Written about 3 weeks ago
There are a number of old sayings that promote the concept of laughter as healing. By and large this has been well served in my lifetime. While some people may not appreciate my sense of humor, they cannot deny that I have one. If you just scan back over all these posts you will find humor sprinkled through most of the blogs. There is some conjecture that my sense of humor may be a little off the main path, but laughter is laughter and I enjoy the play of humor in my life and those around me.
It is not the ability to tell a joke, or laugh with others when they relate a funny story. What has been taken from me in this extended crisis is the ability to look at life from a certain perspective. What has changed is my particular bent on the events around me. I find people funny, I find circumstances (even traumatic circumstances) funny, the oddities of life are funny to me. But somewhere in the past year my take on the world has become more cynical. Even in the midst of realizing this, there seems to be little to help me revert to my normal self. This change has been more like a rheostat being dimmed slightly, or slightly more over time. There wasn't the sense that someone just turned off the light of humor, it is that the rheostat was lowered slowly, almost imperceptibly. Then I wake up one day ad realize my take on the world is just not as much fun as it used to be.
And just as slowly the light is beginning to brighten. Over the last several weeks it has become easier to find the humor even in the most stressful of events. Why? Because I am working again, all day effort to make some small companies into more significant companies. There is still the worry over money and future, but the occupation of my mind with plans and strategies have brightened my take on the world around me.
For those who have put up with this dour attitude over the past year, I apologize. To my bride I simply want to say that you have been beyond helpful. There is simply no way I survive the past trauma without you. It always amazes me that you exhibit the strength you possess. Times are getting better, you deserve the payoff. We have had a few laughs in the past year, but they have come at too high a price.
I am taking back my life, one way or the other. That way my particular slant on all that surrounds us will return. For those who are going through this, or married to someone who is going through this, give them a little slack, everything is harder to maintain. Give them the freedom to vent just a little, to let it all out. It helps.
Godspeed to those who are looking down the barrel of this particular malady. Take back who you are...it is not theirs to own.
Don
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Doubts
This was written over a month ago.
16 months of unemployment have created a new ability to doubt. It is probably the most common malady of the unemployed. We have spent a lifetime developing skills and abilities only to hit a moment in time where we are being told everyday that those skills, while worthwhile, can't be afforded. It is an insidious erosion of what we believe and hold dear.
So everyday I wake up and spend some portion of my morning convincing myself that "today is the day, where someone will recognize their need for my abilities." And yet here I am almost 500 days down the road and the future is even more unclear than it was before. This inscrutable rejection is hard to fathom.
You begin to doubt your worth. Has this all been just a cosmic joke somehow? As most of you know I am believer and practitioner of the spiritual disciplines. Frugality or simplicity are part of this lifestyle. My prayers and meditation, along with my study and reflection all point towards living a life of simplicity, but it is not simply for the sake of the discipline. It is to bend my will to the glory of God. But when life's circumstances, particularly over a long period of time indicate that the discipline is futile, the doubt creeps in. Why bother with it, when the results are the same as that of a pagan. Why am I being rejected when I have submitted to a lifestyle that few even know about? Has my life lost worth in the sight of the One who determines all that is worthy? In an emotional breakdown not long ago I confessed to my bride that this past year has been wasted. I have been put on hold. The doubts are rampant about who I am and what value I hold for the world around me.
Here I am at 4AM on a Sunday morning, contemplating a leading prayer for a church where I don't know most of the people, interceding for a God who has grown largely silent over the past year.. and I doubt. Honesty does not seem to be the most prudent path. Yet, honesty should be the key element for a community of faith. But I doubt the entire premise that it will simply work out. In this moment of early morning reflection, it feels that I have been rejected both by God and by those who profess to follow Him. And still I struggle to find the words that will reveal both His glory and His compassion.
