Rainy Day

The world sounds wet today
Soggy, foggy, boggy
Dripping, slipping
Sun is somewhere far away

I am somewhere far away
In Maine, in a plane, on a train
Laughing, playing
Words are showing me the way

After Home

I did not know when I left
that it was the last
I thought I was saying see you later
not, Goodbye, so long, farewell.
I am broken up. Defenseless
against the onslaught of
wounded dreams
broken hopes.
Like my breath is gone
caught short
unexpectedly
a hit from behind
and I'm flat on my face
with my nose in the dirt
figuratively speaking
but numb, out of sorts
adrift

Open Bible Church

Today I punched in the address of another church into my GPS unit, SeanSean, this time on the far side of Baltimore. Down 95, the roadside looks like a forest exploding. Then heading further toward the harbor, the forest is gone, replaced by concrete, bricks and asphalt, the concrete crumbling and the metal girders on the overpasses bubbled and wasting from moisture. The humid summers and the wet, frigid winters are rough on much of the materials of building. The bricks and rock hold up well, but the other materials of modern life buckle, crack, rust and crumble, so that the area I'm driving through looks run-down and neglected. On my GPS unit, the roads in that area are a tangle that I cannot make sense of, this highway, that exit, the beltway, the tunnel roads, a glance at the screen and it appears that I'm driving on a single strand of a cable, whose wires twist and turn and head off in all directions.

Hurtling down the road at 62 miles an hour (the speed limit is 55), traffic passes me in all lanes, the grills of big ominous looking cars bearing down in my rear view mirror before suddenly veering off to go around me. Through the long Harbor Tunnel, whose entrance always takes me by surprise as I expect to see the harbor before entry, and then back into sunlight again. The huge cranes are off to my right, indicating the docks where huge ocean-going ships unload their cargo. I can't see the docks, or the ships that should be docked there, but there is in me a longing for all of that. The industry of it all is appealing, and in a strangely working-class way is romantic. Perhaps it is the size of it all. The shipping containers are huge, the cranes are enormous, the ships are giant, and yet are dwarfed by the sea.

This is an industrial area, but I am through it in a flash, and the flat ground seems even flatter. Green and brown flashes of water, rivers of one name or another, with no visible shore, then a wide reed swamp stretching on both sides of the motorway, and before long SeanSean indicates that it is time to leave and a turn here, a turn there and SeanSean tells me I have reached my destination and it is time to “Sing for Scotland.” I look around trying to find a building that might house the church. I am stumped, but decide to drive around to the back of some of the small buildings. A small sign indicates that I have arrived.

It is a lovely old building, with beautiful wide-plank wood floors and nice moldings. Although it's age shows, it has been maintained well, so it is aging gracefully. The church meets in a small room, that perhaps seats 60 or 70 people at best. Pretty white folding chairs and lovely window treatments that are reminiscent of Ralph Lauren Home.

Upon walking in I am immediately greeted. I turn and Sean is there. He seems like a very nice man, but I can't reconcile my memory of the gawky, nerdy teenager with this nice, confident grown man. I would never have recognized him at all.

I don't think there is more than one or two people in the entire church who do not introduce themselves to me in the course of the morning. There are a few incongruities. On the table in the entry is a computer system where people log in their attendance as they arrive, and there is a nice sound system, and a table of sound equipment, though the church seems to have only about 30 people in attendance.

The pastor is, apparently, a counselor of some kind for his primary profession, as his sermon is laced with statements about counseling people and references to his practice. He is also evangelical about home-schooling and his sermon on Ephesians 6, “children obey your parents in the Lord”, “honor your parents” and “Father's do not exasperate your children” is filled with exhortations to home school, for mothers to be stay-at-home moms, and for the Fathers to be in command at home. He speaks of honoring parents as “extolling their virtues” as well as caring for them financially.

All in all it is a strange and difficult place. Everyone is so friendly, something my heart has longed for, but then the sermon is so rigid and goes over the line as far as scripture goes. Scripture doesn't teach home schooling. It doesn't even command women not to work. But this is not the first pastor to speak as if it does.

