Metaphors Be With You

Today's church service was extraordinary.

It was focused around worship and prayer. No sermon... Just praising God, taking communion, praying.

This afternoon was pretty nice too.

I've said before I haven't kissed but one woman in the last 28 years.

I can't say that any more...

It feels wonderful.

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A faithful man will be richly blessed...
Proverbs 28:20

How I feel About This Blog

I wonder... Is it wise to be so transparent in this digital journal?

This blog, The Journey of the Curious Servant, sprang from another, Job’s Tale, beginning a month before the fire.

I’d heard a sermon about being a servant. How in serving others we serve God. Of how Christ knelt and washed the feet of others, served them. I thought how the more I think of myself, the less often I think of God. I thought perhaps I should be a servant to others about the idea of being a servant, and had I could try to be as truthful with myself as I could.

So I chose this pen (keyboard?) name: Curious Servant (I'm also a fairly curious person). The picture I use is an old woodprint of unknown origin which I tweaked, straightened, cleaned up, printed, colored, and scanned.

I created the blog to explore the story of Job, since I have read it so many times. I never quite got too far into that. Other things came up.

There were a number of ups and downs. I recorded or referred to most of them in some way.

I also used that blog to write down ideas, thoughts about how things go together.

I tried to get my wife to read it, but she really wasn’t interested. A number of them I read aloud to her as she cooked or something (she never seemed to want to just sit and talk or relax a bit). The more she seemed to lack interest in it, the more honest and open as I became.

Soon it was a part of the way I processed or prayed or just worked through strange ideas.

A time came when I felt it was going too far, so I changed the address. It was getting rough at home, and I felt the need to work through those tough issues but didn't want everyone who knew me locally to know those issues. I thought I’d try to pare down who read it, but that changed too. Eventually, as my marriage evaporated, I made a link from Job's Tale to The Journey of the Curious Servant.

I disliked the name of the first one too. That title sounded like I was comparing myself to Job (I just wanted to talk about the book).

I’m about to take a very long trip in a couple of weeks. I don’t know how often I will write something via a cell phone.

Currently I have a number of consistent readers, some who have been with me a long time, some recent (many never leave a comment, I have no idea who they are! Introduce yourselves sometimes folks! Huntington Beach! Staten Island! Branson, Mo! Gig Harbor! Hi folks! Chicago, Amsterdam, Phoenix! Drop a note and say "Howdy!" greenleaf.will@gmail.com).

Sometimes I feel I am taking chances with my writing. That people will think less of me if I tell them what I’m really thinking. Do I have the courage to write honestly about myself? What would happen if everyone tried to admit to themselves what they are thinking and doing?

The previous post I hesitated over because I did not want to offend anyone.

I feel an affection for this virtual journal. It’s a place where I can throw everything or anything. I will miss it if it I can’t manage it in northern Thailand (well down to the south too). I like the accountability this blog forces on me. If I write it, then I must live it. I’m not nearly as successful at that as I’d like to be. There are folks reading these words who have often prayed for me, prayed for my family. Those brothers and sisters in Christ, have helped me through a number of things. In praying for them, the best thanks I can give them is to live according to what I write.

Two more weeks. Probably five or six posts more.

Well... That’s how I feel about this blog.

Feel Free to Disagree (I insist!)

I’m a big fan of science.

I think it admirable their strict codes of conduct, their quadruple checks of data, their openness to, well, experiment.

I think when God told Adam to go and name all living things he was assigning him the task of scientist on top of the job of gardener. God put Adam to work, exploring and naming (though Adam longed for help for mortal company).

Science reveals the most amazing things. I see hope for humanity to repair the terrible muck we have made of this world, the world He gave to us to care take. (I don’t understand why the recent evidence of the probability of cold fusion has not been front page news for weeks, instead of which celebrity is in rehab!)

Science reveals the most amazing things because its premise is simple. If you have an idea, then you should be able to predict something with it. Make your prediction, then test it. If the answers are many, lean toward the simpler one (Occam’s Razor).

Science is an intellectual pursuit. It is Man holding a ruler to the universe and seeing what is there and giving it a name. It is simply the methodical examination of creation.

Oh sure, it has it’s limits. I think some things are unmeasurable, and therefore beyond the ruler (or meter stick) of science. How do we explain the human appreciation of beauty? Creativity (art for art's sake)? How do we explain passion for the Presence of the Lord (a personal truth without demonstrable evidence)?

Science has limits (though it is amazing what we have been able to do! See into many portions of the electromagnetic spectrum, use the crowbar of math to pry secrets from what is too small or to dim or too large to see, and we can, sort of, poke a stick out of our own four dimensions).

This blog’s readers know my bizarre notions regarding time and space. Those notions are almost certainly wrong because 1. I am not a scientist and therefore probably am confused about many of the details, 2. I sprinkle liberal amounts of theology over it all, another topic I am untrained in, and 3. I’m a man, limited by my senses, my knowledge, my life span.

All that aside, there is an assumption many make about me, about many of my brothers and sisters in The Body of Christ, that we hold some notions without reservation. One of those notions is creationism.

I believe the Lord God is not only the creator of Heaven and Earth, but actively holds the fabric of time and space together. I believe He has given me a spirit, not only an eternal self bind me to Him, but is an immortal consciousness in iteslf.

