In Closing - The Catch
[The following is the exchange of the letter and email following my recent trip to visit Victoria and Rick; to celebrate her birthday on July 21. I stayed with them in their yurt, went fly-fishing for the first time with Victoria and shared a moment I knew would come…someday... the first painful “realness” exchanged from the situation from our separation. I offer it as the end of my year of walking in between, and its continuation dedicated to the family of my heart, each of whom has helped me become the man I am becoming: Valerie, John, Victoria and my loving Lord and Abba.]
July 25, 2006
“Dad: for some ‘light’ reading at 30,000 feet….”
So here it is,
I know that most of the following has been said before, but it needs…no, I want to say it again. I love you so much, Dad. I, as a human, a person & your daughter will always love you. No matter what. I may not always agree with what you say, or with what you are doing, but none of it matters when it comes to my love & support. I may react at times like we would never speak again; but know that I would never want to put myself through anything that painful, never mind what it would do to you. That said, I hope you know there will be nothing in the universe, the entire creation of man or the cosmos itself that won’t be okay on the other side of things for you…and me. Us.
V.
[My response]
“Light”…at 30,000 feet.
Victoria: I was going to get right into my work and make the shift back to my other life...and decided to read your letter. Truth is, that there is nothing more important in my life than my family. I have learned this through some very important and often painful and costly lessons. And through it all, when you take life’s inventory, when the "things" we have gathered are all worn, gone out of style, lost their luster, been passed onto friends, left at thrift stores, left at the Salvation Army trailer, when the friends that come & gone, the cards are thrown away, the pictures faded from the corners...and the like...we are left with family. Life’s trail markers.
I did not push our conversation about the situation with your mother yesterday any further, mainly because as a woman you are entitled to your feelings and how you process these changing seasons; leaving behind some old, familiar things and embracing the birth new ones. There is no right amount of time for wounds to heal. Only the healing. There is no right amount of time to find the right words. Only the words.
There is truth...and God's loving embrace.
I love you unconditionally. There is nothing...absolutely nothing in this life that you can do, say or express that will make me love you any more or less than I do at this very moment. As I have every moment before. And every moment to come. I am working through my brokenness, trying to let go of judgment and to come alongside those people for whom I care. To love them well...no matter what that means. I love you. I love your brother. I love your mother. And for the first time in my life, I am learning to love me. I hope that regardless of the path your mother and I are taking, that you will find a place along the road, in your time and in your way, to celebrate the way we are blessed in loving each other. And through it all, that we find real love to give and share. That, after all, is the greatest gift of all.
Our fly fishing outing this past week will always be one of those life markers for more reasons than you realize, or that I realized until this moment. There is a passage in John:21 that talks of Jesus' resurrection, when he reunites with the disciples who are out fishing after the crucifixion. It is referred to as the "Miracle of the catch." The miracle, as I see it, is when we go out to the deepest waters of this life’s questions and hunger, together in fellowship, to cast our nets “on the other side.” And through faith, we catch each other’s hearts. Abundantly. And the net will not break.
Miracles do happen.
On the way to the airport I asked you if there was something I could pray specifically for you. You said there was nothing specific. Here is what I will be praying for you: Father, I lift up Your child, like once long ago under a fat July moon, to ask that You cover her with Your light. That You light her path with tiny fireflies of light, just enough so that she can see even only one step ahead. That You will illuminate each step with moments of love, trust, peace, healing, grace, and belief. That she will find You in the quiet moments and fireworks of Your calling on her life. And that through it all, she will celebrate the truest meaning of family. And love. Amen.
I celebrate you, and the miracle of our catch.
Dad
_________________________________________________________________________________
*A Final Comment: I want to comment on the process of going back and editing this book. It is now 4 months since receiving the papers from the court confirming the finalization of the Divorce Decree: April 4, 2007. And now, after going back and changing a word here and there to ensure that I have honored God, Valerie, my family, friends and associates I realize that I will never stop wanting to edit and rewrite these pages. To make it more clear. More engaging. More real. And you know what…that’s just not the best calling on my life or the reason this story has been written. In its awkwardness, grammatical goofs, wrong tenses, mixed metaphors and the rest of the flaws that any good editor would “catch” and suggest “correcting,” I am leaving it as is after this review. No more edits. You see, that is exactly the way it is in real life; written with life’s ink of misspellings and grammatical errors. Relationships are flawed. Families are flawed. Friends are flawed. Moments are flawed. Memories are flawed. Words are flawed. We are all flawed. Each and every one of us needs revisions. And, isn’t it the most amazing and precious of gifts that we have a perfect piece of writing that started this and every other story every told… and ever to be told: “In the beginning God created….”
