The Magic Kingdom

This video moved me this morning...

... as a dad, a son, and someone who has "torn a hammy or two" in life.



Thanks to Ben Witherington.

Roll Away Your Stone (the rest of the lyrics)

The more I listen to this song, the more I like it.

The video is below, in the previous post. 

Roll away your stone, I’ll roll away mine
Together we can see what we will find
Don’t leave me alone at this time,
For I'm afraid of what I will discover inside

Cause you told me that I would find a hole,
Within the fragile substance of my soul
And I have filled this void with things unreal,
And all the while my character it steals

Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?
And yet it dominates the things I see

It seems that all my bridges have been burned,
But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works
It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart,
But the welcome I receive with the restart

Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?
And yet it dominates the things I see
Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?
And yet it dominates the things I've seen

Stars hide your fires,
These here are my desires
And I won't give them up to you this time around
And so, I’ll be found with my stake stuck in this ground
Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul

But you, you’ve gone too far this time
You have neither reason nor rhyme
With which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine

Listening to this today...

Thanks to Milton over at Don't Eat Alone.

These lyrics were a needed lift...

it seems that all my bridges have been burned
but you say, 'that's exactly how this grace thing works’
it's not the long walk home that will change this heart
but the welcome I receive with every start


May you be lifted, too.

Monday Morning Music (take 2)

My mom informed me my last clip had been removed for copyright issues. (At least Mom reads my blog, occasionally)

I have had an amazing few months and have obviously struggled to put them into words. For reasons I am not even sure of, I would like to put into words the thoughts, emotions, and experiences and share them here. Time will tell if this happens.

In the meantime, here is another tune that has been in the playlist during this time...

Music for Monday Morning

P: Opened my mail to send you this link. My heart pounds and I tear up when I hear the first few notes of this song,       

almost every time. Looks like I am not alone. Thought it would be a good way to start a Monday...

M: Amazing.  it’s pavlovian, the tears.  I swear this is the song that we will be hearing as we crest the hill to the other side. 

There is Beauty...

"How Children Raise Their Parents"

"Perhaps there is nothing in this world as powerful to break selfishness as is the simple act of looking at our own children. In our love for them we are given a privileged avenue to feel as God feels - to burst in unselfishness, in joy, in delight, and in the desire to let another's life be more real and important than our own"                                                            - Ronald Rolheiser

          

Something Else (Intercession, part 2)

A couple days after posting my last entry (Intercession), I was watching the video of U2 playing "40". I noticed that for this song Adam Clayton and The Edge had switched positions on stage and also switched instruments. Adam played lead guitar and Edge played bass. I found this intriguing and I just couldn't "let it go". As I wondered about this, I vaguely remembered reading something about it. I checked with Wiki and it says that this is their routine.

"During live performances (of "40"), Adam Clayton and The Edge would swap instruments so that Adam played guitar and Edge played bass, and the band members would progressively leave stage, with Bono the first to depart, then Clayton, then Edge, and finally, Larry Mullen, Jr. The crowd would often continue to chant the refrain of "How long...to sing this song?" even after the band had left the stage." -Wikipedia

As I thought about this and reflected on "Intercession", I heard the voice again (or maybe I should say I saw a vision). What I was seeing on video was in some ways similar to what I had witnessed in my friends as they reached out of their struggles to lift up someone else. Had I posted a video illustrating what I had been experiencing without knowing it? (I had initially included a different song (Yahweh) with the post. I switched it to "40" because, well, I felt it gave me the words to pray for my friends. How long?)

Quoting myself from my last post, "I don't know how things like this "work", but it is here that faith happens for me. The fact that people can bear the burdens of others while they are struggling under the weight of their own, engenders a belief in something Bigger and Better, but somehow similar to people, to human beings. It inspires in me, belief in a being whose likeness surrounds me."

Adam and The Edge were playing each others guitar. Adam was "bearing the burden" of The Edge, and vice versa. They were doing the work of each other, with each other. The writer of Galatians said, "Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ (NIV). Theologically, this gets way above my head in a hurry. But in my heart it seems good, and right, and true. I "understand" it in my heart.

The response in me to watching those I love carry the burdens, heartaches, and struggles of others was the encouragement or prompting to have faith in God and a desire to lift them up to Him. It also encouraged me to reach out to them and try to help "bear their burdens". And finally it prompted me to type a blog, post a video, and share this with you. Why? I don't know.

