Thursday's Wednesday Post

From Lake Superior -- The Rocks Can be Slippery

While walking along the rocky shoreline one morning this week, Bentley courageously barking at the gentle breakers and sniffing tide pools, I planted my foot on what I thought was a dry and steady rock covered with rough green-black moss and orange lichen. And I slipped, catching myself before almost falling onto the sawtooth edges of the surrounding boulders. There was no harm done, but the close call hit me later that day while I was reading and considering how magically the horizon appeared to melt together with the varnished steel of the water. **Note to the casual tide poolist: do not attempt while wearing flip-flops.

Like when exploring unfamiliar mosaics of bouldered shorelines, the terrain of relationships we traverse across through life often appear as dry, solid and steady footing. So, we plant our foot thinking it will hold...and we slip. And sometimes we catch ourselves. And sometimes we fall. And sometimes the jagged edges tear. And in time the bruises and cuts scab over like lichen or green-black moss. And we set out again. But today, During this stumbled moment I realized that the footing has nothing to do with the surface or path I take or mist or waves breaking over the rocks. It has everything to do with what you "see" as your rock. The things of this world and our ways for traversing life's surfaces challenges will always offer unpredictable footing.

Ps 18:2 The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.

QUESTION: When was the last time you slipped? What rock were you standing on? How did you stready yourself to move ahead?

Book Segment #7

November 7, 2005

Thirty Thousand and Descending. Maybe.

I have not opened this document on my computer in almost two months. That reinforces the nagging fact that days and weeks and months are evaporating much faster than I realize. It hit me hard the other day, October 20, to be exact, when I remembered the anniversary of my father’s passing. Three years? It must only be the third year, right? “Brian, can you believe it has been four years since your father died,” my mother asked during my recent visit to Dallas. I lose track of time benchmarks more easily these days. I notice it when I reminded of events like the 9/11 attacks, the death of Princess Di, my college days, the drowning of Natalie Woods [I miss her!], the first Star Wars movie. Maybe it’s God’s way of reminding us that His eternal pocket watch is our best timepiece. . The now time zone. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that as we get older our lives are filled up with so many “things” and “demands” and “schedules” and…. We struggle to experience even a glimpsed moment of awe. Maybe that’s why so many of us long for 3 or 4 days of doing…nothing important. Just read a book and fall asleep in the worn old arms of that favorite chair. Take a long walk with nothing to figure out, but the next turn. Surrender to a quiet weekend of solitude and listening to nothing, and hearing everything. Still.

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Exodus 14:14

Maybe. Just maybe.

November 8, 2005

Hey, Sis. [A recent email response to a conversation with my sister in Hamden, Connecticut]

Hey sis. Love your heart ramblings. They make me smile and feel warm inside. I am glad for the progress on each of your spiritual fronts. Lean in. He will catch you. Trust that.

A “little thing” to start discovering, which might just be one of the ways God speaks to you, is by noticing pennies. Think about the pennies you see at random times, the ones most people walk past and ignore. Just a penny. Dirty. Run over. Scratched and worn. Not worth the time and effort to lean over and pick up. Have you ever passed one by? Try to think of them next time as small “kisses from God”; moments, little tidbits reminding you that God is there, not thundering onto the scene on a flaming chariot through the billowing clouds, or appearing in a burning bush, or even from behind a large curtain in OZ (“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”) -- but in the simplest and tiniest of things. Seemingly worthless, Usually unnoticed. Ignored. Just one filthy penny laying in your path.

Amazingly, I find pennies most often when struggling through an emotional issue, or at some low point, or when crying out for a moment of mercy. Like tonight, when I took a different path to walk the dogs…and there it was. Nuzzled in a wound in the pavement, blending with the grime and tar. Unnoticed, unless you were looking. And were willing to stop, bend over and pick it up .Know what? Jesus did not look for the shiny coins, the shimmering leaders showcasing their glittering images of wisdom and power. He instead sought the prostitutes, criminals, blind, weak, broken, worthless lives. He picked them up. One at a time.

The blessings are there. If you look. If you stop, If you see. And remember… pennies picked up ADD UP. Just like blessings.I have about 20 of them lined up along my dresser. Try it sometime. It makes cents!!

Love you.

Blessings -- Bro

Wednesday's Thursday Post

Good morning, cave dwellers.