It is odd the vehemence some believers use in attacking evolution. Sometimes angrily. Or self-righteously, or sadly, untruthfully. Strange attitudes to spring from faith.

I understand in writing these words I will upset confuse some, perhaps anger a few.

The fossil record, the intermediate forms, the comparative anatomy, the genomic homologies, all point clearly that the species on this world are closely related to each other, that patterns exist for their movement through time, space, and morphology. It makes an awful lot of sense. It's the simplest answer.

The reason I bring this up is because I am concerned for the faith of some of my brothers and sisters. The evidence for the basic facts of evolution continue to mount, in fact are making huge leaps. What might happen to a person’s faith if it is grounded more in the “evidence” of creationists than in the evidence of scripture or a relationship with God?

If our faith is based upon the interpretation of the evidence around us, and we find ourselves mistaken, it may shake not only our paradigm, but our faith (personally, I love having my pair-of-dimes shaken).

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The Lord God is real.

The Lord God loves us, interacts with us, and, far beyond any doubt, is real.

I believe the Lord God is more real than I am. I am mostly void, clouds of electrons shimmering about nuclei which are themselves more nothing than something. I am a whisp of vapor, a bit of smoke on the wind. I am a ghost traveling through a universe I can barely perceive because its reality is firmer than what forms me.

I'm a drawing on a sheet of paper compared to the many dimensions of true reality.

I think the reason battle lines have been drawn around this particular branch of science, the evolutionary sciences, is because it forces some to question long held assumptions.

So what?

Who are we to argue with the universe?

The universe is around 13.7 billion years old. The evidence is clear. Earth is older than 5,000 years. About 4.5 billion years. We're recent homesteaders.

I’ve heard the arguments that it only appears that old, that God made it that way. Some creationists write God created all the light beams from all the stars already in place, already traveling an apparent billions of light years. Some argue the laws of physics were markedly different just a few thousand years ago (patently impossible since such differences would have resulted in a universe far different than this one).

I see two testaments to God’s Truth. His Word, and the work of His hands. The idea He would create a universe to appear to be something it is not is disingenuous. God does not lie. God has no need to try to convince us of anything. He is who He is. He is The Great I am. We are His creation. He has no need to form things to appear to be other than they are.

The debate over creationism and evolution is a pointless debate. It is an animosity that has no need, no purpose, to exist.

Faith and science are completely different ways to look at the universe. Science has no answer to why we have the sense of beauty. Faith does. (We sense beauty, are creative, have faith, because we are built in His image, our spirits are designed to carry such tools.)

I love the Lord God with all of my heart, with all of my strength, with all of my spirit. It isn't a biological thing, a thing of measurement or science.

The wonders of His universe are revealed to those with eyes open to see. Science takes us on that journey of discovery, that journey of naming all He has created (is creating). (10,000 new species have been identified this past year!)

Creationism rejects evolution because it threatens notions of how He did what He did, not whether He did it. I question creationism because I have seen creationists intentionally distort facts, foster narcissism, and wield their faux science not as a tool of truth but as a bludgeon to hurt.

For me, it does not appear to bear the fruit of The Spirit. That is enough for me.

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I thought this funny. The letter says to sign and fill out the form, and retain one of the copies for my records. However, the two copies are printed back to back to each other! Not sure the expect me to return only one side!

Perhaps I can post in Thailand by photographing things I have written. Is this readable?

: )

These are interesting days in a middle school. Q couple of weeks to go. The kids are, squirrellyer than ever. Some a touch concerned about grades. It is a challenge to keep them 1. busy, 2. learning, and 3. getting the curriculum neatly ended . I need the timing of an orchestra conductor.

Aside from the usual challenges of culminating year end field trips, the kids seem to be gorging themselves on sugar and caffeine. Our middle schoolers vibrate in place.

The last few years, chronicled on these digital pages, were filled with melodrama... burning buildings, health issues, sleep deprivation, deceit and betrayals.

On the entropy side of those events life feels different.

Aside from the little dramas playing out in the classrooms and halls... students and parents, curriculum and equipment, small dramas still occur in my own life. Jeremiah’s group home called, they found a lighter in his laundry. Isaac’s anxious about the Summer without me.

Still... I’m smiling.

I'm being creative (gardening, new art underway [future post there], writing 2k words a day...)

Last night I surrounded myself with candles, soft music again. I cut back on the sleeping meds. and still slept.

I wrote the other day of how God’s faithfulness is patently obvious. Still, I understand our failure to feel His presence. But at this time, in this eternal moment, the now in which I write this post, I feel His breath in my life.

The small dramas, even the concern over a lighter in Jeremiah’s possession, seem to roll past, debris floating in a receding flood.

I’m not oblivious to the natural part of this healing. The ol’ “Time heals a broken heart” stuff. I see how steps I am taking in my life are tinting my glasses a touch rosy, but there is a faith aspect to my current happiness, just as there was to my unhappiness.

I’ve started dating.

Nothing serious. I am skittish over emotional entanglements, but the ladies I have taken out have been kind and understanding. The adult conversations, shared meals or movies, exchanged emails or IMs, make me feel like I am worth something after all. I am particularly fond of one, but... deep breath... there isn't any hurry.

I’m making good friends. I’m flattered to be taken seriously, even my strange ideas which are more fiction than science or theology.

My sleep, though not entirely deep, is consistent, and I don’t wake shouting.