In this moment of despair, when I feel like walking away I find the words of Jesus ringing in my ears as I am sure they did to those so many centuries ago, "Will you leave me as well?" When do we get to consider this question? It is certainly not the politically correct question. But the answer also keeps coming to mind, "Where else can we go? Who else has the answers?" Peter found a way to express the tension that I find myself in. This doubt was not created by unemployment, just manifested in the circumstance. I believe we all live with the question and the doubt. Where else can I turn? Who else holds these truths? In a culture that is crumbling, a church that has lost its way, and a man who has entered the "second half" these questions are bitter and also needed.
So I will spend a part of today convincing myself that today is the day. That if I stay on the journey, it will eventually level out a little. And at some point today, maybe just maybe, there will be a small token of confidence manifested in me. Who knows?
Godspeed to the rejected of this journey. We will find a way. Push the doubts from your mind, breath in and out, step forward, only in faithful action will doubts be diminished.
Don
16 months of unemployment have created a new ability to doubt. It is probably the most common malady of the unemployed. We have spent a lifetime developing skills and abilities only to hit a moment in time where we are being told everyday that those skills, while worthwhile, can't be afforded. It is an insidious erosion of what we believe and hold dear.
So everyday I wake up and spend some portion of my morning convincing myself that "today is the day, where someone will recognize their need for my abilities." And yet here I am almost 500 days down the road and the future is even more unclear than it was before. This inscrutable rejection is hard to fathom.
You begin to doubt your worth. Has this all been just a cosmic joke somehow? As most of you know I am believer and practitioner of the spiritual disciplines. Frugality or simplicity are part of this lifestyle. My prayers and meditation, along with my study and reflection all point towards living a life of simplicity, but it is not simply for the sake of the discipline. It is to bend my will to the glory of God. But when life's circumstances, particularly over a long period of time indicate that the discipline is futile, the doubt creeps in. Why bother with it, when the results are the same as that of a pagan. Why am I being rejected when I have submitted to a lifestyle that few even know about? Has my life lost worth in the sight of the One who determines all that is worthy? In an emotional breakdown not long ago I confessed to my bride that this past year has been wasted. I have been put on hold. The doubts are rampant about who I am and what value I hold for the world around me.
Here I am at 4AM on a Sunday morning, contemplating a leading prayer for a church where I don't know most of the people, interceding for a God who has grown largely silent over the past year.. and I doubt. Honesty does not seem to be the most prudent path. Yet, honesty should be the key element for a community of faith. But I doubt the entire premise that it will simply work out. In this moment of early morning reflection, it feels that I have been rejected both by God and by those who profess to follow Him. And still I struggle to find the words that will reveal both His glory and His compassion.
In this moment of despair, when I feel like walking away I find the words of Jesus ringing in my ears as I am sure they did to those so many centuries ago, "Will you leave me as well?" When do we get to consider this question? It is certainly not the politically correct question. But the answer also keeps coming to mind, "Where else can we go? Who else has the answers?" Peter found a way to express the tension that I find myself in. This doubt was not created by unemployment, just manifested in the circumstance. I believe we all live with the question and the doubt. Where else can I turn? Who else holds these truths? In a culture that is crumbling, a church that has lost its way, and a man who has entered the "second half" these questions are bitter and also needed.
So I will spend a part of today convincing myself that today is the day. That if I stay on the journey, it will eventually level out a little. And at some point today, maybe just maybe, there will be a small token of confidence manifested in me. Who knows?
Godspeed to the rejected of this journey. We will find a way. Push the doubts from your mind, breath in and out, step forward, only in faithful action will doubts be diminished.
Don
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
A New Reality
Over the past several weeks I have been writing blogs that have not been published. They center around the last year or more regarding my unemployment or dramatic under-employment. They are as honest as I know how to be. The blogs focus on the three things that I believe are the "collateral damage" of extended unemployment. You will notice a distinct omission of the struggles of no income. That part is assumed. What I have tried to convey are the losses that are evident but harder to articulate. My hope is that if you know someone who is in this crisis that these posts will make you a little more understanding. I also hope that if you are in this situation that you will find a kindred spirit in my writing. Sometimes this simple act of connecting helps the path get a little smoother, a little more level.