I used to wonder whether these "voices" and "visions" were just me, or coincidence, or something else. Now, at age 41, I am finally beginning to believe, thank God, they are Something Else. I hope this fact somehow helps me (and us, if sharing it with others helps them, or you) to bear our own very real burdens, and also the burdens of others.

Intercession

It has been pretty tough lately for some of our closest friends and for some members of our family. They are all dealing with major concerns of different types. A few are battling life and death issues, and others are fighting things that can seem worse than life and death. I am close enough to  many of these folks to see the depth of the darkness they find themselves in, and to feel the anxiety and fear that come with a future that is so uncertain, but looks so potentially unpleasant. It is quite humbling to feel that my immediate family is "safe" and yet to see loved ones in so much pain of various types. 


However, in the midst of this, a very interesting thing happened this week. One day I "felt" that one of my friends may be in the middle of a crisis and so I gave him a call. My hunch had been correct, and he shared with me some news that would significantly alter his family's immediate, and possibly, distant future. After listening to him and offering him love, encouragement, and friendship, I encouraged him to call anytime to talk or to share concerns. He seemed very grateful, and we are close enough that I fully expected to hear more from him soon after that.


The next day when I picked up my phone after being away from it for a few hours, I was a little surprised to see that he had tried to reach me. He had left a voicemail. I was even more surprised when I listened to it. He had not called to tell me more about his situation. He had not called to ask for help or to get encouragement. He called because he had run into another one of our friends battling "issues" as mentioned above. Even in the midst of (or, perhaps, precisely from) his trouble he could see the pain and anxiety of someone else and wanted to let me know so that I could reach out to them if possible. 


Later, when I was able to return his call and confirm his suspicions that our friends were also in a crisis, he seemed completely focused on them. He and his family were still certainly in the middle of their own storm but he was wiling and able to be consumed with the well being of our mutual friends. I don't know how things like this "work", but it is here that faith happens for me. The fact that people can bear the burdens of others while they are struggling under the weight of their own, engenders a belief in something Bigger and Better, but somehow similar to people, to human beings. It inspires in me, belief in a being whose likeness surrounds me. 


Unfortunately, this doesn't solve the problems for any of these folks, at least not in a way I can see. However the response that somehow now seems natural (to use the term loosely) is to invoke the name of this being and expectantly (if only tentatively) wait for the help, assistance and comfort from him. Help, assistance and comfort are offered by the people I encounter everyday, and many times I have been offering as well. So that is what I find myself doing, and I am told it is called intercessory prayer. Tonight that is all I have, while those I have mentioned may be facing another sleepless night, I am wide awake as well, "on my knees" while at my desk. If you are reading this and are facing the darkness I mentioned, this is a prayer for you. If you are not facing the darkness, feel free to offer your own intercession for some of my friends and family who are or for friends of yours in similar spots.

I consider myself a novice at most types of prayer (all except mealtime grace, to be honest) especially intercession. However I remember learning that the book of Psalms was a collection of hymns, or poems to be prayed or sang. I also remember listening to the first compact disc I ever heard. I remember the conversation with my oldest brother, Scott, as we sat upstairs and listened to U2 War. Scott told me that U2 sang "their" song "40" as the last song at every concert for much of their early career. I close with it tonight and have included a snippet of the New Living Translation of the 40th Psalm. 

 ¹ I waited patiently for the Lord to help me,
      and he turned to me and heard my cry.
 ² He lifted me out of the pit of despair,
      out of the mud and the mire.
   He set my feet on solid ground
      and steadied me as I walked along.
 ³ He has given me a new song to sing,
      a hymn of praise to our God.
   Many will see what he has done and be amazed.
      They will put their trust in the Lord.


For those I love who are struggling tonight, I ask of Him, 
How long?

One, Shining, Moment

I shed a few tears while watching this years Final Four. This came as no surprise. After all, I usually get a bit misty-eyed when they show "One Shining Moment" at the end of the tournament. This year, however, this wasn't the "moment" that brought the lump in my throat. And though my heart was beating faster as Gordon Haywood's last second shot fell off of the front rim taking my hopes for a Butler University (my alma mater) national championship with it, this wasn't the moment that made my heart pound. The moment that got me this year happened in the game I wasn't really very interested in.