With all the flaws in the story, He still loves us.
Brian. In between.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Thursday's Wednesday Post
As I mentioned in my last post, this Saturday's post will be the last segment of the book. In thinking past that benchmark, I am considering posting a link to a mini-survey (about 10 questions) the week following to determine what the overall takeaways were from the readers, and if there might be a some support for me continuing using this WRITING INBETWEEN site for 1) brief thoughts about the "continuation" of insights, outsights, hindsights, frontsights... along the way, 2) if there is anyone out there (besides my sister) who might be interested in getting the book in a form to send/share with other people, 3) if there might be interest in my posting small segments from my next book, "No thank you, I'm just looking," addressing my dilemma about why so many people keep trying so hard to "sell" this faith thing, when it is a gift given freely by God, 4) other ways to keep this little community (l)inked together, 4) if Bentley should have his own blog, "Paws with Bentley" or "Life, viewed from 8 inches off the ground" or a title suggestion from you. I'm just kidding about #4 (unless....).
I will make the survey VERY BRIEF AND EASY so that you might actually take the time to do it. :)
Thanks, again and again and again for sharing the ink.
Write on.
Brian
I will make the survey VERY BRIEF AND EASY so that you might actually take the time to do it. :)
Thanks, again and again and again for sharing the ink.
Write on.
Brian
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Book Segment #18: One Year Later - Delicious Ambiguity
June 15, 2006
One Year Later: Delicious Ambiguity.
The Last Chapter?
Sooner or later stories end. We savor each word of some books, like fine cabernet, the last crimson jewel lingering on the tongue. We relish the taste; then it dissolves to memory. For those books we murmur, “Please don’t end.” Others persist, endlessly, each word a toil of letters, bricks on eyelids. For those books we murmur, “Please, enough.” Either way the book is placed onto the shelf along with other titles, many of which we promised to pick up again someday, maybe to simply scan the yellow highlights and margin comments; we rarely open them again.
It’s been almost a year since that “chance” meeting with Valerie in the parking lot. It’s been almost a year embracing the incessant comment from a recent meeting with Jim, where he continued our dialogue about transitioning from one ambiguity to the next; “You must embrace the fact that there is no more ‘we’ in your relationship. Now, there are just two people trying to bring their separate stories into the room.” There it was again, that razor-edged word… separate.
Do we continue separated for another six months, another twelve months, or…?
I’ve turned to God many times over the twelve months trying to sort through the comments in the page margins looking for an answer: How do I love her and love me and honor Your calling on our lives? How do I accept Your invitation to become the man You have called me to be? How do I deal with these feelings, for the first time in my life, that hint that I am worthy of giving and receiving love? How do I behave like an authentic friend; not manipulating people through my disguised good intentions? How do I behave like a better man?
Then, somewhere in a far off place in my heart I heard two words, that were more of a sigh than a statement; “Keep walking.”
Many of my life mentors over the last year have said to me, “God does not like divorce. He wants people to live in a covenant marriage.” I held onto this thought over these months and words and moments of ambiguity. And in the end, God is God. We cannot know exactly why things happen in between logic and ambiguity. It’s called “life.” I guess that if we could answer why God would allow planes to crash into skyscrapers, taking thousands of innocent lives; or why an 8- year-old child is brutally ravaged and killed; or why the waters would part for a mass of broken & wandering people…we’d be God. This quote, taped to the refrigerator of my 1-bedroom apartment by the late Gilda Radner says it best:
“Some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.”
