here...
Side thought: Scripture says that the Lord is a jealous God.
That seems strange in that we think of jealousy as being negative, about being angry.
But if we think it over, we can see that it is more subtle than that. Anger may spring from jealousy, but jealousy isn't anger in itself.
Jealousy is the recognition that something which belongs to us has been given to another.
It can be, should be, a righteous response to recognizing an injustice to ourselves.
Why we are jealous, how we respond to being jealous... those are things that can rise up from the negatives of who we are.
Perhaps God is a jealous God, not in that He is angry and vengeful, but because He sees what He created, what He loves, betray Him and run to another... one He knows that does not have our interests at heart.
It's OK I feel jealous in that another soul twice pledged her life to me, gave me the rights and expectations that God meant for men and women to give each other, and she stole it back and spent it without thought.
It was something I valued, and valued because I was created to value it... But... time to move on. And if I do that with peace, grace, love, then it isn't a bad sort of jealousy.
So I did.
Then I figured, nah, the comment is a piece of the journey and belongs up here with all my other scribbles.
So here...
Side thought: Scripture says that the Lord is a jealous God.
That seems strange in that we think of jealousy as being negative, about being angry.
But if we think it over, we can see that it is more subtle than that. Anger may spring from jealousy, but jealousy isn't anger in itself.
Jealousy is the recognition that something which belongs to us has been given to another.
It can be, should be, a righteous response to recognizing an injustice to ourselves.
Why we are jealous, how we respond to being jealous... those are things that can rise up from the negatives of who we are.
Perhaps God is a jealous God, not in that He is angry and vengeful, but because He sees what He created, what He loves, betray Him and run to another... one He knows that does not have our interests at heart.
It's OK I feel jealous in that another soul twice pledged her life to me, gave me the rights and expectations that God meant for men and women to give each other, and she stole it back and spent it without thought.
It was something I valued, and valued because I was created to value it... But... time to move on. And if I do that with peace, grace, love, then it isn't a bad sort of jealousy.
Monday, February 9, 2009
North
I went back to work today. I stayed home Friday because I was sick, spent the entire weekend drinking juice and hot tea.
Being sick isn’t any fun, but we understand... it’s part of the human experience. Part of life. Happens.
We are told it won’t happen in the after life. Disease is a thing of this 4-D realm, not the larger universe.
That’s nice.
I suppose living an existence which sidesteps the whole entropy thing will have many advantages.
Brenda was over Saturday... she was going to take the boys out for the day, and she wanted to fix them breakfast. I was going to skidaddle but since I wasn’t up to it, I just pulled the covers over my head and ignored the sounds of someone working in the kitchen.
She went too far, cleaning a little too much, fussing over details of our home, my home. I dealt with it, told her it was no longer her place to take care of us.
That felt OK. Honest, clear, drawing boundaries.
The other part of it still doesn’t feel right.
The part that is about confused emotions over a love which no longer fits circumstances, disappointment regarding a failed marriage, slight jealousy regarding another man and the new life she seems to be enjoying.
Her regret for what she has done to our home, her shame for what she feels others think of her, her excitement and enjoyment her new life brings, are reflected in some of my reactions.
There is a part of us, a part of being human, that is a sort of compass. The compass points, as compasses do, in a single direction. We know when we are facing somewhere beside moral north.
I suspect that just as the charged sphere of spinning molten iron within the earth generates our magnetic field, our moral compass is generated by the creative force that holds all things together, the I AM, He breathes His reality into our smaller one.
Once in a while it is difficult to distinguish the finer waverings of our moral compass.
How does one distinguish between selfish and righteous anger? Anger in general is clearly a negative emotion, clearly from the southern side of the moral compass. Yet within the scope of those negative emotions, anger, jealousy, vengeance, it is possible for them to flow from moral north.
Christ expelled the schemers, cheaters, and profiteers from the temple with more than gentle persuasion.
The Lord God was clearly displeased with His people, and with humanity in general, as He tried to mature our beliefs into a faith that draws us nearer to Him.
As I become more used to the single life, as I define myself less frequently as divorced (judging myself on failure), I wonder over the irritation I feel when she comes over, crosses lines, instructs the boys, and then returns to her new life.
