Category: Emotional Health

Activism, Belief, Christianity, Community, Courage, Emotional Health, Faith, Goodness, Grace, Hope, Marginalized, Neighbors, New Year's Day, Practice, Prayer, Quotes, Recovery, Relationships, Responsibility, Service to Others, Simplicity, Spirituality, Truth, What Can I Do

Be an Idealist

gregoryjoel

Happy New Year to you all! I find this a time of reflection on the past year and look forward toward the new one. I haven’t been in the best place emotionally during the holidays since my son passed away four-and-a-half years ago (he was born on Christmas Day), so reflection comes much easier this time of year. If there is anything positive about grief is that it makes reflection more honest.

If I’m honest, 2024 was a difficult year. It really doesn’t apply to the farm – we’re having record year. I have been blessed to have found two good men to be part of our mission and I give all the credit to their independent thinking, hard work, and new ideas. I’ve been able to let go of several work things because I have good people to help me walk this path together. It’s been my personal life that has been difficult. Difficulties seem to be directly tied the growth rates – the more growth that occurs, the greater the degree of difficulty. Actually, come to think of it, it’s not the changes growth brings that bring on the difficulty, but my resistance to the changes.

Most of the time I’m a pretty levelheaded, compassionate, person: at least that’s what people tell me. The Golden Rule has become a guidepost for most of my interactions with people, but I found myself holding folks to a set of unrealistic expectations. Experience has taught me that whenever I place expectations on others, I’m bound to be disappointed.

However, take the expectations away and people will be people. They’ll make decisions that baffle me (the election of the Great Pumpkin) and they certainly won’t change when I want them to. People are unintentionally uncooperative. I don’t get it, but then again, I don’t have to get it. Reality often conflicts with idealism. Maybe that’s the problem – I’m just too idealistic.

If you’re like me, the pendulum swings both ways (balance is the beam I trip on while running between extremes), and suddenly I find myself letting go of idealism and grabbing onto an unflattering picture of reality. That picture is most often accompanied by a sense of self-righteousness, self-absorption, and self-centeredness. I’m blessed to have been given the tools to see this much more quickly and return to the idealism I hated just a moment ago…

Idealism isn’t necessarily negative though. I like being idealistic. It’s not seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, boundless optimism, and being disconnected from reality like I’ve always been told. It’s seeing the world as it is, with all its ugliness and human failures and yet choosing to see the world as it could be. I think that’s what Jesus meant when he said, “unless you become like the little children you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven”.

I can’t count the times I heard “you’ll grow out of your idealism and begin to see how things really are”, “there’s no place for idealism, it just isn’t reality”, or you’re such a Pollyanna”. I have to admit I’ve even used those words myself – usually as a defense for acting in opposition to my deep-seated values about right and wrong. Now I see this anti-idealism sentiment for what it is – a denial that there is indeed a Kingdom of Heaven. Perhaps that’s a part of what Dietrich Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace” and a willingness to carry on as a citizen of the world rather than the Kingdom of God while claiming grace for one’s self.

Jesus instructed His followers to pray for “your (God’s) kingdom come, your will be done on Earth as it is in heaven”. Nowhere did he say I can be a part of the world’s mechanics with all the division, selfishness, and false patriotism. He asked that we bring the Kingdom of God to Earth and what is the Kingdom of God but the ideal state – a place of justice, goodness, compassion, empathy, and love. So, where does that leave me?

I must return to a childlike faith that recognizes all is grace and a dependency on God. When my boys were little, they depended on me as their father for everything. That’s been the goal of my life today. I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering how I’m going to deal with the consequences of the November 5th election. It’s the same way I would act had the outcome been different – trust my Father and act accordingly.

Photo by Luna Lovegood on Pexels.com

In twelve step programs the idea of prayer is limited to praying “only knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.” He makes his will clear – “love God with all your heart, mind, and soul and love your neighbor as yourself.” Seems like pretty simple, childlike instructions to me. It’s not about what other people do (which I can never understand anyway), but about what I do.

