Category: Relationships

Un-Fathered

Published by mhelbert on July 16, 2020

Unseen vistas reveal themselves with every step I take into the world of God. I have walked the oft-trodden, yet rarely observed paths of the Spirit as She blows through the brilliant flowers, trees, and grasses that form the lines of the Scriptures.
It seems that the more I observe and marvel at, more and more beauty and grace appear.

This is not to say that the paths that the Breath of God leads me along are always pleasant for me. No, sometimes I am stung by some insect that follows me. Buzzing in my ear, brushing against my hair and skin, it is a reminder that the paths we walk are still real and within the bounds of this present life.
I read in those ancient texts stories of people who, like me, worried their way along these same pathways. They were led by the same Spirit. Perhaps, they were even stung by that same bothersome insect.
And, while their time and place are foreign to me, I can still feel what they felt and sense what they sensed.
We are, after all, born of the same stuff.

That’s why the text that we looked at last Sunday in the Bible study at St. Barnabas became alive to me in a brand, new way. There was a new vista revealed as I crested the hill.

We have spent the last several weeks working our way through the first 4 chapters of St. Paul’s first letter to the Church at Corinth. Paul wrote that he had been made aware of divisions and factions that had broken along the fault lines of honor and shame. The folks there seemed to find their own sense of honor and worth by casting their lots with one apostle over against another. This one follows Paul; the other Apollos. Paul would have none of that and wrote that the system they used to measure worth was deeply flawed. Through example, irony, and metaphor he urged them to seek the One True Measure which is God through Christ. If the folks at Corinth desired true Wisdom, they need look no further than the Cross of Christ. That, alone, exemplified God’s Wisdom.

In chapter 4, Paul seems to shame the people in that young Church. He pointedly revealed the foolishness of the path that they were taking.
But, he switched gears and told them,

“I am not writing this to shame you, but to warn you as my dear children.”
He continued,
“I became your father through the gospel.”

There it was!
A new sun rising above the horizon of my limited understanding.
Paul wrote this letter, not to wield a rod of correction. It was not so that he expound some great, spiritual truth to them. It wasn’t even really to cajole them into following his instructions.

It was to remind them that he was their father in the faith.

The folks in Corinth had Un-Fathered Paul.

And, that was the cause of much of his pain and concern.

I was reminded, then, of another story like this.
In the Gospel According to Luke the writer related a story about a father and his two sons.
This story is commonly referred to as the story of the Prodigal Son, although the Father is the main character.
The story begins with the younger of the two sons going to his father and requesting his inheritance. This may not appear all that big of a deal to those of us inhabiting the 21st century. However, at the time this story was told, that request would have been scandalous. What we miss is that the request was, in fact, the younger son’s wish that the father was dead so that he could take what he deemed was his.

“Father, I want my inheritance!”

To that the father could reply,

“When I die you will receive it!”
“No, Father, I want it NOW! For, you are dead to me”

That’s how this story would have been heard by those Jesus told it to.
How much this reveals about the Father’s love later in the story!
But, that’s a story that must wait for another time.

The younger son un-Fathered his own father.
He wished that his father HAD died.
His only concern was his own life and desires.

I saw this story brightly reflected in Paul’s response to his Children in the Faith.
I could feel his sense of loss and betrayal.
I could understand his heart as he tried to reveal the potential danger that these children of his were running toward.
“Stop! Wait! There’s a cliff there and you’re about to run off of the edge!”

For those who have experienced the pain of this type of loss, I don’t need to explain it.
For those who haven’t, well, let’s all just hope and pray that you never do.
It is pain above any other. Especially, because of the helplessness that is alive and biting, boring into the heart and soul.
Yeah, I get what Paul was doing here.
He was simply being a loving father to those who owned a piece of his heart.

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A Confession

Published by mhelbert on June 27, 2020

Recently I wrote several posts about Unity in the Church.
While much of that is applicable to our everyday relationships with anyone, I want to be clear that my main focus was on the Church. How do we strive for Unity within the Body of Christ?
That was Paul’s focus when he wrote that letter to the Church at Corinth. And, it was mine while writing of our task today.

I also wanted to make it clear that I do NOT support the thoughts or “Sincerely Held Religious Beliefs” of some members of our Tribe. They are hurtful, hateful, and bigoted. They should be called out for what they are, “Barriers to keep “Others” out.”