There are three issues that have grown more and more evident as time goes on. Three things that were taken for granted. Over the past year I have begun to doubt who I am and what I thought I could do. Doubt is a huge de-stabilizer in our psyche. There have not been many times that I spend much time doubting, I have always simply "moved ahead" and found the path usually led to a better place.
Secondly, I have lost a large portion of my humor. This loss, in particular, makes me bitter. Humor has been and always should be a defense against what the world tends to dump on us.
Finally, I have lost hope. This one floats in and out, causing great comfort on certain days and vast despair on others.
Some of these will be recognizable to all of us in some dose. We have been extraordinarily blessed with a very small and loving community of faith who have helped us through this time. One couple has been especially generous with their money, and always at just the right time. Another couple has been generous with smaller gifts, even when they had nothing to give, it came out of their own struggles. Another family changed their lifestyle to fit our needs, so that we could continue to do fun things, but at little or no expense. It is this small community that sustained us, kept us sane, and held us close. When they said, "We continue to pray for you." it meant a great deal because they backed it up with action. The most annoying people were those who assumed they had spiritual influence and would say, " we are praying for you." after a time all I heard was, "Be warmed and filled." Great, not much help there. Read James 2 again and tell me what help prayer with no action means.
So the next few posts may seem a bit dreary. Sorry. I had to muster up the courage to post them. It is tough to be revelatory and funny.
Tomorrow will see the first post.
Godspeed to those who are in this abyss. Hang on to your esteem, your humor, and your hope.
Don
There are three issues that have grown more and more evident as time goes on. Three things that were taken for granted. Over the past year I have begun to doubt who I am and what I thought I could do. Doubt is a huge de-stabilizer in our psyche. There have not been many times that I spend much time doubting, I have always simply "moved ahead" and found the path usually led to a better place.
Secondly, I have lost a large portion of my humor. This loss, in particular, makes me bitter. Humor has been and always should be a defense against what the world tends to dump on us.
Finally, I have lost hope. This one floats in and out, causing great comfort on certain days and vast despair on others.
Some of these will be recognizable to all of us in some dose. We have been extraordinarily blessed with a very small and loving community of faith who have helped us through this time. One couple has been especially generous with their money, and always at just the right time. Another couple has been generous with smaller gifts, even when they had nothing to give, it came out of their own struggles. Another family changed their lifestyle to fit our needs, so that we could continue to do fun things, but at little or no expense. It is this small community that sustained us, kept us sane, and held us close. When they said, "We continue to pray for you." it meant a great deal because they backed it up with action. The most annoying people were those who assumed they had spiritual influence and would say, " we are praying for you." after a time all I heard was, "Be warmed and filled." Great, not much help there. Read James 2 again and tell me what help prayer with no action means.
So the next few posts may seem a bit dreary. Sorry. I had to muster up the courage to post them. It is tough to be revelatory and funny.
Tomorrow will see the first post.
Godspeed to those who are in this abyss. Hang on to your esteem, your humor, and your hope.
Don
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Habitat for Humanity
I am writing this post on a dare from my bride. We worked on a Habitat for Humanity project last weekend and when we were headed back to the house she commented to our friends that there would certainly be a blog about the event. So I have spent the last four days trying to decide how to answer this challenge. Should I not write the blog and show her? or should I write it and acknowledge the fact that she knows me all too well. Hence the blog.
Our friend Doug (you may remember him and his bride, Janet, from the "boot camp" entry) investigated and recruited us to go with them this past Saturday to help on a house in Waxahachie with HfH. My bride and I have been starved for a good service project ever since the mission trips to Mexico stopped a year or so ago. So we pulled out our Army/Navy surplus fatigues, our work shirts, gloves, and hats and we all rode down to Waxahachie (after a stop for some scalding McDonald's coffee..really, it needs to be hot enough to melt a silver spoon?) for a morning of house building.