The ambiguity: Valerie and I have ended our marriage. We are both growing deeply in our faith; me, through international mission work -- she, working full time for a women’s ministry. We are both living with less; we’re growing more than ever. We did not succeed as husband and wife; we’re getting better at being friends. We both are experiencing a personal relationship with God; we’re learning how to experience people. We are both blessed with abundant love from family, friends and our children; we’re sharing the wonder of a 6-month-old grandson. Our paths are widening into distance; through our distance new intimacy is converging.
I am committed to loving her right; on this and the other side of heaven.
One Year Later: Delicious Ambiguity.
The Last Chapter?
Sooner or later stories end. We savor each word of some books, like fine cabernet, the last crimson jewel lingering on the tongue. We relish the taste; then it dissolves to memory. For those books we murmur, “Please don’t end.” Others persist, endlessly, each word a toil of letters, bricks on eyelids. For those books we murmur, “Please, enough.” Either way the book is placed onto the shelf along with other titles, many of which we promised to pick up again someday, maybe to simply scan the yellow highlights and margin comments; we rarely open them again.
It’s been almost a year since that “chance” meeting with Valerie in the parking lot. It’s been almost a year embracing the incessant comment from a recent meeting with Jim, where he continued our dialogue about transitioning from one ambiguity to the next; “You must embrace the fact that there is no more ‘we’ in your relationship. Now, there are just two people trying to bring their separate stories into the room.” There it was again, that razor-edged word… separate.
Do we continue separated for another six months, another twelve months, or…?
I’ve turned to God many times over the twelve months trying to sort through the comments in the page margins looking for an answer: How do I love her and love me and honor Your calling on our lives? How do I accept Your invitation to become the man You have called me to be? How do I deal with these feelings, for the first time in my life, that hint that I am worthy of giving and receiving love? How do I behave like an authentic friend; not manipulating people through my disguised good intentions? How do I behave like a better man?
Then, somewhere in a far off place in my heart I heard two words, that were more of a sigh than a statement; “Keep walking.”
Many of my life mentors over the last year have said to me, “God does not like divorce. He wants people to live in a covenant marriage.” I held onto this thought over these months and words and moments of ambiguity. And in the end, God is God. We cannot know exactly why things happen in between logic and ambiguity. It’s called “life.” I guess that if we could answer why God would allow planes to crash into skyscrapers, taking thousands of innocent lives; or why an 8- year-old child is brutally ravaged and killed; or why the waters would part for a mass of broken & wandering people…we’d be God. This quote, taped to the refrigerator of my 1-bedroom apartment by the late Gilda Radner says it best:
“Some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.”
The ambiguity: Valerie and I have ended our marriage. We are both growing deeply in our faith; me, through international mission work -- she, working full time for a women’s ministry. We are both living with less; we’re growing more than ever. We did not succeed as husband and wife; we’re getting better at being friends. We both are experiencing a personal relationship with God; we’re learning how to experience people. We are both blessed with abundant love from family, friends and our children; we’re sharing the wonder of a 6-month-old grandson. Our paths are widening into distance; through our distance new intimacy is converging.
I am committed to loving her right; on this and the other side of heaven.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Thursday's Wednesday Post: "Have a sip."
Good morning. Well, it's a short and sweet post. The following phrase came to mind on Tuesday when I took a Personal Retreat Day. If you have never done one of these, I cannot tell you how invaluable it is to pause...breathe...reflect...redirect. Making an appointment...with you. I would love to talk more about its benefits, and if there is anyone out there who wants to know more about the model let me know.
Here's my phrase for your sipping...nibbling...molding...holding...considering:
Unbound me; then, wrap me in your storm.
How does this apply to you?
Here's my phrase for your sipping...nibbling...molding...holding...considering:
Unbound me; then, wrap me in your storm.
How does this apply to you?
Monday, October 13, 2008
Monday
Not my usual schedule. But like so many days along this voyage I checked my blog site to see if anyone had read the past segment post. And tears welled in my eyes as I notices the spike of visitors being the highest since we departed. 26 people actually read the post which is the highest to date. To imagine that this many people would give me this part of their day, mingle the inks of our lives is so very staggering to me. I was told the other day by a very close new friend and mentor, you know who you are GH :),when he read the draft of the intro to my new book that I should stop being so self-deprecating. "It is OK to receive people who want to touch and share time in your life. And you are worthy of reading." Still, it is so difficult to accept; to stop watching the reruns of my past B Movie.
