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Resolution, Smezalution…

It finally feels like January here in Cowtown. It went from seventy degrees early yesterday afternoon to a wind chill eight degrees by midnight. This morning brought brilliant sunshine, calmer breezes, and crisp, clean cold air. I finally traded the shorts and t-shirts for sweatpants and long-sleeves as I sit here drinking my coffee. I may have to buy new thermals for the expected series of cold fronts coming this week. As it is I’m perfectly contented to look out the window whilst enjoying the delights of central heating…

The New Year is supposed to a time of resolutions. I’ve never been big on them. Most are broken before February. If resolutions are to be made, they should only be made for today. Several years ago, my mentor and friend Jim once suggested (Actually, he told me. I’m not sure he ever “suggested” anything…) that I take a piece of note paper and tape it to my bathroom mirror. The note should ask one simple question: “If you were absolutely positive that today would be your last day on Earth, would you be happy with the way you spent it?”

I followed his instructions. The note was placed on the mirror. I thought of it frequently until I didn’t. I moved several times since that day long ago. The note never survived the moves. It crossed my mind a few times, but I never put it on another mirror.

Sitting here this morning I thought of his “suggestion”. Maybe it’s time to remember that it was more than a suggestion. When Margaret and I bought our home several years ago I told her that the next time I move out of this house it would be in an urn or a pine box. I can’t think of a better place to put that note up again. It won’t get lost in a move…

My life is drastically different from the life I was living when Jim told me to do this. I was new to recovery. Addiction has its ways of hurting everyone I loved and even those I didn’t. It was a constant reminder that I didn’t have to live that way. I needed that constant reminder and I do now even though my addiction is in remission, and I’ve gone on to a life that I never could never have imagined possible.

Life isn’t perfect. It still shows up in ways I’d rather not have to deal with. I’ve learned what real grief is over the last year-and-a-half since my son Jeremy died. I’ve lost close friends. I’ve cried, been irritable (truthfully, I’ve been a real pain in the ass) and withdrawn from people close to me. I’ve often substituted work for the drugs – usually with the same consequences. “The more things change, the more they remain the same…”. Fortunately, they’re only moments now instead of a constant way of life. Jim also reminded me that life is about “progress, not perfection”.

When I get up from here, I’ll take my note to the bathroom. I’ll take a good look and think about how I can spend my day – not my year. I’m going to be more loving to my wife. I’ll spend some time with her. I’m going to pick up the phone and tell my friends and family how much I love and appreciate them. I’m probably going to be irritated that there’s dirty dishes in the kitchen but remember that the dishes are not what’s important. The person that left them there is – imperfections and all.

I’m going to think about Jeremy. I’m also going to remember the gift he left for me – three beautiful, smart, and in my book, perfect grandchildren. I’m going to cry if need be and let someone know I’m hurting. I’m also going to let those grandkids know how much they’re loved.

I’m going to love better and accept that I don’t always do that to the best of my ability. I’m going to find the joy in the little moments that every day brings – that is if I look for them. The glass of a calm river by the farm, the coyotes that visit every morning, the flowers blooming in the winter…

On the way to my Kentucky Home

I’m not going to be so hard on myself. One of the things Opal’s Farm has taught me is that nature has its own time and it’s not mine. I tell that to others all the time. Yet, I’m the first one to forget that when the “To Do” list is staring me in the face.

I’m going to find the joy in the little things that fill my day. I may or may not leave the house today. Joy surrounds me here…

Resolutions don’t quite cut it for me. I’m not sure they work for anybody – at least not those I’ve observed. However, I know that looking at what I can enjoy and do better on January 2nd does work. It’ll work again on January 3rd, on January 4th, and everyday after if I simply remember that simple question – If I was “absolutely positive that today would be my last day on Earth, would I be happy with the way I spent it?”

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Time To Get Busy

This may well be my favorite day of the year. I feel like I can breathe again now that Christmas is over. The period between Thanksgiving and Christmas is always emotionally difficult, mentally demanding, and physically draining. The day after feels relaxing and calm.

The house is quiet except for the drone of the fan (it was eighty-one degrees yesterday and in the sixties this morning) and Mr. Coffee’s gurgling. The Black Rifle coffee my son gave me yesterday is exceptionally tasty. It has an appropriate name, CAF, which I’m told means “Caffeinated As F***”. A little bit of heaven has been brought down to earth…

I’ll head to the rehab facility where I take a twelve-step meeting every Sunday morning. It’s become my Sunday morning church service. Being around other people trying to find recovery is deeply spiritual for me. I don’t know if it helps them, but I go home clean, sober, and grateful for another day God has given me to be of service to my fellows.

