I took piano lessons from first grade up till it just fizzled out sometime during my junior year of high school. My late piano teacher was also my Bible Quizzing coach (and pastor's wife) and she said I could be forgiven for letting piano slide since I was memorizing so many Bible verses.
So I had a rather prolonged break from piano, lasting from around 1994 till the summer of 2016, when I bought Dawson a keyboard so he could start his own lessons. The first song of which I downloaded the sheet music was "Sur le fil" from the "Amelie" soundtrack, which might be the most amazing soundtrack in the known world. Enjoy. As a side note, one of my favorite things to do on this planet is to wander through the Northern arrondissements of Paris where "Amelie" was filmed while listening to the soundtrack, highlighted by a walk through the energetic and colorful Gare du nord. Paris, tu me manque, but I digress...
In case you're wondering... sitting down at a keyboard again, after 22 years, is a bit more complicated than remembering how to ride a bike. I had to Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge and FACE for awhile, but it did eventually come back to me. Now, it's one of the great pleasures in my life, challenging yet rewarding, difficult yet therapeutic. Here are a few of the songs I've managed to record, along with some explanations and apologies. It took me a couple of months to become even partly proficient at that "you've gotta be kidding me, that's fast" section toward the end.
The videos aren't quite embedding correctly, so I'll share the actual links, too.
Video
This next video really shows the top end, as well as the limits, of my piano playing ability. I've never been one who can play a piece perfectly. I guess I just lack the finger dexterity. 90% proficiency is usually the best I can manage. While I simply can't avoid mistakes, I'm at least creative in finding new ones to make each time I play a song, the exact same song, mind you. I also get a bit nervous playing for a camera, which is evident in this video. I'm copying in some advice from a good friend who is both a concert pianist and a travelling ninja. I've had moments in which I've played with the joyful abandon Denise describes below, but certainly never in front of a camera.
"...Another thing I'd say is to just play, worry less about making mistakes :) Hard to do I know. But sometimes if you just go with it, amazing things will happen. Remember, Robert Schumann said "When you play, never mind who listens to you." Beethoven said "to play a wrong note is insignificant. To play without passion is inexcusable." Of course, another interpretation is that "to play a wrong timidly is a mistake. To play a wrong note with authority is an interpretation." :) Don't remember who said that but I like it."
Video
"And now for something completely different." Pop music
It's amazing how much more difficult it is to play pop music than classical music.
I'm slightly hesitant to share this one for several reasons. First of all, it's not great, not at all. I was able to get a few parts down but I could never get the timing right in certain sections, particularly on the bridge. I eventually got tired of working on it, though and wanted to get it recorded so I could move on, which I did, actually throwing the sheet music in the recycling and washing my hands of the song.
Which leads to the other reason this song isn't great to share, it was meant to be a birthday present but it never got delivered to the intended recipient. Just as an interaction with that Intended Recipient prompted me to do some writing on this blog, another brief interaction with said Intended Recipient prompted me to work on this song. It's as if some emotions were working themselves from my heart, through my arms, out my fingers and eventually into the previously mentioned recycling bin.
I made the video, though, so I might as well share it.
Video
The good thing about the above video is that the little bit of singing I actually do in the video resides much more in my vocal sweet spot than the next video I'm going to share. I'm going to share it anyway, though as it's one of my all-time favorite songs, even if it pushes (let's be honest, it exceeds) my vocal range.
The particular arrangement I'm going to play comes from the musical Moulin Rouge but the actual song predates that musical by several decades. I don't know of any other song that captures the aching beauty one experiences while wandering Montmartre late at night. Or maybe in a broader sense, it captures the maddening pleasure of a city that (to paraphrase another old French songwriter) is like a lover who tantalizes you while you're in her presence but forgets your face as soon as you leave. But there I go again, missing Paris...
Maybe it's my voice cracking or the lack of an accordion but my playing of this song won't illicit anything near to the depth of feeling brought out by the original. Nonetheless, I still greatly enjoyed learning this song as it's the first song I've been able to both play and sing.
Also, I apologize if my introducing the song in French comes off as pretentious (is it ever possible to speak French and not come off as pretentious?), but I couldn't resist.
Video
Finally, please allow me to be a braggy dad for a minute. My son is quite the piano player, when I can actually get him to practice. He has a musical ear that I simply don't have. Not only can he play a song by ear after just a few tries, he even composes his own short songs. Of course, that's no surprise, as his biological uncle is a recording artist and his biological grandma is herself a piano teacher. Dawson fights me on piano but he's too talented for me to let him quit when he's this young. As the parents of my above mentioned concert pianist friend would tell her as a child, "no adult regrets being made to learn piano as a child."
Video
Video
Friday, March 30, 2018
Opening Day 2018
There's a buzz in the air, the fountains are flowing blue, the Truman Sports Complex parking is full of tailgaters and hardly anyone in the city is working this afternoon because we're all celebrating the return of our Boys in Blue.
Sad, minor side note: The season couldn't have started much worse, with a 44 degree day bringing a 14-7 loss and news of Salvy going on the 6 week DL.There are two things to get excited about for this upcoming season:
1) I will still get chills when I see the World Championship banner flying in the outfield
2) The team will be so bad this year that I'll be able to find $5 tickets by July
Today is the perfect day to remind everyone of Terence's line in Field of Dreams:
"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."
And if you would rather hear the actual voice of James Earl Jones, rather than just hear it in your head (as I do), then you can click here.
I've heard it said that as men get older, their interest in football wanes and their interest in baseball grows. I don't know whether that's true of all male sports fans, but that's definitely been true of me. I didn't even follow baseball till my first summer in KC, the summer after my sophomore year, when I finally began to understand the everyday enjoyment of the sport which includes the pleasure of having the play-by-play in the background on a beautiful summer evening and how the pop of the ball hitting the catcher's glove on an AM radio is the perfect soundtrack to summer. By the pennant race of 2003, I was being sucked in but I wasn't fully hooked, however till I began to understand the numbers of baseball. I owe my fairly recent appreciation of the nerdy side of baseball to Rany Jazayerli and his no longer active blog, Rany on the Royals. With the exception of the postseason, baseball is a game of consistency and patience while football is a game of short and intense bursts of emotion.
My last year of playing baseball was the summer before the first fall in which I was old enough to play middle school tackle football. I was never coordinated enough to be good at baseball but I was just strong enough to earn a small football scholarship to a small university. I think that I needed to put my horrible little league career behind me before I could fully embrace the sport as an adult fan. To put it another way, I had to make peace with being a sucky baseball player as a kid before I could become a serious baseball fan as an adult.
To reference another idea I've heard but whose source I can't recall, sports exist to create a natural and easy bonding between father and son. Of course, the most likely reason sports exist is for gambling on the outcomes, but I digress... I can certainly attest to that in my own life. I've been able to bond with both my dad and my son over Hawkeye and Royals games. Though more over Hawk games with my dad and more over Royals games with my son, who once told me, "Dad, I was born in KC, you were born in Iowa, so I'm a Royals fan, not a Hawkeye fan." I believe that idea could be expanded however, to include bonding between friends. Some of my best memories and most profound conversations have occurred during game watch parties, pre-game tailgates and (most importantly) road trips to sporting venues across the country. In fact, several years ago, a high school friend sent me a note thanking me for sharing Christ with him during our sophomore year. That conversation happened, naturally, on the drive home from an Iowa basketball game (a miserable loss to Northwestern, if I remember correctly, which I likely do).
With that in mind, I'm going to share some of my favorite Opening Day memories along with my favorite baseball pictures.
2004: Despite having standing room only tickets, the day started and ended perfectly. A group of close friends used my portable grill for tailgating before the game and convinced me to not leave in the 8th inning, when the Royals were down 8-1 to the Sox. A miracle rally, which was capped off by a walk-off homerun, resulted in us jumping around hysterically in the concourse behind the 1st base line. I jumped so hysterically, in fact, that I gave myself a deep bone bruise on my knee, making it hard to bend said knee for about two months. I'd never been so glad to be a Fed Ex driver, rather than a UPS driver, as UPS trucks are sticks and FedEx trucks are automatic.