When we arrived there were the obligatory introductions, the standing around for instructions, and the conjecture about how hot it would get before noon. By the way, by noon it was over 100. The girls were tasked to helping with the garage, Doug and I were assigned to the framing of the walls. The wall framing was going to require some heavy lifting. I did not inform the powers-that-be that my bride was every bit as strong as I am and less vocal. They would learn soon enough.
Someone had ingeniously marked all the boards literally telling us where to nail them together, where to place them. There were all kinds of little tricks, some I knew, some were new to me. I realized after about an hour, it had been years since I did that much hammering, and when I did it as a kid on the farm it was without the benefit of bifocals. I can still drive a nail, but I can't drive several sequentially without resting. To tattle just a little on my buddy, Doug, he hit his own finger, which was a good 2" away from the nail. After a certain amount of grimacing and an outward show of controlling his language, he asserted that the hammer ricocheted off the nail and hit his finger...sure. There were new terms used, a "bottom plate" goes along the foundation and is the anchor for all the framing. Anyone want to guess at what the "top plate" is? I knew what "studs" were, I have spent a life time missing them while trying to hang pictures and shelves. However, to put in a window, you have to have a "stud" and a "cripple". Doug and I spent most of the morning trying to decide who they were talking about, the "stud" or the "cripple" After Doug smashed his own finger I think the argument was over. The girls shifted over to our work area when the work on the garage slowed. So we all got to work in the same area for a little while.
My bride and I have learned after all these mission trips to Mexico, that everyone needs a sense of humor. We have been down there with guys who took it way to seriously and sucked a lot of the fun out of it for the rest of us. It is a little disheartening to be shoveling gravel and rock while the "leader" of the group stands on a high spot and "surveys" the work flow. Grab a shovel high-pockets, it is a much more effective management style than barking orders and hob-nobbing with the actual boss. All that said to say that the guys in charge did not have a great sense of fun. My bride will tell you that I take that as a personal challenge. After a pretty long morning the guy in charge of our little group had not smiled and only spoke when telling us we were doing it wrong. At one point he was going to show us how to "toe-nail" the window sill before setting the sill in the frame. Okay, I know how to do this, but we had not done that way in the first wall section. So he grabs the hammer from Janet and proceeds to bend about six nails.I could feel his frustration and embarrasment rising as each nail tilted in the wrong direction. With five of us standing around, dutifully watching him bend nails, I said to the group, "Yeah, this looks a lot easier." All but one laughed. We spent some time at lunch trying to parse the difference between smart-aleck and smart-ass. The straw-boss probably would have liked some input. My bride indicated that I might be both.
There was a lot of telling what to do, then griping that we didn't do it right. At the end of the morning the project foreman told us to "dump all the tools in the back of his truck" We did, then had to unstack it and do it "right" Okay, you can tell me what to do, or how to do it, but not both.
All that aside, I loved talking to the guy who will live in the house. He was out there working harder than any of us. He had a great sense of humor and seemed like a nice guy. The house was really small, probably less than 1200 sq/ft. He would live there with his wife and three kids. It made me appreciate again what I have and the simple good fortune that brought it to me. There was the usual good feeling of doing something good for someone else simply because I could. I love the sore muscles, the hands and fingers nicked from the hard work. The sense that, at least for a small portion of one day, I had done something for someone else. Setting aside the "me-world" for "you-world" always brings a smile to my face and my heart. This to me is true religion.
Godspeed to the travelers who find a little joy in helping others lift their packs.
Don
Our friend Doug (you may remember him and his bride, Janet, from the "boot camp" entry) investigated and recruited us to go with them this past Saturday to help on a house in Waxahachie with HfH. My bride and I have been starved for a good service project ever since the mission trips to Mexico stopped a year or so ago. So we pulled out our Army/Navy surplus fatigues, our work shirts, gloves, and hats and we all rode down to Waxahachie (after a stop for some scalding McDonald's coffee..really, it needs to be hot enough to melt a silver spoon?) for a morning of house building.