My mind wanders this morning. I no longer feel a need to be “on” for everyone. The build-up to Christmas always feels a bit like the proverbial “fake it ‘til you make it”. I don’t want to steal the joy others feel this time of year. I’m quite content to get the decorations down from the attic, but I let the family be responsible for getting the tree decorated and the lights up. One can only do so much…

I appreciate the gift of Jesus more on December 26th than I ever do on the 25th. I’m free to simply “Be”. He made that possible. He “preached the Message of good news to the poor (check), pardoned the prisoners (check), gave sight to the blind (check again), set the burdened and battered free (big check), and announced, “This is God’s year to act” (check, check, check…).

I am the poor, given the wealth of Spirit. I am the freed prisoner. I am the “blind, but now I see” because of His amazing grace. I’ve been burdened and battered by a life that’s not always fair, but I faith it can all be different, but that requires action – helping others and being a disciple.

It’s time to get busy. Grief will still come, life will show up in ways I don’t like, but He’s here. He’s Emmanuel – “God With Us”…

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Murals and Toads…

It’s been busy the last few days. Spring planting is in full swing at the farm. New areas are being plowed and tilled making for a full acre expansion to Opal’s Farm. Meetings, continuing education classes, and discussion groups have filled my evening schedule. It’s all good stuff, mind you, but then the rain came…

Work is great therapy, but eventually the rain comes. It slows me down long enough for my mind to wander into places I’d rather not visit. Unfortunately, I must. It’s part of the grieving process. I only mention it because I got a text today that Jeremy’s mural at Manana Land will be taken down at the first of April. It’s to be replaced by one of Deborah Peoples, a local candidate for Mayor, to encourage folks to vote. A worthy replacement most times – getting out the vote, even in local elections, is a great endeavor – but not so much right now. I simply don’t want to let go.

Jay Wilkinson’s mural of Jeremy at Hop Fusion Brewery is the one I spend the most time visiting. Jay was Jeremy’s long-time friend and art partner. It means more to me a Jay wasted no time in getting the mural done. It was an incredible effort by someone who knew Jeremy well and painted as such. Still, I drive by the one at Manana Land on the way home some days and wave hello to my son. I won’t be able to do that much longer.

I didn’t want to hear that right now. I’ve been a ball of feelings the last couple of weeks. I’m not even sure how to label them as they change so rapidly. Grief is like that. I’d love to define them and to put them into words, but everything seems to fall short – shallow and meaningless.

The other day I was out at the farm. Roman, our Volunteer Coordinator was out there with me. He tilled one last row before he headed on to other obligations. I stayed behind to seed the newly turned soil. About halfway down the row I saw a toad that had been hit on the shoulder (do frogs have shoulders?) and was bleeding. I took him to the side of the bed and put him in a cool shady spot to rest. When it occurred to me that it might be a fatal wound I began to sob uncontrollably – over a dying toad.

It seemed like it the weeping would never end. What was wrong with me? “It’s a damn frog Greg! Get over it. It’s part of farming, right? He didn’t mean to hurt it. It was an accident.”

I don’t when it happened but suddenly, I realized that the tears weren’t only for some old frog. They were for my son. They were for the folks in line at the food bank up the street. They were for all the broken people in a broken world that no one sees nor tries to help.

They were for George Floyd, for Breonna Taylor, for Armaud Aubery, for Tamir Rice, and the list goes on and on and on.

They were for the 500,000 plus people that have died from COVID and the over 81,000 people that died from overdoses in the wear prior to May 2020. The tears were over the families of those lost – the fathers and mothers that lie awake at night, tears rolling down their cheeks, asking God why – why their child, their parent, their brother, or sister.

They were for Sandy Hook, for Columbine, for Parkland and all the schools, places of worship, or public spaces where mass shootings have taken so many.

All of that because of a bleeding Texas Toad…

Sometimes I simply need to let go, to cry it out, and even question the God, the Abba, who loves me more than I can possibly imagine. Why’d you let it get this way? Why, why, why? “My God, why have you forsaken us?