Bill Gothard makes these kind of sweeping statements and thus goes from someone to whom I could listen to someone I completely tune out. We have to be very clear when teaching or preaching that we don't make our ideas out to be “thus saith the Lord” kind of statements. I may think it is a good idea to wash the dishes after each meal, but it isn't a “Thus saith the Lord” command, so I shouldn't make it one.

Bringing up a child in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord” does not proscribe home schooling or private schooling. I'm not sure I understand where honoring your parents becomes “extolling their virtues”.

But maybe he was talking about his preferences, rather than a scriptural mandate, and I just missed it.

Sean's wife, Jan, rode with me to help me find the Quiznos where we all had lunch. She's a very nice friendly, talkative woman who I like immediately. Sean has four very nice, well-behaved kids who seem to get along. The oldest is heading off to college in a couple of weeks, and the family is both proud and sad. Jan knows another old friend of mine from her college days, so that is another connection.

I'm invited back next week, and I'm torn. The good points: everyone was very friendly, and I enjoyed spending time with Sean and his family. They did preach from scripture, apparently going chapter by chapter, not topically as seems to be the standard for a lot of churches today. The bad points: it's a long drive, and the rabid home-schooling thing. I've got nothing against home-schooling, but it is A way to raise and teach your children, not THE way. I wonder if that is a common theme.

Absolutely overcome by heat while taking the dog out. Is it the heat and humidity or is it hot flashes? I feel and look ill as I wrap an ice filled towel around my neck, trying to get comfortable. Seems to take forever to cool down. Even the dog seems affected. She can't stop panting until given a cold bath.

The damp has my joints aching like crazy. I am forced to take massive doses of ibuprofen to keep moving, which has my stomach on fire. I wonder what the solution is. Lord, please heal me or get me somewhere with a drier climate.

Passing Things

"By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo; the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end... because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was, when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer." Sam to Frodo, "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers"

I thought of that quote as we left Colorado. It wasn't a sudden shock to the sytem, more like a thousand little losses, one after the other. First it was leaving my own bed and my own room, that Steve and the boys had hand plastered for me while I was having my sinus surgery. Then it was leaving my bathroom with the tiles we picked out so carefully and each cabinet, finish and fixture we had spent so much time selecting. Through the house, I said my mental goodbyes. I said my goodbyes to Alex (who was in Tennessee at the time) to Kristen, Paul and Timmy, who were away for the night, to my parents, Dad still sleeping, Mom in her robe, to my yellow lab, left behind to keep Mom company, then it was to my yard, each plant selected and placed by me, except for the glorious trees which were there when we bought the place, and some weeds which moved in on their own.

Then we were off and I said goodbye to my street, my neighbors safe in their beds, to my neighborhood, and at each turn it seemed there was a goodbye to be said in my heart. It was a goodbye to the familiar, to the restaurants where I eat with friends, to the stores where I purchase plants for my yard, or buy my favorite white blouses, to a thousand memories all tugging gently at the corners of my mind.

It was goodbye to my mountain, etc., etc. On and on and on it went. It wasn't until we pulled out of Limon that I really felt that we were on our way toward something and not just away. Beyond Limon, even though I've driven the road before, it isn't familiar enough to hold tons of memories.

And then I felt adrift. Not comfortably adrift, just strangely without connection to my surroundings and to my life. I am not comfortable anymore. And more than ever, Tolkein rings true. I have a mixed longing for and abhorrence of adventure. Nasty, wet, smelly things, adventures. A safe and somewhat scary dart out into the unfamiliar while knowing the time frame for hitting the familiar again? FUN. Scary dart into the wide unknown with no plan or timetable for safe return? Far more scary than fun.

As I sit here, gazing at these bare walls, thinking of the art, pictures and mementos left behind, I am wondering what I should make of myself here. And I'm thinking that I never made much of myself before. It's not a whining, self-pitying statement, more a realization of fact. I've lived a small life. I've never lived the life I wanted. I always tried to fit into the place others would have me, and when I dared to try to leave that spot, got slapped down for it. I don't think it was intentional, just what happens if you don't fit the mold. And I've given up far too easily.

How then shall I live? What now shall I do?

8/8/09 Steve's Birthday

Sitting at MVA...on a Saturday.