After watching Butler beat Michigan State to earn their spot in the championship game, I started doing other things and checking on the Duke-West Virginia game only occasionally. I finally sat down to watch it with full attention about mid-way through the second half. West Virginia was struggling to stay with the Blue Devils, and WVU Coach Bob Huggins appeared frustrated, bordering on angry towards his own team. It was right about this time that one of WVU's best players, Da'Sean Butler, fell to the floor and began writhing in pain. His cries and moans were painful themselves. The trainer, or team physician, came onto the court and tried to assess his player and had little success even getting an idea of the exact nature and location of the injury. It seemed that the pain of the injury and the pain of the realization of its finality with regards to his efforts for WVU, himself, and his coach were almost more than he could bear. He was in agony.

It was at this moment that Coach Huggins strolled over to his player and knelt at his side. His initial attempts to console his player had minimal success. He then knelt over him, nearly laying on him and wrapped his arms around Da'Sean's head and shoulders. Huggins moved his face inches away from his player's and cupped it in his hands. It appeared he began repeating himself over and over to Butler.  As I watched sitting in silence on the couch next to Holly, my heart began pounding, a lump formed in my throat and tears began to roll. I was amazed, but not surprised by what I was seeing. It dawned on me that the only thing that could intervene and bring some relief to the suffering we had witnessed was love. I knew that Coach Huggins was somehow loving this young man in, and through, his suffering, and Holly and I were watching it along with millions of folks across the country. Huggins looked as if his compassion and care for this young man were more than enough to soak up his pain.

After a few moments, Butler was calm enough to be helped up and off of the floor. Huggins appeared transformed. He continued to coach WVU with intensity, but it seemed much more positively focused. Late in the game he called time-out and substituted to get his remaining players an experience they can tell their grandchildren. When his starters came off and hugged each other in an emotional embrace Huggins wrapped them up in an embrace of his own. He was again loving his players through the pain of their defeat, and the realization that their dream, and their time together, was over.

It was clear to me what I had just witnessed, as I think it was to most of the people who saw it. Two days later, it was confirmed by DaSean Butler as he was interviewed by CBS. When asked to describe the on-court exchange, Butler responded,

“Coach demanded my attention, he talked to me, and I was apologizing to him ‘Coach, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you your first national championship.’ I was really genuine about it and I apologized because I wasn’t playing that well and I wanted to let him know I really wanted to get him his first championship. All he said was ‘Don’t worry about it’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘You’re a special kid’ and 'I love you to death' and ‘Don’t let this stop you from doing what you’re doing’ and 'I love you.' He continued to say those things to me and it calmed me down … I’ll remember that moment the rest of my life.”

"He continued to say those things to me and it calmed me down..."

It was One, Shining, Moment.

Everybody.

"TIME OUT, TIME OUT! Change Spots..."

My view of life is changing. Not as fast as I would like it, but it is changing. Just as the moments that reduce me to tears are coming more often (see Undone Again), so are the moments that fill me with joy, wonder, and gratitude. Things that initially seem normal or unremarkable, in an instant can become miraculous, beautiful, and awe inspiring. There are moments, more and more of late, when Life itself comes into focus as beautiful and brilliant, a gift to be savored and cherished, lived with abandon, intensity, and gratitude. A good friend of mine says that in these moments we are "Wide Awake".

Sometimes I get frustrated with myself that I "sleep" so much. How in the world did I get to the place where I walk around this world with anything other than wide-eyed amazement? I am embarrassed that for large stretches of life I have fallen into thinking that I know what's coming, or how things "work". Life becomes ordinary, as if because I know a little biology, chemistry, physics and even less psychology, I can somehow be bored, bothered, or tired of the whole thing. The beauty and complexity of every person around me disappears behind a fog of..., something I cant even describe.  I forget the mystery and miracle that is this life. Worries, frustrations, good things, and the daily routine produce in me something that leads to a loss of clarity, a loss of appreciation for ... everything.

I am even more embarrassed at my inability to stay "wide awake", after I have caught a glimpse of all of this. It seems it is in some way not "up to me" to stay wide awake. "The voice" I have mentioned before is the thing that can awaken me from my sleep. It comes in different forms, at different times. Sometimes it comes to me through music, but it is most clear to me when it comes straight from another person. I heard it again this week.