My sobbing eased and the tears began to slow. I slowly gathered myself together and resumed planting. The smell of freshly turned soil filled the air around me. The sun felt a little brighter and warmer. I remembered the days Jeremy came out and worked with me. God, I miss that, but at least I have that memory. My grandkids will soon be out here more when school is out and I get to see Jeremy in them.

My sadness and anger had passed. God didn’t make or let any of this happen. We did. Perhaps that’s where the anger comes from. I’m not doubting God as much as I’m doubting myself and doubting people. People let us all down at some point. That’s what all humans do. No one’s perfect, right?

Then I remember all the people I’ve met along the way that work diligently, often with little or no reward, to make our community a better place. I have faith God will set all things right one day. I dream of the promised “new heaven and new Earth”, but what’s my part today? God can create universes. I’m sure He could straighten this earthly mess out right away, but He invites me to be a part of the solution. He reminds me that we can do this so just do it…

We must use our lives to make the world a better place to live, not just to acquire things. That is what we are put on the earth for. Solitude with God repairs the damage done by the fret and noise and clamour of the world.”

– Dolores Huerta

I looked back on saw that everything had been planted before the forecasted rain for the next day. I felt strong, no longer defeated, and hopeful. My tears washed away the frustration and grief that had been building up inside. Now I had a little more clarity. Vision returned. All of this because of an old toad…

I walked back to where I had laid the toad. He wasn’t there but I could see a place where he’d burrowed into the planting bed. Maybe it wasn’t a fatal wound after all. He may end up scarred like me, but we’d both be out there doing out part at the farm. That’s all we can do…

Photo by Lucas van Oort on Unsplash

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“There are sufficient resources in the world for the needs of everybody, but not enough for the greed of even a significant minority.”- Millard Fuller, The Theology of the Hammer (1994)

God has taught me the true definition of enough. Let us labor together to provide enough for everyone…

Photo by Alexander Schimmeck on Unsplash
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What I’m Grateful for Today…

I had planned to be posting regularly for both myself and Opal’s Farm since I wasn’t at the farm this weekend. Unfortunately, the Texas weather decided I could wait. We, along with about 13,000 other electric customers in our zip code, have been without power for almost two days. The temperature hasn’t been above freezing for the last week and isn’t predicted to be until the coming weekend. It was three degrees when the power went out and hasn’t been above twenty degrees since then.

This probably doesn’t sound like a big deal to people living in more northern climes. However, Texas – statewide – is totally unprepared for this. It simply doesn’t happen here. Not like this anyway. Our power grid is not built for such extreme temperatures. I was doing late winter planting for early Spring veggies two weeks ago. Governor Abbott declared a disaster emergency for all 254 counties! We are not alone in this and my heart breaks for those who are so often overlooked and left behind.

We are fortunate. I got my generator from the farm and ran a couple of space heaters in one room – and most importantly, our coffee pot. Our neighbors have looked out for one another, our animals are safe (we had a three-dog night for the last two nights…), and our tummies are full. Our son, Paul, brought hot meals and coffee from across town (the roads are icy and treacherous) for us and our neighbors. Hardship often brings out the best in communities.

There’s been an unusual camaraderie with complete strangers – people in the same boat sharing stories, telling each other who still has power, and where the find goods in short supply. We’ve been able to charge our cell phones in my truck. I’m amazed by the network of calls that have gone back and forth between friends and family.

Being truly “off grid” has awakened a spirit in our community that we often don’t get to see. It reminds me that humans – God’s kids – aren’t designed for “rugged individualism no matter how hard we try to act like it. It also makes gratitude for the simplest of things shine through. Our prayers over the last few days have been for things like lamps that turn on with the flip of a switch, furnaces that keep the house toasty warm in the dark night, and a hot meal (and not just cold cuts!). We’re usually annoyed when our three large dogs take up so much of the bed at night. Now we offer prayers of thanks for all that body heat!

The power outage also reminded me that I don’t have to depend on the computer to write and reading by candlelight isn’t all that bad. I may not be able to post anything online, but I have lots of pen and paper. That makes writing all that much more enjoyable.

I’m not going to make this long. The power may go out yet again, just as quickly as it came on. We had a brief thirty-minute spurt of electricity yesterday before it flickered out. I just wanted to say I hope and pray everyone is warm and safe on a frigid February day. Pray for each other and thank God for the little things. You never know when you might need them more than ever.