Category: Christianity

Christianity, Communication, Dogs, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Gratitude, Immigration, LGBTQ, Marriage, Politics, Recovery, Spirituality

Foxes and protest marches…

gregoryjoel

Disclaimer: My editor, (Margaret) is out to a late breakfast and a movie with a friend of ours. It’s really hard to edit myself so please excuse any errors. I love you Margaret and your help is greatly appreciated. I love baby…

 

I slept in this morning. It was after nine o’clock when I was finally awakened by Miss Maggie giving me my morning bath. All you pet parents will know what I mean. Please understand that Maggie is half Catahoula and half coyote. She has her “wild” moments and she’s quite the huntress, catching birds in mid-air, and bringing dead rats and possums in the house. Her eyes are different from most dogs I’ve known. You would have to see them to know what I mean, but there’s an alertness and an awareness that’s goes well beyond that of domesticated dogs. I guess that what makes our bond so special. Our other two, Jameson and Sadie, favor Margaret, but Maggie is all mine…

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The porch was unbelievably pleasant this morning even though the sun had been up for a while. I sat with my wife for a while and got to speak to our kid before she left. I was curious as to why she was up so early. Classes are out for the summer and I know she was binge-watching Jurassic Park movies with friends last night. The only reason I was up early on Saturdays when I was twenty-seven was because I had kids by then.

 

I was extremely pleased when she told me she was off to the Families Should Stay Together march in downtown Fort Worth, protesting the insane, inhumane, and immoral immigration policies of Mr. Trump and his cronies. I’d love to be there, but I’m still tethered to my little IV buddy (only until Monday!) and can’t be in the heat. Margaret wanted to go as well. Even though she’s far more conservative than I am, she’s a mom and she’s outraged that families are torn apart. We asked Gael to please raise her voice a little louder and represent us as well.

 

Our daughter has officially `come out’ as transgender. Since she posted it on Facebook I don’t have a problem with saying it (or writing it) aloud. I’m not sure what all that means. She has asked us to refer to her in the third person. As a writer I have some difficulty with that. It’s just not proper English. However, out of respect for her I’ll refer to her in the third person for the duration of this post. I’m not sure how I feel about that if I’m honest with you and with her. It doesn’t make a difference though as I love our kid no matter how `they’ identify.

 

It’s taken me a long journey to reach that point. I was raised in a very conservative religious background, so I carried a lot of baggage into adulthood. Like everything else in life, it requires a lot of conversations, a lot of prayer, and a lot of meditation. I still don’t have all the answers, but I refuse to preach drivel when I know that all of us are God’s kids. If I’m wrong, and I don’t believe I am, God accepts us where and for who we are regardless of labels and identification.

 

I must admit that I don’t often understand all the labels. I know it’s important for people who have lived with discrimination and, often hate, to come out and let everyone know that they’re one of God’s kids just like everyone else. Growing up as a socially awkward introvert, I know what it’s like to bully to fit in with the crowd and be bullied because someone is different. I’m thankful that as time goes on, we’ve become more tolerant and less judgmental as a people. We still have a long way to go. I’m grateful for those who take a stand for dignity, equality, and what is right. I’m proud of who `they’ are.

 

When Margaret and I married five-and-a-half years ago, we decided that we had no `step’ kids. They were all our children, even if they were grown. So, when Gael asked if `they’ could move in with us, so `they’ could go back to college, we invited `them’ home, and this is `their’ home.  I emphasize that because we are known to have our occasional conflicts and frustrations. The reason has more to do with the fact that she’s so much like me than anything else. Even though I didn’t come to know her until she was a young adult, she’s like me in so many ways. She’s as passionate about loving others, social equality, and injustice as I am. It’s not surprising that we but heads from time to time…

 

So, that being said, `they’ probably don’t have a clue how special this morning was to me. I’m proud that `they’ are marching today, and a heartfelt thank you out to `them’. More than that, it was when `they’ were leaving this morning, Gael went in a brought me out a cup of coffee. I know that sounds incredibly trivial and unimportant. It’s what `they’ brought in that was super special.

