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Christianity, Recovery, Spirituality, Uncategorized

Squirrels in the Attic

gregoryjoel

Spring is peeking out all over this morning. The Bradford Pears up the street are in full bloom and buds are noticeable on many of the other trees. Yesterday, I had to mow for the first time this year. I cleaned out the leaves from the flower beds, anticipating the approaching frost-free date later this month, so Spring color could be planted. It’s the perfect working weather – not too hot, not too cold.

However, I also discovered I have a problem requiring immediate resolution. I have squirrels in my attic. To some of you that comes as no surprise, but I’ll address that in a bit…

I thought I’d been hearing something up there when I’d get up in the morning. I hoped I was just hearing things in the fog of awakening, but I found out where the little critters were getting in when I was working in the yard yesterday. I hate having to get in the attic. Unfortunately, I can’t procrastinate in this matter. The reality is the furry little tree rats can do a lot of damage. So, I need to climb up there and put out the mothballs, fox urine, or poison the little devils: do whatever it takes. Then I have repair the area where they’re getting in. It’s a pattern I’ve become familiar with in my life.

Those of you to whom “squirrels in the attic” are no surprise know exactly what I’m going through. They’re annoying and probably causing all kinds of damage and mess, but I find all kinds of reasons to put off going “up there”. They’re in the smallest part of the attic. I’m too big to get back there. Maybe I can just wait until they’re out doing what squirrels do and block up where they’re getting in. Maybe they’ll go away on their own. The list goes on and on.

The truth of the matter lies is that I’m scared. Fear takes hold when I think of dark recesses and furry little rodents. It doesn’t seem very manly, but it is what it is. Fortunately, I have friends who have gotten the squirrels out of their own attic. They don’t want to admit they were scared too, but they got the little demons. And they’re more than happy to help me out.

Metaphorically speaking, I started getting the “squirrels out of the attic” several years ago. You know, the crazy thoughts and subsequent actions causing tremendous damage and mess to my world. Complete strangers became close friends and taught me how to deal with the “squirrels”. The biggest problem was admitting they were up there in the first place. If I could just pretend they weren’t there, I wouldn’t have to get the ladder, if you know what I mean.

I’m so grateful you helped me chase them out. And even more grateful you’ve helped me find their entry points and close them up. They still find ways to get in even the tiniest hole, but I’m not as apt to put off getting rid of them. You help me stay more vigilant by keeping them out of there in the first place. “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure” as the old saying goes…

Keeping the attic clear has become a necessary evil at my house. Stuff gets shoved up there. The squirrels come and make a mess so every now and then, I have to clear it out. I throw out what’s old or unusable. It’s remarkable how that process seems to lessen my fears every time I go up there…

Anyway, I’ve got the mothballs, poisoned peanut butter, and the ladder ready; not too mention a big work light. The light comes in handy in the dark places and reminds me I’m not scared anymore…

Christianity, Recovery, Spirituality, Uncategorized

No Regrets?

gregoryjoel

Thoughts From the Porch: I don’t watch a lot of television. I usually have other things to do. In fact, until Margaret and I married five years ago I hadn’t even had a tv set for several years. I find that if I do sit down to watch the small screen I might as well right off the rest of the evening. Somehow, I slowly become one with the recliner until the 10 o’clock news…

Last night was different. I wasn’t feeling well so I crawled into bed to watch tv an NCIS “marathon” (a nicer sounding term for “binge-watching”), hoping I’d nap a bit instead. That’s not what I got though. I won’t bore you with the details of the episode. It had to do with the death of one of the character’s father. I applaud the screenwriters and actors. It was well done and elicited an emotional response: unusual for the small screen with it’s laugh tracks and brevity. Even though my Dad has been gone almost 15 years, the tears flowed. Unresolved grief has a way a making an appearance at strange times.

