Nothing to Lose

Something is stirring in me, something very good, and the most natural way for me to pay attention to it is through writing. I don’t know what it is yet, but the Inner Voice says to start writing it down or else.  The “or else” part is aptly described by Anne Lamott in her words:

You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves in your heart—your stories, visions, memories, songs, your truth, your version of things, in your voice.

An ancient prophet described it this way:

The words are fire in my belly, a burning in my bones. I’m worn out trying to hold it in. I can’t do it any longer.

What does that burning sensation feel like?  Just like any fire, there is warmth and there is also danger.  A fire can destroy, or it can keep me alive through a cold night. It is alluring and mesmerizing to stare into. But if fuel and oxygen isn’t provided, that fire will smother and benefit no one.

On November 02, 2019, I feel like I completed my most major assignment in life by keeping my vow, “till death do us part.”  I thought that the finish line would come when we were old and had fewer days remaining in this life. But it didn’t work out that way. I am now left with a big question, “now what?”

I’ve grappled with this question before, the first time came as I graduated college 34 years ago. My education was completed and I held a Bachelor of Science degree. Now what? I recall being uptight and anxious, feeling the need to figure everything out and get it right.  The uncertainty of it all was nerve wracking.

Fast forward to 2020.  She’s gone. Now what? Same question, but different feelings.

Gone is the anxiety of having to get it all figured out.  The Fire in My Bones is providing me warmth as I continue to release it and keep adding fuel to it. What felt like a scorching as a young man of 23 is allowing the elder of 56 to become focused and patient. I prefer the latter over the former.

I no longer have anything to lose, because it’s already lost. I was faithful to see that calling all the way to the end. So whatever comes next, lets go. I’m ready to lace up the shoes and keep running.

He who has nothing to lose can afford all risks.
–Harriet Beecher Stowe

Joy is My Strength

Misery indeed loves company and sometimes the only company I kept was within myself.

When I was at the basin of depression, I did not want to be cheered up.  I wanted to reinforce the narrative in my head, that I had failed miserably and that my best days were behind me.  To aid this strategery, I isolated myself from positive messages and attempts to speak into my life. I listened to dark music.  Whiskey was my Sominex. It was bad, but to be fair, I didn’t want out. I found solace in my darkness.

I’m glad I’m in a better place today, but I’m also grateful for that season, as it has shaped me into becoming a better man with a better word. I remember the feeling of standing on the edge of the abyss, looking down. It terrifies me today, but it’s odd how I wasn’t afraid then.  I think it was because I was looking for an answer, and it appeared that it was waiting at the bottom of the abyss.

As I learn to relate to others in a spirit of grace now, I look at people and see them as doing the best they can under the meager knowledge of their current circumstances.  I just think we are not as dumb as we are short-sighted. The more my wounded soul demanded relief, any immediate pain-reliever within reach made sense. Whiskey did the trick to get me to sleep, but once it wore off at 3am, I woke up with a new problem; I couldn’t go back to sleep, therefore I fell back into the repetitive, harmful cycle.

I’m grateful I get to live a new life now.  I am recovering from depression and grief of loss, but I am now hopeful again.  And one of the most surprising elements of this process is how feeling better makes me want to keep feeling better. I’ve changed my eating patterns and am in the process of losing weight. My goal is to get 25lbs off my frame so I can experience the joy of long distance running again. I’m almost halfway there.

I drove to Omaha yesterday to see MFT and on the way back, I started getting really hungry on the hour drive toward home.  In the past, I might roll into a drive-thru and grab a Big-N-Nasty to assuage the pangs and not think twice. But yesterday was different.  I pondered the price I would have to pay for that immediate relief. Would I see it on the scale tomorrow? How would it hinder my progress of getting back to running?

The Joy of my Heart took over, and I passed by exit 440, turned the music up and kept driving.

I’ve had to learn how to be happy again.  And while misery does love company, so does Joy.  It doesn’t have to only be negative. The positive side of me is capable of greater attraction and magnetism.

Life’s a one time offer. Make it count.

Inconceivable!

I think everyone has the natural tendency to see what they want to see. Objectivity is still tinged with a subjective strain, because rare is the person that is not biased in some fashion.  Take the news, for example. We tend to favor the outlet that is skewed toward our point of view. I call it “selective outrage.” I get pissed off over the issues that I hold closest and will forego the elephant in the room because it doesn’t support the narrative I am standing by.