This is the first week where there has not been any comments posted in response to a book segment...I think. :) This does not suprise me, as the content was fairly dark and hurtful for both Valerie and me. One of the amazing parts of this process has been the experience of revisiting the story in deliberate segments. Four years later I thought I was past most of the feelings. Not the case. Here's what I gain from this "ah ha":

1. You never forget -- the feelings, both light and dark just get tucked into a chest of drawers, or in some cases deep in a pants pocket. One remains filed for those moments when you open the drawer and bring them out into the; and then you close the drawer once again. The other you carry on your self. The more you carry, the heavier it gets. Not to say anything about how strange you look with these bulging protrusions on each hip; not a good look and not easy to walk. Bad picture.
2. After years of carrying heavy objects and screwing up my wardrobe, I celebrate the realization and acceptance of a God who asks...let me say this again -- He ASKS us to take it all off our shoulders, or in this case out of our pockets. BTW...he'll move the furniture, too!

So...that's my thoughts for today. Plus, just moved into my new place and I am typing from beneath a pile of boxes. And yes, I will be spending most of hte enxt few days putting stuff in drawers.

See along in the "cave-way" .

Book Segement #6

September 5, 2005
Fissures

Another splinter of time. The sting of loneliness imbedded. Opening this journal today it feels like the isolation is cracking through its worn leather. Then, the warm syrup of Your light seeps through the fissures; the pain lifts, the tears dry, a hesitant smile spills over the chipped curb of my lips. The empty saucer of this minute fills. \

September 8, 2005

Why does it feel as though the more I seek Your face, the louder I cry out for You to save me from my enemies; the demons that lurk like hungry red dogs gnawing at the blood-smeared meat of denial. The more I surrender, gutted before You, I feel even more desperate, isolated, frightened. Is this when You are actually closest to me? Is this what this faith thing is about? Are you speaking to me? Now? Holding me? Now? Loving me? Now? Does real faith mean abandoning all control? Are You closer to me right now, than ever before? Is my suffering my blessing?

I am raw.

I turn and notice the breeze moving through the leaves outside my sliding glass door.

The tiniest glimmer seemed to flicker in Valerie’s eyes during the last five minutes of our recent session with Jim. For a moment. A tender hint?

When I arrived home later that day, I surrendered to Bentley’s warm, mop-tongue kisses. We rolled together on the floor playing, tugging and laughing. Then I surrendered into the silent arms of sleep.

It hurts. Now. The serrated fangs rip efficiently through the flesh of dreams. Now. The blood dries, a scab on the darkness.

It will be better. You are here. There is faint light pulsing at the end of the hallway. Amen.

September 11, 2005

Somewhere in between

Henri Nouwen writes in Reaching Out that you cannot know God’s true love through “the prayer of the heart” without fully experiencing the dichotomy between extreme pain and extreme joy. Jesus’ praying experience in Tabor (light) versus Gethsemane (darkness). The palm leaves versus the crown of thorns. The cup of wine versus the blood of the cross. Somewhere in between the extremes is where faith and the meaning of His heart will be found. “And as we move back and forth in between the extremes, we momentarily cross the center, where the storm clears, the voices pause, the wound closes, and the prayer of the heart is murmured.”

I wonder if this is what it will feel like when I see Your face, falling to my knees to anoint Your feet with my tears.

September 17, 2005

Just about 60 days of separation….and counting

I was walking the dogs tonight around 5:45 PM, the first real cool breath of autumn in the air, Tennessee’s skies rivulets of cobalt acrylic. For some reason a feeling washed over me like a smile. I leaned back, arms spread wide like when I used to lure Victoria from a low hanging tree branch, to jump…fly with laughter into the safety of my arms. “Daddy, I love you so much. You are amazing and magical.”

Yes, you are, Father.

A passage that caught me when leaping from a higher branch this week:

Shipwrecked
"The man with the clear head is the man who frees himself from fantasy and looks life in the face, realizes that everything in it is problematic, and feels himself lost. And this is the simple truth - that to live is to feel oneself lost. Whoever accepts this has already begun to find himself to be on firm ground.

Instinctively, as do the shipwrecked, he will look around for something to which to cling, and that tragic ruthless glance, absolutely sincere because it is a question of his salvation, will cause him to bring order into the chaos of his life. These are the only genuine ideas; the ideas of the shipwrecked. All the rest is rhetoric, posturing, farce. He who does not really feel himself lost, is without remission; that is to say, he never finds himself, never comes up against his own reality."