There are other thoughts, though, that play a similar role.
That of ‘Keeping Ours IN.’
If we are honest, most of us really desire to be a part of something larger than we are. We want to identify with the winning team. (Those of us in the Cleveland, OH area have difficulty relating to that!)
We hope that the tribe that we align with will be regarded as ‘Good’ and ‘Strong.’
I remember when I first chose to follow Jesus I was part of a community of people who truly desired to follow Jesus just like the folks in the First Church. Part of our hope was that the people in the city where we lived would see us living together in love. We tried to embody the communal love of God conspicuously. We were convinced that if the World could only see how Christ followers could truly live together that they would start beating down our doors in order to share in the Love with us.
But, alas, they only saw a bunch of hippies who had horses in the garage.

That didn’t stop us though, from trying to build a counter-culture that could speak to those who were Lost and Wandering in the Darkness that was Secular Culture.
We developed our own music and art. We chose private Christian schools for our children. Or, homeschooled them so that they would not be tainted by the secular doctrines of death that were foist upon unsuspecting public school students.
Our leaders began to show us how our way of thinking and living was the only true and virtuous way.
And, the gatekeepers got stronger.
Soon we had our own stores and businesses. Of course, we were all expected to patronize these because, well, they were Christian, Silly! It didn’t matter that they were not nearly as good as the secular places. They were members of our Tribe!
The music that we developed was, at best, second rate. One singer asked the question in a song, “Why Should The Devil Have All The Good Music?”
Well, because ours was just bad!!!
Yet, we kept forging ahead trying to develop “Real, True Christian Stuff” so that we didn’t need to sully ourselves with that worldly stuff.

Those who told us that they were anointed to lead us continued to direct us toward so-called Godly writers and teachers and other guides who would help us to become more and more transformed into the likeness of the god that we created.

People like James Dobson became our life gurus on how to raise children. Others, like Dave Ramsey, started groups to advise us on financial matters. These people, and many others, touted a Biblical Standard that would enable everyone who followed their practices to live free in an imagined “Bible Land” where we would thrive in Holy Peace.

In the community I was a part of the leaders actively taught these principles. And, because of the heavy-handed pastoral guidance that was part of our life together, many times demanded our compliance.
Of course, this was done because the ‘loved’ us and only desired that we be free to worship God in Spirit and Truth.

So, we willingly followed like sheep follow their beloved shepherd. In fact, that very image was used to describe our relationship with the leadership.

Here’s the rub for me as I look back.

No one put a gun to my head and told me that I HAD to comply with this. I followed them willingly. Even when I knew that something didn’t sound or feel right. I rationalized away my concerns because I Trusted these people to guide me.
I placed my life and my family’s in the hands of men who said that they were leading us along the Straight and Narrow path that would ensure our well-being, indeed, our very salvation.
I chose that path.

Until, I didn’t.

The damage that I did to my family and myself is my own responsibility. I checked my brain at the door and lived in a world where I could say to God, “It wasn’t me, Lord! I just did what I was told by those guys that YOU PUT IN CHARGE! Not my fault!”

But, it was my fault.

We humans like to deflect responsibility from ourselves when there are negative outcomes.
Just like Flip Wilson so many years ago, “The devil made me do it!”
I could point at those leaders and say, “But, they told me to do that!” like it was some sort of magic get out of jail free card.

It wasn’t.
I am still the only person responsible for my actions.
And, they have not always been virtuous.
Lack of faithfulness to my wife and family? — Check.
Poor stewardship of my resources? — Check.
Lousy parenting? — Yep, that too.
Unloving son and brother? — Check.

I could go on and on.

The point of all of this is that I gave my God-Given responsibilities to people who were never supposed to take them from me.
I did that.
Me.
Alone.

I bear the responsibility for my own failings.
Unfortunately, others bear the the scars from my failings.
For that, I am deeply sorry.
I knew better.
But, I did worse.

This is the danger of placing one’s trust in others who, themselves, are struggling and ignorant of the hurt that they inflict on people.

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There’s Nothing Sweet About the Sorrow of Parting

Published by mhelbert on February 22, 2020

Juliet said to Romeo, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
Little did she know at the time what a great tragedy was in store for them both.