 

When Gael moved in, `they’ had a coffee mug that was singled out as one we couldn’t use. It was `their’ `fox’ mug and had special meaning for her. We’ve always respected `their’ wishes and we’ve never drank from it before. When Gael brought my coffee, guess what it was in! I wouldn’t have been surprised if we were short on coffee mugs, but the dishes are done and there’s no shortage in our house, believe me. I don’t know whether it was intentional or not, but Margaret tells me it’s a big deal. Heck, I was just thankful `they’ brought me a cup of coffee. I didn’t know I was getting so much more.

 

So, Gael, I’m sure it’s hot and uncomfortable downtown this morning, but thank you for being there and for simply being you. I’m proud of you and want you to know I love and appreciate you – even when I’m a stubborn old fart…

Christianity, Emotional Health, Faith, Freelancing, Gratitude, Marriage, Service Organizations, Simplicity, Uncategorized, Work, Writing

Passion…

gregoryjoel

I had an early morning doctor appointment this morning, so my time on the porch was brief. By the time I got home the porch was getting a bit warm. According to the meteorologist on last night’s news, it looks like the upper nineties and triple digit heat will be here for a while. That leaves a smaller window for enjoying the porch (in comfort, at least).

I read a brief article this morning about how finding one’s passion isn’t always the best advice when it comes to employment. It seems it tends to create a certain degree of tunnel vision that may not allow one to see other possibilities and limit human growth. I’m not sure why, but that’s been bothering me all morning.

My wife and I have this conversation from time to time. One of my sons is an artist. He comes complete with all the personality one might expect when one thinks of an artist. He’s incredibly bright and, has what he calls, an extreme case of Adult ADD. He started drawing on the walls when he was a toddler and hasn’t stopped since. Many of his personal and collaborative murals can be found throughout Fort Worth

Jeremy is one of the ‘up and comers’ in the art scene. He’s curated several shows and exhibited in other cities. His gallery opening at Fort Works Art was a huge success. Last week he made the cover of Fort Worth Weekly, our weekly magazine and the headline said, “Inside Jeremy Joel’s Brain”. I must admit that the idea scared me a bit. After all, I’m his father and anyone with kids knows, eccentricities aren’t always pleasant to deal with. Still, I’m unbelievably proud of him, though I’ll be the first to tell you I’m not very objective.

I’m proud of all our kids and I don’t want any of them to think I’m singling out Jeremy for praise. I never wanted to stifle any of my children’s passion. They are all very different, with unique talents, interests, and careers. I mention Jeremy because he struggled with the question of art versus work and passion versus making a living. I haven’t always liked his decisions along the journey, but it appears he’s on track with the thing he loves to do.

I’m always a little jealous of those that seem to find a way to make their passion their living. It wasn’t that way for me. It took me almost fifty years to become passionate in my work.  Today, I ‘get to’ get out of bed, put the coffee on, and spend some time on the porch getting centered in my day. I step into my office where I often share some thoughts with all of you and spend the rest of the day working on writing projects and events that I’m extremely passionate about. I work mostly with non-profit and faith-based organizations. I feel like I make a difference in the world. I wish I’d done it a long time ago.

I’ll be sixty years old in a couple of months. I’ve worked since I was eleven years old. I started as a paper boy and went on to become a gas station attendant (do any of you remember them?), a cook, and a construction worker by the time I was ready to start my ‘career’. I won’t bore you with all the details, except to say that when I got to college (I went on the ten-year plan), all I wanted to become was a college professor or teacher. I tell you this because that was my passion, and that’s not what I followed…

I decided that pleasing my father was more important than doing what I loved. You see, my parents lived through the Great Depression. That experience shaped the way they viewed work. My Dad was fortunate enough to land a job with the railroad when he was seventeen. A railroad job was coveted employment back in the forties. Except for the months he was drafted, he worked his way up through the ranks and continued there until he took early retirement at fifty-seven, with forty years of service. That my friends, was the job he wanted for me.

That wasn’t the case for me. My parents lived back here in Fort Worth and would call me in Colorado every week (we still used landlines and got charged for long distance calls – I know! Crazy, right?). My Dad would ask about school and then ask me if “I was still going to teach or was I going to get a job”. He would often remind me that “those who do, work and those who can’t, teach”. I certainly didn’t agree with him, but I chose to please him rather than continue with teaching. It wasn’t long before I found myself a single father and had felt like I had no choice but to follow my father’s advice. I went on to work for various companies and, while I was good at my work, always regretted not pursuing my passion for teaching.