So, as the raindrops tear across my windows on this rainy Monday in Minnesota, I thank you for your time and heart.
Write on.
So, as the raindrops tear across my windows on this rainy Monday in Minnesota, I thank you for your time and heart.
Write on.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Book Segment #17: "From the Desert"
February 1, 2006
From the Desert [an email from a close friend]
Brian,
Hey, I’m really sorry about the wife situation. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My wife and I draw so much emotional support from each other; I can’t imagine not having that. What I can relate to is going through a desert in life, literally and figuratively. Part of my life-changing experience in Israel was spending the first four days in the Negev Desert. What first appeared barren, threatening and worthless grew on me until I started to see its beauty and understood total dependence on God. It was humbling and awesome. That experience prepared me for the figurative desert that followed as we went through 16 months of a failed business merger. My wife cried and I felt like a failure. I’ll tell you about that sometime. Looking back I see God’s hand everywhere along the way and I am better for it.
All that to tell you I’m praying for you…that God may show you the small green plant in the shadow of the rock…that he will lead you to an oasis.
You’ve already been a blessing to me.
Your brother
P.S. Say hi to Bentley for me.
[my email response]
My friend:
From the darkness emerges a beam of light that illuminates even only the next step along the darkening path. And even though it may quickly fade, the promise of its appearance ignites the courage to take one more step forward. Just one. I am humbled by what feels like undeserving love from brothers and sisters sharing this walk…in search of one green plant in the desert. Thank you for your blessing.
February 7, 2006
Rekindle
“I realize having met alone with Jim today that the truth is that my actions lately are not following what’s being communicated through my words.” These were the words from Valerie that started our brief meeting in a small shopping center in Brentwood, TN. A chance meeting. She then continued in a low voice, “I really hoped that the last six months would enable me to rekindle my feelings towards our marriage. I must be truthful with you, and us, in telling you that this is not the case. I am not in a place where I can move towards reconnecting. I really do not know what that means moving forward. I know I still have feelings. I hope that we can find friendship. I just don’t know right now what that can look like.”
[A few weeks earlier I was in the same shopping center parking lot walking to my car from the market when I saw Don Henley [yep, the Eagles!] standing ahead of me, stopped and looking up into the sky. Actually this might seem like a major thing, considering he is one of my favorite artists and songwriters. He actually spends a lot of time here in Nashville, so seeing him was not as interesting as was his upward curiosity. As I turned my glance up and to my right, I saw the point of his interest; a group of six skywriting planes penning a white-dashed-smoke sentence across the cobalt summer tablet of sky: “I love you Jennie.” It was fascinating to see the message appear, letter by letter, the puzzle unfolding… and then, the letters dissolving one by one.
I received Valerie’s words, not totally unexpected, and with every bit of courage held onto my wavering smile and replied, “I understand and appreciate that you are sharing your heart so transparently with me.” I really don’t remember the subsequent parting words after that. It really didn’t matter. And then I recalled the one line from Don Henley’s song, My Wedding Day, “…to want what I have, and take what I’m given with grace. These things I pray, on my wedding day.”
And then I knew it was time to come in from the desert’s intoxication, and write the last chapter of this book.
From the Desert [an email from a close friend]
Brian,
Hey, I’m really sorry about the wife situation. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My wife and I draw so much emotional support from each other; I can’t imagine not having that. What I can relate to is going through a desert in life, literally and figuratively. Part of my life-changing experience in Israel was spending the first four days in the Negev Desert. What first appeared barren, threatening and worthless grew on me until I started to see its beauty and understood total dependence on God. It was humbling and awesome. That experience prepared me for the figurative desert that followed as we went through 16 months of a failed business merger. My wife cried and I felt like a failure. I’ll tell you about that sometime. Looking back I see God’s hand everywhere along the way and I am better for it.
All that to tell you I’m praying for you…that God may show you the small green plant in the shadow of the rock…that he will lead you to an oasis.
You’ve already been a blessing to me.
Your brother
P.S. Say hi to Bentley for me.