2009: I was offered an Opening Day ticket by a dear man in the church I was pastoring at the time, for whom I had recently preached his wife's funeral. The day was cold and the Royals were spanked by the Yankees, but it was a wonderful time of helping a dear friend through his grief while not actually mentioning his unmentionably sudden loss. I believe there was a lot of grace passing between us that day.
2014: This Opening Day I decided to embrace what most Parisians could tell just by glancing at me, no matter how hard I tried to mask it by sporting a man purse and scarves, that I'm an unfashionable American who feels most comfortable wearing jeans and a sports t-shirt. This was actually the first day of the two weeks my parents came to visit us and as I was leading them into Saint Chapelle, a fellow KC native saw my shirt and called out, "Go Royals." I'll never forget that one, how the buzz of Opening Day can extend even to another country, at least among American tourists.
The formatting on this blog site is so complicated that I'm not even gonna try to put this in chronological order.
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| "Celebrating" the extra inning, WS clinching win against the Mets in November, 2015 |
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| Celebrating the World Title with hundreds of thousands of other Kansas Citians |
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| Godbrothers at The K |
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| Kids Day at The K, May 2015 |
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| Dad and enjoying a game on Father's Day, 2016 |
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A great night in the Southside of Chicago |
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| Royals at White Sox, June 2016 |
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| Catching a game where the Royals had clinched the WS the previous year. Notice Dawson has on the WS Champs shirt while I decided to stick with the much safer, Hawkeye shirt, as we'd attended a Hawkeye game at Rutgers earlier in the day. |
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| Enjoying the divisional race, June 2017 |
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| A baseball camp with Royals HOFer, Frank White |
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| Hanging with my childhood hero, The Wizard of Oz |
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| Royals at Cardinals, August 2017 |
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| Quite possibly the best weekend ever, June 2012 |
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| Watching the MLB internet stream of the hearbreak that was game 7 of the 14 WS the morning after it actually happened, Busingen, Germany. My yells when Gordon tied it up scared Dawson and I might've cried two tears when Perez fouled out to end the game. |
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| San Francisco, May 2013 with the biggest baseball nerds and one of the best people I know |
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| Royals at Twins, June 2015 |
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| June 2017 |
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| July 14, catching a game during our time between France and Germany |
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| One of my all-time favorite pics |
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| When your close friend of several decades visits from CA, you have to go to The K with him and his boys |
Friday, March 23, 2018
Grief: Round II
Other than occasionally noticing the life-long scar that I assume accompanies the failing of any marriage, I've pretty much grieved my divorce. In fact, I think I did 95% of my grieving while still married as we slowly, agonizingly and reluctantly worked our way through (per my therapist) the "five stages of divorce." While I feel like I've finished my grieving of our 19 years together and the loss of the ideal of "till death do us part," I haven't yet grieved the side-effect of a divorce, being alone. A divorce usually means you'll be spending some time alone, at least from a romantic perspective.
The above statement is not as obvious as you might assume because one doesn't really have to be alone after a divorce. I mean, you could leave your wife for another woman (I didn't) or you could immediately throw yourself into a new relationship (I did that, for awhile, but backed out before it became permanent). It would seem to me, though that a healthy process of healing after a divorce would necessitate a time of aloneness.
I didn't take that route, at least not immediately. A different counselor supported me in that decision, believing that I'd spent the last few years of my marriage basically alone. I can certainly understand that perspective, as I've seen a difference in recovery time between those who, like me, were staring down the barrel of divorce for years and those who had it immediately thrust upon them. That line of reasoning was why I dove straight into the dating pool immediately after The Move Out.
I'm not sure whether to slap a "good" or "bad" label on that decision. Truly, I don't think it's that simple. I gave and received a lot of joy, dished out and was served some heartache and created good memories which now stand alongside some regrets.
As my last dating relationship was ending, I felt an emotion I hadn't felt during the ending of the others, relief. The relief wasn't due to something being wrong with her, but due to my heart's longing for, and my spirit's realization that I'm in need of, aloneness.
This isn't to minimize, however, the other emotion that accompanies aloneness, which is fear. Maybe the season of dating I just came out of was partly motivated by that fear; a fear of being alone can prompt one to continue swiping through Bumble and updating your Match profile. I guess it's time to stop kicking the can down the road and to finally embrace aloneness.
Of course, that brings grief. Massive amounts of grief. Grief I'm no longer trying to cover up with the fun of sharing laughter and drinks with someone new or the emotional rush accompanying an evening that ends with breakfast.
A few months ago, I stumbled across one of the more heart-wrenchingly honest and vulnerably self-disclosing blog posts I've ever read. I almost feel voyeuristic in sharing the blog post, but if it's helped me, I'm sure it's helping others, so here it is - Grief, Forgiveness and Love.
There's a paragraph in this post which I've printed out and have been reading during my evening reflection.
My 40th birthday is exactly three months away. If I do, in fact, have a party, I'll have to face another conspicuous absence, the absence of her. I'm not sure what I'll be doing that evening (it will be a rare rehearsal-free evening) but I'm fairly certain I'll be feeling fine physically, but emotionally, I'll likely feel too old to be single.
As I grieved, during that 30th birthday party, the pain of infertility, the loss of failed adoptions and unsuccessful IVF treatments, while simultaneously observing my friends interacting with their kids, I had zero idea that my soon-to-be-adopted son had been conceived just a few weeks earlier. No idea whatsoever. I also had no idea how a heart which seemed to be missing a part of itself would, (to borrow a phrase from Dr. Seuss) grow three sizes at the sight of his newborn baby boy.
The time for grieving my way through a season of aloneness is long overdue, that I know. I don't know, however how long this season will last. Will it be a month or years? I know I won't be searching for her for awhile; no swiping, profile creating or flirting (okay, maybe some flirting as my natural charm has to find an outlet somehow...). If something happens organically, though, I'm not going to shy away from it.
Neither do I know how or when the "comfort, beauty and dancing" referenced in the above quote will become a reality in my life. I do know, though that the grief will likely gut-punch me anytime I'm reminded of how thisyet unfulfilled longing brings not a lovely forehead to kiss but rather an empty uncertainty. That's the grief which must be faced.
To quote the same friend who signed off my last post:
It does have to be faced. Grief that is. And there is no rule that says it has to be faced perfectly, presently, or passively. There is no timeline or stopwatch. You face it over and over again until it no longer has any power over you. I’m not even sure it ever stops existing. You just learn to live with it and decide it doesn’t define you, or the decisions you make. You are spot on in what you need to do for yourself. Face it. You got this.
I agree. I got this.
The above statement is not as obvious as you might assume because one doesn't really have to be alone after a divorce. I mean, you could leave your wife for another woman (I didn't) or you could immediately throw yourself into a new relationship (I did that, for awhile, but backed out before it became permanent). It would seem to me, though that a healthy process of healing after a divorce would necessitate a time of aloneness.
I didn't take that route, at least not immediately. A different counselor supported me in that decision, believing that I'd spent the last few years of my marriage basically alone. I can certainly understand that perspective, as I've seen a difference in recovery time between those who, like me, were staring down the barrel of divorce for years and those who had it immediately thrust upon them. That line of reasoning was why I dove straight into the dating pool immediately after The Move Out.
I'm not sure whether to slap a "good" or "bad" label on that decision. Truly, I don't think it's that simple. I gave and received a lot of joy, dished out and was served some heartache and created good memories which now stand alongside some regrets.
As my last dating relationship was ending, I felt an emotion I hadn't felt during the ending of the others, relief. The relief wasn't due to something being wrong with her, but due to my heart's longing for, and my spirit's realization that I'm in need of, aloneness.
