My PC got whacked by some malware. I’m working on getting it cleaned up. Until then, I’m not going to post much. Please hang in there!
I’ll be back soon.
Thanx, mike
Leave a Comment
For anyone who has been awake in the U.S. in recent years, the conflict between conservatives and liberals, right and left, has taken center stage, not only in the political arena, but in economics, religion and anywhere else that people can stand against one another. We have all witnessed the vitriol spewing all over broadcast and social media. And, I suppose that many of us simply cannot identify with everything being claimed and counter-claimed by pundits and so-called ‘experts’ who speak and write with self-proclaimed authority. I know that I can’t. In truth, I cannot align myself with either side in these arguments.
One of the problems is that we have allowed these people to define and shape the discussions. Regardless of the issue, there always seems to be someone willing to stand up and ask, ‘Who’s with me? Who’s against me?’ Immediately the line has been drawn and everyone is expected to stand on one side or the other. Then, we can all snarl and growl at each other. What if we were to say “no, I don’t feel like playing those games? Too many people get hurt.”
I used to play, though. For years I stood on the left of the line. Those were the days when I was a young, naïve idealist. I really thought that the folks of my generation were going to stand up and change the world. We watched as American apartheid was dismantled. We were front row witnesses to the downfall of a president and the end of, what was up until that time, the United States’ most unpopular war. People were being liberated from constructs and systems that had bound women, the poor and people of color for centuries. (Well, at least we thought so.) Then, as I grew older, got a job, married and had children, I heard a voice from the right, ‘red rover, red rover, let Mikie come over.’ And, I did. The idealism of my youth was slowly replaced by pragmatism. The reality of caring for hearth and home turned my gaze inward. It was more important to feed my family than to concern myself with feeding ‘those’ people. Yeah, we dipped our toes into the humanitarian pool by supporting organizations that helped others. But, by sending a check we didn’t need to really think about them.
Then, a funny thing happened, though. My inner idealist woke up. I began to see that the conservative blood that was coursing through my veins carried no nutrients to my soul. The polarizing effect that is inherent in so many of the discussions and decisions that I was party to simply drained me and left me with a conflicted identity. Seriously, I really didn’t know who I was or what I was doing. So, I moved back toward the left. This, too, was not satisfying. What we call liberalism today is empty. It has its roots in the enlightenment of the 18th and 19th centuries. At its core is the belief that human reason can lift humanity to higher self-realization and prosperity. Liberalism exalts individuality even as it strives for a sense of communal accountability. The modernist ideal that grew during that period brought about giant leaps in technology, science and medicine. It also was at the foundation of White privilege and Manifest Destiny. These caused unsurpassed damage to indigenous people worldwide and environmental destruction beyond reason. So, no…liberal doesn’t fit me.
I do lean to the left, however. I stand firmly with the 99%. I support LGBT people in their struggle for rights and identity. I think that the Affordable Care Act is a great step forward, albeit, not the final step. Food stamps and other tools that can help people who really need help are good. I also feel that infatuation with the military can only cause harm and hardship. Some people might say, “Yeah, looks like a liberal and smells like a liberal. Gotta be a liberal!” Well, let’s not jump there so quickly. Over at Homebrewed Christianity, Bo Sanders has written some good stuff on the differences between liberals and what has been termed Progressives here and here. While I don’t pretend to fully understand all that Sanders wrote, I do notice that the emphasis appears to be more on the community of believers rather than on the potential of human individualism. For me, then, the concept of a body that has a source outside of human achievement begins to come into focus.
Perhaps the most distinguishable difference, at least for me, is the reality of the transcendent. I embrace the mysteries of faith. Those things that human reason simply cannot grasp, but are real. I believe in miracles. I long for the transformative nature of God’s Holy Spirit. I embrace the relationships between humans and the Good Creation. Relationships that are more than simply utilitarian. We are more than organic mechanisms, yet less than divine. It’s because of this that I must support organizations and policies that are designed lift people out of misery. That’s why I cannot support Western arrogance and militarism. That’s why I give my hand and my heart to those deemed ‘less than’ or ‘other.’ No, I’m neither liberal nor conservative. I’m simply a human being.
Leave a CommentIn a recent post I mused about God’s relationship with the entirety of the Good Creation. That, perhaps, at the moment that the universe began to grow and form God had shared a part of God’s own essence. We are all interconnected, related, because of the Breath of God that has given to us. In another post I wrote a little about my own journey through depression and self-loathing. The story is painful for me to recount. But, I must share just a tad more.