I don’t get to choose who I show love and kindness to. Quite frankly, I’m always a bit amazed when simply loving (and acting like it!) someone despite their often “unlovableness” can bring about unexpected results. It also means standing up for those bullied by the world: the marginalized and left behind. It means action.

I’m not sure what 2025 will bring. Many of my friends dread the New Year and the shitstorm that’s likely to come with it, especially after the election results of November 5th. I was angry for a couple of days and probably grieved a couple of more until I figured out it’s just the same way the world and all its powers and principalities have always worked. It doesn’t change a thing for an idealist who will continue to get up, get busy, and do what they did the day before – love God and love others. Everything else will take care of itself, and don’t forget, grow up to be a kid…

“Don’t worry about being effective. Just concentrate on being faithful to the truth.” – Dorothy Day

Common Courtesy, Community, Emotional Health, Family, Grace, Neighbors, Simplicity, Spirituality, What Can I Do

I Missed It!

gregoryjoel

November 13th was World Kindness Day. It obviously fell into the Black Hole of business that has marked the last couple of weeks. Imagine my relief when they said that World Kindness Day is to be celebrated through November 18th. Kindness is always right on time…

What a better way to celebrate the day than to take the counsel of Mr. Rogers (Fres Rogers of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood fame):

“There are three ways to ultimate success:

The first way is to be kind.

The second way is to be kind.

The third way is to be kind.”

– Mr. Fred Rogers

Children, Choices, Consequences, Emotional Health, Family, Generations, Grandchildren, Grief, Recovery, Relationships, Storytelling, Thoughts From the Porch, What Can I Do, Writing

The Way It Was…

gregoryjoel

It’s hard to believe September is already here. Labor Day is the unofficial beginning of Fall so the temperatures here have dropped to the nineties instead of the triple digits and we might even celebrate Labor Day with some rain. I’m hoping but it is Texas after all…

I haven’t written much lately. The heat and oppressive humidity dulled the thinking, and work has taken all the energy I may have. Getting out of sweat-soaked clothes and laying in front of the air conditioning has been norm the last month or so. It’s also the end of our fiscal year at work so evenings are filled with year-end reports and audits. It’s rare to stay awake through the ten pm weather report but that’s okay. The forecast doesn’t change in August. It’s just going to be hot and dry.

My youngest grandkids started school in the middle of last month. Things have changed since I was young. The school year started the day after Labor Day and ended the day before Memorial Day. We didn’t have Monday holidays, so we celebrated them on whatever day of the week they fell on. It seems a bit cruel to send kids back to school while the swimming pools are still open, but I digress…

I have had the privilege of picking my grandkids up from school for a couple of years now. My oldest, Baillie, is working in Alaska, but both of the others are in high school, although they attend different schools. Lucas is close enough to walk to and from Pascal High School where he’s a freshman this year. I get to pick him up on the days he stays late.

Izabella was accepted into the Visual Performing Arts program at I.M. Terrell Academy, which is only two minutes away from the farm. I.M. Terrell was the black high school for many years in Fort Worth when schools were still segregated. Moreover, it’s Ms. Opal Lee’s alma mater. She’s thrilled that Iza is there. It hasn’t hurt Iza that her grandfather works for Terrell’s most famous alumnus.

I’m reminded daily how much I love my grandkids and how much I miss their father. He would (and I’m sure that on another plane he is) be so proud of them. I hope he would be proud of me as well for being there for them. I often wasn’t there for him when he was that age. Addiction has stolen so much from us. It stole both my son’s father and my grandkid’s father. The only difference is that I get the opportunity to make living amends. Jeremy, my son, lost that opportunity on May 29th, 2020.

It’s been four years since he passed. His car still sits in my driveway: another daily reminder that I keep meaning to get to someone else, but still find hard to let go of. Grief has its own timeline. While the daily intensity of the emotion has lessened to a point, there are still days when I retreat by myself to the end of the farm to have a good cry. I don’t feel as overwhelmed as I did in the months after his death, but I still grieve. I know grief’s a process and I’m told by others that have lost children that it doesn’t ever go away. It simply changes.

