Category: Patience

Christian Mysticism, Christianity, Chronic Illness, Communication, Dogs, Emotional Health, Faith, Freelancing, Gratitude, Growing Up, Health, Hope, Horses, Listening, Love, Patience, Prayer, Relationships, Spirituality, Uncategorized, Writing

Straight From the Horse’s Mouth

gregoryjoel

Relief is in sight for the beleaguered! The forecast for the day is for cooler temperatures, at least for the next two or three days. Only in Fort Worth would we be excited by temperatures in the mid-nineties. Such are summers in Texas…

The last few days have been hectic, so I thought I’d take a break and catch the online sermon from church last Sunday morning. I’m still questioning the idea of worship in the corporate setting, so my ‘attendance’ remains online. I value the thoughts of our preacher, even if I’m still uncomfortable with how we do ‘church’ in our culture. Unfortunately, the livestream of the sermon kept disconnecting. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. I can relate to that. For the last two or three days, my prayers have been few and far between. I’ve been feeling a little low and my connection with my Higher Power is in a constant cycle of cutting out and reconnecting. I’ve felt like I’ve been in a constant ‘buffering’ state and I can’t quite reach 100%.

Connection problems can and do happen. God’s end may always broadcast a strong signal, but my reception gets spotty from time to time. The connection difficulties are always on my end. When it happens I often have to stop and clean out my ‘antennae’. Occasionally, I get far too busy, over-tired or just plain lazy and my mind gets clogged with self-pity, resentment, and self-centeredness. I begin to sound much like Eeyore in A.A. Milne’s, Winnie the Pooh – “Woe is me, I can’t find my tail…”

I’m not unique. Some of the most spiritual people I know feel a disconnect from their Higher Power on occasion. The sixteenth century Spanish mystic, St. John of the Cross, called this disconnect, “the dark night of the soul”. For those of us who pray, who converse with the Spirit of the Universe, we know what he’s talking about. There are times when it feels like prayers fall on deaf ears. We listen intently for answers that don’t come. God is silent. We feel alone, left to our own devices.

When I feel isolated and disconnected, I begin to wonder where God is. I start to question my faith. I’m filled with doubts: little ones at first that multiply into crisis of faith. I used to think this was anathema to me. My upbringing had taught me that questioning one’s faith destined me to the fires of hell. That haunted me for many years, but today I know that faith without questioning is not much of a faith at all. God is much bigger than my doubts. If I continue to pray and listen I will hear God’s response in the most extraordinary, yet simple, ways.

I do some work at a stable not far from my home. Don’t tell anyone, but I’d do it for free just because I love being there. There are three horses, Dollar, Lightfoot, and Trooper (‘the boys’ as I call them). Dollar is the oldest, at seventeen. The other two are two or three-year-old rescues; adopted wild mustangs from herds in Arizona and Utah.

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Now I am no ‘horse whisperer’ by any means, but I’ve developed quite a relationship with Trooper and Lightfoot. I was warned they were skittish around people, but that hasn’t even been close to my experience. They have loved and ‘hugged’ on me since the day we met. When I pull up to the stables, they amble over to say hello and let me love on them.

They are one of the ways I find reconnection with my Higher Power. I leave the stables with my spirit more in tune with the universe. There’s a buzz, a vibration, and I begin to hear God whisper. Decisions come easier. Heck, life becomes easier. My mind is free to explore the realm of possibilities, to work and play again. Most importantly, I begin to feel a sense of belonging, of being a part of something far bigger than I. My gratitude grows, and my doubts are erased. All of this happens by simply allowing God to love on me through others, whether they have four legs or two.

I’m basically an introvert. I find the company of my dogs and the horses to be my safe, comfortable place. My beautiful wife, on the other hand, is extremely social and extroverted. She loves to be on the go and around others. I often joke that I’d been more places in the first year of marriage than I had in the previous ten. For that reason, the last almost three years since her back surgery have been hard on her. I’m thrilled when she’s able to get out. I know it’s her way of reconnecting, of hearing God’s voice.

God’s voice becomes clear through our relationships with people and the world around us. When I’m aware of the beauty of creation, I strive to be a better steward of God’s world. I believe that God’s silence is simply His way of reminding me of the importance of relationships, whether they be with dogs and horses or the people in my life. His silence reminds me of the spirit of all things that connect me to the universe. His silence reminds me to be grateful, to be awestruck, and to drink in the beauty of all things.