This week I messaged a young person who is battling her own inner demons of depression. I don’t know why, but something about this person has caused my heart to be open…vulnerable. I have tried to encourage her to ‘keep on keepin’ on.’ In a reply she wrote something that really caught me off guard. I quickly responded with an apology. But, I felt horrible inside. Now, for most people the exchange would have been nothing to be concerned about. The words shared were neither abusive nor inappropriate. However, what I had thought would be helpful was rejected. By extension, I felt rejected. When a person lives with depression, any rejection, real or perceived, can throw that person into a downward spiral into interior depths where all sorts of beasties live. Throughout the remainder of that day I was pretty much lost. It got to the point where I asked a friend of mine why I was such an ‘asswipe.’ Sleep was lost to me that night as I considered and reconsidered what had happened. I beat myself up for feeling bad. I cursed myself for the words, as innocuous as they were. Other unrelated issues began to pop up and cause more anxiety. You see, with me that’s how depression works. It causes all of my strength to focus inwardly. I can see nothing but my own faults and inadequacies.
The next morning as I was trying to meditate and pray, I picked up a book by Brian McClaren 
entitled Naked Spirituality. I had been reading it recently for, I don’t know, the umpteenth time. I opened it to the place I had marked the last time I had read from it. The words jumped off of the page! He was writing about compassion. Particularly, how we respond to the suffering of others. The word does not, as some have said, have anything to do with having passion, as in “she is passionate about someone or something.” The passion part of the word carries the same meaning as when people speak of the Passion of Christ. It is derived from Latin and can be translated “to suffer with.” McClaren wrote that when we are presented with the suffering of others we can respond in one of several ways. We may become “calloused, uncaring, embittered, or overwhelmed.” I had become clearly overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by this young person’s suffering and by my own inability to deal with rejection. Compassion was what I needed. And, I needed it now! Compassion forces folks to look outside of themselves. Our gaze looks upward and outward for relief for the object of our compassion. It breaks forth in pleas for mercy. And, as McClaren wrote, it enables us to “choose connection over disconnection, compassion over apathy, commitment and expansion over constriction and contraction.” I began to pray. Prayer for this young person and her life. Prayer for the enlargement of my heart. Prayer that took my eyes off of me and fixed them on the loving Creator who imbued me and this other person with God’s own breath. Have I found a cure for depression? No, it’s something that I will continue to live with. However, I have found another weapon to use against it. Compassion.
In July I was introduced to tumblr. Mostly, because Rachel Held Evans started a blog there. (Ok, I pay attention to what she does cuz she’s successful and I’m not.) Many young folks have migrated there because Facebook has become the hallowed grounds of the Old and Unknowing. I don’t understand how young folks don’t get that wherever they go, the old and infirm are sure to follow.
Anyway, I’ve become addicted. I never thought that social media could grab me and drag me in…but, tumblr. has. CRAP! The tumbr. world is diverse. There are people posting images, poems, short prose and quotes. Some of the blogs are designed to enable writers and artists to share their work and to learn from one another. Some of these allow others to submit their work for online publication. Others simply offer tips and encouragement. And, actually, much of the art, photography and writing is quite good.
There is another side to tumblr., however. Many of those who blog there, perhaps most of them, are young adults. This particular medium offers them a venue where they can explore and expand on the conflicts that they experience as they journey, the best that they can, from the safe world of childhood to the unpredictable world of adulthood. I think that part of the allure of tumblr. is that it allows people to post pretty much anything and everything. Someone may post an image of a forest stream one minute. In the next, they show the scars where they have cut themselves. Another may post kittens and unicorns followed by images that suggest drug abuse. The whole universe of teen angst is on display for the world to see. Shocking? Yeah, some of it is. And, I think that’s the purpose for much of it. Through images and words that press against social morés, many of these people are clearly seeking attention. This is nothing new. Young adults seek to find an identity that they can live with. By drawing attention to themselves they can test and find that which will, in some way, make them ‘acceptable.’ There are others, though, that seem to be stuck. For them depression and sadness have led to self-harm and other self-destructive behavior. These are the people that I can empathize with.