We have a new ritual at our house. I am not sure who has enjoyed it the most. We all love it. Each night, our boys Clayton (9), Davis (7), and Eli (4) climb into Davis' bed.  Holly and I come up to tell them goodnight and tuck them in or read them a story. Before they settle down into bed we wrestle. All five of us pile on the bed, half "wrestling" and half "tickling". Arms and legs, yells and giggles are everywhere. Holly is especially good at finding the right spot to get each one giggling non-stop.

One might think I hear the voice in the midst of this, and one would be correct. But the voice is loudest and clearest for me at the very moment that Eli has had as much tickling, giggling, piling on, and smashing as he can take. From the bottom of the pile and the top of his lungs comes his southern draw shouting TIME OUT, TIME OUT! The rest of us stop and laugh even harder until we can compose ourselves at which point, Eli says... "Change Spots, Change Places". We then jump back in until the next time when he can't take it anymore, and the beautiful, ridiculous process is repeated. The first time I heard Eli, I knew it was the voice. I knew immediately that I was in the middle of something beautiful, something sacred, something very, very good. The hearts, spirits, and bodies of the five of us tangled, tickling, and laughing is somehow so much more.

This is the life we have been given. These are the days we share. This isn't a trial run. It isn't a dress rehearsal for the real life that is coming sometime. It is life. There is something deeply significant going on here, right in the middle of school work, soccer practice, teeth brushing, dog feeding, Wii playing, errand running, etc. Eli's joyful cry for a timeout, is a call to me. His instructions to change, make me realize I am undergoing more than a change of view, I am undergoing a change of heart.

At times, I try to explain this away as part of a midlife crisis, or a normal progression in the developmental stages of a man. For all I know, it could be the early sign of some disease or mental disorder. I might be going crazy...

But the voice doesn't talk to me this way. The voice leaves no room for embarrassment, no room for frustration, no room for guilt, no room for fear. The voice tells me to continue down this path. I am encouraged to realize that it isn't up to me to change my heart. I take no credit for any change for the better. I haven't been very successful at pressuring, coercing, manipulating, or guilt-tripping my heart to change. The voice of my son, the voice of perfect love, brings about the change. There is no timetable, no deadline, no pressure.

There is a U2 song on their most recent album that plays in my head as I consider all of this. We have listened to it so much that each of the boys sings it from time to time. I don't know exactly what it means but the lyrics and the title make so much more sense to me in the midst of these thoughts. And when my boys sing it, again, I hear the voice.

 I Know I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight.

A change of heart comes slow

It's not a hill, it's a mountain
As you start out the climb
Do you believe me, or are you doubting
We're gonna make it all the way to the light
But I know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight

This is Gene.

For those of you who don't know him, or know about him, Gene is "one of my golf buddies". That is what he says about me when he introduces me to one of his friends, which he does almost every time I go anywhere with him. A. E."Gene" Quest was born in 1914. Yes, He is 95. Gene is amazing in many ways, but mostly for the way he loves life and lives everyday to the fullest.

I can't remember exactly the first time he came into my office (it has to be about ten years ago), and I can't remember exactly when he became a member of our family, but it wasn't long between the two events. Gene and I quickly began a routine of talking every few days, and playing golf one afternoon each week when the weather and my schedule allow. When the weather is not good, we usually grab lunch. Honestly, this routine was mostly the result of his doing.

One day in my office he said he'd call and we'd play golf. He did and we did. I learned early on the Gene will do what he says he will do. I have learned a lot from Gene. He has taught me or reminded me of so many important lessons in life.

Here are just a few:

1. GIVE - Gene has shown me that life is so much better when you give. He gives to others, to me, and to the city. He truly enjoys giving, whether it is one of a hundred trees he (and his family) have planted in a park in Lubbock, or if it is a handshake, a hug, or putting lessons. Gene loves giving candy and gifts to my kids. Re-gifting is perfectly okay with Gene. He has taught me that every time we give a gift we are re-gifting. When he knows I am leaving town for a trip, he gives me a sleeve of golf balls to use if I get to play. If a few days go by without interaction, he calls just to see how Holly, the boys, and I are getting along. Gene reminds me that it is good to give.

2. RECEIVE - Gene believes life is a gift. He has shown me if we receive life as a gift we are so much more ready to receive and enjoy things from others as well. Gene loves to receive anything that is a token of love or friendship. When presented with a gift, a helping hand, an award, or a plate of Holly's chocolate chip cookies, he receives it gracefully and enthusiastically. The enjoyment is visible on his face and in his words and actions. When our friend Stan gives him a ride to Lion's club, he always thanks him and tells me. He consistently brags on the gift and the giver to others. Gene receives so well it makes giving more enjoyable.