I hold my tongue... I quiet my heart. I wonder if the source of my feelings is healthy or not. North or south?
I wish there was chapter on divorce in the Bible.
I have spent a great deal of time thinking about the nature of the universe, the nature of God. As a human my thoughts, surmises, and imaginings must be terribly inadequate.
This loss of my marriage was (is) a great trauma for me. But it is so far from unique. Divorce is common. I wonder how can so many go through this and we don’t deal with it? Prevent it better. This much universal hurt... Nurture those commitments better.
I’m in no position to talk.
I think it’s like this sickness I’ve had this past week. It is part of living in a fallen world, a universe running on the principles of entropy.
The sun shines... perfect radiant energy shining upon a blue marble rolling through space. Plants imperfectly capture some of that energy, and in bringing a little order out of the chaos, they produce flowers, fruit. Living things consume the plants. Ever decreasing amounts of solar energy is transfered to other living things... plants to herbivores, then carnivores, then those feeding on decay, doing their small part to create a little order in the face of chaos.
God’s love shines... perfect glory powering a universal compass. The good that flows from it, love of our children, love of our mates, love for our fellows and ourselves, is imperfectly caught and transmuted to human scale.
The entropy of the spirit, the discouragement, the sorrows, the jealousy and longings are the entropic result of our innate failure to allow the needle of our spirits pointing moral north.
I love her. Always will. The marital relationship is as dead as the rotting remnants of my vegetable garden. Entropy of the heart.. like all entropy... follows the flight of time’s arrow.
Is there another mate for me? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.
She and I were mismatched; I see that now. Love can, especially in the young, be a disease sweeping through a person and creating a sort of insanity which disregards contrary evidence.
I’m not for everyone. Perhaps for no one. I’m not the partying type. I’m not the sports type. Perhaps I’m not any particular type at all. Perhaps I am the right type for one particular person.
Doesn’t matter.
I’m getting comfortable with who I am.
I may not be a particular type, but it is interesting that while I consider my reactions to her visits, I also consider how it aligns with my moral compass.
That’s not such a bad type.
Being sick isn’t any fun, but we understand... it’s part of the human experience. Part of life. Happens.
We are told it won’t happen in the after life. Disease is a thing of this 4-D realm, not the larger universe.
That’s nice.
I suppose living an existence which sidesteps the whole entropy thing will have many advantages.
Brenda was over Saturday... she was going to take the boys out for the day, and she wanted to fix them breakfast. I was going to skidaddle but since I wasn’t up to it, I just pulled the covers over my head and ignored the sounds of someone working in the kitchen.
She went too far, cleaning a little too much, fussing over details of our home, my home. I dealt with it, told her it was no longer her place to take care of us.
That felt OK. Honest, clear, drawing boundaries.
The other part of it still doesn’t feel right.
The part that is about confused emotions over a love which no longer fits circumstances, disappointment regarding a failed marriage, slight jealousy regarding another man and the new life she seems to be enjoying.
Her regret for what she has done to our home, her shame for what she feels others think of her, her excitement and enjoyment her new life brings, are reflected in some of my reactions.
There is a part of us, a part of being human, that is a sort of compass. The compass points, as compasses do, in a single direction. We know when we are facing somewhere beside moral north.
I suspect that just as the charged sphere of spinning molten iron within the earth generates our magnetic field, our moral compass is generated by the creative force that holds all things together, the I AM, He breathes His reality into our smaller one.
Once in a while it is difficult to distinguish the finer waverings of our moral compass.
How does one distinguish between selfish and righteous anger? Anger in general is clearly a negative emotion, clearly from the southern side of the moral compass. Yet within the scope of those negative emotions, anger, jealousy, vengeance, it is possible for them to flow from moral north.
Christ expelled the schemers, cheaters, and profiteers from the temple with more than gentle persuasion.
The Lord God was clearly displeased with His people, and with humanity in general, as He tried to mature our beliefs into a faith that draws us nearer to Him.
As I become more used to the single life, as I define myself less frequently as divorced (judging myself on failure), I wonder over the irritation I feel when she comes over, crosses lines, instructs the boys, and then returns to her new life.
I hold my tongue... I quiet my heart. I wonder if the source of my feelings is healthy or not. North or south?