I am, as one friend puts it, “a sensitive musician.” He usually says it as a kind of fun pejorative. But, he’s right. In a brain dominance test many years ago, I was the group’s ‘space cadet’ because I live in the right side of my brain. As a young person I felt misunderstood and marginalized by family and friends. I experienced deep depression and sadness. At times I fell so far into myself that I didn’t realize that I had just scratched the skin off of the tops of my hands so that they bled. I found some solace in drugs and alcohol. Yet, this only seemed to help for a short while. I have always had a sense of unworthiness. Unworthy to receive good things…including love. Imagine my surprise when I learned that there is a person who can love without condition. This person understands the alienation and pain that I know so well because he experienced it himself. Yeshua ben Yosef…Jesus son of Joseph…is that person. Am I well now? Hardly. I still deal with depression, self-loathing and some self-destructive activities. But, I am not alone. And, I have a relationship with Someone whom I am confident ‘gets’ me. More than that, however, I have a connectedness with others who, like me, have hope for the future. Perhaps, this is why I’m so drawn to the young people who inhabit the tumblr. universe. They are me. We are a community of hurting misfits. We think and reflect deeply about our world and how we can be a significant part of it. We desire to be understood, yet, in a way we take pride in knowing that we can’t be understood. We refuse to be categorized, preferring instead an enigmatic life. But, we appreciate your presence more than you can ever know. We receive life from you when you notice us. The God who I follow has fashioned us to be a community. We are all interrelated in ways that my puny, little brain cannot ever hope to fathom. I can only share my small spark of life with those who need it. tumblr. is a place where I can do that.
Leave a Comment
I started to write this post a few days after we buried Dad. It’s taken a little longer to write than I had originally thought.
I’ve just gone back to work after Dad’s passing. I have mixed feelings about going back. Part of me really would like to take a few more days to recover from the emotional stress of watching Dad during his final hours. Lack of sleep and good nutrition has left me physically drained. Another part of me feels the need to get back in the saddle. Work can be a good diversion, focusing the mind on tasks other than funerals and mourning.
The outpouring of support from extended family and friends has been amazing. I’m not sure that I would be of much use to anyone if not for their encouragement and presence. Yeah, I still like books, but all of these people made the last week not only bearable, but in many ways, pleasant. What can I say? We’re all connected in some way. There is something more than just our common humanity at play here. We all share in the brevity and frailty of life. Love given and received binds us with others as we form communities.
But, there is something more. The connection between us as humans is vast and wide. Why would a person in one part of the world care about the needs of someone 14,000 miles away on the other side of the world? Especially, when that one person has more than enough cares and troubles of her or his own? How can I travel to another culture, not knowing the language, and actually communicate with someone? Perhaps, there is an affinity between us because we are the same species. You know, ‘birds of a feather.’ That could be part of it, I suppose. However, those birds simply flock together. They don’t go out of their way to care for the needs of others. Some birds don’t even care for their own young! No, I don’t see that being the common thread that binds us. I think that there is something other than our physical reality at play here.
What that something is has been speculated about ever since humans began to think. (Although, there are some folks today that I wonder about.) I’m not going to join in that philosophical discussion. I’m woefully under qualified for that.
However, I might speculate on something else… relationship. What if that common characteristic is buried deep within humanity? And, what if it is empowered by an outside source? (I’m just musing.) Could it be that what we call God, or Creator, or any number of names is responsible for touching each of us? Perhaps there is a relationship between this God and the Good Creation that acts as a catalyst causing humans to care. Not only caring for other humans, but for the Good Creation as well. That would explain why there are organizations such as Green Peace and Doctors Without Borders. There are thousands of shelters for battered and beaten people. Environmental and human rights organizations flourish. All of this in a world that seems bent on self destruction. Why? I have no pat answer. Nor, does anyone else.
Maybe, the relationship between the Creator and the Good Creation has been damaged. This has been the position of the Christian Church. They accept that sometime in the distant past, between 6 & 10 thousand years ago, God created all things and declared them ‘good.’ The entire created universe was pristine, if not ‘perfect.’ Humankind was innocent and enjoyed relationships with God and the creation. However, these humans were somehow enticed to disobey God and suffered a ‘fall’ of some sort that affected all of creation. The good relationships with God and the cosmos were damaged. Yet, there was still something within them, a broken shard of God’s image that continued to allow some people to do good things. This idea was first articulated by Augustine of Hippo in the late 4th to early 5th centuries. Personally, I don’t agree with him about the ‘fall.’ But, more on that at another time.