That phrase is still used today to convey hope that there will be a future return.
Those parted will one day find their paths converging in a joyful reunion.
Such is the hope, anyway.

I am finding no sweetness in the partings that lie before me.
I will be officially retiring from active employment at the end of March.
However, with cancer surgery looming large on the near horizon and at least a month of recovery time, I will be leaving my current workplace at the end of next week.

Five more workdays.
Two of those will be taken by tests for the upcoming surgery.
So, three days.

Three days to pack in almost 30 years of shared experience.

Yeah, it’s true that there are some that I work with who I will be glad to show my heels.
Not everyone gets along in any family. Right?

There are those who you know on sight, but need to check their shirt in order to remember their name.
“Hey! How ya doin’ uh, Mark?”
These are good folks, but nothing more than fellow grunts in the trenches.

The others, though.
The ones that you have laughed with over the years.
You shared in the joys of marriages and the birth of children.
They’re the ones that you would gladly take dinner to when they have need.
Friends with whom you shared their most deep and painful loss.
How do you say goodbye to these?
People who each own a piece of your heart?

I suppose that there are people who can go through their entire career and not forge bonds like these. For them, when it’s time to move on to the next phase of life they simply wave and they’re gone.

I’m not like that.
These are folks that I have spent the better share of 30 years with.
Folks that I have spent more waking hours with than my own family.
People who I love and care about deeply.

Sure, my company has graciously agreed to let me work from home for the few weeks between surgery and retirement. I am more than grateful to them for this.
So, in a way, these who are beloved will still be present with me.
But, what about their faces?
The laughter shared over a joke. Or, the eyes that suddenly open and shine with sudden understanding at the solution to a problem.
These things will be missing.
Then, when April showers come along, I will be gone.

Yeah, I know. There are ways to stay in touch. I can always go back for a visit.
Maybe, I’m just being overly emotional about this.

Sorry. I can’t help that right now.
I’m emotionally invested in these people.
Heartstrings are being pulled and stretched to the breaking point.

I hope that I can adequately thank these, my dearest friends and comrades, over the next few days.
I’m not sure that such gratitude can be expressed.
But, I’ll try.

I love you, guys.

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From Generation to Generation

Published by mhelbert on February 5, 2020

It’s odd how certain thoughts and ideas pop into your head.
Churning and turning over and over and over….
See how the myriad facets of that thought present their varying colors and perspectives. Sewing themselves into the fabric of your mind.
Amazing!

What does that have to do with anything?
Well, this morning my mind wandered to how one generation’s life and experience influence those that follow.
I know that this is something that we in the West don’t often consider.
We think that each person is an individual who is capable of building her life on her own. Through hard work and grit people can slough off any and all encumbrances and create a successful life…for themselves.

But, is that an entirely accurate idea?

I’m not so sure.

My Dad’s mother died when he was very young. His father remarried.
Eventually, his father, an alcoholic, left them and moved away. So, he was raised by his step-mother.
It was late in his life when he told me anything about that time in his life.
His step-mother was truly a bitch. She abused him in passive-aggressive ways that left lasting scars.
As a result, he withdrew into himself.
He became known to others by his quietness. His high school yearbook noted that he didn’t say much, but what he said was profound.
He never experienced true intimacy with anyone.
Yeah, he had a special relationship with my mom. His love was as deep as the ocean. His devotion to her unwavering. But, even with her, he held his feelings close to himself. It seemed that only after his mind began to fail him toward the end of his life that he began to open that long-closed box that contained his heart.
Nature and Nurture.
Joined to create a New Thing.
Dysfunction.

As I wrote before, I was adopted.
I was torn from my mother and placed in an institution.
I was given to my adoptive parents while still and infant.
But, damage was done.
All of the experts agree that attachments are necessarily created, bonds of love and trust, at this early age.
Although my adoptive parents cared for me, gave me their name, and provided stability and security for me, they will always be at best High Level Foster Parents.
It seems that only those who do the adopting consider that their new child is truly theirs. No one who keeps these stats and stories ever really asks those who were adopted. No one seems to really consider our insight into our own lives.
I don’t want to take anything away from my mom and dad. They loved me and supported me in their way. I will always have deep gratitude for the life they provided and the sacrifices that they made.
But, the ability for me to make intimate links with anyone was diminished. If not totally destroyed.
I withdrew into myself.
I tried to emulate Mr. Spock. Suppressing my emotions, stuffing my feelings, became my ultimate goal.
We all know that’s an impossible task.
Rather, my emotions raged like a class 5 hurricane. They found no true or constructive outlet. So, as I worked to contain the storm within, damage was done.
Nature and Nurture.
Joined to create a new thing.
Dysfunction.