Walking in, there was an older woman walking out with a dull-looking teen in a backward-facing ball cap, horizontal striped polo shirt and long, loose denim shorts.

"She can't find it, because she never keeps her papers in order." Her thin wrinkled face wore a grim expression, and her husky voice and Baltimore accent reminds me of my mother-in-law.

We wind up sitting in the second row. Within a couple of minutes the grim woman and the dull-looking teen join a woman sitting in front of us, who appears to be the teen's mother. Apparently Maryland requires multiple evidences of your identity before allowing you the privilege of a drivers license, and the two women are griping back and forth about the papers required and what it will take to meet those requirements and not have to return. Or rather the older woman snips and gripes and the younger one occasionally defends herself or tries to get a word in edgewise.

Their discontent and animosity toward each other is making me ill.

From the lines on the older woman's face, it's obvious that she has spent much of her life unhappy and upset. The younger woman keeps her face turned away from her most of the time, and from their manner toward each other it is clear that this is just a new chapter in an old quarrel.

I can't figure out who these people are to each other. This could be mother-in-law/daughter-in-law or mother/daughter. I don't know which thought makes me sadder. Just having both these women tied to each other in some way is sad enough. It appears that they all live together, as grandma leaves briefly and returns with a copy of her lease to prove the address of the boy.

As I watch them the reason for the boy's expression becomes clear. Remaining disengaged is his way of surviving this constant state of misery. Living in his own world is his way or avoiding his grandmother's wrath and caustic words. It makes me sad to watch what is part of a continuing drama. Even though the players seem accustomed to their parts and their reactions dulled, there is a sad and pained expression on the face of the mother. Her eyes carry a sheen of unshed tears and her face is beginning to set in lines of pain and disappointment.

Watching them I want to reach in with my Jedi mind trick: "You aren't angry at her any more." I whisper toward the old woman, waggling my fingers toward her. "She doesn't bother you," I am at the younger woman. They are not receptive to Jedi mind control.

Then their number is called and they head to the counter, taking their oppressive and depressing mood with them.

New Point of View

The whole trip here to Maryland I had a nagging sense of wrong-ness, that I couldn't put my finger on for quite a while. Then it occurred to me that it was the bit about heading East. "Go West, young man, and grow up with the country." the quote goes. Throughout American history, we struggled to go westward. West from England across the Atlantic, before that West by Northwest, braving Arctic seas from Norway to Greenland and down the Atlantic seaboard, my people came. And while some reached the Atlantic coast and stayed, those compelled to brave the new frontier headed west.

So facing a new adventure, it seems odd to head East. Stranger still to have this adventure land me somewhere that I have already been, but still feels so unfamiliar.

This is the only place I have ever been where I felt lost. Completely lost. I don't know where North is. I don't know where my position is on the planet at any given time. My internal compass is whirling as if placed on top of a strong magnet.

I have no one to go meet for a cup of coffee. No one I can drop in on when I feel the need for a hug or a kind word. My Monday nights are free for football once again, but I do not want them to be free.

So the Israelites longed for Egypt. They forgot, perhaps of making bricks without straw, forgot their cries to God to be released from their bonds of slavery, but instead remembered the familiar. They remembered planting leeks and onions. They remembered where they had gathered their herbs, threshed their grain, gathered with friends for supper, and where they had met to worship their God.

They did not know where they were going. They did not know where they were, just as I have no idea what I am doing here or where I am. They only knew that they followed the cloud.

My illusions of safety are being stripped away. My illusions of comfort in my surroundings are being swept away. I am walking through the desert (metaphorically speaking, of course) and get to drag my friends along only through facebook, email or phone calls, imperfect mediums all.

I have taken my eyes from my Creator for a time and in that time become discontent. I have no cloud visible outside my window telling me that today I stay or today I go, but imagine this...the cloud is ALL you have of God. He speaks, but it is to others who relay His words. Instead, we get to hear from God directly. We have His Spirit living within. I have sometimes envied the Israelites that cloud--that visible reminder of God's presence, never thinking that the cloud was a reminder of God's presence because they could not know Him as you and I can know Him. That indwelling of the Holy Spirit, the communion between God and man is a thing I take for granted and far too lightly, I fear.