What if, about 14 billion years ago, the known universe erupted and began to form into the wondrous environment that we now live in? Then, somewhere around 4.5 billion years ago this system of planets and asteroids and other matter began to form around a larger mass that became our Sun. Over time changes occurred due to any number of causes and effects. On the third rock from this sun these changes caused organisms to develop that contained within them the potential for what we call ‘life.’ Eventually, millions more years passed until a certain small segment of these organisms developed and matured until humanity emerged…upright and aware of itself within this Great and Good Creation. Now, I hear the voices saying, “Whoa! Where is God in this? Isn’t this just a rehash of some Darwinian theory?” Well, yeah it is…kind of. But, what if God has been a part of this entire process? Perhaps not in an entirely active way. Nor, as the deists would say, as a passive observer. Maybe, God breathed God’s life into that original bit of matter and imbued it with God’s own presence. I’m not going to go into panentheism. I don’t think that the universe is part of God nor that the universe is synonymous with God. I’m saying that, perhaps, God is the One who animated and gave ‘life’ to the process. That God has carefully watched over the cosmos, not as an ‘intelligent designer,’ but as a caring and loving parent who knew and trusted that things would develop a certain way.
In the beginning, the breath of God…Ruach Elohim, who hovered over the formless void…was God the Spirit. The Word of God, spoken, brought order out of chaos. God, present from the beginning, shared part of God’s self with what became the Cosmos. Humans, aware of time, space and self also had the capacity to ‘know’ God. Far from being a separate entity at the top of some cosmic hierarchy, humans have derived their essence from that which erupted all those billions of years earlier. We are ‘part and parcel’ with all of the Good Creation. Relationships…they are built into us…from the beginning.
It’s hard being human. We have minds that think. There are emotions and desires that stir and motivate us. We are sentient and aware of ourselves and our relationship in time and space. Our realities and experiences are as varied as each individual, yet we have a commonality that binds us together. All of this seems to indicate that humans should be happy that they are apparently the pinnacle of creation.
Yet, we are not happy. We are a conflicted lot, internally as well as externally. Externally, it’s easy to see how very disturbed we are. Watch the news or read a newspaper, (if you can find one). Every day people are being abused, robbed, murdered or taken advantage of by others. Wars are waged in the name of whatever the cause du jour is. (For some reason people seem to think that if you kill people peace will break out.) The privileged oppress those who are not. Greed and lust for power are systemic ills that are deeply embedded in virtually every culture. Yeah, it’s hard to be human.
Internally, we wage our own private wars against ourselves. Many of us live in cultures that value things like integrity and character. We have set up ideals that we aspire to attain. But, we can never seem to grasp them. We denounce greed, yet desire more. Mention lust and people gasp and put their hand over their mouth. Our eyes, however, crave to see and our hands to hold that object of our desire. Voices cry out against injustice. In that inner most part of us, though, there is another voice that laughs at it. Our appetites rule us and our desires drive and motivate us. Then, we wake up the next morning and our heads hurt and our bodies ache and we wonder what the hell just happened. It’s still hard to be human.
If these observations of mine are not true, then why are there so many self-help groups, gurus, counselors and therapists, churches and para-church organizations and books in the millions designed to inspire and motivate us to be ‘better’? In the particular religious culture that I spent many years immersed in, they would say, “Just read your Bible and pray.” They seemed to think that the Bible was some sort of talisman and prayer a kind of magic that could ward off the evil of the flesh and this ‘present generation. Shame and guilt were used to keep the flock in line. These, of course, do nothing but add to the inner conflict of people who are already hurting. Not only am I battling my inner ‘demons,’ now I’m also a bad person for having these thoughts and feelings. This, too, is a form of abuse. Damn, it’s hard being human!
I don’t think that it has ever been easy to be human. Our species has endured a lot of adversity over the millennia that we’ve been present on this planet. Nature has been against us. We have been against each other. Drought, famine, war…it seems like there are always battles to fight. Yet, we have survived. In fact, some would say that we are thriving is spite of the adversity.