Jose Ortega

Thursday's Wednesday Post

Good morning from Chicago. I am here with colleagues preparing for an all day leadership meeting to discuss the future of a very compelling Brand Communications firm, CHANGEffect www.changeffect.com, with whom I am honored to work with the past three years. It is a time for wandering in the desert and caves and broken trails to find "its way" into the future. It involves issues leadership, control, trust, roles, accountability, projections, financial recaps, strategic planning, maybe a little posturing and more of the kind of things you might expect to find in such wanderings. In their own way they are going through their own LOST AND FOUND, as in their decade of existence they move from adolescence to adulthood. Trust me when I say this is not an easy process, and definitely should not be done alone without supervision!! As we move through it we will ask such questions as we ask our own clients:

• What business are you in...really?
• How do you define success?
• "What you can count on from me."

My challenge to each of them, and each of us, is that we celebrate the joys found in partnering with hte ambiguities of life and faith. That we ask ourselves in any dilemma, crisis of faith, economc downturn, boom year and the like two simple questions:
1. Where is God in this situation?
2. If we are blessed men and women...HOW do blessed men and women behave?

Also, as we wander thorough our respective caves, looking for what's been lost and what can be found, please read the post I wrote in response to the following post from the most recent posted Segment about LOST AND FOUND. It might give you lump in your heart, one single gem from the dark.

Your humble spelunker and sherpa

____________________________________________________________________

givingventures said...

Great question: Over the past year, I lost most of my interest in wanting much of any kind of relationship with The Lord, after being misled in a very big way by a self proclaimed, devout Christian believer who serves on the board of an organization I was a member of. (Membership requires very high standards of conduct in personal, professional, and spiritual life). I thought I was responding to God’s call for kingdom purposes, and eventually, found myself in an impossible situation with him. As a result, one thing after another, after another, etc. kept unwinding like a falling domino effect - including my faith. Subsequently, I didn’t really have any interest in this relationship with God, or “Christian” people any more (except for my wise Godmother).

What I have found –after about 18 months of a seemingly endless, dry, wilderness experience is: (1) Much greater perspectives of faith than I ever knew before, and (2) God’s rebuilding of my life (still in process) in a much deeper way than I could have imagined. (3) Greater compassion to relate to the struggles of others and (4) That God has much more work to do within me.

The welcomed shift began after I heard the testimony of someone whose ministry in the Middle East had experienced life-threatening bombing incidents, along with rejections of his truths (that were eventually bourne out) by some of the most respected Christian educational leaders in the U.S. Despite these unwanted experiences that were “out of his control”, he is more on fire for God and His work than ever. This testimony revitalized my faith and I gladly became “unstuck”. As has been said before, God cannot richly use us until we have gone through brokenness.

July 13, 2008 3:49 PM

BKagan said...

Gvingventures: Is it one of faith's ambiguities, that sometimes to really FIND God, we have to LOSE "our way"...then through some stumbling through deserts, and jungles, and those crowds that gather at the costume parties professing their perfect portrayal of the all the right looks of Christianity...you find your self amidst the mascara streaks and threadbare remnants.

Gives more meaning the Ghandi quote, something like: "I love your Christ, but not your Christians."

Curisoly, when I was early in my introduction to Christianity when working with EMI Christian Music Group, remember that 'nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn", one associate who was struck by my background and role working with EMI gently said,"I hope you will not judge Christianity by the Christians you will meet." As I have experienced both the good, and the underbelly of faith, I have been blessed to mostly have joyfully discovered that "being" Christian and "doing" Christianity is not found in any rules or among 3000 of your intimate friends on Sunday...but in places found, like late last night as I sat with a friend who shared with me her fear of a discovered lump in her breast, her fear of sharing that with her friends because she didn't want to be a burden, as if she did not deserve their involvement and thanked me for hearing, seeing and loving her.
And all I had done was take the time to go by after a long day to say hello and ask about her life.

I say spelunking in dark caves yields gems reveals gems.

tyhi (there you have it)

Book Segment #5

Vacation Day Four: The Lost & Found.