Those are two generations in which similar circumstances created similar narratives.

My brain goes to these places as I try to come to grips with dysfunction, not only in my own life, but in my family and among my friends.
There is something to the idea of generational influence. For good or ill; better or worse.
These are things that we have absolutely no control over. They have been handed to us by those who came first.

We can, however, make choices on how to engage these things.
I know that I will never be able to experience a truly intimate relationship with anyone. There are too many issues deeply embedded in my soul to allow that.
But, I can push myself to learn new ways to deal with that.
The first and perhaps most important way is to be honest with myself about these things.
Second, I can learn to forgive those who preceded me. Both the one who gave me away and the ones who took me in.
They are no more perfect than I am. I have to be able to extend them the grace to be human.
Third, and perhaps most important, I must learn to forgive myself.
Because I am acutely aware of my own shortcomings, my own “sin,” it’s easy to find myself swimming in an ocean of guilt and shame.
That’s hard.
The guilt and shame were truly earned.
But, I can’t…I mustn’t…live there.
That compounds hurt upon hurt.
That leads to death.
Spiritual; emotional; physical.

We give too little consideration for anything beyond the tiny sphere in which we live.
We think, mistakenly, that we are an individual who is a self-contained entity with no ties to anything outside of ourselves.

That’s a lie.

Don’t believe that for an instant.

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Why All That Divisiveness?

Published by mhelbert on January 29, 2020

Yesterday I had a good time talking with some atheists.
Well, not really “talking.”
We were on twitter. No one can have a real conversation on that platform.
But, it can quickly get main points out there.
“Out there” being the twitterverse where all kinds of magical, (not necessarily good), stuff can happen.

Simple thoughts can become cannon fodder used to destroy anyone who dares to question your very deeply held beliefs about yourself. Or, beliefs about your beliefs.
Even those with whom we seem to be allied may turn on you with rapid ferociousness.
I don’t know, that may even be part of the thrill.
We don’t know for sure how anyone will respond to the stuff we toss out there.

This happened to someone that I follow who is an atheist.
And, this person has some very good reasons for thinking that way.
I will not be a judge.
Not my job.

The idea that we as humans should embrace pluralism was up for discussion. Apparently, some folks don’t think that people who oppose this can be rational atheists. They feel that only the religious can be anti pluralistic. So, of course, they took exception to being lumped in with the religious. In fact, they went so far as to claim that pointing out that anti pluralism can be an overall Human thing was an attack on them personally.
It wasn’t.
It was simply an observation that fundamentalists, religious or non, tend toward exclusivity. They deny that pluralism is even a possibility.
And, the observation was absolutely correct.

Some of the most vicious attacks on those who are deemed “Other” come from avowed atheists. In many cases the “Other” are religious people. Vague generalizations get made that try to make sure that all religious are cut from the same piece of cloth.
That’s the same way that many religious people view non-religious folks. I don’t know, maybe it makes it easier for their tiny minds to grasp the simplicity of certainty and absolutes.
Nuance takes way too much effort.

Anyway, as the thread grew and more people weighed in, I was very happy to see that we are surrounded by people who DO get it. People who understand that we are complex beings. Our thoughts and beliefs are like the many facets of a fine gem that refract and reflect the light creating myriad colors and hues.
This is the true human condition.
The ability to grasp the dignity of each and every person and honor them for simply being.

No, we don’t need to all think the same.
No, common belief does not necessitate sameness.
Yes, we need each other.
Yes, we must accept the failures and foibles of those who are NOT US!!!

Yesterday, I found hope in that twitter thread.
Hope that maybe, some day, our species will finally find unity in our diversity and completeness in the “Other.”