As, I was praying this morning these thoughts came to my mind. I shared them with God saying, “It’s hard to be human.” And, I didn’t hear any disagreement. I think this may be because God now knows what it’s like to wear a body of flesh and bone. The Creator has experienced the reality of the created. Reading the stories that recount God’s sojourn among us, I am struck by the fact that Jesus’ life was not easy. He wandered around Palestine and probably wondered more than once where his next meal would come from. Hated and despised by his own culture, he continued to press on. Those who, like himself, were on the fringes of society…the people who were hurting and marginalized…he loved and cared for. And, he encouraged them to persevere and to continue to put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t offer spiritual platitudes and magic to remove the obstacles that confronted them. He said, “Go, and stop sinning,” or “take up your cross and follow me.” I think that Jesus realized that the only way people could live and thrive was to take on adversity head on and to do the necessary work to deal with it. I suppose that means when the external injustices rise up to crush people, we stand against them. Maybe, the internal appetites and desires will always, always, always be with us. Our lives will be spent in the muck of living. We’re going to be confronted with desires that we must resist. There will be cravings that must be tempered with self-control. We must then confront these things with whatever strength we can muster. Difficult? Yeah. But, whoever said it was easy…to be human?
Leave a Comment
I’ve spent the last two weeks mindlessly wandering. I can’t seem to put one cogent thought with another. I don’t know if this is a normal step in the mourning process. Perhaps, the incredible number of tasks that must be done after the death of a loved one is simply overwhelming me. After all, my brother and I have been left with the responsibility of disposing of my parents’ property and liabilities. We’re kinda new at this. We are listing their condo for sale. It’s not expected to sell for much. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get enough to cover what is still owed on it. There are outstanding medical bills that need to be paid. And, we still have a lot of ‘stuff’…furniture, odds-n-ends, and papers…lots of papers to deal with.
What we’re finding is that my parents had very little in the way of a material legacy. They did not prepare for a secure financial future. And, they certainly didn’t spend time thinking about what they were going to pass on to the next generations. They lived for the present. Some might say they lived ‘in the moment.’ Theirs was a relationship that was devoted to enjoying life with one another. I remember Mom saying that she had some regrets that they had not given more thought to their legacy. She would have liked to leave something more materially substantial. But, by that time it was really too late to begin preparations for that. The best that they could do was to ensure that my brother and I simply split whatever property and assets they had.
My question, is this a bad thing? Should children expect their parents to take care so that there is something to leave as a material legacy? My parents lived for each other and their family. They gave a lot to us while they lived. Not ‘stuff,’ but love and care. They modeled devotion through their relationship. My dad, if nothing else, was loyal to his wife and to us. No, they did not show us how to accumulate things. They certainly did not instruct us in how to stay out of debt and to be ‘fiscally responsible.’ Saving money or spending it on large insurance policies didn’t seem to be a high priority for them. Dad once told me that he and mom made a lot of money…and, they spent a lot of money. For them it was more important to use what they earned to enjoy life.
Yes, I’m losing sleep and focus with all that needs to be done in order to settle my parents’ obligations. And, yes, there won’t be much left when the task in finished. But, maybe…just maybe…there really is more to leaving a legacy than leaving a lot of pictures of a green guy named George lying around.
Leave a CommentI’ve been away for a few days. You see, my Dad passed away last week. So, I’ve been pretty distracted. I wanted to share a little bit about him. As I’ve relived so many stories that reveal the kind of person he was, I realize that putting them into words is virtually impossible. So, I’m going to share the eulogy that I gave at his memorial service. It sums up much of who Dad was to us, his family and close friends. It’s kind of long, nearly 2,500 words, but I think it’s a pretty easy read. I hope that it honors his memory.
Bill was born March 2, 1929 to Tom and Goldi Helbert in Ashland, OH. When Bill was 6, Goldi died from tuberculosis. Tom got remarried to a woman named Ola. Not too many years later, Ola divorced Tom. Tom moved out of state and left Bill to live with his step mother.
Now, this period of his life is kind of hazy because Bill never shared his feelings openly. I think in many ways he was embarrassed. The memories that we were able to pry out of him were not pleasant. He told me of the time he tried out for the school football team. In practice he sustained a hit that caused him to lose some teeth. When he got home, his step mother told him that she was not going to pay for the dental care he needed. Bill had to work in order to raise the money for this. As I was looking through his high school yearbook I noticed that many of the students had long lists of clubs and activities they were part of. In fact, my mom’s list was one of the longest out of all of them. Bill’s? Blank. He was too busy working to have had time for extracurriculars. From the time he was fourteen he worked. He spent time working on a farm where his duties were to care for chickens. In payment, he received food and a bed. He worked for a local grocery in the butcher shop. He got to clean up the mess. He was not afraid to take on any job. He was the product of his generation. Honesty, loyalty, patriotism and faithfulness were characteristics of these folks that were forged in the crucible of depression and war. Hard work was simply a way of life.