OK, I’m going to assume that most everyone can remember going to grade school and taking that walk down the dark hallway to the dreaded cave. That place where your future as a 8-year-old teeters in the balance. That place you have to go through, after which your reunion with Mom and Dad will either be filled with hugs, milk and a couple of Oreo cookies… or unimaginable, cruel and ghastly tortures. That place where your destiny and the loss of that new pair of gloves that Grandma gave you for your birthday collide; the Lost & Found. I remember such a moment, and watching my life pass before my tear-filling eyes. Now, considering I was only eight at the time, it was more like a very quick Disney movie trailer. My teacher, Mrs. Yelverton (the name itself still sends chills), holding my hand and walking me somberly down the long…………endless………foreboding hallway to the office where “the room” was hidden from the outside world. I actually think some kids never came back after that long Green Mile type walk. Now that I think about it, Mrs. Yelverton looked strangely like one of the gruff & pock-faced looking prison guards in the Tom Hanks film… but I digress. The funny thing is that Lost & Found places seem to follow us even into our adulthood. College, hotels, theatres, corporate headquarters, long car rides; we just seem to keep losing things, and then try to go back to find them. Unfortunately, like the gloves, you rarely find them where you thought you left them. I’m not exactly sure why or where this image came to mind on the fourth day of my vacation, but the metaphor really feels right for what is happening in this separation process. So, here goes:

LOST - FOUND

My financial security - My pennies on the street

My large house - My smallness

My closest friend - My self

My wife - My groom

My wedding band - My band of brothers

My mask - My face

My loneliness - My solitude

My words - My heart

My fears - My wounds

My anger - My open hands

My future - My moments

My childhood - My child

My lust - My Agape

My reasons - My truth

My control - My freedom

My taking - My capacity

My way - My invitation

Her - Him

Me - Him

Him - Him

You know, considering all the valuable gifts and other precious things I have lost along the way, I am amazed that now, when coming home empty-handed and fearing the worst from squandering my priceless inheritance, Dad rushes out to meet me with open arms. “While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him. The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring out the best robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the calf we have been fattening, and kill it; we will celebrate by having a feast, because this son of mine was dead and has come back to life; he was lost and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.” [Luke 15:20-24]

At some point I think we must all grapple with the fact that there is a fine line between the pig sty and the party.

Vacation Day Five: The Bare Feet of Rain Puddles.

A day mostly filled with silence. The air an ink of Impenetrable dankness moving back and forth between my loneliness and solitude. From a practical viewpoint, it was probably spurred on by the front edge of the growing storms from Hurricane Katrina. The city of New Orleans has been veritably washed away. Through this internal and external devastation, I did something I hadn’t experienced since 10 years old. While walking Bentley and Amy (Amy is our 13 year-old terrier mutt who I also took with me when I moved out) along this wonderful trail we discovered, meandering under & between the trees behind the apartments, I discovered a puddle. One, two-foot-in-diameter clear puddle placed right in the middle of the sidewalk. Instantly, this crystal pond whisked me back over forty years to my endless walks through Preston Hollow, the North Dallas neighborhood in which I lived since my family moved there from New York City when I was two. Hour upon hour walking barefoot in the rain, imagining I was a noble giant slashing through rivers and lakes. So, I slipped out of my flip-flops [short aside – I have finally referred correctly to this type of contemporary footwear, after two female associates laughing hysterically “with” me after commenting on the fact that I was going to buy some “thongs” to sit by the pool for a good part of my vacation. Their response, “Too much information!” Yes, dated once again.] and walked through the water; gliding, shimmering, floating, meandering, forward, sideways, backward, forward, head cocked back allowing raindrops to roll across my tongue. It was good to be there again.

QUESTION: So, what have you lost...and found lately?

SUGGESTED BLOGS: 1) The Henri Nouwen Society. www.henrinouwen.org. Wonderful daily meditations/reflections. He is noted by a number of fellow spelunkers on my blog and the primary author I read during this separation. Books of particular note: Return of the Prodigal Son. Also, Reaching Out. 2) Leading from the Sandbox: www.leadingfromthesandbox.blogspot.org. This essential leadership blog is from T.J. Addington, a close friend, mentor, leader and one of my Band of Brothers. He is the person who introduced me to Nouwen, these books and whose own recent story of "There and back again" is an inspiration and reminder that God listens.

OK, so Wednesday becomes Thursday ...again.