These are large changes. The melodrama has given way to a mellow drama.

I don’t expect life to always feel good, be good.

But it is right now.

Glow

I’m sitting in bed, a half dozen candles lit in the room, a reading lamp beside me, classical music playing soft and low... Yo Yo Ma.

Last night I got ten hours sleep!  Ten!

I went to bed at 12:30... awoke at 6:00... and I decided to try to sleep more.  When I woke the clock read 10:15.  That is more sleep in one night than I have had in a decade!

Zion Memorial Cemetery was filled with flowers and flags today, bright colors beneath a bright sky.  Fresh flowers on Willy’s grave.  

Isaac wanted to go to the mall, so we did.   The mall crawl.  Not my sort of thing, but he enjoyed it, and I did too.

I’ve painted a wall in Jeremiah’s old room, fresh white, and I’m planning a prayer painting for that space, cover art for a fund raiser CD.

I tossed the 20 year old comforter from the bed and bought fresh sheets, new pillow cases, a new comforter (all a part of a set... what sort of pillow goes into a sham?!).

People at work, at church, in the stores, tell me I am looking good.

My hands are dry, a little flaky, but the skin is thicker, the splitting has stopped.  The cessation of pain feels wonderful.

Can you see my smile between the lines of this post?

I don’t regret trying so hard to save my marriage.  It was an awful, a painful experience, but it was what I had to do because it was the “me thing to do”.

We think of being young as the Spring of our lives... but we all know that Spring comes around every year.  It makes sense our lives have more than one Spring.  It is Spring time.

I am happier now than I have been in so very long.  At least since Willy died in ’92.  Probably much earlier than that.

I’m 53 and I am getting to know who I am in ways that weren’t possible from within my marriage.

I’m freer now, more creative.  

Brenda is free to be who she wants to be and that is good.  I am free to be who I want to be, and that is great!

She and I are very different people.  I hope she is happy in her new life.  

I’m glad she isn’t beside me.  I am still unused to sleeping alone, but an empty bed is a better place to rest than one with a toxic love.

The candles give off a lovely glow.  They remind me of the way I am feeling.

Faithful

The Bible says God is faithful.

It seems to me that so many of the writers of the Bible were compelled to write about God’s faithfulness is a statement about how faithless men are.

God is faithful.

Duh!

That sounded condescending. Hmmmmmm... no... it was condescending. Sorry.

But consider the idea for a moment.

The universe is made up of galactic clusters, made up of galaxies, made up of stars, made up of molecules, made up of atoms, made up of fermions (or hadrons) (and behave through the forces of bosons), which are made up of quarks, which combine in triune fashion to form the fabric of time and space.

At that level of reality, where effect can precede cause, where randomness seems to rule, is a presence, an intelligence, which sings the universe into being... vibrations of nearly infinitely small threads strum like violin strings in at least 12 dimensions, the song of reality.

The universe exists because something, Someone, sings it into being.

Of course God is faithful. If He were not, we would not be here.

Science fiction movies often depict black holes as these large discs, enormous balls of darkness, swallowing all within their reach. They aren’t that big at all.

The black disc pictured in such movies is merely the event horizon, where light itself is not capable of escaping the voraciousness of infinitely collapsed matter. A black hole is a singularity. It has no dimensions at all. It has collapsed so fully into itself that all that is left is gravity. Even black holes large enough to force galaxies (sometimes thousands of them) to dance to its voice has no height, no width, no depth. It is a mathematical point in space.

Of course God is faithful. Such wonders shout His existence. The Bible says even nature sings to Him. Of course it does.

We need to be told God is faithful because faithfulness is difficult for us. It is easier to believe in an unfaithful God than to accept that the sorrows of life are our own doing, or the result of a complex dance of the forces He has set in motion to hold the universe together.

We are the ones who are unfaithful.

Being faithful is difficult for us.

According to enrichment journal on the divorce rate in America:
The divorce rate in America for first marriage is 41%
The divorce rate in America for second marriage is 60%
The divorce rate in America for third marriage is 73%

I, (Bride/Groom), take you (Groom/Bride), to be my (wife/husband), to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

Vows, the firmest of promises we can make, are frequently broken.

God is faithful.

No wonder the Bible says it so often. We need to hear the repetition because, sadly, we have trouble with the concept.

I’m not perfect in this regard. I’m not writing from some lofty position of superiority. Jesus said to merely look at a woman and want more than is holy is to commit adultery. I am guilty of that.

I have tried to control that part of me, to avert my eyes, rein in my nature. During my marriage I never went further than that. I didn’t stray from what I swore I would do. I never kissed another, never held another.

That vow is ashes now. Because of faithlessness.

And that’s OK. Well, maybe not OK, but it is as it is.

God is faithful.

He can be nothing else.

We are sometimes confused by the idea of a faithful God, a loving God, because we are confused by our own inability to remain true.

Sometimes folk think that God is somehow demanding things of us... love, devotion, adoration, worship. I don’t think that is the way it is, really.

I think God is love, devotion, adoration, worship. He formed us, not just our bodies, but all of us, to be capable of returning that love, devotion, adoration, worship. And in order for us to be capable of it, we must have the ability to be incapable of it. That is the forbidden fruit we gleefully pick in the orchards He planted within our hearts.

But...

But...