I own a Kia Soul, the hamster car.  Not my first choice of a vehicle, but it runs, it’s paid for and gets me around town.  When I first started driving it, I began noticing all the other Kia Soul’s on the road, and many drivers often waved at me.  We saw each other because we had a common reference point.

Be it politics or cars, I’m drawn to people in which I see something in common. If you love The Princess Bride and find someone else that loves it too, the first thing out of both of your mouths in unison is what?

My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!”

Whether kind or sarcastic, positive or negative, uplifting or complaining, I will gravitate toward people that hold my same interest.  

In my grief process, I’ve chosen to set my mind toward beauty and wonder.  I think that’s why I’ve been receiving an unusual amount of feedback from these recent posts.  You want to see it too. Your heart is telling you that there must be more to strive toward. I’m just agreeing with what you already know instinctively and my writing is just furthering the conversation for us.

My Twitter profile says this: Sowing positive seeds in the compost of Twitter on a daily basis.

As a gardener, I’m amazed that cow manure can make things grow better.  The very substance you would never want to step in, let alone let it near your plate, is the material that makes that tomato so wonderful to eat in July.  I scatter my words in Twitter’s shit, knowing that something is going to eventually sprout and flourish someday.

Beauty isn’t threatened, because it knows no bounds. Roses grow amid thorns. The little yellow dandelion pushes its way through the hard crack of a concrete sidewalk. The 100+ year old transplanted daffodils that were taken from the homestead on the farm of my childhood will show up again in my backyard in a few weeks.

Indeed, beauty is fleeting, but I still choose to make it my focus, not the rot and decay that my blossoms will eventually become.  I will spend a lot of energy in these late winter months to prepare for a short season of color and enjoyment. Yes, it’s much easier to go to the grocery store for lettuce than to go through the effort to plant it myself.  But the process of germinating, nurturing, harvesting and consuming is so much more satisfying than just dropping by Whole Foods for a bag of greens. I would miss out on much if ease was my first priority.

Amid the many things that seek to bring me down today, I’ll keep my eyes on that which makes me smile.

I’m a rich man, wealthy beyond dollars.

The Strange Little Man

Listen to:
The Sky is Falling
Kevin Shinn 2004
On the corner 
There’s a strange little man
Holding a handwritten sign
Screaming at the top of his lungs
“The End is Near!!!”

I wrote this song about Preacher Jim, who was a perennial favorite form of street entertainment on campus in the early 80’s.  He usually showed up in the springtime when it was nice outside and students were ready for any excuse to be outside and sit in the grass. He could really draw a crowd.  I was always fascinated by him, because I’m fascinated by behavior I don’t understand. He was hard to ignore

Jim was strange, that’s why I paid attention to him.

Some people listen
Some people hear
Most just pass right by
He’s nothing more than a strange little man
We’ve got nothing to fear.

Sometimes our most important messages are delivered by the Strange Little Man. Problem is, he gets dismissed easily. 

Where there is no curiosity, there is no learning. 

And where there is no learning, there is no humility.  

And where there is no humility, pride takes over.  

And pride always goes before the fall.

Pay attention to the odd, the mysterious, that strange encounter that doesn’t make sense. Don’t ignore it. There is likely a message for you.

The sky is falling down.
Down at your feet.

Ebenezer

My sister and her family showed up at my door around 5pm that day, with Christmas gifts and luggage in hand.  It was the first time we would be together in Nebraska for the holiday. I was eager to host them on my turf. But there was a wrench in the works.  The water heater decided to cease operating about an hour before they arrived.

“Hi Paula, Hi Steve. Make yourself at home. Who wants to go to Home Depot with me?”

Within a few minutes, Steve, my brother in law, and I were on the way to buy a new water heater and see if we could be ready for the 7 additional showers that would be taken during the family visit.

I’m happy to say that within 2 hours, we had hot water again and had a new story to add to the family history.

12/28/07 With Steve’s help.

If you grew up going to church like me, you may have sung the line in this hymn and never understood what it meant. 