Wow, what amazing posts and thoughts and interactions. Love it. Love it. My internet was down all Wednesday night so, yet again, my Wednesday passed by without ink from me. And it just came back, so just getting to it now. I have more to say than I can write right now, but I ASSURE you who still have a modicum of faith in my keeping this going, that I will write responses by tomorrow. I am actually traveling to celebrate my niece's Sweet 16 in Connecticut. So...I will keep packing and will answer all shortly. You ALL rock! You humble me! And...boy, the pressure's on to respond with my full presence (don't let the word out...I work best under pressure).

Oh, and...I MUST be doing something that is getting attention. PLEASE take a look at the last post. The good news is that He didn't end it with, "Don't make me come down there!"

B&B

Segment #4

Vacation Day Two: Then and Now.

When I was jotting down thoughts in my journal this morning, for some reason I turned back to the first thing I wrote after it was given to me as a gift of friendship. The wish expressed was that this would begin to open my heart and soul to God, and allow Him to speak to me through my writing; to start an anointed time in my life, and to embrace how God was going to use me. Mind you, I really struggle with this divine “here’s what I want you to do, Brian” concept. I had no idea at the time that the following words would lead to what feels like the complete deconstruction of my life...brick by brick…nothing remaining but the scaffolding.

The dedication written on the first page of the journal reads:
Tuesday, March 29, 2005

To Brian Kagan – Servant of the living God – my Brother, my friend.

I look forward to feasting at your table with the manna of the Harvest the Lord will give you as you set your heart to write once again. Listen to the Holy Whispers; write down the words; remember the faithfulness of our God.

I believe in you, so Write.

Then, my first entry reads:
3.29.05

“And the lamb roared.
And my heart whispered.
And my Lord smiled.

The vessel emptied
Is more than I can possibly consume.
I am bloated.
Yet He continues to drench my heart
with intoxicating grace
and a love,
a love so embracing and intimate
that I lose myself.
Dizzy, I collapse into His arms.

The rock rolls away slowly
Revealing the light through the darkness.
I believe.
‘Come with me now.’

The heart of God is the place the
human heart seeks and longs for, the
only place where our hearts will find rest.

One simple moment with our heart in
restful reflection with God is more revealing
than the total reasoning of mankind.”

For the longest time I figured that God’s throne was in this place somewhere above. Sure, the cloud images come to mind with people floating “cumulusly” in their white satin robes, perfect smiles…you know the scene. And then, I read this 17^th century Christian author who through the acceptance of his own, found a peaceful and majestic throne quietly nestled in his heart, absent of all external things or needs. The grandeur of a single flickering candle.

Fenelon/Meditations on the Heart of God

How prophetic, now looking back. A preview of what was to come; words and moments stained with tears glistening in God’s candlelight.

And now, today’s entry reads:
This “time alone with God” thing is not so easy!

Ache in the pit of my stomach. Wondering whether I remembered to take my meds this morning; if I did…they’re not working. Walking with Bentley this morning almost brought me to tears. Yesterday he did bring me to tears. Big tears. Long tears and shuddering cries. This part of the “honesty” thing is a bit tricky. I’m not sure how my Wild at Heart male peers will respond to the image of a 54 year-old man lying on the living room floor weeping, shaking, drooling, chest heaving, the dog licking the tear-mixed mucous streaks from my face as if he knows my pain… guilt… repentance… brokenness. And he still loves me. Not the macho, butt-slapping locker room image.

So, there’s the dichotomy. Then. Now.

Flipping through the journal, I begin to notice the pages where the dark began seeping into the light, subtle and miniscule at first, distributing its thick-tar poison into the surface and imbedding itself deeper and deeper into my wounds. Spreading. Burning. I remember conversations with my friends reminding me that “The Dark One” does not want us to feel real Love, Joy, Hope, Light, Friendship. These “good” feelings must be replaced with Jealousy, Doubt, Fear, Desperation, Loneliness. Still, I sense something that feels like a gentle whisper calling me to come closer. Inviting and encouraging me to come home. Like the silent voice and unmoving hands of the father, welcoming home and embracing the younger son in Rembrandt’s haunting masterpiece, Return of the Prodigal Son. Coming home, after being dead, embraced with gifts of love. Realizing there is a fine line between the pigsty, where we wallow in the slop of our futile attempts to “make right” the wrongs, and then a celebration. The Father showering him with unconditional love…just for coming home.