But when we do turn to Him and let our hearts love, rein in our natures with devotion, look above us, through the ceilings of our homes and churches, beyond the swirl of our galaxy, past the edge of the universe 14 billion light years away, when we look past this reality, we must fall on our faces and worship the God that holds it all together... gently supports the vast distances and the vast depths, from the vibrating wall of the Big Bang’s echo to the dimensionless enormity of the largest of black holes.

People wonder about faith. How can one believe in things that cannot be seen? Cannot be felt?

How can we not?

I have faith in these truths because I sense them with the very fabric that makes me, me.

God is faithful.

He is that way so we can be faith full.

Middle School

I teach middle school.

That is sixth, seventh, and eighth graders, eleven to thirteen years old.

Aside from the first three, these three years are probably the years of greatest change.

Educating these children is more than pouring math and grammar and geography and science into their minds. It is also a process of civilizing them.

That process doesn’t end at middle school, or high school. It shouldn’t ever end, really. We are never quite as much as we can be. I know I’m not as civilized as I’d like to be.

I taught advanced placement literature at a high school my first year as a pedagogue. It was a temporary position. I had hoped to find a similar position, but middle school is where I landed.

Turns out I like it.

Amazing changes in these students. They come in as little kids, nervous about the larger school, mixing with new kids from the other elementary schools. Two years later they leave, certain they are the coolest creatures having deigned to walk the earth.

During their three years here they can change suddenly. Different clothing styles, different friends, different haircuts.

Their views can be very concrete... black and white. Things are or aren’t. That is why they are always testing the boundaries of rules and teachers’ patience. They need to understand where the line is.

My primary task with them is their safety. I am strictest in having them adhere to my rules in situations having to do with fire drills or lock down drills.

After that I feel it is important to try and instill a love of learning. If they can learn to like to learn, they will turn out fine.

Then comes the subject matter. The curriculum I have for them... it is best presented so they want to know it. That is a real challenge, and not one I always succeed at doing.

Finally, my job is just plain civilizing them. They have much to learn... Learning how to deal with dramatic social issues, learning to respect themselves, each other, property. Learning how to be polite, be kind. This is where I look at the child, try to see the adult they will become, and guide them to a place where they will better fit into the world.

Those are the elements which fill my work days. I have the privilege of teaching children at this crucial time in their lives. The privilege to teach the children of my neighbors, my community.

I hope learning doesn’t stop in school for them.

For myself I love to learn new things (it’s why I call my self “Curious”). However, the information I glean from Scientific American or NASA’s websites, or other sources is just knowledge, stuff.

The more important learning is the civilizing part. Partly I look for those who are further along in some area and try to learn from them. Some if it comes from my faith, some from reading, or praying, contemplating, meditation.

I think life itself is a type middle school, a place between the care of our mortal parents and the adventures of eternity. We are supposed to continue to learn to deal with dramatic social issues, learn how to respect ourselves, each other, and property. Learn to be polite, be kind.

Metacognition

Metacognition.

Thinking about thinking.

I learned of the concept in college.  

What am I thinking?  Why am I thinking in that particular way?  How did I arrive at those conclusions?  How much of these thoughts are influenced by what I imagine versus what is?  How much of these thoughts are influenced by my personality?  How much of these thoughts are influenced by my level maturity?  How much of these thoughts are influenced by my faith?  Am I wanting to please?  Am I seeking justification?  Am I thinking rationally, emotionally, spiritually, or randomly?

Metacognition.

Thinking about thinking.

I noticed last night that my hands are nearly healed.  

That isn’t a small thing.  I developed psoriasis ten years ago.  It has been mild, and it has been not so mild.  Spots in my scalp, knees, ankles, toes, but especially hands.  The last couple of years it has been frequently so bad that a firm handshake, one of those too strong handshakes would cause me to cringe.  I've found blood on papers I handle.

Last night I glanced over them to see if there were any new cracks developing. What a surprise!  They have a few rough patches left over from splits of a week ago, but not only are they nearly healed, but the skin itself is thicker, healthier.

Times of stress have been followed by these painful faux stigmata, an emotionally induced wound, my body echoing my heart.

I’ve had people mention lately it’s good to see me smiling.

What has changed?

My thinking patterns have changed.

Though I was able to understand, while I experienced it, that I was having self esteem issues, that my emotional state was coloring my mental state, I wasn’t able to alter it.  Through my usual observing of how I think I knew I was being affected.  Now, ad I stand a little straighter, look a little further toward the horizon, I see how deeply I was affected.

My wife had an affair.  A second one.  She yanked me back and forth while her fickle heart wrestled with desire and guilt.  She would leave, she would beg to return, I would relent, she would sneak out.

In the end I went and got the divorce papers, filled them out, dragged her to a notary public, filed them.  I ended the marriage because she didn’t have the courage to do so.

In the last couple of weeks I have accepted this new state, being single.  

In the last couple of weeks I have been with people who made me feel I was worth something.

That isn’t a small thing.

Metacognition...

I look at how I am thinking, what paths my mind takes, I see something new.  I see there was more to this episode of my life than marital betrayal.  There is more to this than my best friend, the one I most trusted, thought me unworthy.

A part of me believed it.  Really drank deep of that poisonous lie.

I saw those thoughts weaving in and out of my days, but I hadn’t realized how much they had influenced the way I thought.

In the last couple of weeks I have begun to accept I am not a piece of trash, easily discarded, or worse, an obstacle to someone's  happiness.