When we arrived there were the obligatory introductions, the standing around for instructions, and the conjecture about how hot it would get before noon. By the way, by noon it was over 100. The girls were tasked to helping with the garage, Doug and I were assigned to the framing of the walls. The wall framing was going to require some heavy lifting. I did not inform the powers-that-be that my bride was every bit as strong as I am and less vocal. They would learn soon enough.
Someone had ingeniously marked all the boards literally telling us where to nail them together, where to place them. There were all kinds of little tricks, some I knew, some were new to me. I realized after about an hour, it had been years since I did that much hammering, and when I did it as a kid on the farm it was without the benefit of bifocals. I can still drive a nail, but I can't drive several sequentially without resting. To tattle just a little on my buddy, Doug, he hit his own finger, which was a good 2" away from the nail. After a certain amount of grimacing and an outward show of controlling his language, he asserted that the hammer ricocheted off the nail and hit his finger...sure. There were new terms used, a "bottom plate" goes along the foundation and is the anchor for all the framing. Anyone want to guess at what the "top plate" is? I knew what "studs" were, I have spent a life time missing them while trying to hang pictures and shelves. However, to put in a window, you have to have a "stud" and a "cripple". Doug and I spent most of the morning trying to decide who they were talking about, the "stud" or the "cripple" After Doug smashed his own finger I think the argument was over. The girls shifted over to our work area when the work on the garage slowed. So we all got to work in the same area for a little while.
My bride and I have learned after all these mission trips to Mexico, that everyone needs a sense of humor. We have been down there with guys who took it way to seriously and sucked a lot of the fun out of it for the rest of us. It is a little disheartening to be shoveling gravel and rock while the "leader" of the group stands on a high spot and "surveys" the work flow. Grab a shovel high-pockets, it is a much more effective management style than barking orders and hob-nobbing with the actual boss. All that said to say that the guys in charge did not have a great sense of fun. My bride will tell you that I take that as a personal challenge. After a pretty long morning the guy in charge of our little group had not smiled and only spoke when telling us we were doing it wrong. At one point he was going to show us how to "toe-nail" the window sill before setting the sill in the frame. Okay, I know how to do this, but we had not done that way in the first wall section. So he grabs the hammer from Janet and proceeds to bend about six nails.I could feel his frustration and embarrasment rising as each nail tilted in the wrong direction. With five of us standing around, dutifully watching him bend nails, I said to the group, "Yeah, this looks a lot easier." All but one laughed. We spent some time at lunch trying to parse the difference between smart-aleck and smart-ass. The straw-boss probably would have liked some input. My bride indicated that I might be both.
There was a lot of telling what to do, then griping that we didn't do it right. At the end of the morning the project foreman told us to "dump all the tools in the back of his truck" We did, then had to unstack it and do it "right" Okay, you can tell me what to do, or how to do it, but not both.
All that aside, I loved talking to the guy who will live in the house. He was out there working harder than any of us. He had a great sense of humor and seemed like a nice guy. The house was really small, probably less than 1200 sq/ft. He would live there with his wife and three kids. It made me appreciate again what I have and the simple good fortune that brought it to me. There was the usual good feeling of doing something good for someone else simply because I could. I love the sore muscles, the hands and fingers nicked from the hard work. The sense that, at least for a small portion of one day, I had done something for someone else. Setting aside the "me-world" for "you-world" always brings a smile to my face and my heart. This to me is true religion.
Godspeed to the travelers who find a little joy in helping others lift their packs.
Don
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Heaven or Hell or Both?
A friend of mine, who was raised in west Texas, says what he remembers from the Sunday morning sermons was this simple message, "Jesus loves you and you are going to hell." He has spent quite a few decades since then trying to find a firm footing in the Kingdom. There are probably more than a few of us that have struggled with our "confidence" in the great uncounting.