Most importantly, His silence is a reminder He’s still there, loving me through ‘the dark night of the soul’. Those days, whether measured in weeks or years, will come for all of us. Feelings of doubt and even futility, but they will pass eventually, and probably do so in the most unlikely of ways. It might even come straight from the horse’s mouth…

Chronic Illness, Communication, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Gratitude, Letting Go, Listening, Marriage, Patience, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing

One Man’s Trash…

gregoryjoel

It’s a bit warm out here on the porch this morning. We’ve been under an excessive heat warning for the last week and the forecasted high today is 110 degrees. The answer to ‘how are you doing?” is, simply put, HOT. I feel like all I do anymore is complain about the heat. Still, I’m grateful I’m able to get the things done, especially outside, that need to be done despite our heat wave. At least I’m not one of the ambulance statistics I hear on the news each night that has succumbed to the high temperature…

Margaret is doing much better after her procedure last week. I got up and made coffee this morning and she came in the kitchen and made breakfast. That probably doesn’t sound like big deal to most folks, but it is for us. Her mobility has been diminished by the pain in her hips and back and she’s really been struggling the last few weeks with the pain. Prayer, a great pain doctor, and an even greater God has worked wonders. It helps that Margaret is one of the most persistent, patient, and courageous people I know. After five-and-a-half years of marriage I still wonder how I ended up sharing life with such an incredibly wise and wonderful woman. She married me so maybe I need to rethink the ‘wise’ part…

Our normally quiet life has been somewhat upended over the past week. Our granddaughter has been here for the last week, along with our friend who is our ‘adopted’ granddaughter. Our son is moving out of his house and thought he’d have to move in with us, so I’ve been clearing out the third bedroom we use for storage. That may not sound like much, but believe me, it is. There were boxes (and boxes and boxes…) of stuff that haven’t been opened since we moved in five years ago. Once I had almost everything out of the room and started to go through them, he announced that he’d found a house and wouldn’t be moving in after all.

I was relieved he wasn’t moving in. He’s a grown man and needs to be in his own home, for his sake and ours. However, I’ll tell you I was a bit pissed that I’d spent all weekend going through the endless stream of boxes coming from the bedroom. I swear they were reproducing in there. Still, I tackled a project I’d been putting off for the last five years, waiting for my wife’s decisions on what stays and what goes. Because we rarely go in that bedroom there hasn’t been any urgency in getting it done, at least on her part. I get antsy, but, hey, ‘Out of sight, out of mind…’.

The third bedroom has served as a reminder that even though Margaret and I are united in marriage, we still have our unique personalities and sense of self. I am a minimalist in many ways. Margaret is not. While she’s not a hoarder by any stretch of the imagination, she and I differ on keeping things. My approach to stuff is that if it hasn’t been used, worn, or looked at in the last year, it probably needs to find its way to the trash, recycling bin, or be donated – unless it’s tools, music, or books. I’ll give away tools I haven’t used in twenty years only to need one of them the next day. I have a few things that have sentimental value, but for the most part, stuff is an annoyance. Maybe it’s simply a reminder that so much has been lost to my bad decisions and personal demons…

One of my shortcomings is that I tend to organize my surroundings to fix what’s going on internally. Let me get ‘writer’s block’ or become frustrated and I have the most organized and dust-free office you’ve ever seen. I guess keeping a minimal amount of stuff helps me to be more introspective and stay the course, wherever it may lead. She reminds me that even shortcomings can become assets that allow me to grow.

We’ve accomplished a lot this weekend. The trips to the donation station and the stuff on the curb speaks volumes (although my trash service probably wishes we were a little quieter…). There’s still a way to go before we’re finished, but life feels a little less cluttered. We accomplished it together. That’s what’s most important.

Adoption, Children, Citizenship, Community, Emotional Health, Family, Gratitude, Growing Up, Immigration, Ireland, Letting Go, Love, Patience, Relationships, Simplicity, Texas, Uncategorized, Writing

Bucket lists…

gregoryjoel

I haven’t posted for the last couple of days. There’s a great deal going on at our household. Mostly, it involves trying to stay cool while getting things accomplished. Our poor air conditioner is having difficulty keeping up with the heat wave we’re experiencing and I feel a bit wind-blown from all the fans in our house.

Even with the triple-digit heat, the porch has provided some respite from the heat in the early mornings. I was able to enjoy conversation and coffee with Margaret for quite a while before the perspiration beading up on our foreheads said it was time to go in. Our conversation wandered around for a bit, talking about our kids, with their unique (and sometimes frustrating) personalities and what the future holds in store. I shared a blog from another writer in Northern Ireland and the pictures he posted from Belfast this morning. I’ve had a trip to Ireland at the top of my ‘bucket list’ for many, many years. His post this morning stoked that fire once again.