In the last couple of weeks a change in the flavor of my thoughts makes life palatable.  in the last couple of weeks I’ve felt my heart shift.

My hands are healing.

My heart is healing.

I am smiling again.

Waiting

I’m a fortunate man.

My life is filled with blessings, goodness.

There’s been a shift in the way Brenda and I interact. If she comes over or calls for the boys, I might or might not talk to her.

To her credit I see she is doing more with the boys than I would have guessed. I thought that as we settled into our new lives, she would withdraw more from them, but she is making an effort.

Saturdays she takes Jeremiah to Special Olympics. She missed the first practice of the season, so I took him and figured it would fall to me.

I was wrong.

She has taken him to his practices, and though she could take him right back to the group home when he finished, instead she does extra things. Last Saturday he wanted Chinese food. They had lunch, just the two of them. He wanted to go look in a thrift store. They went (he got a wallet). He needed a bike helmet, so they went to a sporting goods store and she bought him a very nice one.

She is doing more than I thought for him. Not to impress me, or to keep her word, but she truly seems to be motivated. I think she will keep a close eye on Isaac while I am in Thailand and he will be fine.

I think one of the things difficult about this divorce, at least for me, is simply my own world view. Moving from a paradigm which centered on being married... getting the kids raised, looking forward to a time when she and I would begun a new chapter in our lives, it was as real as a future can be.

Looking back I see so many things that reflected the truth of her affair. She took to sleeping on the couch often. Sometimes she said it was because I snored, which was difficult to believe since I can be a light sleeper and I had no sense of snoring (and sometimes I can sense things occurring in the real world from within my sleep). I didn’t understand her anger when I got those anti-snore strips so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. She kept telling me it wasn’t necessary, and when pressed, said I really wasn’t snoring, perhaps a little deeper, heavier breathing.

She said she felt too warm and needed the cooler air of the living room.

She had complained about our sex life. So I began, three years ago, injections which would have helped, had her anger not gotten in the way again. None of that anger was really directed at me. It was guilt and the towering anger that grew from guilt.

She started getting serious about losing weight, getting firm, using face creams to ward off wrinkles, wearing clothing more typical of a younger woman. I sensed it was not about or for me.

Now I am getting used to a quieter household, just Isaac and I.

We’ve been listening to music together in the evening while he plays on the computer and I read or write. Quite the range too. Last night we started with Bob Marley, then to Ben Harper, then Mendelsohn, The Cranberries, Fats Waller, The Decemberists.

There is a part of me still angry. A part of me resents her new happiness. A part worries about her feelings few years down the road when she may have regrets. I don’t like feeling angry.

Meanwhile... back at The Green Leaf Ranch, things have settled quite a bit and I have found myself enjoying life. I'm smiling more. My teaching has improved. I am on my game.

Perhaps it’s because it is Spring. The grass has the green that only happens in early Spring, while it grows so fast a weekly mowing is hardly enough. Little primary leaves are sprouting throughout my garden, vanguards for the legions that follow. Spring in Oregon is glorious.

But to be honest (and I try to be), I think I’m feeling good because I am shaking off the dust of my divorce, washing my face with Spring water, and beginning, just a little, to relax.

I’ve written before about my suspicion that time is two dimensional. The more I think about that the truer it seems. There may be a temporal direction perpendicular to the linear one our bodies function within.

I suspect that the experiences of today have always been. That time doesn’t really move at all. The sense of passing time is a construct of our minds, a part of having a mortal experience within an immortal life.

There are events of my life which not only seem to continue in some sense, but upon reflection, I think I felt them long before they happened. I think there were moments in my life when I sensed a connection to other times of my life. 1961 is connected to 1976 and 1982 and 2008.

There were moments, times, in those years which seem to somehow overlap each other. I suspect that the notion that they are separate is just a construct. I suspect that who and what I really am exists beside the timeline we know as life.

I know this sounds strange, and it is difficult for me to find the words to express what I am thinking.

There will be griefs in my future, just as there have been in my past. There are joys there as well. I can feel them, existing in a now that stretches beond the borders of what we usually consider as “now”.

Much of the frustration people have about, with, or for God stems from troubled times when He seems distant.

I feel He is always there, always here. The limits of a single dimension of time don’t apply. He holds the universe like I might hold my hat. It is a thing... a construct of space-time that resides in a larger truth.

I am much more patient with children now than when I was young. Moving down the path of time I have grown tolerant of the antics of my middle school charges. There is a feeling that this place of tolerance comes from outside, not just from experience and aging.

I think this growing feeling of patience and affection and tolerance echoes the deeper reality of His character, His personality, His creativity.

The impatience and frustration of the past year or two or three comes from not being able to feel the larger part of who I am.

Interesting that as I get older, as my mortal life has less time to work with, I grow more patient and willing to wait... It feels less like sitting in a doctor’s office waiting for my turn than it does simply waiting for... waiting for me to learn... waiting on...

Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord

Our God, You reign forever
Our hope, our Strong Deliverer
You are the everlasting God
The everlasting God
You do not faint
You won't grow weary

Our God, You reign forever
Our hope, our Strong Deliverer
You are the everlasting God
The everlasting God
You do not faint
You won't grow weary

You're the defender of the weak
You comfort those in need
You lift us up on wings like eagles

If this made any sense to you... drop me a note... These symbols of ideas, words, are inadequate to express what I am feeling.