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;  
Hither by Thy help I'm come; 

An ebenezer is a symbol that stands as a way of remembering. The Ancients would craft an ebenezer as a memorial, sometimes as simple as a stack of rocks, so that anytime someone in the future would ask what the pile was for, they could recall the story and share it with gratitude.

I recall when the scrapbooking season was in high form, and it did more to deflate my wife’s self-esteem than anything. I was glad to see that era fade away.  Mom’s everywhere were going to classes and workshops to learn how to chronicle little Jared’s 3rd grade soccer season in great length and detail, with fragments of his jersey interwoven with a shoestring bow from his little boy cleats. Not to mention, a myriad of photos, all beautiful and in focus.  A good idea of creating a keepsake, in some cases, turned into a painful exercise in comparison and self-loathing.

An ebenezer, like scrapbooking, is about remembering, not impressing. It’s a practice I’ve been keeping for some time now.  It is ultimately about gratitude and how to refuse the insidious creep of Complaint.

Gratitude is like any form of exercise.  It takes effort to get up off the couch and overcome the inertia of Complaint, but once I learn to yield to it, the reward can be enjoyed.  Over time, the more I exercise Gratitude, it becomes reflexive. I no longer have to think about it. It flows naturally.

My ebenezers are my continual practice of Gratitude.  I was so thankful that Steve and his boys were ready to roll up their sleeves and get to work.  Plus, the old unit was full of silt and their strong backs got it up out of the basement smoothly.

Gratitude isn’t difficult.  But it does require being intentional. 

Make today count.

The Only Thing That Counts

The very thing that caused me to lose my faith was the path I found to return to it.

Faith has that kind of effect.

I felt my faith slipping away around 20 years ago.  It felt shameful because I was a professional in it.  I made my living describing to young people what a life of faith was. At the same time, mine was losing its savor.

As I sat in my basement on that unforgettable Tuesday morning and watched the live coverage of the Twin Towers falling to the ground, it felt like a metaphor for my faith.  What I had spent my entire life building was crumbling before my eyes. There was nothing I felt I could do about it other than watch it disappear and grieve the loss.

How can faith be real when this kind of shit happens?

I eventually became cynical and skeptical of anything that I had previously held on to. Books, messages, past advice that I once found solace in were no longer meaningful. It felt like I was entering a dark tunnel with no light at the other end. Where would it lead? I had no idea.

I filtered other negative experiences through this lens. The untimely death of two young students pushed me further into the tunnel.  I made some agreements there in that dark place, ones that I now longer keep, but were significant at the time, nonetheless.

Since I had no visible evidence, I concluded that faith was mostly powerless and useful only in a metaphorical sense. That was until I found myself in a place where I needed it again.

I had to leave the ministry to find my faith again.

What I thought was desperation was really an act of faith when I resigned in May 2005 to leave and build a restaurant.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but the next several years would require a life of faith that I had never known while I was a professional pastor. Challenge after challenge would arise that made me wonder if I was ever going to make it to opening day.  After that day came, were we going to make it through that first winter? Then came conflict, cash flow issues, cancer and oppressive medical debt. Where would I turn? How would I make it? What would I do if I go under?

What I thought was dead was only dormant. Faith was ready to help me start answering those questions.

The fun thing now is that I’m still a pastor at heart. I just don’t make a living from it.  I possess the knack for it, but no longer need the office to empower me. I still love watching out for people, encouraging them to believe the impossible is possible. 

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.”

Make today count.

Courage

I have friends that groan all the time about how marriage is hard. And while I agree with the implied meaning behind that statement, I balk at it being a healthy focal point.

My eyes will see what I focus on, especially with these new glasses. I prefer a different definition.

Marriage is Courage.

If the only preparation for my union with another soul is how hard it is going to be, I’ll reach that goal fairly quickly.  I’ll find it when our wills collide over something stupid like what color comforter to chose for our new house. I discovered it when I realized my partner liked the TV on for noise first thing in the morning and I prefer spatial silence til about 10am.

When two people decide to blend their lives together, there is a lot that goes into that recipe that does not appear to belong. I either develop a taste for it or figure out how to change the recipe.

Courage moved me over the years to face the hard parts of marriage. Courage was my decision to not settle for what was and reached for what could be. It takes Courage to take the vow seriously, “for better or for worse.” It seems like we had our fair share of the “or for worse” part toward the end.