This isn't to minimize, however, the other emotion that accompanies aloneness, which is fear. Maybe the season of dating I just came out of was partly motivated by that fear; a fear of being alone can prompt one to continue swiping through Bumble and updating your Match profile. I guess it's time to stop kicking the can down the road and to finally embrace aloneness.
Of course, that brings grief. Massive amounts of grief. Grief I'm no longer trying to cover up with the fun of sharing laughter and drinks with someone new or the emotional rush accompanying an evening that ends with breakfast.
A few months ago, I stumbled across one of the more heart-wrenchingly honest and vulnerably self-disclosing blog posts I've ever read. I almost feel voyeuristic in sharing the blog post, but if it's helped me, I'm sure it's helping others, so here it is - Grief, Forgiveness and Love.
There's a paragraph in this post which I've printed out and have been reading during my evening reflection.
GRIEF
To experience grief in all of its awful fullness is human and healthy. To sidestep it, whether through alcohol, travel, social media, shopping, sex, or tattoos, is to cauterize our humanity. It’s best to lean straight into the pain; if we don’t, it will seep like oil through a bed of dead leaves, poisoning life from the ground up. Numbed-out grief leads to anger, anger leads to depression, depression leads to a critical spirit and a lack of peace.
To experience grief in all of its awful fullness is human and healthy. To sidestep it, whether through alcohol, travel, social media, shopping, sex, or tattoos, is to cauterize our humanity. It’s best to lean straight into the pain; if we don’t, it will seep like oil through a bed of dead leaves, poisoning life from the ground up. Numbed-out grief leads to anger, anger leads to depression, depression leads to a critical spirit and a lack of peace.
But grief? We are promised that grief leads to comfort. Beauty. Dancing. I want to be a person who looks my pain in the eye, regardless of what it costs me, and then rest in knowing that there is still goodness ahead — eventually.
I've lived the grief that comes from an unfulfilled desire wrapped in uncertainty. As a matter of fact, it was exactly ten years ago. As I approached my 30th birthday, having recently received a diagnosis of infertility, I was acutely aware of an unfulfilled longing that had all but overtaken my heart, the deep ache to be a dad. I celebrated my 30th birthday in the backyard of our suburban home, surrounded by a large group of friends. What was conspicuously absent, however was the answer to the question of whether that longing would ever be fulfilled. I was only turning 30, but I felt the injustice that eight years of marriage, 30 years of living and a newly discovered bald spot hadn't yet been enough to produce an heir. To put it bluntly, I felt fine physically, but emotionally, I felt too old to not yet be a dad.My 40th birthday is exactly three months away. If I do, in fact, have a party, I'll have to face another conspicuous absence, the absence of her. I'm not sure what I'll be doing that evening (it will be a rare rehearsal-free evening) but I'm fairly certain I'll be feeling fine physically, but emotionally, I'll likely feel too old to be single.
As I grieved, during that 30th birthday party, the pain of infertility, the loss of failed adoptions and unsuccessful IVF treatments, while simultaneously observing my friends interacting with their kids, I had zero idea that my soon-to-be-adopted son had been conceived just a few weeks earlier. No idea whatsoever. I also had no idea how a heart which seemed to be missing a part of itself would, (to borrow a phrase from Dr. Seuss) grow three sizes at the sight of his newborn baby boy.
The time for grieving my way through a season of aloneness is long overdue, that I know. I don't know, however how long this season will last. Will it be a month or years? I know I won't be searching for her for awhile; no swiping, profile creating or flirting (okay, maybe some flirting as my natural charm has to find an outlet somehow...). If something happens organically, though, I'm not going to shy away from it.
Neither do I know how or when the "comfort, beauty and dancing" referenced in the above quote will become a reality in my life. I do know, though that the grief will likely gut-punch me anytime I'm reminded of how this
To quote the same friend who signed off my last post:
It does have to be faced. Grief that is. And there is no rule that says it has to be faced perfectly, presently, or passively. There is no timeline or stopwatch. You face it over and over again until it no longer has any power over you. I’m not even sure it ever stops existing. You just learn to live with it and decide it doesn’t define you, or the decisions you make. You are spot on in what you need to do for yourself. Face it. You got this.
I agree. I got this.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
A Necessary Season
I lost my composure the other day. At Applebees. Embarrassed to be crying in public but never-the-less unable to stop the tears.
It was about two months ago, I was having lunch with a pastor friend and sharing some of the struggles my son was having. The reality that my failed marriage brings pain to the most important person in my life was more than I could handle at that particular moment.
My friend went on to share some of the wounds he's had to deal with as a result of his relationship with his own father. My friend then shared something a counselor shared with him as he and his own son were working through some struggles of their own, "Your son doesn't need a perfect father, just the opportunity to understand you."
Dawson and I have been working on some things; I've been working to build my parenting skills and Dawson has been seeing a play therapist. Our relationship won't be perfect, but neither is it going anywhere. He's my boy, will always be my boy and I'm committed to improving our relationship.
Yet... fear still occasionally sneaks in. Fear that I've done irreparable damage to my son and that our relationship will eventually devolve into something much less than the love-filled ideal I have for the two of us. Fear that he'll feel abandoned by me. Or even worse, that he'll feel compelled to abandon me.
It happened today, while jogging along to a 90's playlist, when the song "Father of Mine" came on my ipod. Fear stabbed me in the heart and I had to fight back a few tears. It was in realizing that I was creating a false scenario in my head that I was able to calm down and not give into the false fear. That's what it was, a false fear manipulating me into a false future scenario in which I don't have a relationship with my son.
Which begged the question; if I can name and overcome the false fear induced by that song, what is there preventing me from naming and overcoming the false fear induced by certain romantic or break-up songs? The false fear that often whispers, and occasionally shouts (like when certain songs come on) that my life isn't really complete if I'm not sharing it with that romantic partner. Or the false fear that every good moment spent without her (whomever she may turn out to be) is a partially wasted moment. Or, in the darker moments, that she and I won't ever actually connect, if she does, in fact, actually exist.
That fear pushed me to start dating immediately, at least I think that was my underlying motivation. Or maybe it was just a desire to feel something good after years of pain and frustration. Probably a combination of both. That rather frantic season of dating certainly had some positives for me, though also some heartache. The most important benefit to come from the string of dates (and there were a lot of them, let's be honest here) was the rebuilding of a confidence nearly strangled to death during the long, painful demise of my marriage. Turns out that voice which continually told me, while the marriage was dying,"You're doomed to be alone. No one will want a divorced man who claims to be Christian. No one will want damaged goods" was completely false. I've been overwhelmed by just how wrong that voice was.
Yet I am actually alone right now. It doesn't feel great, let's be honest again, but it seems to be a necessary season.
Part of this alone time is about realizing that I'm enough as a stand-alone person, by myself, as a single guy. I won't really be able to have a healthy, long-term relationship with a high quality person if I don't, deep down, see myself as "worthy" of being with them. I've seen this doom dating relationships from both sides, in my relatively short dating experience.
While I did write extensively about my rebound relationship (I believe I had to name it for what it really was, in order to peacefully move on from that relationship), I eventually took that post down because it was just too vulnerable. Or maybe the post is still up - kinda depends upon how vulnerable I'm feeling at the moment. I am still rather haunted by one line I wrote in that post, though,
I wrote that she "helped heal my broken heart. N helped me believe again in the possibility of love between two people, even when those people felt betrayed by their first loves."
So I think the last sentence has a lot of validity, to be able to live into an attitude of abundance, that there are various wonderful people out there with whom you could (mostly) happily share your life. The first line, though, doesn't sit well with me six months later. While another person, particularly a romantic partner, can help numb the pain for awhile, no single person can heal your heart. Once the emotions fade, the un-dealt with hurt will resurface and not only will you be back where you started, you might even be in a worse place than before, upon receiving the brutal realization that the other person isn't really going to heal you.