Don’t Read This

This is one of those awkward posts. I want to journal it, work through my thoughts. It’s one of those times when I think about my readers... who might read it, what they might infer. But, this is where I process and as long as I am careful...

On Leap Year Day 1980 I first laid eyes on Brenda.

I was struck dumb and numb.

Typical for a 23 year old I suppose.

She moved her stuff into my house (though I had told her clearly I was not ready for that) while I was a thousand miles away. In the fall of 1981 we married.

Now, though I think I may be clever, I know I’m still pretty much a knuckle dragging mouth breather, and that was much truer nearly three decades ago. (Though at the time I thought I knew what was going on... again typical of a young male.)

We had a lot of adventures over those years. Some joyous, some filled with grief. Now, after the sunset of my marriage, I see that throughout all that time I did not clearly see the woman beside me.

Hey, I’m no angel. Far from it. There were many times when I was wrong, and sometimes I fought to be right when I wasn't, and it was of no import in the first place.

Now I’m past the mid point in this mortal life and things look quite different as I watch a second showing of those old 8 mm films flickering in my mind.

I didn’t see who she was.

Part of that set me up for the grief I’ve felt these last couple of years. Part of it caused that grief. Yes, she made mistakes, big ones, but that is beside the point, which is the me on the upper side of the half century mark is quite different than the me under the quarter century mark.

I told a friend once I think we all carry the marks of the crisis of our lives. That it’s like we are metal tools that have been bent, and though the smith has heated us up, and hammered us straight, if one runs a hand over that spot, the damage can still be felt.

This divorce really bent me. I am in the process of being hammered smooth again.

I went out on a date Friday night.

It was good.

My heart raced throughout the evening. Just being somewhere with a woman who was not my wife of most of my mortal years felt... It felt strange.

I’m a rather loyal person, and I have been careful of my marriage vows. Very careful. But those vows have been blown away by a too common storm. Still, there is a huge amount of emotional inertia in three decades of loyalty.

And there are parts of me I am suspicious of... I am very new at being single. I still have trouble sleeping in an empty bed. I am still unused to evenings without adult conversation. There is a part of me that craves it as an addict. I do not want to start any relationship now while I am uncertain if my heart is being swayed by those addictions.

So, Friday night was good for me. She was kind, friendly, intelligent, witty, and very understanding of this ol’ gun shy war horse. It was wonderful to be in the company of someone so pretty. Hmmmm... no, more beautiful than pretty. Anyway, she understood I had no idea what I was doing and that I was a little wide eyed just to be going out like that.

Now I wonder... what next? Part of me is hollering: “Careful, you idiot!”

Probably good advice.

I should probably date a number of people. Let my heart grow slowly used to this. Let me get to know them well. Look for friendships, be open to more, but keep tapping the brakes of my heart (sheesh, how many metaphors have I used in this post so far?... hmmmmmm.... I count eight). The loyalty part of me is already feeling that dating others might be unfaithful, a ridiculous thought. Dang, I'm monogamous! ("Careful, you idiot!")

So... There’s my post, voicing thoughts rattling around inside this noggin’. It was a good night Friday. I slept very well. A good sign.

The smith is hammering the rough edges straight. Most of the major heating and the pounding I took on the anvil of the last couple of years is over.

Now... if you disregarded the title of this post and read it anyway, what the heck. I’ve revealed a lot more here than this!

The Imperfect Garden

When I come home from my trip to Thailand I anticipate an interesting garden awaiting me.

Two gardens. The regular vegetable garden, which this year is pared down to corn, tomatoes, potatoes, artichokes, lettuce and strawberries. Somewhat orderly.

Then there is the round garden, begun last fall with a circular layer of fall leaves, now thrice rototilled into the soil..


My circular garden is a strange mix. Flowers and blueberries, ferns and corn, spices and sunflowers. Today I stuck in four strawberry plants. An artist friend carved a giant pumpkin last fall and I have some of those seeds planted as well.

I know Isaac will not keep up on the weeding, so both gardens are a little smaller this year. Which is fine. There will be a little chaos mixed with the orderly wedges and scimitar shapes I have seeded.

This round one is my Sittin’ & Thinkin’ Garden.

It doesn’t make a lot of sense, the mix I have chosen... except I chose based on colors and heights, the smells and on-the-spot edible treats.

I approached the garden sort of how I approach a painting or drawing. Mixing and blending, just creating a living metaphor of colors and smells.

Life isn’t as tidy as the gardens we usually have. Vegetable garden here... flower garden there... berries along that side... herbs in rows on this... Life is a lot like the garden I think I will see in late July. Chaos and order, all mixed together. What I planted, and, to paraphrase Hamlet: For in that future garden what weeds may come... Must give us pause...

Which are weeds? I count dandelions weeds because I don’t usually put them in my salad and I don’t know how to make Dandelion Wine. Weeds are also a part of gardens.

I like the idea of all that potential chaos about to spring from the fertile Canby Sandy Loam (that’s the north side of town, folks).

I’m repainting what was Jeremiah’s room. I’m turning it into a prayer room. I have a plan for another picture/prayer for one of the walls.

Those pictures I do can seem chaotic up close. Letters and words run off in differing directions, growing large and small, heavy and light. But at a distance they are a picture, an expression.