Courage calls each other to shoulder the weight of the vow together.  If the relationship is lopsided in its responsibility, Courage will address that. In some cases, “or for worse” means abuse has appeared.  Courage is then called upon to move toward safety. Courage doesn’t always mean staying together.

If marriage is just plain hard but the goal is to not split up, that’s a recipe with a very bland outcome.

Now that my marriage is over by death, I can reflect back on it and see where Courage began to develop in my heart. As I grew in Faith and Wisdom, Courage gave me new confidence to not be passive. In many ways, that made things worse between us. The old dysfunctional patterns that were forged in our early years needed an upgrade, and Courage helped make the decision.

Yes, marriage is hard, but so is Life in general. Raising kids is hard. Losing weight is hard.  Getting in shape is hard. But there must be a higher goal, a better objective to focus on.

And Courage will do its best to get you there.

Make today count.

Happy Valentine Day

In case of a house fire, I have a few things in mind to grab first. I would get the photo albums in the top of the hall closet. I would fetch my Taylor guitar and I would make sure I have this card with me.

It’s a miniature history of our life together in a Hallmark card. The high points are listed year by year in her handwriting; the birth of our kids, first house, transition to the minivan phase, both of us unemployed at the same time, traveling to Ireland and Scotland with the four of us, the death of our fathers, etc. It’s a priceless chronology.  If you get to the burning house before I do, it’s in my journal next to the chair upstairs where I read and reflect.

The tradition started on Valentine’s Day 1991, ten months into marriage.  Karen wrote a new entry in it every year but one. 2017 was understandably missing. It was the worst of the bunch.

I know I can’t go back and change that year, or any other year for that matter. As I wrote previously, I’m in the middle of that wrestling match. From one corner of the ring, I hear, “You should have done that differently.” And being yelled out from the other, “Just get over it.”

My past conflict has a way of creating this dilemma.  Conflict that has no opportunity to ever make right is even harder.

This is where Perspective comes in handy.

Occasionally Dad would need to remind me, “Son, when you have a flat, don’t curse the tire that went down. Give thanks that the other four didn’t.

“The other four?” I questioned?

He finished, “You got a spare, don’t you?

This is Perspective. Everything isn’t as it seems. There is always a different angle, always an alternate vantage point from which to observe. Always a different way to see.

I found myself this morning obsessing over the missing 2017 entry and all the regret it represented during that most difficult year.   A huge phalanx of guilt came storming in. But the Kindness of Perspective stopped the assault as it nudged me to remember that there were 27 other notes that I was ignoring.

27 – 1. That’s a decent record. That’s a top seed in the tournament.

We had our share of conflict and struggle together and some of it went to her grave.  I’ll never get a chance to get it right. But at the same time, I have to be fair to the other side of the narrative. I built some good things along the way. I planted some good seeds. I led us to make lasting memories.  That investment will still keep paying dividends. Regrets only have power if I arm them with it.

On this Valentine’s Day, I only have memories and no more chances to make it right. And I get to own that.  If you are fortunate to be with the one you love today, what does showing love look like for you? Does it manifest itself in roses and chocolates, or does it take the road less traveled?  It may come in the form of courage to initiate counseling. It might mean the willingness to no longer sweep your conscience under the rug and take seriously the issue between the two of you that’s been bothering you for years.

Listen to your heart.  It’s probably been telling you for quite some time now.  Don’t ignore it. It can be trusted. Make things right.

I repeat these phrases to myself daily. They’ve become a mantra. From page 48 in my book.

Make today count.

When Anger Shows Up

Conversation is a favorite pastime of mine. I guess I could even call it a hobby. I could listen for hours when I latch onto someone interesting and willing to tell their unfeigned story. I’ve been known to fall asleep on the phone mid-sentence while talking to Feng Dude. The last time it happened, my phone log indicated the call ended sometime around 3am. The sun woke me up in my patio chair that morning.  How I love getting lost in a rich dialogue.

A good conversation starts with a few tabs, much like on my internet browser. I might have several tabs open at one time on my laptop.  This feature makes it easy to pass back and forth from one topic to another. A person who can hold multiple tabs open keeps a good conversation rolling.