I recently went again to see the therapist who had helped me through a lot of the divorce process, the therapist who stated that our last few difficult years would be eventually understood as "years spent, not years wasted." During our last session, she asked me to consider that just as my pre-divorce fears of God and those I love turning away from me due to divorcing my wife, my current post-divorce fear of always being alone will likely also not be true, though I realize there's no guarantee...
She also shared the two ways someone can enter into a relationship:
1) Coming from a place of strength in which they're okay with themselves and okay with being alone yet they choose to be with the other person or 2) Coming from a place of need, in which they have no choice but to be with the other person because they can't bear the idea of being alone and they need the validation that comes from being in a relationship. She explained that starting a relationship from the second reason is like building a house out of 2x4's that are rotten on the inside. At first, things look fine but eventually the house will collapse in on itself because no other person can really meet that need nor fill that role.
My "unpaid life coach" as I refer to a friend who talks me through every single dating experience and is himself a divorced and remarried Nazarene pastor, actually offering life-coaching services as a second job, has been encouraging me to go with the flow of the opportunities that present themselves because, if nothing else, I'll continue to learn more about myself and what I'm looking for. Per the usual, his advice was solid as I've learned something from every single interaction, even from some of the stand alone dates. The different types of relationships I've had over the past year have acted as another form of counseling, a giant mirror that has reflected back to me both positive and negative aspects of my character. As I continued dating, a switch was eventually flipped in my mind, a breakthrough of sorts, when a new relationship I'd been excited about quickly fizzled out. Thinking I had something, only to painfully realize I didn't have anything, actually caused me to see that I'm okay without it and that I'll be okay until when (or if?) I ever do find that next long term and healthy relationship.
That's not to say, however, that being alone isn't difficult at times.
I'm not quite sure how to balance these two following ideas: the reality that our true identity is found only in Christ (as opposed to a myriad of other ways in which we value our worth) while also coming to realize that some masculine relationship qualities that I feared were lacking in myself are actually fully present. While I'm thankful for the positive things I've discovered about myself, I also want to be able to bring into a relationship the strength that comes from the ability to be alone while still choosing to be with someone.
So in response to my pastor's challenge to consider our Lenten fast; the giving up of one activity so as to better focus upon our relationship with God, I made some commitments for the Lenten season.
Who else found it slightly humorous and almost uncomfortable that Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day fell on the same day this year?
1) I deleted the two dating apps I'd been using so as to avoid creating any future romantic possibilities, nor even the escapist fantasy of doing so. As with any activity that creates a dopamine hit, it took a while to detox, but some peace eventually filled the space vacated by the constant questions of "what about this person" or "who else might be out there, just waiting for the two of us to connect?"
2) I ordered this book to read.
I will say, though that I find it slightly ironic that this book was recommended by someone I met on a dating app... Again, every relationship or interaction is a chance for more growth.
Update: The dress-replacing-the-letter-A gimmick should've tipped me off to the fact that this book was written for single women... oh well, it's still been worth the read so far.
Whenever dating does happen again, (I have no idea how long this current season will last) I'm thinking I need to take less of an Ed Sheeran approach and more of a Florid-Georgia Line attitude, at least in the beginning. There needs to be some time before we progress toward some Taylor Swift.
Finally, here are some wonderful thoughts on dating that a close female friend of mine, whom herself has experience the ups and downs of post-divorce/mid life dating, recently shared with me.
It was about two months ago, I was having lunch with a pastor friend and sharing some of the struggles my son was having. The reality that my failed marriage brings pain to the most important person in my life was more than I could handle at that particular moment.
My friend went on to share some of the wounds he's had to deal with as a result of his relationship with his own father. My friend then shared something a counselor shared with him as he and his own son were working through some struggles of their own, "Your son doesn't need a perfect father, just the opportunity to understand you."
Dawson and I have been working on some things; I've been working to build my parenting skills and Dawson has been seeing a play therapist. Our relationship won't be perfect, but neither is it going anywhere. He's my boy, will always be my boy and I'm committed to improving our relationship.
Yet... fear still occasionally sneaks in. Fear that I've done irreparable damage to my son and that our relationship will eventually devolve into something much less than the love-filled ideal I have for the two of us. Fear that he'll feel abandoned by me. Or even worse, that he'll feel compelled to abandon me.
It happened today, while jogging along to a 90's playlist, when the song "Father of Mine" came on my ipod. Fear stabbed me in the heart and I had to fight back a few tears. It was in realizing that I was creating a false scenario in my head that I was able to calm down and not give into the false fear. That's what it was, a false fear manipulating me into a false future scenario in which I don't have a relationship with my son.
Which begged the question; if I can name and overcome the false fear induced by that song, what is there preventing me from naming and overcoming the false fear induced by certain romantic or break-up songs? The false fear that often whispers, and occasionally shouts (like when certain songs come on) that my life isn't really complete if I'm not sharing it with that romantic partner. Or the false fear that every good moment spent without her (whomever she may turn out to be) is a partially wasted moment. Or, in the darker moments, that she and I won't ever actually connect, if she does, in fact, actually exist.
That fear pushed me to start dating immediately, at least I think that was my underlying motivation. Or maybe it was just a desire to feel something good after years of pain and frustration. Probably a combination of both. That rather frantic season of dating certainly had some positives for me, though also some heartache. The most important benefit to come from the string of dates (and there were a lot of them, let's be honest here) was the rebuilding of a confidence nearly strangled to death during the long, painful demise of my marriage. Turns out that voice which continually told me, while the marriage was dying,"You're doomed to be alone. No one will want a divorced man who claims to be Christian. No one will want damaged goods" was completely false. I've been overwhelmed by just how wrong that voice was.
Yet I am actually alone right now. It doesn't feel great, let's be honest again, but it seems to be a necessary season.
Part of this alone time is about realizing that I'm enough as a stand-alone person, by myself, as a single guy. I won't really be able to have a healthy, long-term relationship with a high quality person if I don't, deep down, see myself as "worthy" of being with them. I've seen this doom dating relationships from both sides, in my relatively short dating experience.
While I did write extensively about my rebound relationship (I believe I had to name it for what it really was, in order to peacefully move on from that relationship), I eventually took that post down because it was just too vulnerable. Or maybe the post is still up - kinda depends upon how vulnerable I'm feeling at the moment. I am still rather haunted by one line I wrote in that post, though,
I wrote that she "helped heal my broken heart. N helped me believe again in the possibility of love between two people, even when those people felt betrayed by their first loves."
So I think the last sentence has a lot of validity, to be able to live into an attitude of abundance, that there are various wonderful people out there with whom you could (mostly) happily share your life. The first line, though, doesn't sit well with me six months later. While another person, particularly a romantic partner, can help numb the pain for awhile, no single person can heal your heart. Once the emotions fade, the un-dealt with hurt will resurface and not only will you be back where you started, you might even be in a worse place than before, upon receiving the brutal realization that the other person isn't really going to heal you.
I recently went again to see the therapist who had helped me through a lot of the divorce process, the therapist who stated that our last few difficult years would be eventually understood as "years spent, not years wasted." During our last session, she asked me to consider that just as my pre-divorce fears of God and those I love turning away from me due to divorcing my wife, my current post-divorce fear of always being alone will likely also not be true, though I realize there's no guarantee...
She also shared the two ways someone can enter into a relationship:
1) Coming from a place of strength in which they're okay with themselves and okay with being alone yet they choose to be with the other person or 2) Coming from a place of need, in which they have no choice but to be with the other person because they can't bear the idea of being alone and they need the validation that comes from being in a relationship. She explained that starting a relationship from the second reason is like building a house out of 2x4's that are rotten on the inside. At first, things look fine but eventually the house will collapse in on itself because no other person can really meet that need nor fill that role.