[my email response]
My friend:
From the darkness emerges a beam of light that illuminates even only the next step along the darkening path. And even though it may quickly fade, the promise of its appearance ignites the courage to take one more step forward. Just one. I am humbled by what feels like undeserving love from brothers and sisters sharing this walk…in search of one green plant in the desert. Thank you for your blessing.
February 7, 2006
Rekindle
“I realize having met alone with Jim today that the truth is that my actions lately are not following what’s being communicated through my words.” These were the words from Valerie that started our brief meeting in a small shopping center in Brentwood, TN. A chance meeting. She then continued in a low voice, “I really hoped that the last six months would enable me to rekindle my feelings towards our marriage. I must be truthful with you, and us, in telling you that this is not the case. I am not in a place where I can move towards reconnecting. I really do not know what that means moving forward. I know I still have feelings. I hope that we can find friendship. I just don’t know right now what that can look like.”
[A few weeks earlier I was in the same shopping center parking lot walking to my car from the market when I saw Don Henley [yep, the Eagles!] standing ahead of me, stopped and looking up into the sky. Actually this might seem like a major thing, considering he is one of my favorite artists and songwriters. He actually spends a lot of time here in Nashville, so seeing him was not as interesting as was his upward curiosity. As I turned my glance up and to my right, I saw the point of his interest; a group of six skywriting planes penning a white-dashed-smoke sentence across the cobalt summer tablet of sky: “I love you Jennie.” It was fascinating to see the message appear, letter by letter, the puzzle unfolding… and then, the letters dissolving one by one.
I received Valerie’s words, not totally unexpected, and with every bit of courage held onto my wavering smile and replied, “I understand and appreciate that you are sharing your heart so transparently with me.” I really don’t remember the subsequent parting words after that. It really didn’t matter. And then I recalled the one line from Don Henley’s song, My Wedding Day, “…to want what I have, and take what I’m given with grace. These things I pray, on my wedding day.”
And then I knew it was time to come in from the desert’s intoxication, and write the last chapter of this book.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Book Segment #16: "Separation Anniversaries"
January 18, 2006
Separation Anniversaries
I.
My heart is emptying. It is spilling ink, syrups of emotion. In solitude I lean into the six-month anniversary of this separation. I really don’t know what I was realistically expecting to happen on this date. I suppose in the shadows of hope I pictured packing my boxes and reuniting my “spaces” with Valerie’s. That the differences and pain of the past would yield to the promise of redemption and reconciliation close in the distance. That is not to be. During our last conversation on the phone she conveyed her lingering hesitation to re-engage, fearing I still wasn’t “getting” her need to have her turn in our relationship. And I remembered Jim’s last comment when we met: “There is no us or we in this relationship any longer. The cancer has won. The relationship as it was, is dead. Now, you must take the time to bring the I and I into the room to see what can or might be in the birth of a new relationship. A relationship between each of you, in the presence of God.”
And then I screwed up, yet again, when I interrupted her in response to a comment she made during the call. “See, you still will not allow me to say anything; just accept it without a comment turning it around to be about you,” she said. I hesitated, replying, “That was not my intent, and for that I am deeply regretful. You know, truly I want to re-engage with you, Valerie, and I am trying to be a better man; bringing the mistakes and hopes and everything I am all at once. My greatest obstacle is finding any words at all that I can say without making things worse. And so, through my ongoing silence and seeming lack of response, I feel as though to honor your need I have to say nothing.” A long pause. “It stings too deeply to keep hurting you, when really what I want to do is love you well. I do not want it to be about me. I want to serve you and pour my life into you.”
Even as I write this at this very moment, operating via my intrinsic dumbness, I want to make it clear to any reader that Valerie is not acting in any way to convey that she is not working towards some way to redevelop our relationship. Her pace and path are between her and God; not for me to judge. In my own struggle, like in the Prodigal Son living the dichotomy between the pig sty and the father’s feast, I accept her path… in her time, in her way.
So, on this anniversary date the separation continues. My longings adapt to the road. Hesitating, I limp toward the asphalt horizon. The solitude is my whispered companion.
II.