I do not know what tomorrow holds. But for today, and this moment, there is a critter or critters in the tree outside my balcony--squirrels perhaps--that are jiggling the leaves and making the branches dance. There is a gentle breeze stirring the top of the pool just across the fence, there is a constant chattering or clicking noise that I think may be insects of some kind, and the forest is barely held back by the encroachments of mankind. The dog is laying peacefully at my feet, and I am once again content. Homesick, but content.

The Road Ahead...

Looking forward. Isn't that what we're supposed to do? Looking to those things that are ahead, I press forward, forgetting those things that are behind. I'm not sure that means I actually forget what is behind. I'll have to look into that. More likely I am to press forward. I don't think we forget people and what they mean to us, but we cannot let that be an anchor that keeps us from moving forward. We take them with us in our hearts (and on our facebook pages) as we move into where we are to be next. We look at the goals ahead, don't keep longing for Egypt. It's easier said than done, my friends.

We are all prone to be longing for the leeks and onions of Egypt that seem so secure. We forget the trials sometimes as we look back and remember the past. When the present has it's own pains and difficulties, we are wanting easier times somewhere, even if it is moving backwards. The future is such a scary thing, full of the unknown. When I take my eyes off God, the future is completely frightening. If I forget his loving hands are holding me, I lose heart.

Each day has it's own fears and worries, trials and disappointments. We NEED to keep our eyes on God. We must. I must! I am faint of heart, weak and tired. I must have the courage, strength and refreshment and energy that God provides. I must relax and let him work through me. I cannot do it on my own.

Today was yet another example. I cannot sing. I cannot control my voice or keep it on pitch, control my tone, or even my breath. Pneumonia has stolen this from me. Yet today, as in the past, I was confident that I could sing, confident that God would provide what was needed. And he did. The songs were all so meaningful to me, all about how we can count on God, how he is our source of strength, that we should bless the Lord at all times, good and bad, his name is to be praised, how he saves us and gives us the ability to stand and that we can surrender to his goodness. Oh, how beautiful it was to sing with my beloved worship team, to my Savior and to share that time with my loved ones at CCR. Kelly, Alyssa, Becky, Jim, Donna, Lisa, Kim, Beth, Nicole, Charlotte, Sandra, Bob, Tim, Russ, Bernie, Markus, Denny, Lori, Ron, Anne...oh, and so many others...what a joy it was to worship with you one last time, to lead you into a blessed sharing of worship for the Savior of our Souls...

What an amazing gift God has given me. To be able to do this is a blessing. To know that God stepped in, gave my voice control, gave me breath, gave me tone, gave me notes to sing and the memory to know the words...what a blessing. To do this with pneumonia is a joy I can't tell you. To know how very wobbly my voice is and how the coughing just takes over and to be able to do this. And yet, I could be confident because I have seen God do this in the past. He has enabled me to sing when I couldn't talk. He has held me up through asthma attacks, migraines, pneumonia, bronchitis and who knows what all. He has done it before and I am confident that he can do it again.

So, let me look ahead, remembering the things in the past, but not dwelling on them or longing for them in a way that steals the present away from me. I could not forget my friends and family. I'd be more likely to pull a fiber from the very fabric of my heart. I rest on these friendships. We have encouraged each other toward good works, toward Godliness, toward righteousness, we have held each other up in good and bad times, rejoiced with each other, wept with each other. Those things are not to be forgotten, but God has new people to be in front of me every day. I pray that I will have opportunities to serve and to talk about how great a thing he has done for me, and to encourage people to follow after God, so that they can have their own stories to tell of God's goodness.

I just installed my TomTom. A voice now tells me where the turns are ahead, tells me when I have gone too far and guides me how to get back to where I am supposed to be. I've already had this, in a spiritual way. God has been telling me for years when to turn, when to speak, when to be silent, when I've gone ahead of him and how to turn around and be in his will...His voice is my guide for the road ahead. His the cloud that tells me when to stay and when to go. His the loving guiding hand that holds me up when I am falling.

I do not have to program my destination, he has already determined that for me. I simply need to listen for his voice on the road ahead of me.