I have a fellow blogger friend, Mitch, who shares his real memoirs from time to time. I enjoy reading them. I’ve often thought I should share my own stories in some way. Jeremy once told me that he and I should write a book. “Dad, no one would believe that crazy shit”, he’d tell me. Life was certainly not dull, at least outwardly. As my own addiction progressed, life became an extremely dull routine of using, finding ways and means to get more, and repeating the process over and over with greater consequences and self-hatred.

Jeremy and I found a way out and shared that path for several years until he ventured down his own path that included relapsing into active addiction. I stayed on the recovery pathway and prayed that Jeremy would join me once again. He did from time to time but couldn’t seem to stay. I miss him terribly.

I thought that maybe I too, should share some stories – crazy as they may be – in hopes that someone relates and maybe, just maybe, it can make a difference in their journey as I’m sure it will in mine. I still don’t know what to call them. It would be inappropriate to call them my “real memoir” – don’t want to step on anyone’s toes – but they are real and definitely a time of remembering. Maybe writing will ease the grief and make some sense out of the craziness.

Look for them from time to time and pray to keep me honest. One of my favorite lines from a recovery book I read frequently is that “Honesty is the antidote to our diseased thinking”.

Maybe the stories will reflect that…

Children, Choices, Consequences, Emotional Health, Family, Generations, Grandchildren, Grief, Recovery, Relationships, Storytelling, Thoughts From the Porch, What Can I Do, Writing

The Way It Was…

gregoryjoel

It’s hard to believe September is already here. Labor Day is the unofficial beginning of Fall so the temperatures here have dropped to the nineties instead of the triple digits and we might even celebrate Labor Day with some rain. I’m hoping but it is Texas after all…

I haven’t written much lately. The heat and oppressive humidity dulled the thinking, and work has taken all the energy I may have. Getting out of sweat-soaked clothes and laying in front of the air conditioning has been norm the last month or so. It’s also the end of our fiscal year at work so evenings are filled with year-end reports and audits. It’s rare to stay awake through the ten pm weather report but that’s okay. The forecast doesn’t change in August. It’s just going to be hot and dry.

My youngest grandkids started school in the middle of last month. Things have changed since I was young. The school year started the day after Labor Day and ended the day before Memorial Day. We didn’t have Monday holidays, so we celebrated them on whatever day of the week they fell on. It seems a bit cruel to send kids back to school while the swimming pools are still open, but I digress…

I have had the privilege of picking my grandkids up from school for a couple of years now. My oldest, Baillie, is working in Alaska, but both of the others are in high school, although they attend different schools. Lucas is close enough to walk to and from Pascal High School where he’s a freshman this year. I get to pick him up on the days he stays late.

Izabella was accepted into the Visual Performing Arts program at I.M. Terrell Academy, which is only two minutes away from the farm. I.M. Terrell was the black high school for many years in Fort Worth when schools were still segregated. Moreover, it’s Ms. Opal Lee’s alma mater. She’s thrilled that Iza is there. It hasn’t hurt Iza that her father works for Terrell’s most famous alumnus.

I’m reminded daily how much I love my grandkids and how much I miss their father. He would (and I’m sure that on another plane he is) be so proud of them. I hope he would be proud of me as well for being there for them. I often wasn’t there for him when he was that age. Addiction has stolen so much from us. It stole both my son’s father and my grandkid’s father. The only difference is that I get the opportunity to make living amends. Jeremy, my son, lost that opportunity on May 29th, 2020.

It’s been four years since he passed. His car still sits in my driveway: another daily reminder that I keep meaning to get to someone else, but still find hard to let go of. Grief has its own timeline. While the daily intensity of the emotion has lessened to a point, there are still days when I retreat by myself to the end of the farm to have a good cry. I don’t feel as overwhelmed as I did in the months after his death, but I still grieve. I know grief’s a process and I’m told by others that have lost children that it doesn’t ever go away. It simply changes.