Later, the same morning of the previous entry, I am sitting on a plane on my way to Minneapolis to attend a gathering of 400 pastors. They are coming together to discuss a proposed revision to the Statement of Faith for a major denomination. NOTE TO READER: To feel the impact from the following story you must understand that when I fly I DO NOT WANT TO TALK with ANY of my fellow row mate(s). EVER. You might recall John Candy and Steve Martin in Planes, Trains and Automobiles with John Candy sitting next to Martin on the plane and sharing (and sharing) his passion as a manufacturer’s rep for custom shower curtain rings. Martin is suffering, not so graciously. I vigilantly protect these moments of peace…reflection…napping…writing…IN SILENCE. Not that I do not care about these people, mind you… just not right now, please. Settling in “cozily” with an empty seat between me and the man in the aisle seat, and a two-hour flight ahead of me… a deep sigh and smile cascade through me. And then I did a really dumb thing --- I looked over, noted the book he was reading, The Case for Faith, by Lee Stroebel. Now, work with me here...you see, the first book I ever read about Christianity was Stroebel’s The Case for Christ, which I must say was the first crack in the door to my faith. Having not read any of his other books, I was jussssst a bit curious. The guy seemed fairly harmless, intermittently napping and not snoring (always a good sign that he might not be an overly “energetic” communicator). I thought some slight contact might be safe. I reviewed the process of taking my seat when I boarded, giving him the “textbook” head nod and eye glance gesture towards the window seat, followed by the universally accepted and concise, “I’m sitting there,” to which he smiled and WITHOUT a verbal response stood to clear my path. This was another good sign that he likely shared my desire for anonymity, peace, and quiet. So now, noting his eyes were now open, I took a deep breath, leaned over and said “Good book?” Just two words. I mentally calculated the also universally accepted 5 MINUTES MAX discussion, followed by the return to our respective sanctuaries. IT WAS NOT TO BE!
OK, I have now set this scene up for you. What transpired was a lengthy interaction mostly orated by him. And the last 3 minutes of our conversation brought a blessing that I could have never anticipated. It was delivered through a few connected sentences that made it clear that my peace & quiet is not something I possess or control, and certainly not when God wants to offer a message. I quickly learned that the man was a missionary who was on his way to Jakarta, via Tokyo. He was very passionate about his calling and very curious about my faith journey, my marriage situation and God’s unerring role in guiding it all. When the wheels finally touched the ground, after this very long chat…it happened. Ed (yes, we had exchanged names by this point) leaned over and began,
“You know, Brian, about 6 months ago I went to the doctor about some problems I was experiencing. She came in after some blood tests, took a deep breath and said somberly, ‘Ed, you have acute leukemia. It is my opinion that based on the tests, you probably have two months to live.’ I paused, smiled and replied with the question, ‘Well, is there an ugly type of leukemia…not as cute as this one?’”
Ed paused, a glowing smile spreading across his rough-skinned face and then delivered the following message. “I’ll never forget the look on the doctor’s face, and her response, ‘Do you realize what I have just told you? You have only two months to live, and you are joking.’ Smiling a wide, comfortable smile I responded, ‘What you do not know about me is that I have a very close relationship with my Lord and God, and the idea of dying is something I celebrate, not fear in any way.’ Her being Jewish led to a very special interaction and closeness between us that has endured since our interaction. Oh, by the way, as of this date, one year later, the leukemia is in full remission. I watch it very closely and feel confident it will come back and finally take me. But, you know, none of us will get out of this alive!”
I let this all settle in for a bit. Ed had just revealed this very personal part of his life to a perfect stranger. He glowed with an effervescent joy and peace about his life…and death. I considered my earlier self-centered behavior, wanting to ignore his airplane-induced invasion into “my” space. I was guarding my personal needs and comfort. And, then, if the previous message was not enough to unravel me, he gave me the parting comment as he stood up and prepared to leave.
“Brian, we all live our lives in separation. It is through knowing that there is a promise of eternal connection that makes all the rest bearable. You know, knowing what I know now in my life and journey, if I had the chance to do it all over again…I’d still choose leukemia. Bless you.”
And he was gone.
A Statement of Faith, indeed.
III.