I guess that’s why I’m a little bit jealous of Jeremy. I wish I had followed my passion. I’ve heard it said that “do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life”. I’ve found that to be true over the last few years. So, when Margaret and I have these conversations I tend to lean on the side of passion. She tends to lean towards the ‘do whatever you have to for your family’. I’d like to think that maybe there’s a balance, but maybe balance is often just ‘the beam I trip on while running between extremes’.

One thing I know for sure is that ‘making a difference’, no matter what I’m doing, has become a core value in my life today. I’m inclined to think that maybe work, no matter what it is, should be a way of ‘making a difference’. Maybe if that’s the passion, we can all find jobs we love. Just a thought…

Christianity, Emotional Health, Faith, Gratitude, Hope, Letting Go, Politics, Prayer, Recovery, Simplicity, Spirituality, Trust, Uncategorized, Writing

The only thing we have to fear…

gregoryjoel

It’s a gorgeous summer morning here on the porch today; a light southerly breeze moves the still cool morning air, reminding me not to think ahead to the afternoon heat. It’s almost the end of June and moments like these become fewer and farther between as the summer progresses.

I ran into an old friend last night that I don’t usually get to see except on Facebook and our annual breakfast on New Year’s Day. We talked for a bit and caught up on personal happenings and the conversation slowly moved to the current state of affairs. We share some of the same political views, most of which concern our incredulity that people could support a man like Donald Trump. Rumor has it that Mr. Trump keeps a copy of Hitler’s, Mein Kampf on his nightstand. I don’t know whether it’s true or not, but it makes sense…

I’ve learned that putting myself in other people’s shoes helps me to understand them better. When I gain a degree of understanding, I find I’m a little more empathic and less self-righteous and judgmental (and believe me, I can be that…). My wife has taught me that better than anyone else. She’s blessed to have the gift of empathy. She often helps me slow down and begin to see someone else’s circumstance and point of view. It’s helped me be more like the man I want to be.

I guess that’s why I’m not as harsh to those with opposite views anymore. I’ve tried to put myself in their place, to understand why they feel and act (and vote) the way they do. As I’ve grown older it makes more sense. I have moments when I, too, wish for the ‘way things were’. Nostalgia creeps in and the old times seem much better (and simpler), but life goes on. My Dad used to tell me that the only thing consistent about life is change…

The funny thing about nostalgia is that not much of it is true. Reality is always different from my memory. I tend to romanticize the good times, and rationalize, justify, and minimalize the not so good times – especially when they were the result of my decisions. I’ve learned that I’m not unique in that regard. Waxing nostalgic and ignoring reality is a common practice.

I’ve been hearing this phrase repeat itself over and over in my head lately – “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (George Santayana). In recovery rooms they have a similar saying – “When I forget my last high I’m in danger of the next one”. So, I guess I’m not surprised when life seems to cycle over and over. In our collective nostalgia we vote in a Trump just like we voted in a Coolidge and a Hoover.

The good news is that a Roosevelt and a ‘New Deal’ is always on the horizon waiting for me (and us) to accept it. Like Roosevelt said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”. Fear is pervasive in our culture today. Our culture, whether on the right or the left loves to create political, economic, and social fear. It’s no wonder people act the way they do. I do some incredibly dumb things out of fear as well…

The truly ‘Good News’ for me is that most of my fears are unfounded. Common sense tells me not to go around picking up rattlesnakes, but if someone didn’t, there wouldn’t be festivals like the Rattlesnake Round-up in Sweetwater. I’ll still leave that one for others, though.

Today I have faith in a God of my understanding who continually reminds me “Don’t be afraid”, “be still and know that I am God”.  He needs to remind me because I still have my moments. The world can be a scary place, especially if I substitute reality with nostalgia and denial. I know that no matter what happens, God has my back and everything’s going to be okay. That frees me to understand others and to act courageously and love freely. After all, my Rabbi likes to remind me that “perfect love casts out all fear”.