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#adoptee

Published by mhelbert on January 24, 2020

I came across that hashtag on twitter yesterday.
Since I am one, I decided to see where it would lead.
To say that I was unprepared for what I read would be understating things.
The amount of hurt and anger radiating from these tweets would rival the sun’s heat.
I was truly taken by surprise.

I didn’t experience the same emotions that many of these other adoptees did.
As I reflect back on my childhood, I really don’t know why I didn’t have those feelings.

Abandonment.
Loneliness.
Isolation.

Perhaps my adoptive parents were just different than others.
Maybe they cared enough that I didn’t consider myself anything less than their son.
Even though they never hid the fact that I was adopted, they always treated me like their own.
So, maybe I was special in that regard.
I grew up with nothing but gratitude to them for giving me a chance at a good life.

I do remember asking about my birth parents. What I don’t remember are answers to that. Like many of the folks tweeting about this, my adoptive parents deflected that question. They tried to get me to focus on what I had with them. Not what I might have had in another life.
I really can’t blame them too much for that. They had feelings that they wanted to protect. I suppose the prospect of rejection from the person that they felt they had sacrificed so much for was difficult for them.
You see, my adoptive parents had tried for nearly a decade to have a child of their own. Physical issues didn’t allow that. They wanted to have children, though. So, they took the only avenue that was open to them.
Adoption.
For that, I should be grateful, I guess.

There was something missing, though.
As a young child I had no idea what that was.
I had neither the ability to process those feelings, nor the language to express them.
So, for the most part, I stuffed them.
I remember when I was 12 I was talking to friend who was also an adoptee. When I shared some of my regrets at not knowing anything about my birth parents, he told me not to think about them. His feeling was that his birth parents didn’t love him enough to keep him. So, screw them. They weren’t worth the effort to even consider.
I accepted his logic. Hey, it made sense to 12 year old me!

And, I lived with that assessment.
I never gave my birth parents another thought.
Yeah, I was reminded that I was a type of singularity with no roots every time I went to the doctor and had to answer the question about family traits with, “I’m adopted.”
But, even that became a point of pride with me. It made the doctor squirm a bit. I liked that.

When I got married I suppose my wife and I discussed the fact that we had no idea what kind of genetic issues might lie hidden in my closed adoption records. But, we didn’t let that stop us from bring new life of our own into the world. Yeah, it might have been helpful. We realized, though, that even in the most solid families with a great pedigree having children can be a crapshoot. Likewise, birth families with a history of physical and mental issues can produce a perfectly well-adjusted child. As they say, There are no guarantees.

What changed the equation for me was the night I received a phone call. The person on the other end introduced himself as the husband of my sister.
Hmmm…I don’t have a sister.
Or, do I?
My first inclination was that this was a scam of some sort. Even though the voice gave me all sorts of details about the person he said was my birth mother, I had no way to corroborate those. I knew nothing about her.

We met that evening.
I took my wife and we drove to the place that we had arranged.
When we walked in I spotted them immediately.
Over in the corner of the restaurant was a young woman who was more frightened than any deer caught in headlights.
Yep! That’s her!
We sat down and introductions were made all the way round.

The story of their surprise trip was, well, interesting.
It turns out that our mother was emotionally handicapped. At some point she was, as my newly minted brother-in-law said, “Taken advantage of” by an older man.
Voila! Enter Me.
Our mother was living with her parents who were apparently abusive. They force her to give me up.
Now, we need to understand that in the year that I was born was during a time when abortion was illegal. Mothers of children born in our circumstances were shunned and treated like whores. The social stigma of this was a price too high for them to pay.

So, I was placed in some kind of orphanage. At least,that’s what I was told.
When I was 6 months old, my adoptive parents entered. I had a rather pronounced birthmark on my upper lip. So, at that time I was considered “handicapped.” That didn’t stop this couple from taking me in as their own.
Again, I should be grateful. I could have easily languished in “The System” for years. But, I was placed in a warm and loving home.
And, I never really looked back.

After I met my sister, the time came for me to meet my birth mother.
You see, the whole reason that my sister tracked me down was because our mother, besides her disability, was overcome with remorse for her lost son. She lamented the choice that had been made for her by her parents. So, my sister and her then husband thought that if they could locate me that would bring some closure and peace to our mother.
So, we drove to their place and met her.
The meeting was good, I think. Our mother was overjoyed at finally finding me. We did all of the first time meeting stuff with hugs all around and tears and all of that.
We set up a time for them to come to our place and visit.