I jerked awake. Sleep’s hushed embrace shattered by the strident tone from my cell phone. Semi-blind I groped through the items gathered around the base of the lamp sitting on the small table between the hotel beds. I found the phone, and blurry-eyed noted that the caller ID on the phone read “John (M)”, my son’s mobile number. The digital alarm clock read 2:20 A.M.
“So,” I answered, elongating the “o” to emphasize the drama of what I knew he was getting ready to tell me.
“Well, you’re a grandfather, Dad!”
“Wow! That’s wonderful, John. And congratulations… you’re a father.”
My first grandchild, an 8 pound 14 ounce boy, Kinley Corbin, was born at 1:10 A.M. in a hospital in San Diego.
IV.
And through the darkness emerged the light of a tiny candle, flickering in the eyes of a newborn child. And in that moment, separation was lost forever.
Separation Anniversaries
I.
My heart is emptying. It is spilling ink, syrups of emotion. In solitude I lean into the six-month anniversary of this separation. I really don’t know what I was realistically expecting to happen on this date. I suppose in the shadows of hope I pictured packing my boxes and reuniting my “spaces” with Valerie’s. That the differences and pain of the past would yield to the promise of redemption and reconciliation close in the distance. That is not to be. During our last conversation on the phone she conveyed her lingering hesitation to re-engage, fearing I still wasn’t “getting” her need to have her turn in our relationship. And I remembered Jim’s last comment when we met: “There is no us or we in this relationship any longer. The cancer has won. The relationship as it was, is dead. Now, you must take the time to bring the I and I into the room to see what can or might be in the birth of a new relationship. A relationship between each of you, in the presence of God.”
And then I screwed up, yet again, when I interrupted her in response to a comment she made during the call. “See, you still will not allow me to say anything; just accept it without a comment turning it around to be about you,” she said. I hesitated, replying, “That was not my intent, and for that I am deeply regretful. You know, truly I want to re-engage with you, Valerie, and I am trying to be a better man; bringing the mistakes and hopes and everything I am all at once. My greatest obstacle is finding any words at all that I can say without making things worse. And so, through my ongoing silence and seeming lack of response, I feel as though to honor your need I have to say nothing.” A long pause. “It stings too deeply to keep hurting you, when really what I want to do is love you well. I do not want it to be about me. I want to serve you and pour my life into you.”
Even as I write this at this very moment, operating via my intrinsic dumbness, I want to make it clear to any reader that Valerie is not acting in any way to convey that she is not working towards some way to redevelop our relationship. Her pace and path are between her and God; not for me to judge. In my own struggle, like in the Prodigal Son living the dichotomy between the pig sty and the father’s feast, I accept her path… in her time, in her way.
So, on this anniversary date the separation continues. My longings adapt to the road. Hesitating, I limp toward the asphalt horizon. The solitude is my whispered companion.
II.
Later, the same morning of the previous entry, I am sitting on a plane on my way to Minneapolis to attend a gathering of 400 pastors. They are coming together to discuss a proposed revision to the Statement of Faith for a major denomination. NOTE TO READER: To feel the impact from the following story you must understand that when I fly I DO NOT WANT TO TALK with ANY of my fellow row mate(s). EVER. You might recall John Candy and Steve Martin in Planes, Trains and Automobiles with John Candy sitting next to Martin on the plane and sharing (and sharing) his passion as a manufacturer’s rep for custom shower curtain rings. Martin is suffering, not so graciously. I vigilantly protect these moments of peace…reflection…napping…writing…IN SILENCE. Not that I do not care about these people, mind you… just not right now, please. Settling in “cozily” with an empty seat between me and the man in the aisle seat, and a two-hour flight ahead of me… a deep sigh and smile cascade through me. And then I did a really dumb thing --- I looked over, noted the book he was reading, The Case for Faith, by Lee Stroebel. Now, work with me here...you see, the first book I ever read about Christianity was Stroebel’s The Case for Christ, which I must say was the first crack in the door to my faith. Having not read any of his other books, I was jussssst a bit curious. The guy seemed fairly harmless, intermittently napping and not snoring (always a good sign that he might not be an overly “energetic” communicator). I thought some slight contact might be safe. I reviewed the process of taking my seat when I boarded, giving him the “textbook” head nod and eye glance gesture towards the window seat, followed by the universally accepted and concise, “I’m sitting there,” to which he smiled and WITHOUT a verbal response stood to clear my path. This was another good sign that he likely shared my desire for anonymity, peace, and quiet. So now, noting his eyes were now open, I took a deep breath, leaned over and said “Good book?” Just two words. I mentally calculated the also universally accepted 5 MINUTES MAX discussion, followed by the return to our respective sanctuaries. IT WAS NOT TO BE!