I have a fellow blogger friend, Mitch, who shares his real memoirs from time to time. I enjoy reading them. I’ve often thought I should share my own stories in some way. Jeremy once told me that he and I should write a book. “Dad, no one would believe that crazy shit”, he’d tell me. Life was certainly not dull, at least outwardly. As my own addiction progressed, life became an extremely dull routine of using, finding ways and means to get more, and repeating the process over and over with greater consequences and self-hatred.

Jeremy and I found a way out and shared that path for several years until he ventured down his own path that included relapsing into active addiction. I stayed on the recovery pathway and prayed that Jeremy would join me once again. He did from time to time but couldn’t seem to stay. I miss him terribly.

I thought that maybe I too, should share some stories – crazy as they may be – in hopes that someone relates and maybe, just maybe, it can make a difference in their journey as I’m sure it will in mine. I still don’t know what to call them. It would be inappropriate to call them my “real memoir” – don’t want to step on anyone’s toes – but they are real and definitely a time of remembering. Maybe writing will ease the grief and make some sense out of the craziness.

Look for them from time to time and pray to keep me honest. One of my favorite lines from a recovery book I read frequently is that “Honesty is the antidote to our diseased thinking”.

Maybe the stories will reflect that…

4th of July, Community, Connection, Down On the Farm, Emotional Health, Events, Faith, Family, Fireworks, Gratitude, Marginalized, Non-Profits, Quotes, Relationships, Revival, Simplicity, Social Justice, Spirituality, Thoughts From the Porch, Trinity River, Unity Unlimited, Inc., Urban Farming

Post Cookout Thoughts

gregoryjoel


It’s been a month since I’ve been able to sit down and write. I’ve tried several times mind you, but June is not conducive to writing time. Juneteenth activities and events begin at the end of May and conclude with the Volunteer Appreciation Picnic on July 4th. I hope everyone had a wonderful Juneteenth and 4th of July. Ms. Opal always reminds us that freedom needs to be for everyone – the oppressed and the oppressor – and celebrations should go on from Juneteenth until July 4th.

I rarely get a moment to simply stop and take in the annual 4th of July Volunteer Appreciation Cookout. It’s in it’s fifth year and I’ve never witnessed the fireworks show. I’m usually trying to get cleaned up so I can go home soon after the show is over. It’s a holiday for most folks, but a really long workday for me. Still, I love to take a moment to look at the crowd of folks that come each year. I find joy in that moment as I see the diversity and joy of life in it all.

I look across the crowd and smile. It’s an example for what our neighborhoods and communities could be the other 364 days a year. There are no racial or ethnic barriers, no religious or cultural barriers. Class doesn’t keep people separate from one another. It’s simply a great evening to be shared by everyone. Food and fireworks are great unifiers. Although I’m usually worn out from a long day of preparation and grilling, I really don’t want it to end. Reality hits as the parking lot empties and it will probably be another 365 days until our little community can enjoy another day together.

I need to have the image of unity even if it is only one day of the year. I need the hope that one day we as a people can move beyond the deep divisions that perpetuate the “Us” and “Them” mentality. I need to be reminded that it’s possible for us to experience real community without regard to race, sexual preference, disability, class, or political affiliations. Otherwise, I succumb to a serious case of the “F*** it’s”. I stand on the line between apathy and empathy a lot these days.

Watching the picnic remined me of the prophet Isaiah’s vision of a world where human relationships are rooted in God’s presence:

I will rejoice in Jerusalem

And delight in my people;

No more will the sound of weeping be heard in it,

Or the cry of distress.

No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days,

Or an old person who does not live out a lifetime:…

Before they call I will answer,

While they are yet speaking I will hear.

The wolf and the lamb shall feed together,

The lion shall eat straw like an ox:

But the serpent – its food will be dust!

They shall not hurt or destroy

On all my holy mountain, says the Lord.

                                                                                                Isaiah 65.19-20, 24-25

I live with the hope that day is coming. For now, I’ll enjoy our day of food and fun…