I’m not a ‘travel’ kind of guy. I’m quite content to live vicariously through the photos my friends post of their travels and prefer to stay close to home. Besides, I could spend a lifetime traveling around Texas and never see the same thing twice. Aside from the mountains in Colorado, I haven’t gotten around to very many other places. Still, I would travel to Ireland in a heartbeat.

The first time I entered a drug and alcohol rehab hospital I went through an assessment with the doctor on staff. He asked me if there was any history of alcoholism or addiction in my family. I told him that I came from a very conservative Christian home and even my great-grandfather was a circuit preacher in Texas, so I didn’t think so. I wasn’t sure it made any difference anyway since I was adopted. All I know about my birth parents is that I’m Irish. Without missing a beat, the doctor looked at me and said he’d just answer yes to the history question. I’m not sure how I felt about that, except it seems awfully stereotypical and extremely politically incorrect…

I’ve often thought about trying to locate my birth mother. I’d love to know something of my ancestry, as well as the family medical history. Now that I’m pushing sixty it’s growing unlikely that it will happen. Sometimes though, I wonder if I have half-siblings out there. I guess a lot of adopted kids from ‘closed’ adoptions have the same questions. I have an adopted cousin who found her birth mother and discovered she had nine brothers and sisters! It makes me wonder…

My mother and I were driving down from Fairplay, Colorado and out of the blue, she asked me if I’d ever thought of finding my birth mother. Although I was a grown man, I was a little freaked-out by the question. It was something that had never been discussed at home. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings because she was my mother, regardless of who gave me birth. Finding my biological parent wouldn’t change that. As I paused, she immediately followed up with, “Why haven’t you? I would.”

I remember telling her that it just wasn’t a big deal to me. I may have meant it at the time but that’s not an honest answer today. The reality is that I don’t want to be disappointed. Somewhere deep inside, that feeling of abandonment that has always been present comes u8p every time I think about trying to get court records unsealed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m eternally grateful to the mother with whom I share DNA. I know somethings about her from the profile my parents gave me when I turned twenty-one. I know that she was only sixteen. In the pre-Roe v. Wade years of the Eisenhower Administration, young women who were ‘in a family way’ were often shuttled off somewhere else to avoid familial embarrassment, to have their baby, and give it up for adoption. I know it had to be difficult for her. I often wonder whether she was forced by her parents to give me up. I prefer to think of her as courageous and wise; that she made the decision to adopt out of concern for my welfare. If I can’t ever ask her that question, I never have to believe otherwise…

If I were to meet her I’d like to tell her thank you for giving me up to such a loving home. My adoptive parents wanted a child desperately and I was loved by the very best. Dad always told me that everyone else had to “take what they were given, but that I was handpicked and specially chosen” to be their son. I came to know what they meant when they brought my little sister home six years later. She’s quite the women, my sister. I’ve led a charmed life, despite my adult struggles, and I couldn’t ask for anything better. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. God is so good…

The only negative I can find in the Joel family tree is that they are English. I have a friend who reminds me that “at least they weren’t French”, but he’s British and that’s another story. I truly would like to know about where I come from and how I ended up in Fort Worth, Texas. According to immigration records, most Irish immigrants in the 19th century came through the Port of New Orleans. What we know of the defenders of the  Alamo, the holy shrine of Texas Independence, is that most who sacrificed their lives were Irish and Scottish immigrants. I wonder when, and if, that was the case for my ancestors. Do I have an extended family I don’t know about? Do I need to know, for that matter? Who knows? Maybe there’s a genetic longing taking place…

I guess I’ll just have to keep saving until I can cross Ireland off my ‘Bucket List”…

 

Children, Christianity, Communication, Community, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Friendship, Grace, Gratitude, Growing Up, Hope, Listening, Love, Movies, Neighbors, Patience, Prayer, Recovery, Simplicity, Spirituality, Texas, Uncategorized, Writing

An absolute must see!

gregoryjoel

Last week’s rain was a welcome guest during the hot Texas summer. Unfortunately, an obnoxious high-pressure system chased away the unstable air that brought lower temperatures and cooling rains. Thus, a week of triple digit temperatures and heat advisories lie ahead. It was a noticeable difference on the porch this morning, but the coffee and conversation with my beautiful wife made up for any discomfort due to the temperature I may have felt. I wish likewise for all of you…