Recently I read an article by Oliver Thomas called Should Believers Fear Hell - and God? It was essentially a book review of the Rob Bell book titled Love Wins. The premise is that the religious world has used the concept of hell to herd us all in the right direction. Fear is the motivating factor. Religious groups use the concept as a very heavy stick to either quell the pagan uprising within their midst, or they use it to deeply etch a line in the dirt between believers and pagans.
My problem with this MO is that ultimately folks will rebel against the heavy-handed, proprietary nature of this stance. Secondly, I think it is simply wrong, not error wrong, morally wrong. If you have raised kids you will know that long term motivation through fear simply breeds resentment, not righteousness.
I haven't read the book, but I plan to. Over the past 10 years or so I have re-evaluated almost all my preconceptions about all things religious, so there is no reason to believe this one will be any different. So here is the analogy the article and apparently the book used. If your child broke all moral codes, murdered someone, fell into an alternate lifestyle, bad decisions, whatever; would the punishment fit the crime by flinging them into a fire FOREVER? Would we as parents feel this was an appropriate response? Would we feel that justice was done?
Or would we try every way within our power to extend mercy?
Love to hear from you.
Godspeed, tough questions always fire me up.
Don
Recently I read an article by Oliver Thomas called Should Believers Fear Hell - and God? It was essentially a book review of the Rob Bell book titled Love Wins. The premise is that the religious world has used the concept of hell to herd us all in the right direction. Fear is the motivating factor. Religious groups use the concept as a very heavy stick to either quell the pagan uprising within their midst, or they use it to deeply etch a line in the dirt between believers and pagans.
My problem with this MO is that ultimately folks will rebel against the heavy-handed, proprietary nature of this stance. Secondly, I think it is simply wrong, not error wrong, morally wrong. If you have raised kids you will know that long term motivation through fear simply breeds resentment, not righteousness.
I haven't read the book, but I plan to. Over the past 10 years or so I have re-evaluated almost all my preconceptions about all things religious, so there is no reason to believe this one will be any different. So here is the analogy the article and apparently the book used. If your child broke all moral codes, murdered someone, fell into an alternate lifestyle, bad decisions, whatever; would the punishment fit the crime by flinging them into a fire FOREVER? Would we as parents feel this was an appropriate response? Would we feel that justice was done?
Or would we try every way within our power to extend mercy?
Love to hear from you.
Godspeed, tough questions always fire me up.
Don
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Looking for Clues
Most of you who know me this has been an interesting year. Unemployment, dramatic underemployment, surgeries on my some of my precious grandkids, and of course the usual spiritual quest has made this a year of reflection, of frustration, and realization that there are people in my life who love me in spite of all my annoying ways.
It is one of the truly remarkable facets of the human creature that in the midst of adversity, as more things turn against us, that we look for the first hint of spring. We are blessed/cursed with the anticipation of the first warming breeze that tells us that the grass will grow, the flowers will bloom, and the first warming rays of God's love will fall on our upturned face.
This past week has been particularly stressful. This past week was filled with tough negotiations that will have dramatic impact on what happens to us over the next few months. The continued drought and heat were a perfect reflection of trying to make things work in the face of incredible pressure. Prayers have been tough and spiritual disciplines have been tested like few times in the past. It was as if life was saying, "I've knocked you down, just stay there. Stay down." But there is simply something in my nature that will not allow my "staying down." I'm sure there are those who would characterize my approach to life as dumb and durable, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt and the desire to quit is not there. It just has to be ignored.
You spend some time each day looking for clues of improvement. Serendipitous occurrences that begin to point the needle north. People return calls. A bill comes in lower than expected rather than higher. Someone says something encouraging rather than critical. All of these could be the clue.
But this morning early I woke up to the strangest sound...rain. Rain on the roof and falling from the eaves and into the flowerbed outside the bedroom window. I have no idea how long it has been since rain came and actually formed puddles on the sidewalk. Cooling the ground and the air. Bed could not hold me even at 5AM on a Saturday morning. I had to see this. So I stood on the back porch and let the rain soak into my hair, breathing deep that special smell of fresh rain on a parched yard.