I’m pretty sure the world will go on as it has. History will repeat itself in a continuous, ongoing cycle, and people will long for ‘good old days’ that weren’t all that great. The good news is that it doesn’t have to, but that requires being fearless. I’m so thankful for those that are. I’m thankful that “all I have to fear is fear itself” and that I have freedom to be courageous. Let’s be fearless today…

Beatitudes, Christianity, Emotional Health, Faith, Gratitude, Hope, Immigration, Neighbors, Politics, Poor People's Campaign, Recovery, Relationships, Simplicity, Spirituality, Trust, Uncategorized

Enough

gregoryjoel

“I woke up this morning with my mind set on freedom…” The Justice Choir, Poor People’s Campaign

What a way to start the morning! I woke up early, left my sleeping wife and dogs, and took my coffee to the porch. A little cloud cover and a slight breeze made for an excellent morning to pray and meditate in the cool of the day.

Yesterday was the culmination of the last forty days of the Poor People’s Campaign, A National Call for Moral Revival. Fifty years ago this week, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. led the original Poor People’s Campaign to Washington D.C. I sat and listened to the livestream of the rally in Washington and became incredibly grateful for those that continue to work for justice, peace, and a better life for all people and not a select few.

I have to tell you about a news report about James Comey, the former FBI Director. It seems he was going to Dublin, Ireland on his book tour. Upon arrival he commented to his wife that they should tell the Irish immigration officials they were Canadian. They were ashamed to be Americans in the current world situation. I understand completely. I’m embarrassed by association, but I’m reminded by the Poor Peoples Campaign of the good, decent human beings who strive daily for social and economic equality and justice. They are what I always thought the country of my birth was about.

I’m grateful for the life God has granted me. I’m under no illusions about the advantages of my birth, my family, and even my home, especially when I compare my life to the majority of the world’s population. I live better than most and I know that’s a privilege and a blessing I’ve been given – even when we struggle with health and financial issues. My son, who doesn’t share my spiritual beliefs, asked me once if being poor meant that God thought less of poor folks. It’s a legitimate question. Watch a few minutes of most televangelists and it doesn’t take long to assume that you’re out of God’s favor if you aren’t blessed financially. According to them, you’re just not praying with the right heart. God is a cosmic Santa Claus and he’ll give you everything you ask for if you ask the right way and do the right things. It’s no wonder my son questions such a God! I would, too…

I know that humans have an innate ability to make a mess of things. I know from personal experience that I can be pretty good at creating havoc in my life and the community in general. I know that power, class, and social structures are created by fallible men and I can’t blame a loving Higher Power for their, or my place in the system. However, I am obligated by my relationship with the God of my understanding to speak out against economic and social injustice in the world. I guess that’s why I enjoyed the livestream so much. It touched my spirit and invited me to live and love better.

I’ve known poverty, both in the economic and the spiritual sense. Spiritually, my Higher Power calls me to poverty. In Matthew 5:3, Jesus said, “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and His rule”. The older versions of his sermon call it being “poor in spirit”. I couldn’t get out of the way until I had nowhere else to go. In recovery programs, it’s called ‘hitting bottom’. I was so poor spiritually that I had no way out of my predicament. If there’s anything to the ‘Prosperity Gospel’, it’s that when I finally recognize my spiritual poverty, I begin to experience God’s grace – and everything is grace – and what a prosperous life it is!

Economically, my wife and I have experienced ‘enough’. We live paycheck to paycheck but there’s always ‘enough’.  That’s what poor people ask for when the march in campaigns and hold rallies. That’s what they cry for when they ask for a return to morality – to live in a society of morals and values that don’t exclude them. Men and their institutions would have us believe in scarcity of resources, time, and money. Yet, God’s kingdom, His way of living, says there’s enough for all His kids. When the Poor People’s Campaign calls for a return to some semblance of morality they are saying ‘enough’ – not only is there enough wealth and resources to go around – they’re speaking to the morals and values we claim to hold dear. They are “speaking the truth to power”.

I’m filled with hope when I see people coming together to ask for ‘enough’ – enough food, enough healthcare, enough justice, enough economic and social equality – for everyone. I’m filled with hope when people take time out of their lives to stand together and try to do what’s right. I’m filled with hope that maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny chance that the world my grandchildren inherit will be a little better, that they’ll have ‘enough’.