3. DANCE - Not only does Gene still golf, he also still dances. He dances at the nightclubs. He dances in the ballroom. He dances anywhere someone is willing to take a dance lesson. Life is good for Gene because he dances at age 95. And, Gene dances at age 95 because LIFE, for him, is good.

4. KEEP GOING - About a year ago, Gene had an emergency surgical procedure to repair a small bowel obstruction. This was possibly related to his pancreatic cancer he had survived a few years earlier. He was in intensive care for a while and then in an extended care facility for a few weeks. Some of us questioned whether these would be Gene's final few days. They weren't. Gene's attitude, his determination, and his looking forward toward the next round of golf, the next dance, and the next morning walk were amazing. His love of life seemingly has a direct link to his motivation to keep going.

5. HOLD ON TO EACH OTHER - When I go somewhere with Gene, he holds onto my arm. Whether we are walking into the house, across a parking lot, or climbing out of a bunker we are frequently arm in arm or hand in hand. While this was at first, a little bit "different" for me, I have grown to expect it and enjoy it. It is not that Gene can't make it on his own. Remember, he dances. He holds on to someone else because life is better this way, a little more secure, a little more manageable, and much more enjoyable. This is as true figuratively in life as it is literally. It is true when walking with Gene, or Holly, or with my boys, and it is true when "walking" with the folks around me everyday. It is true when strolling the smooth places of life, and it is certainly true when climbing out of life's "bunkers". Gene reminds me to hold on to those around me.

6. BE FAITHFUL - As I mentioned at the beginning, if Gene says he will do something, he does it. In this regard he is faithful. But I have grown to understand this comes from something else deep inside him. He is faithful in the sense that he is "full of faith". In 95 years, he has seen more than he can describe, both good and bad, joy and heartache, love and loss. In spite of this or because of this, he lives a life of strong and beautiful dependence. I will never forget the first time we sat down to lunch in the clubhouse at the golf course. He reached both hands across the table and grasped mine (again holding on to each other). His 95 year old hands are an amazing combination of strength and softness. He said these words I have now heard so many times I have them memorized (thankfully), "Our Heavenly Father, we pause to give you thanks, for the MANY, MANY blessings you have provided to the families represented here today. Be with my wife (in heaven), and be with my son and daughter. And now, be with me in ALL that I do and ALL that I say. In Jesus name, Amen."

Hearing Gene say these words as he holds my hands is powerful. I can't help but think that something "happens" when he does this. It makes me wonder if there is another reason to hold on to each other. It feels almost like a kind of faith transfusion. I hope it takes.

Switchfoot Pics

A Day with Davis (and Switchfoot)

Sunday was a great day. Davis and I drove to Abilene, met his cousin Garrett, a freshman at ACU, and went to watch Switchfoot. We arrived early and watched the soundcheck and met the band! After the show we drove back home and arrived just before midnight.

I hope Davis had as much fun as I did. At first I thought a rock concert 2.5 hours away was a great excuse for me to spend the day with Davis. Later, I realized that it probably gave Davis an excuse to spend the day with me. I am the one who listens to music and goes to concerts. He was willing to do what I like to do, just to be with me. I guess it was a great excuse for us to be together.

Anyway, Switchfoot was awesome, and so was Seabird,the opening act. We were sitting so close to the stage that my video doesn't have great sound. I'll post some more photos of our trip and the show, but for now here is a studio version of Davey's favorite Switchfoot song... Hello Hurricane.

For You

After just a couple of posts, I can tell that writing, for me, is difficult. Now that I read what I have written, I am surprised at how what came out isn't exactly what was inside me. I wonder if authors and artists have the same problem. In other words, I wonder if what they produce is what is "inside" them. It might be the case, but I am often amazed by the fact that what they produce is what is "inside" me.

For example, the song below by Snow Patrol, says much of what I feel about the people I have been blessed with in this life. It says it in much the same way I would like to say it. If you are reading this, in Knightstown or Lubbock, Elkhart or Alaska, Bristol or Nashville, Grand Rapids or Cincinnati, Hanover or Jesup, The Dominican Republic or Ransom Canyon, Pennsylvania or Indianapolis, then this is in some way about you and to you. When I hear it, I think of you. "There's not a single doubt, when I can see your faces."