The room is very still. The dog is sleeping on the couch next to me as I write. His belly is full. It rises and falls, rises and falls….

Vacation Day Three: A Smile on the Way Back

OK, having read back through the last few entries I’m beginning to understand the full impact of Jim’s comment a few sessions ago, “It must suck to be you.” Truth is that it’s not all that bad, this alone thing. Well, the rest of the truth is that so far I have discovered that I have real friends giving me unconditional support and love and caring. Not that any one of them is trying to “make it all better”, mind you. An example came yesterday during coffee with a good friend. When he listened to some of the trails I have covered the last few months, a broad smile began spilling across on his face. Seeing my eyes widen into a post-bludgeoned look he inserted, “Please, Brian, please don’t take my smile as in any way minimizing the struggles and pain you’re experiencing. The smile is my joy in knowing that this is exactly where God wants you to be right now. It’s a great sign that He is softening and preparing your heart to do His work through the expression of your life. Wanting to see if you really trust Him to do all He says He can do. Not that I’ve personally experienced the same challenges you’re facing…and I have been exactly where you are a number of times in my life.” OK…so this is supposed to make me jump up and do the “I’ve Got Happy Feet” dance, right? After his comment, I also recalled a statement from a number of other friends, “God will only give you as much as you can handle.” That’s just great! Let’s see…His “encouragement” might sound something like, “Brian, here’s the deal. You don’t need your money; you don’t need your house; you don’t need your job; you don’t even need your wife, family or friends. What you need is… Me. So, based on the fact that you haven’t taken the invitation on your own, dude, and the fact that you’ve squandered all the treasures and gifts I’ve given you up till now, I’m gonna (God can speak in slang if He wants to, you know) take the next six months to be with you. No distractions. Lots of struggling. Lots of wandering. Lots of solitude. Lots of questions. Lots of conversation. Lots of tears. Lots of breaking. Lots of my forgiveness. Lots of my love. Lots of my holding you in my arms. And lots more.” I suppose it gives new meaning to the expression, “It’s my lot in life.” And so for me to say this has all been bad would sound like a pouting, woe-is-me, pathetic….right.

Last night during a sunset coffee with Bentley at It’s a Grind, I started reading Henri Nouwen’s Reaching Out, The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life. I was at Borders the night before finishing his Return of the Prodigal Son, and decided I would see what else he had to offer. Among all his titles this one’s cover grabbed me. The premise of the book, as it turns out, is broken into the three areas through which I am walking: The transitions from 1) loneliness to solitude, 2) hostility to hospitality, and 3) illusion to prayer. The first section deals with this “alone with God” thing. I must say that I’ve been doing an A+ job on experiencing the loneliness part. And I hate it when I fit right into the “if you’re here, it must really suck to be you” map location for spiritual mud wrestling. Nouwen compares the desperation and emptiness embodied in loneliness as a “retreat from humanity”. Isolation. Disengagement. Whereas his comparison of loneliness with that of solitude, specifically “solitude of the heart”, opens to “a deeper appreciation of time spent getting away from the societal models of competition and measuring up, moving into that place where the love of self and appreciation of your and others’ humanness resides”. This, coupled with cherished and celebrated “separateness and closed-ness” rang a bell so loud that I pray it keeps ringing in my ears for the rest of my days! It SO nails and supports exactly the counseling that Jim has been sharing with us these last three months – actually the same messages he’s been conveying for our ten years of counseling; two whole and separate individuals, bringing their selves to a relationship, where they can be in and out of their physical spaces, and still fully in each other’s presence. A few passages from Nouwen are worth sharing:

“This difficult road is the road of conversion, the conversion from loneliness into solitude. Instead of running away from our loneliness and trying to forget or deny it, we have to protect it and turn it into fruitful solitude. To live a spiritual life we must first find the courage to enter into the desert [Jim calls this “wandering in the wilderness”] of our loneliness and to change it by gentle and persistent efforts into a garden of solitude. This requires not only courage but also strong faith [Jim told us when we embarked on the commitment to separate that not only would this involve the courage to “be comfortable with being uncomfortable in the wanderings,” but also that “this will be a good test “to see if your faith has legs”]. As hard as it is to believe that the dry, desolate desert can yield endless varieties of flowers, it is equally hard to imagine that our loneliness is hiding unknown beauty. The movement from loneliness to solitude, however, is the beginning of any spiritual life because it is the movement from the restless senses to the restful spirit, from the outward-reaching cravings to the inward-reaching search, from the fearful clinging to the fearless play.”