It’s easy to become jaded when I peruse the news as is my daily habit. Then I read about things like the couple in California who started a Facebook campaign to raise $1500.00 to post bond for immigrant families separated by the injustice of Mr. Trump and his cronies. As of yesterday, NPR reported that they’ve raised nineteen million dollars. It’s the largest fundraiser ever on Facebook. Suddenly, I’m not quite as embarrassed by being from America. I’m reminded of Jesus’ admonition to, “Keep an open house; be generous with your lives”. Sometimes, we get it!

This morning I’m filled with hope. I’m so grateful. It’s such a blessing to have ‘enough’…

Christianity, Faith, Family, Gratitude, Marriage, Neighbors, Prayer, Recovery, Relationships, Simplicity, Trust, Uncategorized, Writing

Going Underground

gregoryjoel

I feel a little bit like Garrison Keillor sending you news from Lake Wobegone when I tell you about the porch, but I don’t think I’ll stop. I enjoy sharing the peace I find there. I hope it’s not too much information, but it’s my porch, my wandering thoughts, and my blog so here goes…

It’s back to being unseasonably warm here on the porch. We were blessed by a decent rain and cooler temperatures for a couple of days, but the heat has returned with a vengeance and it looks like the first full day of summer will top out at 100 degrees. Our dogs run outsider to bark at passers-by and then run back to lay down in front of the air conditioner vents. Even the squirrels seem to have slowed down with the heat…

Despite the warm morning, I sent quite a while with my lovely wife, discussing the comings and goings of the day. She tends to wake up before I do, which is early, and I usually turn on the news whilst going through my morning routine. It provides fodder for our coffee time on the porch, though some mornings we say nothing at all other than ‘good morning’. I never imagined I’d be so comfortable sitting with someone in complete silence, simply enjoying one another’s presence.

I’ve become a voracious reader since I started Thoughts From the Porch. I’ve encountered a fantastic community of other writers who share their thoughts and feelings, and in turn stir my own thinking. For that I’m truly grateful. One of the benefits of growing older is that I can pull books that I’ve already read a couple of times from my home library and re-read them like they are brand new (or almost brand new as I haven’t yet reached that stage of dementia…). One of my favorite writers is Brennan Manning. I’ve mentioned The Ragamuffin Gospel before, but he writes of deep spiritual insights in each of his books. I guess one can never cease writing of the love and grace of the Master…

One of his ideas kept ringing through my head this morning: the idea that perhaps the church should go underground once again. In the early days of Christianity there were no church buildings, only the occasional local synagogue and temples to the various gods worshipped by the Greco-Roman world. Early followers of Christ worshipped in various homes, often starting and ending their days together in prayer and worship. They’d then go about their day, usually along a path that often brought them in conflict with the rest of the culture.

There was something that identified them as ‘different’. I don’t think it was the same pious, self-righteousness that people tend to think of when they think of the ‘church’ today. I think it had more to do with the fact they followed a different Lord than the rest of the Empire. While the Roman Empire declared Caesar to be the ‘Son of God’, these people followed a different king. Their King offered a new commandment, one strange enough to the people around them to identify them as followers of Jesus.

Jesus said, “Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples – when they see the love you have for one another.” (John 14.34-35 The Message). Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t time to ‘go underground’ again, to meet quietly somewhere so that folks don’t identify Jesus followers with a building or a denomination. Rather, Christians would by identified by how they love one another. I kind of take Jesus at His word and that’s how I’d like to be known.

Sharing one’s faith is done by action and not by words. Dad used to tell me that words mean nothing until they’re put into action – “talking the talk instead of walking the walk”. Maybe that’s why churches receive such a bad rap sometimes – words and actions don’t always match up. I’m not sure I want to be identified with them…

Nobody is perfect. I get it. I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and there are more times than not that my words don’t match up to my actions. Just ask my wife, my children or anyone who knows me (thank goodness the grandkids are still young enough to think I am…). I’m just another one of the Rabbi’s disciples and I still have a lot to learn. Maybe it is time to go underground, to become identifiable by how I love one others, instead of being associated with a building or self-righteous, often condemning view of non-Christians. I can’t help but think that it would either invite persecution for being ‘different’ or it would invite conversation about the Good News. I don’t know. Think about it. It’s just a thought…