Give Me Strength

I choked back tears today because I can’t begin to say

how much you've shaped this boy, these last ten years or more.

My friends we've seen it all, triumphs to drunken falls

and our bones are broken still, but our hearts are joined until,

time slips its tired hand into our tired hands

we've years 'til that day and so much more to say.

You give the strength to me, a strength I never had,

I was a mess you see, I'd lost the plot so bad,

you dragged me up and out, out of the darkest place,

there's not a single doubt when I can see your faces.

My friends we've seen it all,

when it made no sense at all,

you dare to light my path

and found the beauty in the aftermath.

Let me hold you up like you held me up,

it's too late to never say this,

you must know I've always thought,

You give the strength to me, a strength I never had,

I was a mess you see, I'd lost the plot so bad,

you dragged me up and out, out of the darkest place,

there's not a single doubt when I can see your faces.

You give the strength to me, a strength I never had,

I was a mess you see, I'd lost the plot so bad,

you dragged me up and out, out of the darkest place,

there's not a single doubt when I can see your faces.

When Worlds Collide

Two Worlds

Sometimes it feels like I am living in two different worlds. Actually, much of the time, it feels like I am living in two different worlds. Though they mostly remain separate, these worlds can dance around each other, run parallel, and even be tangled. However, even though they are so close, one can almost make me forget the other is even there. And when I am aware of both, it seems difficult or at times impossible for me to make them join. They can both be felt in the middle of the same conversation, in family function or dysfunction, between friends or enemies, in good times and bad.

It also isn't just me. I hear everyone I know describe these worlds as they describe their lives. The first of these worlds is made of frustrations about unmet deadlines, downed web sites, too much distance (geographical or otherwise) from those we love, and inabilities to say what we really feel. There are obstacles and opportunities in this world, but they can be hard to differentiate. Filling this world are anxieties over appearances, worries about what might be, and feelings of insecurity and shame. This world is at times controlled by or caused by accidents, addictions, and abuse. Sometimes it festers with misunderstandings, diversions, complacency, boredom, to-do lists, financial statements, family conflict and fear, lots and lots of fear. The fact that we can see at least some of these things in the lives of every person we know, and in many of those we don't know, makes it easy to forget that the other world exists.

But the other world does exist. I experience it. We experience it, though less frequently than we would like. This other world is one of honesty, joy, hope, happiness, and forgiveness. It also is the home of truth, justice, love, compassion and grace. It can be touched in social gatherings, small group discussions, dates with my wife, and in counseling sessions. I can see it smack dab in the middle of the other world in an act of hope and compassion in the midst of tragedy and loss. It is the place of peace in the world and peace in each of us. It is the world where life itself and the way it is lived take on significance. We are reminded of it occasionally by a good movie, or an inspiring book. Music can awaken glimpses of it in me at almost any time. It can occupy the same house, office, and relationship that the other world does. It can be at the same time so close and so difficult to grasp. It can simultaneously inspire, challenge, and comfort. It feels like home but at times its ways are so foreign I can't recognize it.

There are some magical moments when those two worlds become one. Sometimes they seem to slowly unite through a conversation with a fearful patient, an unexpected lunch with a friend, or an afternoon of fun with the boys. At other times the two worlds collide violently, as in the tearful, forgiving embrace of Holly after an argument that was too long and too bitter. It can break into the first world in the text message or phone call from a friend that becomes the voice of encouragement and love replacing the one of insecurity and shame. It is the outstretched hand of another human that we grasp when we feel as if the other world is pulling us down. At times, it is the simple presence of a coworker, colleague, spouse or friend in the midst of the other world that tethers me to this one and reminds me that I (and we) are never really alone, in either world.

Unfortunately, I need constant, frequent reminders of this second world. Fortunately, there seems to be a limitless supply of these reminders. It continues to show up in people and ways that amaze me. I wonder if spiritual disciplines have been discovered and shared for thousands of years, because they are ways people have found to remind themselves of this other world. Any activity or relationship that reminds me of this second world, now seems to me to be a spiritual discipline. I have long realized that running, music, and the company of certain people had special importance to me. These things, in various ways, keep me in touch with this other world.

My efforts to unite these two worlds are rarely tied to their connection. In fact, it sometimes seems that the harder I try, the farther apart these worlds become. Frustration, criticism, and guilt are frequently the result. Evidently, "the end" doesn't justify "the means", and equally important, "the means" justify "the end" only if "the means" are the correct means. A dear friend (spiritual guide, counselor) has helped me realize that when those two worlds seem to meet (and even when they don't) I am being "carried". It is a term I don't understand, but a reality that is becoming more difficult to deny.