I wish there was chapter on divorce in the Bible.
I have spent a great deal of time thinking about the nature of the universe, the nature of God. As a human my thoughts, surmises, and imaginings must be terribly inadequate.
This loss of my marriage was (is) a great trauma for me. But it is so far from unique. Divorce is common. I wonder how can so many go through this and we don’t deal with it? Prevent it better. This much universal hurt... Nurture those commitments better.
I’m in no position to talk.
I think it’s like this sickness I’ve had this past week. It is part of living in a fallen world, a universe running on the principles of entropy.
The sun shines... perfect radiant energy shining upon a blue marble rolling through space. Plants imperfectly capture some of that energy, and in bringing a little order out of the chaos, they produce flowers, fruit. Living things consume the plants. Ever decreasing amounts of solar energy is transfered to other living things... plants to herbivores, then carnivores, then those feeding on decay, doing their small part to create a little order in the face of chaos.
God’s love shines... perfect glory powering a universal compass. The good that flows from it, love of our children, love of our mates, love for our fellows and ourselves, is imperfectly caught and transmuted to human scale.
The entropy of the spirit, the discouragement, the sorrows, the jealousy and longings are the entropic result of our innate failure to allow the needle of our spirits pointing moral north.
I love her. Always will. The marital relationship is as dead as the rotting remnants of my vegetable garden. Entropy of the heart.. like all entropy... follows the flight of time’s arrow.
Is there another mate for me? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.
She and I were mismatched; I see that now. Love can, especially in the young, be a disease sweeping through a person and creating a sort of insanity which disregards contrary evidence.
I’m not for everyone. Perhaps for no one. I’m not the partying type. I’m not the sports type. Perhaps I’m not any particular type at all. Perhaps I am the right type for one particular person.
Doesn’t matter.
I’m getting comfortable with who I am.
I may not be a particular type, but it is interesting that while I consider my reactions to her visits, I also consider how it aligns with my moral compass.
That’s not such a bad type.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Saturday.
Sick in bed, Brenda's visit with the boys today bled through sporadically into my dreams, and that delicious state that isn't awake, and isn't asleep.
She want to come over today, fix them breakfast, take them to the movies.
I was to let them sleep in (teens are biological wired to stay up and get up late, and the morning slowly simply bugs me a little). That worked out well because I really need to do the take care of the local Creeping Crud and get better.
Bottom line... I found her cleaning my kitchen anf fixing breakfast.
There's a little line crossing going on there. Talked about it.
Now to the amusing part. Even when she is wrong, and knows she must be right, sometimes she is right.
I admit it. I could be shopping better, feeding the boys better, keeping the house cleaner.
She found ways to politely point out that I have a lot of cheese (she was cleaning the frig [!] and there were two large, unopened bricks of cheese, another opened and half used).
She gave tips to the boys on how they need to wash the counters better.
I got up, started the laundry, cleaned the bathroom, went back to bed.
So the boys are with her today. and I'm watching a Mythbuster fling cards at Jello.
Someone else will cover my class at church.
Bottom line, she's right, I need to get better at nutritional meals (not merely quick) and use the food in the frig before it turns green.
She want to come over today, fix them breakfast, take them to the movies.
I was to let them sleep in (teens are biological wired to stay up and get up late, and the morning slowly simply bugs me a little). That worked out well because I really need to do the take care of the local Creeping Crud and get better.
Bottom line... I found her cleaning my kitchen anf fixing breakfast.
There's a little line crossing going on there. Talked about it.
Now to the amusing part. Even when she is wrong, and knows she must be right, sometimes she is right.
I admit it. I could be shopping better, feeding the boys better, keeping the house cleaner.
She found ways to politely point out that I have a lot of cheese (she was cleaning the frig [!] and there were two large, unopened bricks of cheese, another opened and half used).
She gave tips to the boys on how they need to wash the counters better.
I got up, started the laundry, cleaned the bathroom, went back to bed.
So the boys are with her today. and I'm watching a Mythbuster fling cards at Jello.
Someone else will cover my class at church.