He did have time for some fun, though. He and friends would drive up to Ruggles Beach from Ashland. It was there that he began a relationship with a fiery red-head named Marilyn Shanefelter. The two were married in March of 1948. Shortly after he and Mom were married, Bill was at the Ashland Elks club having a beer with his father-in-law and some others. A man who worked for the local draft board told him that his name was going to be selected for the draft. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, he enlisted in the navy. He told me that the recruiter had promised that he would be stationed in San Diego. So, of course, he wound up in Norfolk, VA. As with everything else in his life, Bill energetically applied himself to his duties. He served on a troop transport sailing between Greenland and Cuba carrying troops for training and other duties during the Korean conflict. He was honorably discharged in 1953.
After Dad got out of the navy, he found a job in Elyria at the Chronicle Telegram. Soon after, they moved to a house in Elyria, and then to the house we grew up in here in Avon Lake. Mom and Dad were unable to have children. So, in 1955 they adopted me, even though I was considered ‘handicapped’ because of a birthmark I had on my face. Then, in 1960, Dave was added to the family. We were welcomed into their home and loved much, probably more, than any natural child. We were not flesh and blood, but we became family because that is what Marilyn and Bill wanted. With one mind they poured themselves into the two of us. Together, we were the Helberts…period.
He would take me to work with him sometimes on Saturday. He would set me up with a pair of scissors and some samples of things they had printed, mostly pictures of cranes, and I would cut out the pictures and generally make a mess.
Our first home was near Lake Erie. One time I was down by the lake playing. I noticed a fairly large school of fish rippling the surface. I ran home to tell Dad to get his fishing pole and come down. Well, he said that he was busy at the moment. So, disappointed, I went back to the lake. A few minutes later I looked up and here came Bill with his fishing gear. (I suspect Mom had something to do with his change of heart.) He cast out and within minutes we had a bucket full of white bass. He then said that they were pretty small, so he released them. But, that was OK. Because as far as I was concerned, Dad had come through.
Dad did have a love of fishing. We would regularly take trips to look for the biggest and baddest fish that could be found. One time, Dave had gone with Dad and Mom to Canada to fish. Bill caught the biggest largemouth bass that he had ever seen. With great pride, Dad put it on a stringer and put it in the water. After a time, they decided to move on to another location. So, Dad fired up the motor and down the river they went. As they were cruising, Dave happened to notice the stringer skimming on top of the water. He told Dad, who stopped the boat and pulled in the empty stringer. Oh, the loss! The look on Dad’s face was priceless.
Over the years Bill tried various types of hobbies and activities. My earliest memories of these were of him building model airplanes. He spent hours attending to every detail. He made sure that the wheels and props were painted accurately. Every decal was meticulously applied. The wheels and props turned and the flaps flapped. We would have them on display here today if it wasn’t for the fact that I tried to make them fly. He tried out model railroading for a while. He played volleyball, tennis and golf. He and mom played cards and dominoes with friends. He filled his days with activities with others.
He was a regular guy. He was unpretentious. As a manager at the Lorain Printing Co., he never acted like a ‘boss.’ He treated everyone with equal respect. He continued to treasure the friendships that he had made there. It was not uncommon for his coworkers to refer to him as an Ashland Hillbilly. I think that part of the reason for that may have been because of some of the things that he would say. We have affectionately named these things “Billy Tisms.” Here are some examples:
When something worked easily: it was Slicker’n owl shit To the person who stole pennies from his desk: May you live to be 100 and never shit When it was raining hard: The rain’s coming down like a cow pissing on a flat rock After a few beers: I gotta pee like a racehorse When something went wrong: Oh, bat shit! When someone offered something Bill didn’t think much of: I wouldn’t hit a big bull in the ass with a banjo for that About that piano player: he’s good at playing the cracks. (between the keys) About food: I’ll eat anything that doesn’t eat me first! About another person who is confused: He doesn’t know if he’s a foot or horseback When someone poked his belly: Ow! That’s nothing but mainsprings and rubber bands! When the dog has jumped up on him: Nope, 4 on the floor! When things don’t work out just right: Balls! And one that he told me many times when I was growing up: If you don’t have something good to say about someone, don’t say anything at all.