When I trust that I am being carried, the two worlds seem to move toward each other. When they get close, it frequently makes me try to force the first into the second or vice versa. I realize that my power is at times as limited as my perspective. Finally, I am left with the obvious realization that it isn't up to me to complete the joining of these worlds. If I am being carried, maybe I am being being carried to some place or to someday when the merger of these worlds will be complete. I am beginning to believe that this is in some way what we are asking when we say, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."

Undone Again

The moments in life that reduce me to tears seem to come far more frequently these days. I don't consider that a bad thing. In fact, I am grateful for the ability to feel the weight of this life and of the relationships of which it is composed. This morning was just another example.

The boys had gotten up early again, in order to be dressed and ready for school with as much time as possible to play the Wii. Eli however, had been up "attacking" his brothers well after bedtime last night and was sound asleep on our bed even after I had dressed him, shoes and all. Holly had left for work and Ranger was roaming the house and running from me every time he even thought I was going to put him in his kennel.

As I began my juggling act of herding kids downstairs, brushing Eli's teeth between his cries and chasing the dog, the clock ticked down towards the last minute before it would be too late to stop for breakfast with my boys, a ritual I have grown to love. I could feel my anxiety begin to build and my patience growing thin as one more thing followed one more thing and the boys were more concerned with blaming, whining, and fighting, than with zipping, sitting, getting along with each other, and buckling. I remember only the camel's back breaking, not the straw that broke it. I launched into one of my classic tirades making the ride to McDonald's quite unpleasant for everyone, especially me. Total silence filled the van as we left the house.

The first miracle, though not the one that undid me, happened on the way to McDonald's. I was given the ability, or prompted, to see things differently. An inaudible voice let me know that I was guilty of selfishness, impatience, and of losing my temper just as my boys were. It helped me to see that I wanted my kids hearts more than I wanted their behavior, though my actions had been telling them just the opposite. Even more amazing is the fact that I was given the ability to turn around, in my heart and in my seat and ask for forgiveness and for a chance to start over, to try again. Instead of verbally beating myself up for having verbally beaten them up, I was able to let it go, quite possibly the biggest miracle. Their response was like my own internal one, awkward, but clearly an awareness of a change in direction, almost a hope that things would get better, less heavy, more fun, and relaxed.

Things did get better. Breakfast was filled with laughter and sharing (good times and food). By the time we left McDonald's it was a new day and hundreds of geese flew over as we walked out and climbed into the car. I turned on the CD player and this song came on...

I could feel gratitude, hope and joy welling up inside as we drove to school with the volume turned up. The boys were laughing and head-bobbing to the beat. I thought we were all singing along and I imagined them being as moved by the words as I was. I was thankful for the tearing down of the walls that had held me inside.

Just then, Clayton said something to me, and that is when it happened. I adjusted the rear view mirror to see him in the back seat and caught a glimpse of Davis out of the corner of my eye. Davis was sitting all the way in the back with a look of total happiness. He wasn't singing along as he usually does, but instead had a smile of delight from ear to ear complete with dimples. It took me a moment to realize the source of his happiness. His eyes were fixed on me, or rather, on my reflection in the mirror. It was as if seeing "Dad" having so much fun and being so care free with "the guys" was the best thing he had seen in a while. The look of happiness on his face from seeing me in a moment of laughter and joy instead of anger and frustration was more than I could take.

As I continued to sing and laugh with them, I came undone. I don't know if they noticed the tears that came or not. I would guess that Davis probably did as closely as he was watching. His joy said a few things that hit me, one after the other. Some of them were questions like: If he is that happy when I am joyful with them, how painful is it for him (and his brothers) when I am the other way? How deeply does he (do they) feel my criticism, and likewise, my praise and encouragement? How do I walk the fine line of correcting behavior while protecting and caring for their hearts? However, these questions were accompanied not by anxiety, but rather by a strange sense that I would be carried through this entire process, that things were going to be okay.

Those thoughts quickly gave way to joy, love, hope, and gratitude for second chances, for my boys, for the other people in my life, for the voice that I am beginning to hear again, for music, for moments like this, and for the ability to see, feel, and appreciate them.