Bottom line, she's right, I need to get better at nutritional meals (not merely quick) and use the food in the frig before it turns green.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Need to Draw a Little Closer to My Boys
In a post the other day I described a humanified vision of what ant society may be like. I implied they could do, be, much more than they are, if shown way.
The reality is ants are impressively perfect in what they do. They may not have much of a view of themselves as individuals, but as examples of duty, work ethic, thinking of the greater good, they are supreme examples.
Humans resist this extreme vision of life for good reasons. It isn’t in our nature to surrender our individuality. It is probably one reason communism has always had difficulty in application.
Still, the boring grind of life for so many is a great cause of stress, anxiety.
I’m fortunate that I love my work so much, that the things in my life, my faith, my children, my robotics teams, my TV productions, are things I enjoy. I don’t have a boring grind.
But I can back off the passion of my life, become lazy, coast, and that isn’t so good.
I’m thinking about my home life.
I clean house, and teach my sons to do the same, I cook, and teach that to my boys, I wash clothes, and they are taught that as well... but... I have been slipping a bit being fully engaged in my home life.
It occurs to me I spend a lot of my evenings reading, or writing, or web surfing, and that this is the last year, perhaps the last few months, with my sons, with this vanishing family of mine.
It’s the daily grind that is wearing me down a little. Settling into patterns.
The past year or two has been so filled with crisis... this lull is sometimes filled with things of no lasting value.
I was looking up information on the internet last night, nothing of great import (I was curious about environmental impact of sheep versus cattle) and I realized that for the past half hour or more Isaac was playing a game on the computer, and Jeremiah was in his room playing a video game. I felt a twinge of guilt that I wasn't doing more with them.
I’ve been a little saddened, irritated, and a touch resentful hearing Brenda has been going to the coast fishing with her boyfriend every other week, and concerts the other weekends.
It is a small step from those thoughts to the path she took, leading to the resentment. (I do not think I am in danger of traveling that path.)
I have been having a couple of ounces of whiskey with five or six ounces of chocolate in the evenings. Not enough to even feel it, and often I don’t finish the glass, but I’m watching it... I don’t need to develop any habits I regret.
When this whole thing was blowing up... Brenda was moving in and out, I was confused about recipes, temperatures for laundry, what skills the boys needed... there was so much to do, my mind was so active, I didn’t slow down like I’m doing now.
Slowing down is a good thing, especially when it is reflective, or worshipful, restful. It is the opposite of the antish obsession with work and duty.
But... though it is OK for my kids to play their games now and then, and for me read about the average length of grasses after the passage of ungulates, it seems I can better use my time.
OK... time out!
I started this post last night... after the boys had been put to bed... but it’s evening again, and instead of spending the evening doing something fun with my sons as I planned, a little bonding of some sort... I’m in bed.
I’m sick.
I’ve had a sore throat for a couple of weeks, but now it’s in my sinuses. I’m sneezing... oh... every few minutes... sometimes seven or eight times in a row.
I’m going to go to sleep in a few minutes, but first, why I’m pausing to jot down this sneeze punctuated post.
I asked the boys if they could fix their meal themselves (a dish I have taught them thoroughly) and crawled into bed.
Isaac came in with a little food, insisted I eat something. He immediately returned with a huge glass of orange juice and some cold medicine. He came back a half hour later with more juice and strict instructions I drink it.
He told me he loved me and to hurry up and get off the computer and get some rest.
I wasn’t able to share the evening in a way that would draw us a little closer together... but my sweet son has picked up the slack.
The reality is ants are impressively perfect in what they do. They may not have much of a view of themselves as individuals, but as examples of duty, work ethic, thinking of the greater good, they are supreme examples.
Humans resist this extreme vision of life for good reasons. It isn’t in our nature to surrender our individuality. It is probably one reason communism has always had difficulty in application.
Still, the boring grind of life for so many is a great cause of stress, anxiety.
I’m fortunate that I love my work so much, that the things in my life, my faith, my children, my robotics teams, my TV productions, are things I enjoy. I don’t have a boring grind.
But I can back off the passion of my life, become lazy, coast, and that isn’t so good.
I’m thinking about my home life.
I clean house, and teach my sons to do the same, I cook, and teach that to my boys, I wash clothes, and they are taught that as well... but... I have been slipping a bit being fully engaged in my home life.