My "unpaid life coach" as I refer to a friend who talks me through every single dating experience and is himself a divorced and remarried Nazarene pastor, actually offering life-coaching services as a second job, has been encouraging me to go with the flow of the opportunities that present themselves because, if nothing else, I'll continue to learn more about myself and what I'm looking for. Per the usual, his advice was solid as I've learned something from every single interaction, even from some of the stand alone dates. The different types of relationships I've had over the past year have acted as another form of counseling, a giant mirror that has reflected back to me both positive and negative aspects of my character. As I continued dating, a switch was eventually flipped in my mind, a breakthrough of sorts, when a new relationship I'd been excited about quickly fizzled out. Thinking I had something, only to painfully realize I didn't have anything, actually caused me to see that I'm okay without it and that I'll be okay until when (or if?) I ever do find that next long term and healthy relationship.
That's not to say, however, that being alone isn't difficult at times.
I'm not quite sure how to balance these two following ideas: the reality that our true identity is found only in Christ (as opposed to a myriad of other ways in which we value our worth) while also coming to realize that some masculine relationship qualities that I feared were lacking in myself are actually fully present. While I'm thankful for the positive things I've discovered about myself, I also want to be able to bring into a relationship the strength that comes from the ability to be alone while still choosing to be with someone.
So in response to my pastor's challenge to consider our Lenten fast; the giving up of one activity so as to better focus upon our relationship with God, I made some commitments for the Lenten season.
Who else found it slightly humorous and almost uncomfortable that Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day fell on the same day this year?
1) I deleted the two dating apps I'd been using so as to avoid creating any future romantic possibilities, nor even the escapist fantasy of doing so. As with any activity that creates a dopamine hit, it took a while to detox, but some peace eventually filled the space vacated by the constant questions of "what about this person" or "who else might be out there, just waiting for the two of us to connect?"
2) I ordered this book to read.
I will say, though that I find it slightly ironic that this book was recommended by someone I met on a dating app... Again, every relationship or interaction is a chance for more growth.
Update: The dress-replacing-the-letter-A gimmick should've tipped me off to the fact that this book was written for single women... oh well, it's still been worth the read so far.
Whenever dating does happen again, (I have no idea how long this current season will last) I'm thinking I need to take less of an Ed Sheeran approach and more of a Florid-Georgia Line attitude, at least in the beginning. There needs to be some time before we progress toward some Taylor Swift.
Finally, here are some wonderful thoughts on dating that a close female friend of mine, whom herself has experience the ups and downs of post-divorce/mid life dating, recently shared with me.
10 Years Ago
March, 2008. I'd been praying for a way to get involved in the community and for direction regarding the fertility struggles we were having. Both prayers were eventually answered by an audition flyer I found crumpled up on on the pavement of the entrance to the Gardner Walmart. I believe that fateful half-sheet of paper said something like, "Tryouts for Gardner Community Theatre's summer production of 'The Music Man', this Saturday from 12-4 at Gardner-Edgerton High School. Come with a prepared selection or simply sing 'Happy Birthday.'"
Growing up in a river city in Iowa, I'd always liked "The Music Man."
Fun Fact: In addition to "The Music Man," Meredith Wilson also wrote my all-time favorite song.
I thought to myself, "I might have a shot at making the chorus, maybe even an outside shot at being in the quartet." But I wasn't convinced I wanted to do it, so I decided that if I got the lawn mowed in time the next day, I'd drive over to the High School and sing "Happy Birthday" to the directors. Which I ended up doing. Which lead to me being cast as the lead, Harold Hill. Which was a huge surprise to me and likely even to the director.
It's really amazing how your life can be dramatically altered due to simple decisions or seemingly random events. My life, as well as the lives of many other people, were changed for the better thanks to that crumpled-up audition flyer in the Walmart parking lot. Here are a few of the things that came out of that summer of helping Gardner Community Theatre put on a pretty dang good rendition of "The Music Man."
1) Life Long Friends
You can't spend several summers together putting on shows and not become close friends with fellow cast members.
2) The answer to the question that would run through my mind anytime I'd watch a musical, "what would it be like to be the last person out for the curtain call?"
I'll likely never be cast as the lead again, but man was it a thrill to experience it at least once in my life.
3) A marriage and three children
Kinda a long story, but we met two nice young ladies and decided to set them up with two nice young men from our church. All four are married now and two are actually married to each other. I had the privilege of performing their wedding ceremony, complete with tears and a serious foot-in-mouth incident.
4) A Godson
I became (and still am) close friends with the lady who directed "The Music Man." In fact, we just auditioned together for a show this summer. After knowing her for about a year, she asked me to be the Godfather for her son, which included baptizing him.
5) The adoption of my son
The first time I announced the adoption was here, but I've told many other stories about his adoption as well. It was a cast member who called us up in October to announce her niece was pregnant and looking to place the baby in a Christian home. It was the director who convinced us to at least talk with the birth mom. It was a member of the quartet (now a professional singer) who's role as Horton in Spring Hill High School's production of "Seussical the Musical" convinced us that "a person's a person, no matter how small"; which we interpreted as a directive to adopt that yet-to-be-born little boy. Finally, it was another connection through Gardner Community Theatre that linked us to the charity that helped us pay for the adoption.
"All Because of a Flyer in a Walmart Parking Lot"
I believe that might make a great wooden wall plaque like the ones sold in those crafty stores.
I've done a few shows since that magical summer of 2008, some minor roles in larger productions and larger roles in smaller productions. I've never, however been cast in (or even auditioned for) a role in a production as large as Theatre in the Park. To quote my friend Franci (also the mother of my godson, pictured above), "there's something magical about the stage at TITP; something special about performing in the outdoor amphitheater, in front of thousands of people, while the sun is setting behind the hill."
I've experienced that magic many times while sitting on the hill. I can't wait to experience it onstage. Which leads to the pronouncement that I'll be doing exactly that the last two weekends of June, as a cast member of "South Pacific." The role is perfect for me; minimal acting, no dancing and a lot of singing. In fact, I won't even have to change my hairstyle to play the role of a sailor (though I'll have to shave off my very short beard).
We start rehearsals mid-May and it's gonna be an intense five weeks. I'm pumped, though. Who knows what life-changing relationship could form among this particular cast.
Growing up in a river city in Iowa, I'd always liked "The Music Man."
Fun Fact: In addition to "The Music Man," Meredith Wilson also wrote my all-time favorite song.
I thought to myself, "I might have a shot at making the chorus, maybe even an outside shot at being in the quartet." But I wasn't convinced I wanted to do it, so I decided that if I got the lawn mowed in time the next day, I'd drive over to the High School and sing "Happy Birthday" to the directors. Which I ended up doing. Which lead to me being cast as the lead, Harold Hill. Which was a huge surprise to me and likely even to the director.
It's really amazing how your life can be dramatically altered due to simple decisions or seemingly random events. My life, as well as the lives of many other people, were changed for the better thanks to that crumpled-up audition flyer in the Walmart parking lot. Here are a few of the things that came out of that summer of helping Gardner Community Theatre put on a pretty dang good rendition of "The Music Man."
1) Life Long Friends
You can't spend several summers together putting on shows and not become close friends with fellow cast members.
2) The answer to the question that would run through my mind anytime I'd watch a musical, "what would it be like to be the last person out for the curtain call?"
Kinda a long story, but we met two nice young ladies and decided to set them up with two nice young men from our church. All four are married now and two are actually married to each other. I had the privilege of performing their wedding ceremony, complete with tears and a serious foot-in-mouth incident.
4) A GodsonI became (and still am) close friends with the lady who directed "The Music Man." In fact, we just auditioned together for a show this summer. After knowing her for about a year, she asked me to be the Godfather for her son, which included baptizing him.