A clue for better things to come? I hope so. It lifted my spirits and my hopes.
Godspeed, the air is fresh and new. Hope springs eternal when you have eternal hope.
Don
It is one of the truly remarkable facets of the human creature that in the midst of adversity, as more things turn against us, that we look for the first hint of spring. We are blessed/cursed with the anticipation of the first warming breeze that tells us that the grass will grow, the flowers will bloom, and the first warming rays of God's love will fall on our upturned face.
This past week has been particularly stressful. This past week was filled with tough negotiations that will have dramatic impact on what happens to us over the next few months. The continued drought and heat were a perfect reflection of trying to make things work in the face of incredible pressure. Prayers have been tough and spiritual disciplines have been tested like few times in the past. It was as if life was saying, "I've knocked you down, just stay there. Stay down." But there is simply something in my nature that will not allow my "staying down." I'm sure there are those who would characterize my approach to life as dumb and durable, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt and the desire to quit is not there. It just has to be ignored.
You spend some time each day looking for clues of improvement. Serendipitous occurrences that begin to point the needle north. People return calls. A bill comes in lower than expected rather than higher. Someone says something encouraging rather than critical. All of these could be the clue.
But this morning early I woke up to the strangest sound...rain. Rain on the roof and falling from the eaves and into the flowerbed outside the bedroom window. I have no idea how long it has been since rain came and actually formed puddles on the sidewalk. Cooling the ground and the air. Bed could not hold me even at 5AM on a Saturday morning. I had to see this. So I stood on the back porch and let the rain soak into my hair, breathing deep that special smell of fresh rain on a parched yard.
A clue for better things to come? I hope so. It lifted my spirits and my hopes.
Godspeed, the air is fresh and new. Hope springs eternal when you have eternal hope.
Don
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Things Forgotten
Yesterday was one of those days where you plan for it, then regret the obligation, then are glad you carried through. All of that said, I traveled to Abilene to see my dad and pick up a dresser that my youngest had claimed after it cleared waivers through the rest of the family.
When I got out there a little after lunch, we visited a bit then got to work. You have to understand my dad. He has been saying for a couple of years that they need to sell the old farm place where I was raised because it is too old, needs too much work, and is pretty isolated. So they got a contract on the place contingent on the buyers selling their place. This means it could be a month away or 6 months away. Dad has no patience for 6 month events. So they started packing...NOW!
After we had dismantled the dresser, hauled all the parts downstairs and into the Blazer, we set to work packing pictures. It was a discovery to realize that different people collect different things. Dad and his wife collect pictures. There are pictures of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, parents, bridal portraits from 5 generations. Then the usual who-the-heck-is-this? all three of us standing there figuratively scratching our heads and wondering if we were all losing it in some group dementia event. There were pictures on walls (by the way, I was a very cute baby, not so much as an adult) on top of dressers, under beds, in closets. We packed boxes and boxes of the things. It is going to be a feat to untangle all this, my dad was packing things away that I am pretty sure will never again see the light of day.
We talked about who was going to get what furniture, what needed to sold, what needed to be moved to the other house. It was a day of realizing that when two families merge 27+ years ago, there is a lot of shared stuff.
One funny incident. Margaret and I were looking at my mother's old silver and she noticed that all the knives did not match the set. We speculated that they must have switched some, or maybe mom replaced some. We ran through all the possibilities, puzzled by the non-conformity. Then I flipped one of the non-matched ones over and realized that the pattern was different depending on which side you were looking at. They all matched when you turn them the same way. We shared an embarrassed laugh about our silliness. Maybe we can get a ward at the nut-house or a group rate.