Then, I told my adoptive parents what was happening.
I’m not sure what they felt. Hurt? Anger? Fear? All of the above.
My mom said that she had feared this day. She asked question about what I had learned. When I answered them, she admitted that she knew the answers were correct because she had the documentation that identified my birth mother. She had my original birth certificate with the name that my birth mother had originally given me.
She knew these things and never told them to me.
Again, I can understand her actions. I get it.
I’m not sure that I will ever agree with them, though.

Be that as it may, this is the life I’ve been given. I have no choice but to accept it an get on with it.
And, it has been a good life over all.

There were things, though, that didn’t seem to add up.
So, I began to seek counselling.
Over the years those folks I talked to have all stopped when I told them of my adoption. All of them point to that one event as being the primary shaper of who I am. And, in every case, I doubted them.
After all, I was only 6 months old! How much could that short time be problematic?

Well, apparently a lot.
The lack of emotional connection in the earliest DAYS of life can have devastating effects on a person.
How?
In my case it is most pronounced in my own inability to form and maintain any close emotional connections with others.
This has snowballed into people considering me aloof, selfish, closed, and distant.
And, people are right!
I am all of those. And, more.

Are they a result of my separation and disconnect from my birth mother?
Maybe.
Or, do they have their roots in the fact that my adoptive dad was also aloof and seemingly unable to make deep emotional connections?
Maybe, I got hit with a double-whammy!

In any case, here I am over six decades later still wondering…still imagining.

Will anything be proven by anger, hurt, or any other negative feelings toward either my adoptive parents or my birth mother?
Oh, hell no.
That would only amount to me punishing me for something that I had no control over.

All I can really do is try to live into the life that I have created with my wife and our family. No, I don’t do it all that well. Like I said, close emotional bonds are not something that I am capable of.
But, I can’t blame those who came before me for what I have done with the raw materials that I was given by means of both nature and nurture.

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Seasons Change, and So Do We

Published by mhelbert on November 15, 2019

I was just thinking about someone who at one time was my best friend in the world.
That was over 5 decades ago. I haven’t seen him since elementary school.
Yet, my heart is warmed by the memories of building tree houses and riding skateboards, (back when they were little more than a board with the steel wheels from roller skates screwed to them.)

With Middle School and High School came new friends and interests. Those, too, have fallen at the wayside of time and life.

I can follow each path that I walked upon in my life. There are people, places, scents, tastes, and sounds that bring each path into bright, colorful focus.
Each stage is, in its own way, good. Each has left its imprint on who I am Now.

And, like flowers that bloom and provide beauty and fresh fragrance, each path is eventually spent and falls to the ground.

I mention this because there is also a part of us, perhaps woven into the very fabric of our humanity, that wants to remain walking the same path. We don’t want to veer left or right. Not even when the path diverges into several.
“I don’t want to hurt their feelings,” we say about a relationship that has run its course.
“What if I’m wrong?” is a question that paralyzes people. We are frozen, unable to move on way or the other. All the while, the sands of time continue to fall into the bottom of the glass.

A Greek philosopher, Heraclitus is credited with saying, “Nothing is permanent except change.”

If true, then perhaps embracing change would help us to flower and flourish.
Yes, some blossoms bloom and die.
They are soon replaced by other blossoms that bloom in their season.

Qoheleth wrote:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven

Seasons come; Seasons go.
Such is the way of the Cosmos.
Embrace the change.
After all, it is the only permanence we have.

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Broken??? Nope.

Published by mhelbert on October 22, 2019

Have you ever had one of those moments of clarity when suddenly, as if and epiphany, various and discordant seeming thoughts coalesce into a complete image?

No?

Nor have I.
But, this morning as I was quietly sitting in my office, dark except for the light of a few candles, I began to put some pieces together about who I am that I’ve only seen as disparate thoughts, now here; now gone.
I mentioned in some earlier posts that I’ve been doing some much needed introspection. It’s much needed because I think that over years and decades we become immune to the passions and voices that at one time helped to form us into the people that we now are. Some people refer to this as “adding baggage.”