That’s life, isn’t it? Order out of chaos. Chaos slipping in and out of order.

Quantum level physics describes a universe filled with randomness, pure chance and chaos, yet at a larger scale, we see patterns and order, Newtonian Laws.

It’s just grand to live in an imperfect garden.

The Front Yard Today

The Front Yard Last Winter

Spring!

Do you feel it?

It is so sweet. Spring in Oregon.

The occasional showery storm passes once a week or so, and throughout the valley Spring leaps from soil and air.

I feel a little like that.

Jeremiah is having a little trouble adjusting to living in a group home. Naturally. I talk on the phone with him each day if I don’t see him in person. It is getting easier. He is looking forward to going to church on Sunday, having lunch with us, and watching a movie together.

Isaac is also having a little trouble adjusting, but he is growing as rapidly as the stalks of corn in my garden. He is eager to learn, though he is having difficulty in the areas typical of young males.

I’ve been having a little trouble adjusting, but... I feel the sense of freshness to my life... of... Spring.

I asked someone to go out with me this week. Just a movie and dinner.

It was the first time in nearly three decades I have asked someone, of the other gender, to go out.

Makes me feel a bit like a kid.

Except I’m not so infatuated with possibilities now as I was then. There’s a big difference between 24 and 53.

I’m looking forward to a relaxed evening with an adult. Some good conversation. Perhaps a friend. Who knows? It doesn’t matter.

What matters is I asked. That I have gotten to the place where I can think beyond my marriage. Beyond the stress.

For the first time in a long time, I won’t be spending the evening worrying about my kids, my marriage, anything.

It’s Spring Time!

Tell Me!

Where are all those other matching socks?!!! How can we continue to lose one of a pair over and over and over?

C'mon ladies! Tell me the laundry secret here.

Is it a dryer & clothing manufacturers' conspiracy?

Or is it some sort of parallel universe, wormhole in space thing?

He's Almost There

Isaac says we are a little like roommates.

It’s an idea I have been fostering in him for over a year,

I knew I had to get him to a place where he could cook and clean and do laundry. I also knew I had to draw him out of his shell and get him engaged with the world.

In mid June he will be in this house all by himself.

OK... Brenda did first say she would move in here for the month... but I told her I’d rather she didn’t. She conceded she could spend two days here and then two days there, to and fro...

He needs a chance to learn to not follow all my dictates, desires, casual thoughts... And he’s getting there.

The last few days he has slowly been repeating the idea I planted that we are roommates now. We are the two people living in this house, and running this house and it isn’t about having to do chores. There are a lot of things that simply need doing. If you see it needs doing, do it.

He is 18. He is graduating (a regular diploma!!!!!!). His next task is to learn to work.

I told Brenda I’d like to see her spend as little time here as possible. She will. I know. At first she will be, rightfully so, anxious that Isaac is OK. Proper meals and such (speaking of which, I am getting a touch lazy there!). She will spend a night or two here.

But she will start to see that he is already nearly grown up, and though he may have a hard time remembering and staying focussed, he will get it done.

It’s healthy to embrace a little imperfection (after all, doesn’t God Himself embrace us?). It’s OK if he doesn’t do it perfectly right. She will see he can make do, that he won’t starve and that he is learning.

Her sense of responsibility, guilt, will relax. I doubt she will spend a night two weeks after I’m gone.

He’s starting to get the idea of money now. I really cut him off... He has to do something for me beyond the running of the house to get pocket money. (He’s going to wash my van tomorrow!).

Yesterday I was mowing. He brought me gloves to wear. Today he turned in pop cans and mowed a neighbor’s yard.

This all sounds like little stuff, I know, but he hardly mumbled two years ago, and now he’s doing so much better.

I talk to him pretty frankly. About how how things work, checking and savings, carbon filtering, faith, insurance, cold fusion, our feelings, my plans, his. (He doesn’t catch it all the first time, but he gets most of it. I think.)

I always did. I often spoke to him about parenting, what lesson I was trying to teach him, what I wanted him to learn next, what his next freedom can be.

I can see he isn’t too far from learning what he needs to have his own life.

He’s excited about the strawberries my garden will produce this summer.

I need to get around and write about the two gardens. I planted them both last weekend. The Metaphor Garden is worth a post.

Anyway, I wander... his thinking is becoming a little future focussed. I’m proud of him.

Isaac may not be able to do many things, but he has a big heart, he is honest and eager and kind. Those are traits that will serve an employer well.

He hurts very badly for his mother, he misses his brother, but he really believes that what has happened is best for all of us. She and I could not work it out. We just aren’t even reading the same book, much less on the same page. He believes she’s going to be better. He thinks Jeremiah is going to be better. He thinks he is going to learn to pull his weight.

What more could I want? What a great kid I have!

I prayed for so long for children. I asked for that blessing so many times. The day before we were to hire an attorney, to begin the adoption of Willy, The Dream came. So we did.

I had become fascinated by Abraham. The father of all western, and middle eastern, faiths, and his desire for children. I argued with God that He had promised me children. That He had to keep His word.

And He did, and we adopted that newborn (Lord, bless that young woman).

A year and a half after Willy died, when word came about this boy needing a home, I was ready to say yes before I heard his name.

“His name is Isaac,” she said.

Brenda may be bitter toward that woman, but I am grateful.

Isaac.

Willy was Ishmael, Isaac is Isaac.