As I drove home, it occurred to me that this was a healthy separation event for me. I was raised on that farm, it is a lot of who I am. The lessons of hard work, of patience for letting the seasons work, of cherishing the people in our lives and not the stuff were all learned on that farm. I had forgotten about so much of the THINGS that made up my youth, but as I held and looked I was reminded that each of these things reminded me of someone, or an event involving someone that was so important to me. The old Victrola was a favorite piece of furniture for my mom because Dad found it and bought it and gave it to her as a gift. The old tractor where I spent hours on hours discing, harrowing, grain-drilling, hauling hay. I have no place for it except in my memory and my heart. It reminds me of Dad. There is his old desk that he used for decades at his office, then later at home. It is sitting now ready to be sold. All memories of a childhood spent in far more interesting ways than I can recount here.
Yes, these things will pass from our family. But the memories are here to stay. They say that mortality is marked by the last person to remember your name. I think mortality is marked by our memories and I think one of the blessings of heaven may be our good memories from time spent here, in the time of "no forgetting"
Godspeed, the journey will grow steeper, the loss of those close to us will mark our own days. But yesterday was a good day to reflect, to honor, to appreciate all that has been done for me by those who may not be with me for the rest of the journey.
Don
When I got out there a little after lunch, we visited a bit then got to work. You have to understand my dad. He has been saying for a couple of years that they need to sell the old farm place where I was raised because it is too old, needs too much work, and is pretty isolated. So they got a contract on the place contingent on the buyers selling their place. This means it could be a month away or 6 months away. Dad has no patience for 6 month events. So they started packing...NOW!
After we had dismantled the dresser, hauled all the parts downstairs and into the Blazer, we set to work packing pictures. It was a discovery to realize that different people collect different things. Dad and his wife collect pictures. There are pictures of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, parents, bridal portraits from 5 generations. Then the usual who-the-heck-is-this? all three of us standing there figuratively scratching our heads and wondering if we were all losing it in some group dementia event. There were pictures on walls (by the way, I was a very cute baby, not so much as an adult) on top of dressers, under beds, in closets. We packed boxes and boxes of the things. It is going to be a feat to untangle all this, my dad was packing things away that I am pretty sure will never again see the light of day.
We talked about who was going to get what furniture, what needed to sold, what needed to be moved to the other house. It was a day of realizing that when two families merge 27+ years ago, there is a lot of shared stuff.
One funny incident. Margaret and I were looking at my mother's old silver and she noticed that all the knives did not match the set. We speculated that they must have switched some, or maybe mom replaced some. We ran through all the possibilities, puzzled by the non-conformity. Then I flipped one of the non-matched ones over and realized that the pattern was different depending on which side you were looking at. They all matched when you turn them the same way. We shared an embarrassed laugh about our silliness. Maybe we can get a ward at the nut-house or a group rate.
As I drove home, it occurred to me that this was a healthy separation event for me. I was raised on that farm, it is a lot of who I am. The lessons of hard work, of patience for letting the seasons work, of cherishing the people in our lives and not the stuff were all learned on that farm. I had forgotten about so much of the THINGS that made up my youth, but as I held and looked I was reminded that each of these things reminded me of someone, or an event involving someone that was so important to me. The old Victrola was a favorite piece of furniture for my mom because Dad found it and bought it and gave it to her as a gift. The old tractor where I spent hours on hours discing, harrowing, grain-drilling, hauling hay. I have no place for it except in my memory and my heart. It reminds me of Dad. There is his old desk that he used for decades at his office, then later at home. It is sitting now ready to be sold. All memories of a childhood spent in far more interesting ways than I can recount here.
Yes, these things will pass from our family. But the memories are here to stay. They say that mortality is marked by the last person to remember your name. I think mortality is marked by our memories and I think one of the blessings of heaven may be our good memories from time spent here, in the time of "no forgetting"
Godspeed, the journey will grow steeper, the loss of those close to us will mark our own days. But yesterday was a good day to reflect, to honor, to appreciate all that has been done for me by those who may not be with me for the rest of the journey.
Don
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