It’s been a great weekend here in Fort Worth. I’ve been so busy I haven’t had much ‘desk-time’. Margaret had a procedure done on her back on Friday morning and the results have been good so far. She felt enough relief to get out and about Friday night and hasn’t paid dearly for the experience as usual. We’re cautiously optimistic…

Friday night, our son Paul came over and we went to see “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”, the documentary about Fred Rogers and Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.  I wrote about him recently, so I hope this isn’t too redundant. We’d been looking forward to seeing it since its release. I don’t pretend to be a movie critic. I know what I like when I see it. I don’t look for entertainment as much as I look for an emotional connection. That’s what good stories do. They reach somewhere inside and connect deep inside. If that appeals to you then this is a “must see’ film. Be prepared to be touched…

I was a latecomer to the whole Mr. Rogers thing. The Public Broadcasting System, of which I later became a huge fan, didn’t start broadcasting until 1969. I was in junior high school by then, but my sister, who is six years younger, would be watching Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. I was too old for such nonsense and just got ticked-off that she got to control the TV programming…

The only thing I knew of Mr. Rogers were the parodies of Eddie Murphy and The Firesign Theater. Even Mr. Rogers himself thought some of them were funny so long as they weren’t mean-spirited. It wasn’t until I became a parent that I began to take Mr. Rogers seriously. The simple message of kindness, of being special, and of being loved just as you are resonated with me. I wanted my own children to hear and internalize his message. Now that I’ve been down the road a bit, I find myself wishing that everyone, including myself, could feel that message deep inside.

I spent yesterday evening with a close friend who is going through a major struggle right now. I won’t bore you with the details, and it’s a private affair. What I can share with you is how I felt. It’s said that men are ‘fixers’ by nature (although I’ve known a great many women who have tried and tried to ‘fix’ me in the past… believe me, I needed fixing…). I can get with that. As I listened to his struggles and frustration with where he’s at, I wanted desperately to find the ‘right’ words that would miraculously make things better for him. I thought about the film and one of the children’s questions to Mr. Rogers, “What do you do with mad?” I still don’t have a good answer. The harder I tried to find the words, the more powerless I felt. I can’t take away his pain, his frustration, or his anger, but I can be present and walk through it with him. Sitting with him in my truck, I remembered a part of the movie I saw Friday. Sometimes we just need to be silent. Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes we just need to be there and ease the burden for one another.

We sat there in silence for a while. Finally, we said our goodbyes and we went our separate ways. I don’t know if he felt any better, but I know he felt a little more loved than he did when we first started talking, and when I talked to him later in the evening, he was going to bed so he could get up and do it again tomorrow. I said a prayer for my friend. Tomorrow’s another day…

I guess that was my take away from the movie. Be kind. Be loving. Be there and don’t try and fill the space between those you love with the constant buzz of words. It’s okay to feel your feelings, to walk through them and walk through them together. Above all, you’re loved and special just as you are. A pretty good message if you ask me, for adults as well as children.

There was a book by Robert Fulghum called, All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, that was popular many years ago. It was a reminder that all the life skills I would ever need I learned when I was very young. I was reminded again as I watched “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”. It saddened me to reflect on how much I’ve lost since childhood. I came to worry about what others thought of me early in life and stifles the child I was. The loss of innocence sounds so cliché but it’s true. Somewhere along the line I, like most of us, traded in that childlike wonder and innocent spirit for worry, self-importance, and all that comes with being grown-ups. I used to accuse my dad of entering his second childhood when I’d see him do childlike and silly stuff, especially with his grandkids. Now I wish I was like him…

Maybe I’m entering my second childhood? (Margaret says I am. She asks me all the time if my voice is going to change when I reach puberty.) I hope I’m more okay with being a kid than I was all those years ago. Back then it was so important to ‘keep up appearances’. One of the blessings of getting older is that you just don’t care what other people think as much. Such is the wisdom of a child. I find that I take things far less seriously and much more wondrously than I did in the past. I don’t feel a need to ‘fix’ someone else, but I can be present to walk alongside them today. Jesus said that to enter the kingdom of heaven, you must become as a child. I think you also should become a lot like Mr. Rodgers…

One of the most striking things to me about Fred Rogers is that he was an ordained Presbyterian minister. He may very well have been one of the first televangelists. He was ordained for the television ministry. Yet, he never preached a word (or asked for a “donation in order to receive God’s favor….”). He lived it instead. Talk about attracting others rather than promoting one’s self. No wonder kids flocked to him just like the poor and marginalized did to Jesus.

