I read this today and thought I’d share it with you all. I love letters! It’s so much easier to shoot a text or an email but there’s something about something tangible that I can hold in my a hand, that really excites me. It’s the same way with books. I rad the news etc. on the computer but they can’t take the place of a book in hand. Enjoy my friends!
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Wait….
A friend of mine once told me that for the first year of recovery, he couldn’t sleep for more than a couple of hours. He was tired all the time and affected his work. So, he went to see his doctor to ask for something to help him sleep. She specialized in treating patients with addiction issues. She patiently listened to his difficulties and when he asked for sleep medication she refused. She went on to say that when he needed sleep, he’d sleep. That was it, discussion over.
During his second year of recovery, my friend went on to say that he slept all the time. He grew concerned and once again went to his doctor. She listened attentively to his situation and when my friend asked if there was a medication to help, she replied refused again. She told him that his body must need the rest and that eventually it would all even out. He’d find his rhythm again and everything would be okay. He shared this story when I was going through my own physical inability to get the rest I needed. He found balance and later, so did I.
I haven’t been sure what’s going on with me physically, but I’ve slept until eight or nine o’clock in the morning for the last week. My normal routine has always been to wake up around 6:30 or 7:00, start coffee, have some time on the porch, and settle down to work. Quite honestly, I was a little concerned until Margaret reminded me that I had been in the hospital and on home IV infusion until this past Monday. I thought of my friend and I decided not to worry about it. It’ll all level out…
I must issue a disclaimer here. There’s no M.D. behind my name. I’m aware that people in recovery have often physically damaged themselves beyond norms. I’d never suggest that someone should or should not seek medical advice for physical or mental issues, but I’ve also learned that not everything has an immediate answer. In all areas of my life, especially spiritually, the answer to my questions is a simple ‘wait’. Sometimes you just need to hit the ‘pause’ button.
Waiting is still difficult for me, especially if the situation is extremely uncomfortable. My biggest discomfort today is the disruption of my routine. For that I’m grateful, because I’ve experienced far more troubling times of crisis. As my friend Jim used to tell me, “In the meantime, it’s just a mean time”. Just wait, it’ll pass. I’ve gotten much better at the practice, but I still have a long, long way to go.
I’ve tried everything I could think of to ease any discomfort I’ve felt; usually in ways that weren’t good for me. If I talked to Jim, he would listen to my rantings – for a minute anyway – and then tell me, “Cowboy, lack of power is your dilemma”. In other words, ‘just stop’! If “lack of power is my dilemma”, maybe I need to find power. That’s where trust and acceptance come in.
Over the last few years I’ve come to a degree of acceptance that sometimes, life simply shows up in ways I don’t like. No one’s to blame. It’s just living. My friends often respond to my troubles by simply reciting the old cliché, “this ,too, will pass”. That pisses me off. I want an answer now! That’s when my friend Jim would remind me that ‘it’ll all be okay on Tuesday at 2:00’. It was his way of saying, ‘quit struggling and wait’. It really will be okay…
Waiting was far more difficult prior to my relationship with the Creator. A couple of my friends point to this reliance and belief in a power greater than myself and say I’m shirking responsibility for my decisions. They are entitled to their opinion. I used to believe that waiting was weakness, that it was failure of some sort. Experience has proven that the opposite is true. Today, I’m responsible for the choices I make. They’ve proved rash and somewhat insane in the past. Today I pause. I make more responsible decisions and as a result, have better outcomes.
Waiting takes courage. Prayer is not magic. It is heartfelt discourse with the God of my understanding. Sometimes I don’t like the answer, especially when it’s ‘wait’. Still, I need to listen for the answer. If I’m not listening, I might as well be talking to myself (more of my insanity). It takes courage to believe. It takes courage to wait.
I guess my sleep patterns will get back to normal. I’ll be back to my routine soon. Life will go on, all is and will be.” In the meantime…
Passion…
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…
The only thing we have to fear…
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…
Enough
“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’…
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