A tab for conversation I like to open up begins with this question. What makes you angry?  This can lead us to insightful discoveries about what matters to each of us deep within. It might begin on the surface with the driver that was tailgating me on the way into work or the low-hanging fruit of infinitely maddening political topics.  But I like to see if we can get past that and find out the anger that leads to vulnerable sadness.

Anger is a natural, and may I even say, necessary part of grief.  Anger is how I am alerted to a wrong being done, or where I see injustice occurring. I get angry at my loss because I wasn’t created to lose.  I didn’t sign up for the loss I just experienced.

As anger is an inevitable part of the grief process, I will eventually need to move past it. But many get tied up in this emotion and find it difficult to get unbound. I believe the trap is set, not because anger is present, but because anger goes unaddressed. When anger isn’t included in the conversation, it becomes like the wounded child that is ignored. That child will be heard one way or another.

I was met by anger on day 2 and it frightened me. I did not want to feel this way. But through the encouragement of a few trusted confidants, I looked anger in the face and listened. I bought a journal and dedicated it to translating the anger into words on a page. I even wrote a disclaimer in the front of the book, indicating that if anyone ever found this collection, please note that this is from the pen of a grieving man.

As I began, I wrote in it daily. And I didn’t like to. I wasn’t comfortable with how it felt to be so honest with myself. I was afraid it would make me trapped in the anger and define me as an angry person.  But it did the opposite.

As I squared off with anger, the better part of my heart eased back in with a new invitation. I have nothing to fear of anger.  It doesn’t need to decide anything for me. It’s only there to alert and warn me that something isn’t right. Like all other emotions, I need to respect anger and like any good conversation, I need to stop talking and listen to what it’s trying to say to me. Once its done its job of sounding the alarm, and anger feels heard, that’s when Hope and Love can step back into the leadership role of my heart.

It’s been several weeks since I made an entry into my anger journal. Mainly because I’m not angry anymore. But also because I honored the anger enough to pay attention.

Make today count.

Have You Seen My Glasses?

I just got new glasses for the first time in 10 years.  I usually wear contact lenses and only rely on my frames for early morning while my eyes adjust to being awake. I’ve been wearing a current prescription with my contacts, but a very outdated one with my eyeglasses.

When the new ones arrived, I put them on and immediately thought they got something wrong. I couldn’t see the same.  My vision was skewed and I assumed I was going to need to send them back. But I read the instructions in the box they came in and there was an assurance that my initial impression was very common.  Eyes require a period to adjust and adapt to the new correction. It encouraged me to be patient with the new prescription and not panic just yet

As promised, after about 20 minutes of wearing them, I realized how inferior my old glasses were and how superior the new ones became.

In a similar way, I’ve decided to view my new place in life through a different set of lenses than through the old ones that were handed to me by the environment that has shaped me. Panic, fear, and anxiety all seem to be the default methods that my reflexes want me to use as I navigate my loss. 

Do not misunderstand. It is not without work and not without effort.  It has required time to accept that I still retain the freedom to make choices on how I will live.  I am determined to pursue a different way to see my world now.

I felt the shockwave of a bad diagnosis three separate times. The first two created the same aftermath. “How could this happen? This isn’t what I signed up for. What am I going to do now?” But on November 02, 2018, I sat in a consultation room and felt that same bomb drop for the third time. As the words inoperable and terminal were sinking in, the better part of my brain decided it was time to start fighting back.

My grief journey began on May 28, 2010, not November 02, 2019.  I’ve had nine and a half years to process the days in which I am living right now.  I played these scenarios out in my mind many times. This is what makes me who I am.  I may not be the guy you choose to captain the ship, but you’ll want me around when the ship goes down. I’ve learned this about myself and how to lean into it. I know my strengths and weaknesses.  I can see solutions clearly in times of crisis when others are in denial.

My physical vision needs severe correction due to acute astigmatism and myopia. I require the help of lenses to bring things in focus. The same is true in my life situations. Sometimes I’m not seeing circumstances clearly.  I need correction in the form of new thinking and through someone who can remind me that what I am seeing is not what I’m capable of.

Writing is my life boat. And it’s my new eyeglasses. It’s my way to fight against the sinking sensation of loss and sorrow. Through them I’ll assist others in seeing a different way to safety. The time to help endangered passengers is before the boat hits the bottom of the ocean. By that time it’s too late. I can’t wait to have it all figured out before I extend a hand.