It occurs to me I spend a lot of my evenings reading, or writing, or web surfing, and that this is the last year, perhaps the last few months, with my sons, with this vanishing family of mine.
It’s the daily grind that is wearing me down a little. Settling into patterns.
The past year or two has been so filled with crisis... this lull is sometimes filled with things of no lasting value.
I was looking up information on the internet last night, nothing of great import (I was curious about environmental impact of sheep versus cattle) and I realized that for the past half hour or more Isaac was playing a game on the computer, and Jeremiah was in his room playing a video game. I felt a twinge of guilt that I wasn't doing more with them.
I’ve been a little saddened, irritated, and a touch resentful hearing Brenda has been going to the coast fishing with her boyfriend every other week, and concerts the other weekends.
It is a small step from those thoughts to the path she took, leading to the resentment. (I do not think I am in danger of traveling that path.)
I have been having a couple of ounces of whiskey with five or six ounces of chocolate in the evenings. Not enough to even feel it, and often I don’t finish the glass, but I’m watching it... I don’t need to develop any habits I regret.
When this whole thing was blowing up... Brenda was moving in and out, I was confused about recipes, temperatures for laundry, what skills the boys needed... there was so much to do, my mind was so active, I didn’t slow down like I’m doing now.
Slowing down is a good thing, especially when it is reflective, or worshipful, restful. It is the opposite of the antish obsession with work and duty.
But... though it is OK for my kids to play their games now and then, and for me read about the average length of grasses after the passage of ungulates, it seems I can better use my time.
---------------------
OK... time out!
I started this post last night... after the boys had been put to bed... but it’s evening again, and instead of spending the evening doing something fun with my sons as I planned, a little bonding of some sort... I’m in bed.
I’m sick.
I’ve had a sore throat for a couple of weeks, but now it’s in my sinuses. I’m sneezing... oh... every few minutes... sometimes seven or eight times in a row.
I’m going to go to sleep in a few minutes, but first, why I’m pausing to jot down this sneeze punctuated post.
I asked the boys if they could fix their meal themselves (a dish I have taught them thoroughly) and crawled into bed.
Isaac came in with a little food, insisted I eat something. He immediately returned with a huge glass of orange juice and some cold medicine. He came back a half hour later with more juice and strict instructions I drink it.
He told me he loved me and to hurry up and get off the computer and get some rest.
I wasn’t able to share the evening in a way that would draw us a little closer together... but my sweet son has picked up the slack.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Watching Sheep and Clouds
The patriarchs of the Old Testament were herdsmen. They moved their livestock from field to field, valley to valley, sat on rocks watching for predators.
When the incisor shorn grass became too short... another valley, another field, another hill.
They would have spent time watching clouds drift across the sky... time to play a musical instrument, time to think... time to pray.
Yesterday we had communion at church. It isn’t something we do every Sunday, and it isn’t something we do the same way each time.
It is something I take seriously.
Everything about the service was thoughtfully focussed on what communion means. The selection of worship songs. The short meditation given by our pastor. The couple of songs which ended the service.
The communion itself... I am moved by the memory...
Communion yesterday was a little unusual.
Time.
It may have been about twenty minutes... I don’t know, I lost track. We spent time at it.
I went to one of the tables offering the tiny crackers, tiny cups of juice, and knelt and prayed.
I prayed it all... confessions, thanks, concerns, joys, sorrows... There was no rush... no one waiting for me to get out of the way, no one reaching toward me to pass the plate, no one else at all... except those kneeling beside me, their own prayers drifting from their hearts, mingling and rising with mine.
Time didn’t matter. Just as it doesn’t matter to Him; every moment is forever.
When my heart was ready I opened my eyes and reached for the elements. I took them gently... felt the bit of bread between my teeth, reminding me of how His body was crushed. I’m always a little uneasy at this point, the symbology of my partaking in His death... When the last of it was swallowed, leaving a slight dryness to my mouth, I took the juice, reminding me of the mortal blood which provided life to a mortal body, a small human shaped vessel that carried the spirit of the creator of all things. My mouth moistened, refreshed.