I reflected on that a lot this morning on the porch. There’s some promises offered in the recovery community that may seem like a real “no-brainer” to the rest of society. The one that grabbed my attention this morning is that we’ll “not regret the past…”. Church had another version: “forgive and forget”. I’m not sure that either are entirely true.

I do have regrets today. At least I think so. Identifying what I’m really feeling is still hard sometimes, even after some years of practice. I spend my days trying to find the right word when writing for my clients or my thoughts from the porch. Today I feel inadequate doing so. I‘m not sure how to label it. I guess regret will have to do.

I look back at my life and I find things I just wish I had done differently. I wish I’d been a better father and a better son. I wish a lot of things, but as Dad used to remind me, “Wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which gets full first”. I learned to admit my failures and make amends, to make things right, to the best of my ability. That’s brought me a sense of freedom, forgiveness, and peace. But it doesn’t change the fact that I wish none of it had ever happened; or at least Dad were here to talk to about it. Grief must not have an expiration date…

Maybe regret isn’t what’s really going on. It’s not regret as much as it is grief. The reality is he is here to share this with. As I sat reflecting this morning I heard him remind me all that “what’s done is done, life is what it is, and God is good. What am I going to do about it?” Thanks for the reminder, Dad. Good advice for a wonderful morning…

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Sunday Morning

gregoryjoel
Thoughts From the Porch: It’s a warm, cloudy, but pristine morning on the Porch: a reminder that Spring, the resurrection from Winter, is just around the corner. As I sit here this morning, my thoughts and prayers bring me to this place of deep and abiding peace. It’s a sense of being a part of, rather than apart from. Those moments come much easier today. They remind me of the promise, I’ll have “life, and have it abundantly”, even when I still have farther to walk.
 
I really strive for simplicity in my life today. Most of the time I’m far from it. It seems so much easier for some. I want to drink from the well of “living water” that quenches my thirst on my trek down the path. Sometimes though, I let myself become a little dehydrated. I get caught up in anxiety or worry and forget, all to easily, I have a relationship with the God of my understanding. He’s promised to light my path, even if it’s only to see the stepping stone in front of me.
 
There are times when that’s really scary. I can’t see the destination ahead. So, it requires trust: trust that I’m being taken to a better place. When I look back at my life, it’s no problem to see God’s hand gently (and if truth be known, sometimes violently), and lovingly pushing me in the right direction. I can know this has been true 100% of the time and yet, I still worry if I’m going the right way.
 
Sitting here this morning, I realize such difficulties simply make me human. I’m okay with that today. There’s a lot of joy and freedom in that: freedom to trust knowing I’m on the path. I like that.
We have a busy Sunday planned: dinner with my father-in-law and helping our son with taxes. Our fur babies brought in more mud from the light showers we had this morning. They did that after a thorough Saturday cleaning so we, or more appropriately I, get to mop the floors again.  The list goes on…
 
Right now though, it’s real simple. I’m going to go in, get another cup of coffee, kiss my wife and tell her how much I love her. I think I’ll trust God and simply enjoy the day. The rest will get done. One step at a time…
Relationships, Uncategorized

Happy Anniversary Baby…

gregoryjoel

The sun is back in Fort Worth after it’s brief absence. It’s Texas Independence Day and it’s my fifth wedding anniversary today. All is well in the world.

I was looking back at the last five years and feeling truly awed by God’s grace. Who would have thought someone like me would be blessed with the marriage I have today? I feel so undeserving sometimes. I’m reminded of the Kevin Fowler song, “I’m a Hard Man to Love”. I’m under no illusions here. I can be difficult at times, but Margaret makes me a better man. Sometimes I think she drew the short straw…

Many of you know the story of the brief courtship prior to our marriage. We dated for a scant ninety-one days before we said “I do”. There are some of you who know, and participated in, the even shorter engagement so I won’t bore you with all the details.  Because so many friends came out of the woodwork saying, “What can I do and what do you need?”, our friends did in eight short days what many couples take a year to pull off: an absolutely beautiful and amazing wedding.

