Kiss and Breakup

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

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

“Please Seat Yourself” the placard said.

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

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

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

“Make that two, Jorge,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“No...” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So... Let’s kiss and breakup.”

Against her will she smiled.

“I know,” I said. “I’m so weird.”

“But in a cute way.”

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

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

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

OH YEAH!!! THAT'S BIG NEWS!

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

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

There was a hesitation.

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

She didn’t say anything.

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

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

I let it go on for a little while.

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

I was grinning.

“Just one last time!”

She laughed.

“Now let me pray for you, OK?”

She nodded.

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

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

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

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

It Has A Certain Ring To It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, I put it back on.

And it keeps falling off.

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

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

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

Marriage.

It has a certain ring to it.

God is Using This...

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

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

I feel strangely calm.

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

I feel guarded.

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

I love those boys so much.

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

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

The last one was interesting:

Anonymous said...

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

September 27, 2008 6:35 AM

Yes. I have suspected that may be the case.

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

The strongest feeling is caution.

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

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

Why not pursue my own happiness?

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

This life is short. Less than a hundred years.

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

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

More Than Are Dreamt of

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was crying.

She wanted to meet me.

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

I went.

I’ve never seen her like that.

She was broken. Desperate.

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

She wanted to come back.

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

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

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

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

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

They said they were impressed. They believed her sincerity.

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

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

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

And we shared.

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

My friend told of Brenda’s honesty that day.

We prayed.

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

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

“Oh... One more thing.”

They sat back down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cleared my throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When?” said another.

“How about now?” I asked.

I called her. She came.

We talked. We covered the previous conversations.

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

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

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

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

It was awful.

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

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

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

She wants to move back in.

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

But...

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

What the heck is going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

WHAT?!?

Yeah.

My vows.

Those are the words I hear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is more authority I should have.

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

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

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

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

But... I am the Lord’s servant.

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

This is almost harder than anything else I have done.

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

I know God is real.

He is more real than I.

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

Ever.

But...

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

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

And there is more.

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

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

There is also obedience.

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

I will obey.

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

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

A Hasty Note

It has been about a week since the last post.

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

Then there was yesterday.

I am still trying to understand everything that happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All this seems to be coming together.

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

I love you all.

--Will

Thank You

Heavenly Father, Sovereign Lord...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank You Lord.

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

-- Amen

Work

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

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

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

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

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

She's been on vacation.

With her boyfriend.

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

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

But lately I have been ticked off.

My wife is on vacation with another man.

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

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

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

Work is good.

We are made for work.

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

Instead, God put him to work.

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

But for Adam no suitable helper was found.

Genesis 2:18-20

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

Work is good.

At least, it's good for me.