Bill continued to work into his 70s…until his memory and Mom’s health began to fail. Dad was fiercely devoted to his family. At the white hot center of that devotion was Marilyn. She was his joy and his strength. She was the queen of his world. He trusted her to love him and was faithful to her like no one else I’ve ever known. Dave and I were talking and neither of us can remember a time when there were raised voices between them. Every day when he got home from work, Marilyn greeted him with a kiss. His loyalty to her was incredible. There are some in this room who have experienced Bill’s loyalty. If anyone spoke ill of Marilyn, or tried to get into ‘our business’ he would react…well…with gusto. Sometimes, that would even be directed at Dave or me. If we caused Mom trouble, Bill would not hesitate to adjust our attitude.
We watched as Mom’s health began to decline. The times that Mom was in hospital with serious illnesses found Bill at her side. These times were the only ones when I saw Bill cry. He cared for her every need. He provided everything to make sure she was comfortable and happy. One of the hardest things for him was to admit that he could no longer care for her by himself. Because of her stroke and the weakness that caused, she had to move into a skilled nursing facility. Bill then modified his life in order to be with her. He displayed his faithfulness by spending every waking hour with her. The only times he was not by her side were when she had to go for dialysis or other medical treatment. Many times we would go to visit Mom and find them both sleeping. Mom in her bed and Dad in the chair next to her. As long as she was able, he would take her for rides in the car. Just to get out and spend time together.
On a day in late Sept. 2010, Bill’s world ended. As we were all together at Mom’s bedside, she left us. Bill was holding her left hand when he suddenly cried out, “Oh, God! She’s gone!” He never got over that moment. We tried to comfort him. That was not going to happen. Over the next years he would keep telling us that she wasn’t supposed to go first…he was. I don’t think he really ever forgave himself for not leading the way into the next life. He never took Mom’s things out of their home. He left everything as it was. He allowed her ‘ghost’ to remain with him.
As the dementia began to overtake him, he seemed to forget that Marilyn had gone. Every now and then he would ask us where she was. One time Sarah told him to behave himself as she was leaving his home. He responded that he had to; Marilyn wouldn’t let him do otherwise. Then wondered where she was. At the nursing home, he believed that Marilyn was there somewhere…maybe in the next room. At first I was concerned with this. But, then I realized that Bill’s world was not the same as mine. In Bill’s world, his beloved Marilyn was still with him. She was just in the next room.
The writer of the book of Hebrews penned these words: Heb. 10:38 – “But my righteous one will live by faith. And I take no pleasure in the one who shrinks back.”
This faith is not simply ‘believing’ something. This faith has nothing to do with creeds and doctrines. There is no church polity involved in this faith. This faith has everything to do with action.
The story of Noah was about a man and his family who heard God warn them about impending disaster. They trusted God’s words and faithfully took action. God found them trustworthy.
Abraham, whom the apostle Paul referred to as “our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed – the God who gives life to the dead and calls into being things that were not” (Rom. 4:17b), did not simply sit in his tent and ‘believe’ God. He left his homeland and wandered as an alien in the land that God had told him would one day belong to his children. Children that he did not even have! Yet, he trusted God. God found him trustworthy and gave Abraham and Sarah children in their old age. At that point Abraham could have easily said, “Yep, God is good. God came through and gave me an heir. Now, I can sit back and eat grapes and pomegranates and chillax in my retirement.” But, he did not. He continued to trust God. He continued to be ‘faithful.’ So, when God asked him to sacrifice the son of the promise, Abraham trusted God. He had ‘faith’ that God, who had promised Isaac, could raise Isaac from the dead. This is faithfulness.
Moses, the one person about whom the scripture states was God’s friend, became that friend because he, too, trusted God and was faithful to act on that trust. After 40 years of exile, he returned to Egypt where there was a death sentence on him, and defied the most powerful person in the known world. Because of Moses’ faithfulness, God displayed acts of power and wonder that revealed God’s supremacy over the gods of Egypt, which included Pharaoh. It was because of Moses’ trust and faithfulness that God was able to show God’s own faithfulness to Moses.
Example after example in this text, as well as many others, show us that to have faith has nothing to do with religious belief. It has to do with trust, honesty, faithfulness…action. It has to do with moving forward, while performing the duties of day-to-day life with no concrete reward or achievable goal in sight. The writer stated, “These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised.”