5) The adoption of my son
The first time I announced the adoption was here, but I've told many other stories about his adoption as well. It was a cast member who called us up in October to announce her niece was pregnant and looking to place the baby in a Christian home. It was the director who convinced us to at least talk with the birth mom. It was a member of the quartet (now a professional singer) who's role as Horton in Spring Hill High School's production of "Seussical the Musical" convinced us that "a person's a person, no matter how small"; which we interpreted as a directive to adopt that yet-to-be-born little boy. Finally, it was another connection through Gardner Community Theatre that linked us to the charity that helped us pay for the adoption.
I believe that might make a great wooden wall plaque like the ones sold in those crafty stores.
I've done a few shows since that magical summer of 2008, some minor roles in larger productions and larger roles in smaller productions. I've never, however been cast in (or even auditioned for) a role in a production as large as Theatre in the Park. To quote my friend Franci (also the mother of my godson, pictured above), "there's something magical about the stage at TITP; something special about performing in the outdoor amphitheater, in front of thousands of people, while the sun is setting behind the hill."
I've experienced that magic many times while sitting on the hill. I can't wait to experience it onstage. Which leads to the pronouncement that I'll be doing exactly that the last two weekends of June, as a cast member of "South Pacific." The role is perfect for me; minimal acting, no dancing and a lot of singing. In fact, I won't even have to change my hairstyle to play the role of a sailor (though I'll have to shave off my very short beard).
We start rehearsals mid-May and it's gonna be an intense five weeks. I'm pumped, though. Who knows what life-changing relationship could form among this particular cast.
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Disciplines for 2018
This post first began writing itself in the far corners of my mind back on Friday, Dec 29th. A pastoral couple, clients of mine, got me into a smaller group meeting with Francis Chan. If you're familiar with Francis Chan's speaking and writing, what I'm about to share won't be surprising, but in the middle of his talk, something lit up inside of me. I became fully aware of just how long I'd been coasting, how atrophied I'd become in allowing our present relationship to be based upon a trust in God's unconditional love (not to downplay that realization, mind you) and a somewhat distant memory of intimacy. It was like a pilot light being lit again in a cold and dark basement; the subtle rush of that woosh and the flicker of the small flame betraying the intensity of the heat about to start emanating from a newly renewed source of power.
Although, to be chronologically accurate, it might be better to describe that afternoon as the final adrenaline kick to a season of renewal that had gotten off to a half-hearted start a few months earlier. Sometime back in November, I started spending about 30 minutes each morning practicing a version of the disciplines laid out in the book, Miracle Morning. Here's a brief overview of that morning routine:
1) 5-15 minutes in silent prayer and meditation. Sitting in meditative pose while repeating breathe prayers; "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner" or "I breath in Your love, I breath out Your peace." A focus on God's living presence, a release of tension and worries or as the author described the practice of mediation, "a vacation from your problems."
2) Five minutes of journaling what I'm thankful for and how God has recently used me to serve the Kingdom. In one of those "coincidences" that seem to happen when I'm actively pursuing God, I heard this sermon on how thankfulness rewires your brain just as I started this new discipline.
3) Five minutes of positive visualization. I have to say, I still struggle with this. Again, maybe a coincidence, but it helped me work through some really tough and volatile sales transactions. Did the visualization bring the positive outcomes into reality? Likely not. I'm certain, though that the visualization allowed me to stay positive during some highly stressful situations.
4) Affirmations. This is the rather cliche-ish, sales-man-y discipline but, again, the positivity is helping rewire the often-prone-to-negativity brain of mine. I've found myself, when wanting to do the opposite of my affirmations, unconsciously reciting them in my mind, which allowed me to do the kind or difficult thing, despite not feeling like doing so, i.e. turning in that final French paper or apologizing to the mother of my son for a snide remark.
The "I'm-no-longer-coasting" and "turn-your-face-toward-the-Father" discipline that was catalyzed by the talk from Francis Chan is the discipline I've been practicing in the evening, about an hour or so before going to bed. Again - stop me if you've heard this before - while feeling that renewed passion inside of me but not yet sure how to direct that passion, I heard another sermon from Greg Boyd about the discipline of the daily review.
I spend 15 minutes each evening reviewing my day, listing out the major events of the day and then writing out my own reaction to those events and my perception of how the Spirit was active in each of them. I'll finish by reading a lectionary passage or two for the upcoming Sunday.
As I write this, it's dawning on me that I'm simply describing a practice of prayer, journaling and Bible reading. Real innovative and profound, I know. Maybe I can make it sound a bit more high-minded by describing it as a version of a daily St. Ignatius Examen. Maybe.
What has me most excited about this, though is how Greg Boyd stated in that sermon that the journaling will provide a historical record of how God's presence has been with me through this current journey. As I wrote about in the shame post, it's been awhile since I've been aware of, or even wanted to be aware of, that Presence.
There's another discipline I've added at the start of the year, too and it's not really something I enjoy - swimming. A buddy in the office, another agent, convinced me to do the sprint portion of the KC Triathlon in May. Running a 5K after 12 miles on a bike shouldn't be too bad and will likely only take about a month's worth of training (or that's what I'm telling myself right now, as I haven't yet started training for that portion of the race) but the swimming might damn near kill me. I've heard drowning is one of the most painful ways to die. While I haven't yet drowned, I have swallowed about half the water in the YMCA lap pool. Thankfully, a lifeguard took pity on me and taught me how to float on my side for a bit, with one arm extended forward, while regaining my breath. I don't care if I finish last but I will make that swim. It's only 500 freakin' meters. In my current state of swimming capacity, however it might as well be 10 miles.
While waiting to find out whether or not I drown, you can get motivated by reading the daily affirmations I tell myself each morning. Or just roll your eyes at the over-the-top positivity, as I'd do were the roles reversed...
Although, to be chronologically accurate, it might be better to describe that afternoon as the final adrenaline kick to a season of renewal that had gotten off to a half-hearted start a few months earlier. Sometime back in November, I started spending about 30 minutes each morning practicing a version of the disciplines laid out in the book, Miracle Morning. Here's a brief overview of that morning routine:
1) 5-15 minutes in silent prayer and meditation. Sitting in meditative pose while repeating breathe prayers; "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner" or "I breath in Your love, I breath out Your peace." A focus on God's living presence, a release of tension and worries or as the author described the practice of mediation, "a vacation from your problems."
2) Five minutes of journaling what I'm thankful for and how God has recently used me to serve the Kingdom. In one of those "coincidences" that seem to happen when I'm actively pursuing God, I heard this sermon on how thankfulness rewires your brain just as I started this new discipline.
3) Five minutes of positive visualization. I have to say, I still struggle with this. Again, maybe a coincidence, but it helped me work through some really tough and volatile sales transactions. Did the visualization bring the positive outcomes into reality? Likely not. I'm certain, though that the visualization allowed me to stay positive during some highly stressful situations.
4) Affirmations. This is the rather cliche-ish, sales-man-y discipline but, again, the positivity is helping rewire the often-prone-to-negativity brain of mine. I've found myself, when wanting to do the opposite of my affirmations, unconsciously reciting them in my mind, which allowed me to do the kind or difficult thing, despite not feeling like doing so, i.e. turning in that final French paper or apologizing to the mother of my son for a snide remark.
The "I'm-no-longer-coasting" and "turn-your-face-toward-the-Father" discipline that was catalyzed by the talk from Francis Chan is the discipline I've been practicing in the evening, about an hour or so before going to bed. Again - stop me if you've heard this before - while feeling that renewed passion inside of me but not yet sure how to direct that passion, I heard another sermon from Greg Boyd about the discipline of the daily review.
I spend 15 minutes each evening reviewing my day, listing out the major events of the day and then writing out my own reaction to those events and my perception of how the Spirit was active in each of them. I'll finish by reading a lectionary passage or two for the upcoming Sunday.
As I write this, it's dawning on me that I'm simply describing a practice of prayer, journaling and Bible reading. Real innovative and profound, I know. Maybe I can make it sound a bit more high-minded by describing it as a version of a daily St. Ignatius Examen. Maybe.