I will be on the other side of the planet, he will be here.

I know, I know... wandering again... One more story and I’ll call this a post and throw it on the blog pile (this is once again one of those posts not as pithy as usual).

The first time I saw Isaac the missionary lady was bustling about, shaking our hands with her wet ones, juggling laundry, fixing a lunch for 20.

“Do you want to see Isaac? I think he’s up.

“You can see him through the sliding glass door. He’s in the bedroom on the other side of the patio.”

I strode forward, looked at the bedroom beyond the swimming pool, cribs lining walls. The crib nearest the glass door had a little boy jumping up and down, waving at me and shouting.

“Daddy! Daddy! DADDDDDYYYYYYY!”

It’s been fifteen years.

I sure love that boy.

A Man

It might seem that over the last couple of years my life has unravelled... But, I think, perhaps, the reverse is true.

Unfaithful wife, dead dog, handicapped son moving out, huge sleep deficit...

I’ve wondered a lot about who I am, what I am.

Losing someone I trusted my life to, dedicated my life to, had me wondering if I am perhaps not enough to warrant someone’s love, warrant faithfulness.

Makes me wonder who I am, what I am.

I think this is what I am:

I’m a man. A man does not need to be a philanderer to be a man. A man does not need to be crude, or drunk, uncaring.

I see that I’m the sensitive sort, and that may not seem tough, but it can be.

I’m a Christ follower.

He was the sensitive sort.

But He knew how to work, how to be a man.

He was a carpenter, a regular blue collar guy. He was familiar with wine and of Man's foibles, and rubbed shoulders with rough characters, and He cared.

He touched those who hurt, even those with diseases which repelled most. He stood between the weak and the powerful.

When I think of my children, how I feel when I suspect they have been mistreated, I know, I absolutely know I would step between any threat and my children.

And, I know, I absolutely know, I would do the same for any child. It’s at the heart of why I am a teacher.

So, I’m the sensitive sort. I am the creative sort and I emote.

So was Jesus.

But He was able to stand before the ultimate earthly authority, secular and religious, and take whatever they dished out.

I don’t know if I could do anything close to that. But I know He was sensitive, and creative, and emotional.

And He was a man.

My life might appear to have unravelled, but I have discovered more about who I am, and I have shed things that were false (the pretended love of a woman, the illusion of a marriage).

I think I will get to the end of the school year, I will go to Thailand, I will have trouble doing nothing for a week or so, and then, I will relax. I will breathe deep, I will soak up the sun, and I will relax. I will reflect on my passions and my strengths.

Being creative, being sensitive, are not liabilities. They are simply a part of who I am. And... I’m a man.

Truer Truth

Perhaps I'm being lazy (though I am in the middle if writing another post), but the other evening a friend showed my son and I a photograph on her computer and the interchange over it makes for an easy post here:


Isaac was fascinated by the image and asked me about it. I told him that though it is purported to be a real photograph, I greatly doubted it (for several reasons), for several reasons. I also told him that much of what was in the picture is accurate, the size of the iceberg, the shape of it under the water, the colors...

My friend wrote me later that upon further reflection she thought I may be right (which is taking a chance since I'm fairly sure that most of what I think, surmise, conjecture, is erroneous).

I replied to her email this way:

It doesn't matter...

There is often more truth in false images than true ones....

What was beautiful in that photo were the shapes, the colors, the size... All of those aspects of the image are correct, even if humans could not see it that way.

Many astronomical photos are recorded in ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum in which humans are unable to see... that does not mean the images aren't there... just that they have to be adjusted for us to be able to appreciate them.

Most of what we find beautiful occurs not within the eyes or optic nerves, but within the interface between mind and heart. Isn't that the truer truth?

The better test of what is right and just and true is the response of the heart. If it is good, then it is of God. If it is of God, then it is true. Truer than the most "accurate" photos of the atrocities depicting the evils within the hearts of men.

Just food for thought...

P.S.: I found the source of the picture... you can see it in all it's glory at this site, toward the bottom of the page.

Bedtime Chat

“Hey Isaac. Come here a second. I want to tell you something.”

He walked in.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to know... I love you. I’m glad you are my son.

“I know things have been tough for you.

“I’ve had an interesting life. A lot of good things, some not so much.

“I’m sorry about Mom. I’m not saying she hasn’t done anything wrong, but there are things I am responsible for, things that are my share of these hurts.

“I know this has been a very tough year for you... Mom, Rocky, Jeremiah...

“Here’s the thing, what I want to tell you... I am so glad you are my son. I am so glad I adopted you. If I had to choose everything over again, I would do it just the same. It has all been worth it to have you as my son.

“I love you.”

He smiled. He sighed. He grinned. He hugged me and went to bed.

I'm Not Proud of It

I resent that Brenda seems happy.

Today we moved Jeremiah into a group home.  He seems to like it, looking forward to it.

I rented a U Haul truck, a friend pitched in, and Isaac and Brenda helped me move Jeremiah.

This is one less thing for her to feel guilty about, I get it.  And she is excited about her new life.

But she was the one who has pushed for a long time to get Jeremiah into a group home, and I have mixed feelings.

It is best for him.  He will always be safe, fed, cared for...

I'm picking him up early tomorrow to take him to church.  

The house is emptier than ever... and though it does not feel very "christian",  I resent how happy Brenda seems.