So, I’ve been taking an inventory of sorts. I began to recall memories from as far back as I can. It seems that “helping” my dad build a fence when I was 4 yrs. old is one of the earliest.
Part of doing this kind of exercise is to look for patterns and triggers that may provide clues to why I am who I am today. It can be an interesting and fun endeavor, to be sure.

But, the overarching “Why?” for taking this path may be more problematic.

You see, it begins with the assumption that something Must Have Gone Wrong at some time. Because, I am obviously broken and in need of repair.
At least, that’s the impression that I’ve been given by people around me. Including, and especially, those closest to my heart.

So, the introspection became a forensic investigation. I was a sleuth looking for clues of a crime that I surely must have committed. Else, why am I like I am? If I had not done something wrong, taken a turn when I should have gone straight, then I would have turned out much differently. (re. ‘Better.’)

Well, I haven’t found anything that stands out.
I’m beginning to think that I never really did.

That fact has been the result of many different thoughts, feelings, and memories that I have sorted through. And, continue to sort.

I found that in this world that seems to be established as one where there are Round Holes and Square Holes, I’m a bit of a rhomboid.
I will obviously not fit into a Round Hole. I don’t care if it’s a circle, and egg, or an oval. My harsh, straight-line corners won’t allow that.
I won’t fit into a Square Hole, either. I don’t have the requisite right angled corners for that.
I am, what Lewis Black might say, “askeeeeewwwww.”

That’s all well and good.
It helps me reconcile myself to myself.”
“Hello, Mike? Meet Mike!”

Where the rub comes, though, is when others can’t seem to get past my Rhomboidishness. They think that in a world with only Round and Square Holes someone like me is an aberration. I MUST BE BROKEN!
So, they get out the saws and the sandpaper and go to work on fixing me.
They don’t realize that all they are doing is destroying who I truly am.

For most relationships, I can simply walk away. They don’t ‘get’ me, whatever that means. And, I really don’t have the time nor need to deal with them.

But, if you want to know me.
If you want to be with me.
If you want to Love me.
Well, be forewarned.

Because, if you think that you will ‘fix’ me, then we are headed for a relationship in which neither of us will be happy and both will be frustrated.

I wrote before that I must echo the wise words of the old sage, Popeye:
“I am what I am and that’s all that I am.”

I’m tired of trying to make everyone else happy at the expense of my own.
Selfish?
Ok, if that’s how you want to view it.

I, however, see it as Self-Preservation with a Hope to Flourish.

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Community…In Progress

Published by mhelbert on October 15, 2019

Last night was the first of six confirmation classes at St. Barnabas. Eleven of us showed up for Episcopalian lessons. I was excited to be getting on with this. As I’ve written before, St. Barnabas is becoming a community where the Love of God is beginning to blossom and bloom.

As the class began we were all asked to share a bit about who we are and why we were at this particular church.
As we went around the room, each telling snippets of their personal journeys of faith, I was impressed with the diversity present.
There are women, men, young-ish, older, high church, low church, and everything in between.
Some were open and vocal. Others, reserved and quietly present.
Some of us came out of churches where toxic theology ate at our souls.
Others are simply seeking a place to call “home.”

One thing that we all seemed to share was a desire to be a part of a living, welcoming, diverse, and inclusive community where God’s love is openly shared with all.

Is that St. Barnabas?

Well…Maybe.

This church is currently still in transition.
She is searching for her identity in the larger Body of Christ.
After all, this church has fairly recently gone through a major upheaval brought on by previous leadership. Upheaval that was painful and steeped in theological error.
Many people suffered…A Lot…because of the actions of those who were entrusted with the care of these people.

Fortunately, the leaders of the diocese were wise enough to provide emergency medical care to this parish. Over a period of several years they supported those few who were left behind after that messy split. They appointed interim leadership who provided the necessary treatment to stabilize the church.
A bit over a year ago a new Priest was called to help the community, now stable, to work to become healthy.
That’s where we are now.
A diverse, some may say Rag Tag, group of people who desire to live with one another and serve one another and the larger community in which we live.
We are people with scars and hurts and histories that would make the best fantasy novel seem like Dr. Seuss.
We are learning.
And, if we eleven who are beginning the journey in Confirmation class are an indication of the direction in which God is leading, well, let’s just say that this journey will be good.

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