What has me most excited about this, though is how Greg Boyd stated in that sermon that the journaling will provide a historical record of how God's presence has been with me through this current journey. As I wrote about in the shame post, it's been awhile since I've been aware of, or even wanted to be aware of, that Presence.
There's another discipline I've added at the start of the year, too and it's not really something I enjoy - swimming. A buddy in the office, another agent, convinced me to do the sprint portion of the KC Triathlon in May. Running a 5K after 12 miles on a bike shouldn't be too bad and will likely only take about a month's worth of training (or that's what I'm telling myself right now, as I haven't yet started training for that portion of the race) but the swimming might damn near kill me. I've heard drowning is one of the most painful ways to die. While I haven't yet drowned, I have swallowed about half the water in the YMCA lap pool. Thankfully, a lifeguard took pity on me and taught me how to float on my side for a bit, with one arm extended forward, while regaining my breath. I don't care if I finish last but I will make that swim. It's only 500 freakin' meters. In my current state of swimming capacity, however it might as well be 10 miles.
While waiting to find out whether or not I drown, you can get motivated by reading the daily affirmations I tell myself each morning. Or just roll your eyes at the over-the-top positivity, as I'd do were the roles reversed...
Relationships
- I enjoy spending time with God each day, through scripture reading and mediation/prayer
- I enjoy being present, patient and emotionally available for Dawson; parenting through choices and not control
- I enjoy being in a stable, healthy, long-term relationship but for now, I’m okay with being single
- I enjoy being kind to and getting along with my ex-wife
Service
- I enjoy spending time each week serving others by helping at church and spending time with and helping feed the hungry and homeless
Enrichment
- I enjoy playing the piano consistently
- I enjoy reading consistently
- I enjoy improving my French/working on a degree
- I enjoy writing consistently
Fitness
- I enjoy lifting weights twice a week
- I enjoy weighing 193lbs
- I enjoy making good food choices
- I will swim 500 meters
Career/Money
- I enjoy earning enough money for a comfortable living
- I will sell six listings this year
- I will sell 4 million in 2018
- I will develop a rental property base as a source of income
- I enjoy making my daily contacts
- I enjoy spending time with God each day, through scripture reading and mediation/prayer
- I enjoy being present, patient and emotionally available for Dawson; parenting through choices and not control
- I enjoy being in a stable, healthy, long-term relationship but for now, I’m okay with being single
- I enjoy being kind to and getting along with my ex-wife
Service
- I enjoy spending time each week serving others by helping at church and spending time with and helping feed the hungry and homeless
Enrichment
- I enjoy playing the piano consistently
- I enjoy reading consistently
- I enjoy improving my French/working on a degree
- I enjoy writing consistently
Fitness
- I enjoy lifting weights twice a week
- I enjoy weighing 193lbs
- I enjoy making good food choices
- I will swim 500 meters
Career/Money
- I enjoy earning enough money for a comfortable living
- I will sell six listings this year
- I will sell 4 million in 2018
- I will develop a rental property base as a source of income
- I enjoy making my daily contacts
Monday, January 8, 2018
Two Christmases
The holidays have a way of bringing up emotions we thought were buried, or to be even more hopeful, completely gone.
I moved out last December 16th but I had a plan for dealing with Christmas in the new relational state; I hopped a plane and flew to Los Angeles to spend a week with one of my best friends, Michael, who pastors a church in Visalia. If you've never traveled on Christmas, you should know that you can get cheap flights on that day.
Michael and I have been friends since high school. In fact, we were "called" into ministry at the same Iowa District church camp. After attending both college and seminary together, we moved into our respective ministry positions; Michael a staff position that eventually lead to a couple of different lead pastor roles and (well known if you've read this blog) I moved to Gardner to start a new congregation. The answer to the question, "who do I go visit when my life falls apart"? was obvious; it's my good friend, Michael.
It was a great week. Exactly what I needed. We watched bowl games, went to see Rogue One and had some late night conversations. He was okay with me crying a bit as we talked. I also ate so many fresh oranges from a parishioner's orchard that I got a freakin' infection.
The best part, though was spending a couple of days hiking through the Sierra Nevada mountains.
It was a good week of healing and reconnecting.
Christmas Day itself, though was a new tradition for me, I (mostly) spent the day alone. With Dawson with his mom and my family five hours away, I spent the day packing my apartment in preparation for the move I made two days later. I was, though able to make Charles Dickens somewhat proud, by spending a few hours with a group from Free Hot Soup KC bringing food to people living in homeless camps around the city. I found myself wondering the same thing while spending a few hours out in the freezing cold as when watching the scenes in A Christmas Carol, "how do people live outside in this weather?" I really don't understand how they survive. It's also hard to explain how an entire homeless population hides in plain sight, in the middle of the city.
I guess I experienced some new realities these past two Christmases.
I moved out last December 16th but I had a plan for dealing with Christmas in the new relational state; I hopped a plane and flew to Los Angeles to spend a week with one of my best friends, Michael, who pastors a church in Visalia. If you've never traveled on Christmas, you should know that you can get cheap flights on that day.
Michael and I have been friends since high school. In fact, we were "called" into ministry at the same Iowa District church camp. After attending both college and seminary together, we moved into our respective ministry positions; Michael a staff position that eventually lead to a couple of different lead pastor roles and (well known if you've read this blog) I moved to Gardner to start a new congregation. The answer to the question, "who do I go visit when my life falls apart"? was obvious; it's my good friend, Michael.
It was a great week. Exactly what I needed. We watched bowl games, went to see Rogue One and had some late night conversations. He was okay with me crying a bit as we talked. I also ate so many fresh oranges from a parishioner's orchard that I got a freakin' infection.
The best part, though was spending a couple of days hiking through the Sierra Nevada mountains.
It was a good week of healing and reconnecting.
This year, I stayed home, giving me a perfect view of the light snow that fell over KC on Christmas Eve morning. Dawson was with me the evening of the 23rd till the evening of the 24th. We opened presents Christmas Eve morning and then worshiped in the incredible candle light service that Rez Downtown does each year.
All those emotions of the holidays, they came up during that Christmas Eve service. I just kept running my fingers through Dawson's hair as we sang Christmas carols, letting some happy tears roll down my face. I wrote here about the Christmas Eve service I experienced at Jacob's Well, after dropping off Dawson, which helped me reflect upon all the healing that had happened during the past year. I spent that evening doing my regular Christmas Eve tradition of watching the 1954 version of Dickens' A Christmas Carol.
Christmas Day itself, though was a new tradition for me, I (mostly) spent the day alone. With Dawson with his mom and my family five hours away, I spent the day packing my apartment in preparation for the move I made two days later. I was, though able to make Charles Dickens somewhat proud, by spending a few hours with a group from Free Hot Soup KC bringing food to people living in homeless camps around the city. I found myself wondering the same thing while spending a few hours out in the freezing cold as when watching the scenes in A Christmas Carol, "how do people live outside in this weather?" I really don't understand how they survive. It's also hard to explain how an entire homeless population hides in plain sight, in the middle of the city.
I guess I experienced some new realities these past two Christmases.
Monday, December 25, 2017
Redeeming Your Story
We all tell ourselves stories; narratives about why the future is going to look a certain way and reasons for why the past turned out the way it did.
Sometimes our stories take unexpected left turns. Which is why I found myself first fighting back tears, before eventually just letting them flow, while listening to this sermon during last year's Christmas Eve service.
Funny, I re-listened to that sermon later and it felt much less direct than it did that night.
Pastor Tim talked about Jesus stepping into the story-gone-wrong for the people of Israel and how that act of Incarnation 2,000 years ago is still allowing Jesus to step into, and redeem, our broken stories. I found myself in some serious need of redemption last Christmas Eve.
The following will be a brief summary of how I've found some of that redemption.