We were older when we got married (although I must admit to receiving “senior discounts” long before Margaret). We were fortunate enough to be in that place where we knew who we were, what we wanted, and what we didn’t. Time and experience often affords that knowledge, although not always. What I truly credit it with is our relationship with the God of our understanding.

One of my sons asked me a while back, “What do you and Margaret have in common? You seem so different”. In many ways he’s right. I remembered a line from a song, “She likes The Beatles, I like the Stones”. Our musical tastes aren’t the only things we differ on. She comes from a deeply conservative, military family background. I’m somewhere to the left of Karl Marx. She likes mild food. Mine needs to be hot and spicy. The list goes on and on…

What we’ve both know is that all of those differences are just fluff. We connected in a much deeper, spiritual way because we share to same core values and because we never try to be something we’re not. We love each other just the way we are: warts and all. Those core values, our faith in God, love, patience, selflessness, honor, integrity, commitment, honesty, forgiveness, humility, and thankfulness (all which she’s so much better at than I): those are the root of our connection. They’re what gives us a firm foundation for an incredible relationship.

I’ve been honored with performing several marriage ceremonies over the last few years. I always like to share Ecclessiates 4: 9-12 where the writer says how good it is to have a partner and being bound together by a strand of three cords, not just two. That third cord, God, binds it all together. That’s how it’s worked for us the last five years. That, and I guess we got married quick enough to keep from falling out of love. She still takes my breath away when she walks into the room…

 

 

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gregoryjoel

The rain has moved out for a few days. It was no surprise to hear this was the wettest February on record. I have the mud on the kitchen floor to prove it. No matter how often I mop, our fur babies seem to require “outside” duties immediately after I clean the floor. I really hope it dries out soon.

Last Friday would’ve been my Mom’s 88th birthday. I had a moment in that morning. I pulled out my phone to call and wish her happy birthday. Then it hit me: I couldn’t. Grief comes in strange and unpredictable waves. Even though it’s been several months, it still comes and goes. I know it will be the same with my friend Jim. February simply isn’t on the Top Ten list of my favorite months. Thank God it’s over…

I was out on the porch, reminiscing about Mom and Dad this morning. Dad passed in 2002 and I still think of him often. I’ve heard many horror stories of extreme dysfunctional family life over the years: abuse, neglect, and alcoholic or addicted parents. It breaks my heart to hear them. I was adopted and my earliest memories are of my parents telling me how much they loved me and desired me. Such terrible tales simply aren’t my story. Later in life, my memories are of the pain my addiction caused them and how they loved me anyway. In both cases I count myself blessed. Not everyone can say that…

I’m eternally grateful for the two people who became my parents and in many ways, for my birth mother who gave me up for adoption. When I was born in 1958, Eisenhower was President, rock & roll was probably the cause of all societal ills, and good girls didn’t have babies out of wedlock. Abortion wasn’t legal and adoption was the option “good” families chose for their daughters. I know very little about my birth mother. I do know she was 16 when I was born, so it’s likely they sent her off to the VOA to live out her pregnancy. Such things should be hidden from polite society. 

I’d like to think giving me up was one of the hardest things she ever did. I’ve talked to women who have given up children for adoption. They’ve all shared about how they think about them: especially on their birthdays. I’d like to think she still thinks of me. Though Mom and Dad are, without question, my parents, there’s still this lingering question about my biological mother. I guess it hasn’t been pressing enough to do the work necessary for the answers. Yet. However, I sometimes wonder if there are half-brothers and half-sisters out there that share the same DNA…

I suppose there’s a bit of grief in all that as well: a Mom and Dad who loved me and a birth mother I never even knew. Grief knows no time limits. Grief comes in some strange and often unrealistic ways. And sometimes, grief shows up in what could’ve been. No matter how it comes, real or imagined, it has to be felt, dealt with, and walked through. I’m just grateful it doesn’t have to be walked through alone.