To paraphrase Fred Rogers, love is at the root of everything, or the lack thereof. I’ve seen what happens on both ends of the spectrum. All I need to do is read my newsfeed and the lack of love is apparent. So, I strive for the former rather than the latter. The Teacher I follow says that if I just love God with all my heart, mind, spirit and then love everyone else like I do myself, I can’t go wrong.

I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but there’s a line in the movie that left me with incredible hope. One of Fred Rogers’ friends said that many people think that Mr. Rogers was one of a kind, maybe like a fluke I guess. His opinion filled me with hope and gratitude when he reminded us all that there are a” lot of people out there just like Fred Rogers”. Yes, there are. I know some of them and for that, I’m so grateful.

If no one has told you today, please remember you’re loved – just the way you are. Pretty good words to live by. Thanks Mr. Rogers…

 

Activism, Christianity, Community, Faith, Grace, Gratitude, Hope, Neighbors, Patience, Prayer, Recovery, Spirituality, Uncategorized, Writing

Thundershowers…

gregoryjoel

We had a good rain yesterday afternoon and it made it quite comfortable on the porch this morning. It’s become unusual to have thunderstorms for several days in a row during July, but there’s still a chance we may get some today. The yard, the flowers, and my tomato and pepper plants are jumping up and done for joy (okay, not literally…). There’s something about God’s watering that far exceeds anything I can do with the garden hose.

Following my divorce, the boys and I moved back to Texas at the end of 1986. I went to work as a Field Engineer for the company my dad had gone to work for after he took early retirement from the railroad. He didn’t care much for retirement. I think it had to do with being at home with my mom all the time, but that’s another story…

It turned out that ‘Field Engineer’ was a fancy title for surveyor and gopher. My crew did everything from laying out huge warehouses and building roads to baling hay. It was quite a change from the real estate partnership I had in Denver. I often tell people I started at the top and worked my way to the bottom from there. Professionally, that’s not entirely true. It’s seriously accurate personally and spiritually, though. Some of you know what I mean. The rest of you will just have to wait for further information until another time. That isn’t what I was thinking about this morning…

I enjoyed the change from an office job to being in the field, except for the extremes of bone-chilling, windy, humid cold of winter and the brain-frying heat of summers spent on concrete slabs or roadways.

At least there was a brief break in the afternoons, even if cooler temperatures brought higher humidity. It seemed to rain for a brief while every day. Maybe I simply remember things different, but it seemed to rain almost every afternoon. It only could be euphoric recall, but I don’t think so.

We’d be working, often on a stretch of the interstate, and about 3:00 in the afternoon, the first puffs of clouds would appear in the northwest. On cue, the concrete guys would put plastic over any areas of wet concrete there may be. The clouds would slowly sneak across the sky, alone or in pairs, quietly conducting reconnaissance for the coming cumulonimbus army. About 3:30 or so, clouds began to gather on the horizon, forming massive thunderheads that seemed to reach for the stars. Once they formed an orderly line, the order was given, and they slowly started advancing to the east.

A welcome breeze would start as the clouds began their march. Soon, they would be closing in faster and faster, creating a breeze that became a cooling wind as they got closer. One by one, and then in groups, large raindrops hit the pavement and then the downpour would start. Some of the guys would run for cover. Others would keep working and soak up the rain like they were enjoying sitting in front of a fan for a bit, knowing that afternoon showers would march double-time across the Texas sky.

The thundershowers would only last for five or ten minutes or so, but they’d appear like clockwork, and we’d all enjoy a brief respite from the often triple-digit heat. It was the timeclock for our days, a reminder that soon we’d call it quits and find the comfort of air conditioning.

We don’t often have that kind of rain anymore. Rain is sporadic, at best, during North Texas summers and drought has become a regular fixture. I’ll refrain from all the various climate change arguments here. I have my own opinion and unfortunately, I only see the situation getting worse for my kids and grandkids. I’ll try to be a good steward of God’s creation and do my part to advocate and mitigate climate change. That’s my responsibility, whether anyone else does or not.

I really miss those rains, even if it’s just my imagination. I find that as I’ve gotten older, I tend to be more nostalgic and nostalgia isn’t always what we believe it to be. Still, I’m incredibly grateful for yesterday’s thundershower. I just may get some more homegrown tomatoes before Fall…