One way is in reshaping the narrative I tell about myself. For years, I saw myself as The Good Kid. The one who could perform and follow the rules, even when no one else could. If I wanted to keep my scholarship, keep my ordination, keep my social standing, keep my.... I had to follow the rules. And I was good at it. Mostly...
During the above mentioned Christmas Eve service, I sat next to someone I'd been friends with since high school, attended seminary with her husband and served with in starting a "New Married" Sunday School class way back in the day.
During a college reunion in 2005, she joked to the rest of the group that, back during our church camp days, Donnie (i.e. The Good Kid) was always the only one who, unlike everyone else, didn't have a bunch of sins to confess. Yep, that was me, The Good Kid.
Just as in the other example I'm about to share, she and I talked through that recently because I had to go back and revisit that conversation, over a decade later. While she graciously apologized for making that off-hand comment, the simultaneous pride and shame that her statement birthed in me was all on me, not her.
Ten years previous to that college reunion, exactly ten years to the month, I was sitting in the back of the school bus with a close friend as we were returning home from being the sacrificial lamb to Washington High School's homecoming sacrifice to the football gods (I'll forever be sans a big toenail thanks to the 300 pound lineman I unsuccessfully tried to block during that game). Just like me, this friend grew up in a strong, Christian family. He spent his high school years, however living by a slightly different moral code than did I.
"Donnie, I respect you, man. You're always the one who can be counted on to make the right decision, even when everyone else is going the opposite way."
Yep, that was me, The Good Kid.
Not surprisingly, he and I revisited that conversation. It happened 21 years later, when coming back from a Royals game. I had to be honest about how that conversation had shaped the identity as The Good Kid but how I'd fairly recently arrived at a different identity, how I'd been able to change that narrative.
The new identity (what was actually true all along) and the narrative I'm trying to live by is that I'm just A Kid. No qualifier or adjective, I'm just A Kid.
So much freedom to be found in living into a role rather than living by rules.
Another part of this story, a recent development that I in no way saw coming, is this new role of helping others who are finding themselves in the midst of their own hard left turn (also known as a divorce).
Within an hour of sharing my first blog post via Facebook, I was overwhelmed by people reaching out to me, sharing their own stories and even asking for advice (as if I really have much good advice to give, other than to share my own experience).
The power to help others redeem their own story isn't found in my amazing advice-giving skills, though but in the simple fact that I'm publicly discussing such a difficult topic. Facebook messages, phone conversations, prayers and counselor recommendations are just some of the activities I've recently found myself engaging in.
To quote the friend who sat next to me during the Christmas Eve service, "Donnie, it sounds a lot like ministry."
Or a good friend who pastors in Central California, "Don't waste your pain, Donnie."
Or a good friend who pastors up the coast in Northern California, "Donnie, in speaking with a pastoral voice but with a freedom no practicing pastor actually has, you are living into your calling."
Well, that was a little unexpected, especially when all I wanted to do was write. But I believe that's how God's Incarnation-into-Redemption usually works, it comes as a surprise. A baby? A blog post? Okay... that might be a stretch...
I think though, that it could be understood how I felt like this theme of our story being redeemed came, at least somewhat, full-circle when Pastor Tim preached this sermon on the first Sunday of Advent about our good and generous God who is writing a good and generous story.
And it was no stretch at all to feel like things had come full circle last night, when sitting in the same balcony, next to the same friend and preparing to once again light the Christmas Eve candles. Even though it was just less than 24 hours ago, I can't remember anything about Pastor Tim's sermon. I can, however remember the presence of peace in my heart, the acknowledgement of newly earned wisdom in my brain and the new sense in my spirit of how God truly is redeeming my story.
I gave my friend a hug before leaving and told her it was nice to sit next to her and not cry this Christmas Eve. She agreed.
Sometimes our stories take unexpected left turns. Which is why I found myself first fighting back tears, before eventually just letting them flow, while listening to this sermon during last year's Christmas Eve service.
Funny, I re-listened to that sermon later and it felt much less direct than it did that night.
Pastor Tim talked about Jesus stepping into the story-gone-wrong for the people of Israel and how that act of Incarnation 2,000 years ago is still allowing Jesus to step into, and redeem, our broken stories. I found myself in some serious need of redemption last Christmas Eve.
The following will be a brief summary of how I've found some of that redemption.
One way is in reshaping the narrative I tell about myself. For years, I saw myself as The Good Kid. The one who could perform and follow the rules, even when no one else could. If I wanted to keep my scholarship, keep my ordination, keep my social standing, keep my.... I had to follow the rules. And I was good at it. Mostly...
During the above mentioned Christmas Eve service, I sat next to someone I'd been friends with since high school, attended seminary with her husband and served with in starting a "New Married" Sunday School class way back in the day.
During a college reunion in 2005, she joked to the rest of the group that, back during our church camp days, Donnie (i.e. The Good Kid) was always the only one who, unlike everyone else, didn't have a bunch of sins to confess. Yep, that was me, The Good Kid.
Just as in the other example I'm about to share, she and I talked through that recently because I had to go back and revisit that conversation, over a decade later. While she graciously apologized for making that off-hand comment, the simultaneous pride and shame that her statement birthed in me was all on me, not her.
Ten years previous to that college reunion, exactly ten years to the month, I was sitting in the back of the school bus with a close friend as we were returning home from being the sacrificial lamb to Washington High School's homecoming sacrifice to the football gods (I'll forever be sans a big toenail thanks to the 300 pound lineman I unsuccessfully tried to block during that game). Just like me, this friend grew up in a strong, Christian family. He spent his high school years, however living by a slightly different moral code than did I.
"Donnie, I respect you, man. You're always the one who can be counted on to make the right decision, even when everyone else is going the opposite way."
Yep, that was me, The Good Kid.
Not surprisingly, he and I revisited that conversation. It happened 21 years later, when coming back from a Royals game. I had to be honest about how that conversation had shaped the identity as The Good Kid but how I'd fairly recently arrived at a different identity, how I'd been able to change that narrative.
The new identity (what was actually true all along) and the narrative I'm trying to live by is that I'm just A Kid. No qualifier or adjective, I'm just A Kid.
So much freedom to be found in living into a role rather than living by rules.
Another part of this story, a recent development that I in no way saw coming, is this new role of helping others who are finding themselves in the midst of their own hard left turn (also known as a divorce).
Within an hour of sharing my first blog post via Facebook, I was overwhelmed by people reaching out to me, sharing their own stories and even asking for advice (as if I really have much good advice to give, other than to share my own experience).
The power to help others redeem their own story isn't found in my amazing advice-giving skills, though but in the simple fact that I'm publicly discussing such a difficult topic. Facebook messages, phone conversations, prayers and counselor recommendations are just some of the activities I've recently found myself engaging in.
To quote the friend who sat next to me during the Christmas Eve service, "Donnie, it sounds a lot like ministry."
Or a good friend who pastors in Central California, "Don't waste your pain, Donnie."
Or a good friend who pastors up the coast in Northern California, "Donnie, in speaking with a pastoral voice but with a freedom no practicing pastor actually has, you are living into your calling."
Well, that was a little unexpected, especially when all I wanted to do was write. But I believe that's how God's Incarnation-into-Redemption usually works, it comes as a surprise. A baby? A blog post? Okay... that might be a stretch...
I think though, that it could be understood how I felt like this theme of our story being redeemed came, at least somewhat, full-circle when Pastor Tim preached this sermon on the first Sunday of Advent about our good and generous God who is writing a good and generous story.
And it was no stretch at all to feel like things had come full circle last night, when sitting in the same balcony, next to the same friend and preparing to once again light the Christmas Eve candles. Even though it was just less than 24 hours ago, I can't remember anything about Pastor Tim's sermon. I can, however remember the presence of peace in my heart, the acknowledgement of newly earned wisdom in my brain and the new sense in my spirit of how God truly is redeeming my story.
I gave my friend a hug before leaving and told her it was nice to sit next to her and not cry this Christmas Eve. She agreed.
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