Bill was not religious. Yeah, he was a member of a local church. I think, though, that I can count on one hand the number of times he actually attended. He was busy being faithful. Faithful to his family and friends. He worked 7 days a week in order to provide for us. After working 10 hours, he would come home and always find time to play catch or go fishing. He coached both Dave and me in little league. He taught me how to play tennis and watched as I competed in swimming. He made it possible for me to learn to play music…and tolerated the noise of an aspiring rock-n-roller. He made sure that he and Mom made it to their grandchildren’s activities. Whether it was soccer in Avon Lake or Mount Vernon. Or, baseball and horseback riding. If he was able, he would make every effort to support us all. He knew that the world was going to continue well after him. He had faith that what he was doing in the present would bear fruit sometime. When? He didn’t know. I’m not sure that he even cared about ‘when.’ He saw the promise of the future. Yet, the final reward eluded him in this life. We, however, have already received a reward. That reward was to have been loved and cherished by Bill.
Leave a Comment
Yesterday was a pleasant day. The sun shone brightly, yet the air was not too hot. There were birds and butterflies flitting about doing what birds and butterflies do. It was a great day to sit outside and simply soak it all in. However, I had a family commitment that placed me with 
cousins and in-laws and children and, well, just a whole lot of people. If you’ve spent any time at this blog, or if you know me, then you realize that social gatherings are not my specialty. My idea of the perfect day would be to sit in the sun with a book and a refreshing beverage. So, to say that I was looking forward to this gathering would have been overstating things a bit.
We arrived and exchanged our greetings. Finding a place at one of the tables, we sat down and struck up light conversation. Soon, the food was prepared and everyone began milling about the food table filling plates and glasses. “Oh, that looks interesting, what is it?” And, “Who made the lentil salad?” Questions being asked as we foraged through the bowls and platters filled with the various offerings of those gathered. Finding our places again, we ate and talked. That person, (“who is he again?”), brought his two young children who are really cute! Almost completely done with his pasta salad, the young boy cries out to his dad, “Oh no, there’s olives in this! Why didn’t you tell me there were olives”?! His sister had spotted them in hers and pushed them aside. The dog belonging to our host is making the rounds of all of the tables. She looks longingly at the food on our plates, sniffing for any morsel that may have wandered off of a plate and onto the ground. Over there is a small group animatedly talking about the prospects of the local football team for the upcoming season. If the coaching staff only knew half of what these people did, there would be a superbowl in the future for our local team!
Stories told and retold. Travel adventures from those who had come from out of state. I asked our host, who likes to hunt, if he ever took the dog. He replied, “Yes,” and with a gleam in his eye, told me about how they had trained her and how she was very good at finding and flushing the birds they hunted. About this time there was a splash. A couple of the kids had decided that the pool could no longer be ignored. Occasionally, someone would walk into the house to revisit the table with the food. Picking a bit of that salad; procuring another piece of carrot cake. From the other side of a tall fence we began to hear loud thumping noises. Looking around it, I saw that the corn hole game was out. More people gathered around with bottles of water and plastic cups full of soda. More talking and laughing.
After a few hours the noise subsided into quiet clusters of conversation. Everyone, having eaten their fill, seemed content to sit back and relax. Memories were being shared. After all, this is family. There is a collective memory that is like a finely cut gemstone. One memory with many facets that reflect that memory in many different ways. Each has its own perspective that reveals a new color; a new refraction of the light that produces a unique vision of love and commitment that has continued to grow and thrive through many generations.
So, I sat in the sun and watched, talked and listened. And, I realized that I was doing exactly what I had wished that I could do. I was outside enjoying the sunshine. However, rather than reading a book, a story written by someone else, I was part of this story. A story not written with ink on paper. But, rather, one that is being written on the hearts and in the lives of this small group of people…this family.
3 CommentsI’ve spent the last two days working through ideas that I want to develop for this blog. My brain is churning and broiling like the waves at Wiamea Bay. I’m finding that it’s impossible to create worthwhile content in the couple hours I spend in the mornings. So, I’m going to try to set apart more time in the evenings, too. So much of this is reading and researching what people are talking about. How do people of faith walk in that place where Scripture, tradition and history collide with the culture?
So, forgive me for the sparse posts recently. I hope to improve on this soon.
Perhaps, you have ideas and concerns that we can discuss together!
What are your concerns? How is your understanding of faith and culture impacting how you live and what you do?
Leave a Comment