Yesterday’s service offered me a moment to quiet my heart, to listen to what was roiling about in my head, and to let it settle in the small act of accepting my part in His sacrifice, and claiming my place in His adopted family.
This Friday is our monthly 24 hours of prayer, and I have my hour reserved. I will have that opportunity again to slow down, reflect on my heart, my faith, my life.
We pack so much into our lives. And technology, the subject I teach, the tools I routinely use, does not give us more time but rather speeds things up so we are expected to do more in less time.
I called about some questionable charges on a credit card Saturday. A machine took my information, gathering dates, account numbers, insuring I was who I said I was... and when the computer using the recorded voice of a human being was finished, it tossed all that data onto a bank employee’s terminal. The poor woman seemed so concerned that I have a good experience talking with her, and asked many times if I was satisfied, if there was anything else she could do, all read from a clearly articulated script... I felt sorry for her.
She was, is, a cog in some corporate machine, serving other machines who do the busy work of preparing customers to speak efficiently to another human.
I felt sorry for her. I made sure every answer I gave, every question I asked, was couched in terms that told her I knew she was a person, that I cared that she was helping me.
That brief time in church on Sunday... that service dedicated to dedicating our present lives to the Lord, was rich in the one thing we too easily spend without thinking: quiet moments.
I’m grateful that for a little while, I was like a shepherd on a hillside, able to spend time enjoying the Lord, pausing to think and pray.
When the incisor shorn grass became too short... another valley, another field, another hill.
They would have spent time watching clouds drift across the sky... time to play a musical instrument, time to think... time to pray.
Yesterday we had communion at church. It isn’t something we do every Sunday, and it isn’t something we do the same way each time.
It is something I take seriously.
Everything about the service was thoughtfully focussed on what communion means. The selection of worship songs. The short meditation given by our pastor. The couple of songs which ended the service.
The communion itself... I am moved by the memory...
Communion yesterday was a little unusual.
Time.
It may have been about twenty minutes... I don’t know, I lost track. We spent time at it.
I went to one of the tables offering the tiny crackers, tiny cups of juice, and knelt and prayed.
I prayed it all... confessions, thanks, concerns, joys, sorrows... There was no rush... no one waiting for me to get out of the way, no one reaching toward me to pass the plate, no one else at all... except those kneeling beside me, their own prayers drifting from their hearts, mingling and rising with mine.
Time didn’t matter. Just as it doesn’t matter to Him; every moment is forever.
When my heart was ready I opened my eyes and reached for the elements. I took them gently... felt the bit of bread between my teeth, reminding me of how His body was crushed. I’m always a little uneasy at this point, the symbology of my partaking in His death... When the last of it was swallowed, leaving a slight dryness to my mouth, I took the juice, reminding me of the mortal blood which provided life to a mortal body, a small human shaped vessel that carried the spirit of the creator of all things. My mouth moistened, refreshed.
Yesterday’s service offered me a moment to quiet my heart, to listen to what was roiling about in my head, and to let it settle in the small act of accepting my part in His sacrifice, and claiming my place in His adopted family.
This Friday is our monthly 24 hours of prayer, and I have my hour reserved. I will have that opportunity again to slow down, reflect on my heart, my faith, my life.
We pack so much into our lives. And technology, the subject I teach, the tools I routinely use, does not give us more time but rather speeds things up so we are expected to do more in less time.
I called about some questionable charges on a credit card Saturday. A machine took my information, gathering dates, account numbers, insuring I was who I said I was... and when the computer using the recorded voice of a human being was finished, it tossed all that data onto a bank employee’s terminal. The poor woman seemed so concerned that I have a good experience talking with her, and asked many times if I was satisfied, if there was anything else she could do, all read from a clearly articulated script... I felt sorry for her.
She was, is, a cog in some corporate machine, serving other machines who do the busy work of preparing customers to speak efficiently to another human.
I felt sorry for her. I made sure every answer I gave, every question I asked, was couched in terms that told her I knew she was a person, that I cared that she was helping me.
That brief time in church on Sunday... that service dedicated to dedicating our present lives to the Lord, was rich in the one thing we too easily spend without thinking: quiet moments.
I’m grateful that for a little while, I was like a shepherd on a hillside, able to spend time enjoying the Lord, pausing to think and pray.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