Then, as if Henri and Jim shared office space, he says:

“When we live with a solitude of heart, we can listen with attention to the words and the worlds of others, but when we are driven by loneliness, we tend to select just those remarks and events that bring immediate satisfaction to our own craving needs.”

Feeling like I just slid all the way back down to the first row in the game, Shoots & Ladders (yes, I do remember that long ago!), he turns the screw a bit tighter when he continues:

“Unless our questions, problems and concerns are tested and matured in solitude, it is not realistic to expect answers that are really our own.” I sure love it when you get hit with one of those delightful “realistic” zingers – always adds a bit of spice to your guilt and stupidity appetizer.

Nope, not done yet… he turns the screw jusssst a bit tighter:

“There we can also become present to others by reaching out to them, not greedy for attention and affection but offering our own selves to help build a community of love. Solitude does not pull us away from our fellow human beings but instead makes real fellowship possible.”

This made me catch my breath, glaringly reminding me of how often my “reaching out” and “being present” to listen, hear, and support Valerie’s needs [and truth be told the needs of friends or clients] was more often than not mixed with motives of personal gain or some other agenda I was trying to manipulate… or maybe it was fear of inadequacy I was trying to hide. I admit that these actions became so “natural” and “sincere” that I never questioned possible negative impacts. And wounding.

And, then, as if the previous segments were not enough to make we wish for a Witness Protection Identity Scrub and Relocation Package to some remote town in Wyoming tending sheep, he offers the coup de gras:

“Without solitude of heart, the intimacy [a word that has been the subject of many of our counseling sessions – what it really means to have, share, and experience true intimacy of friendship, marriage and community] cannot be creative. Without solitude of heart, our relationships with others easily become needy and greedy, sticky and clinging, dependent and sentimental, exploitative and parasitic, because without the solitude of heart we cannot experience the others as different from ourselves but only as people who can be used for the fulfillment of our own, often hidden needs.

The mystery of love is that it protects and respects the aloneness of the other and creates the free space where he can convert his loneliness into a solitude that can be shared. In this solitude we can strengthen each other by mutual respect, by careful consideration of each other’s individuality, by an obedient distance from each other’s privacy and by a reverent understanding of the sacredness of the human heart. In this solitude we encourage each other to enter into the silence of our innermost being and discover there the voice that calls us beyond the limits of human togetherness to a new communion. In this solitude we can slowly become aware of a presence of Him who embraces friends and lovers and offers us the freedom to love each other, because He loved us first (see 1 John 4:19).”

I have wronged people. I have not been careful or respectful of my solitude of heart, and that of others. I have not been in the fullness of my or others’ presence. I have been self-centered. As I close this third day of my vacation, as I think of what to say and what it is for which I ask God’s help, I am reminded of a scene from As Good As It Gets. When Jack Nicholson is asked by Helen Hunt at a seafood restaurant to “say something nice” after being hurt and humiliated by his callous comments, he pauses and replies, “You make me want to be a better man.”

When I was walking back home from the coffee shop a smile slowed my steps and an unfamiliar feeling began to spread across my face. I realized that I was not walking alone.

Just a note: Some people have privately asked if Valerie is aware of this blog and book. Some wonder about her side of all this. The answers are: 1. She has read and has given me permission to work towards publishing the book. 2. Her side of the story is something you will have to ask her permission to discuss. We talk about all the sides...a lot.

Wednesday's question [early Thursday]

I am here in Salt Lake City with 5200 high school kids sharing and giving away the love of their faith. What energy. As I listened to a number of amazing stories of faith it and watching them ALL DAY texting friends it led me to this question about this blog:

Question: If you were me and you were trying to give your story away and want to create a space where people "wanted" to share their open thoughts, what would YOU do to encourage your friends, family, co-workers, cell mates and the come in for a visit? I ask, as you must remember I am suffering from post-generational, post-50, post-relevance, post-technology, post-toasties syndrome.

Bentley will bring you the next segment on Saturday!

Messi it up!