OK, I have now set this scene up for you. What transpired was a lengthy interaction mostly orated by him. And the last 3 minutes of our conversation brought a blessing that I could have never anticipated. It was delivered through a few connected sentences that made it clear that my peace & quiet is not something I possess or control, and certainly not when God wants to offer a message. I quickly learned that the man was a missionary who was on his way to Jakarta, via Tokyo. He was very passionate about his calling and very curious about my faith journey, my marriage situation and God’s unerring role in guiding it all. When the wheels finally touched the ground, after this very long chat…it happened. Ed (yes, we had exchanged names by this point) leaned over and began,
“You know, Brian, about 6 months ago I went to the doctor about some problems I was experiencing. She came in after some blood tests, took a deep breath and said somberly, ‘Ed, you have acute leukemia. It is my opinion that based on the tests, you probably have two months to live.’ I paused, smiled and replied with the question, ‘Well, is there an ugly type of leukemia…not as cute as this one?’”
Ed paused, a glowing smile spreading across his rough-skinned face and then delivered the following message. “I’ll never forget the look on the doctor’s face, and her response, ‘Do you realize what I have just told you? You have only two months to live, and you are joking.’ Smiling a wide, comfortable smile I responded, ‘What you do not know about me is that I have a very close relationship with my Lord and God, and the idea of dying is something I celebrate, not fear in any way.’ Her being Jewish led to a very special interaction and closeness between us that has endured since our interaction. Oh, by the way, as of this date, one year later, the leukemia is in full remission. I watch it very closely and feel confident it will come back and finally take me. But, you know, none of us will get out of this alive!”
I let this all settle in for a bit. Ed had just revealed this very personal part of his life to a perfect stranger. He glowed with an effervescent joy and peace about his life…and death. I considered my earlier self-centered behavior, wanting to ignore his airplane-induced invasion into “my” space. I was guarding my personal needs and comfort. And, then, if the previous message was not enough to unravel me, he gave me the parting comment as he stood up and prepared to leave.
“Brian, we all live our lives in separation. It is through knowing that there is a promise of eternal connection that makes all the rest bearable. You know, knowing what I know now in my life and journey, if I had the chance to do it all over again…I’d still choose leukemia. Bless you.”
And he was gone.
A Statement of Faith, indeed.
III.
I jerked awake. Sleep’s hushed embrace shattered by the strident tone from my cell phone. Semi-blind I groped through the items gathered around the base of the lamp sitting on the small table between the hotel beds. I found the phone, and blurry-eyed noted that the caller ID on the phone read “John (M)”, my son’s mobile number. The digital alarm clock read 2:20 A.M.
“So,” I answered, elongating the “o” to emphasize the drama of what I knew he was getting ready to tell me.
“Well, you’re a grandfather, Dad!”
“Wow! That’s wonderful, John. And congratulations… you’re a father.”
My first grandchild, an 8 pound 14 ounce boy, Kinley Corbin, was born at 1:10 A.M. in a hospital in San Diego.
IV.
And through the darkness emerged the light of a tiny candle, flickering in the eyes of a newborn child. And in that moment, separation was lost forever.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Friday's Thursday's Wednesday Post
So, I was reminded the other day about some of the most stupid things I have done along the way. Admittedly, some of my best, all-star, Oscar winning, standing ovation dumb moments happened in the period of the book. I was traveling to Chicago by car, with Bentley of course, a week ago and stopping at a drive through coffee hut I saw and bought the attached image. It speaks for itself. C'mon...you KNOW who you are out there who connect with this bean of wisdom!
Write on!
Brian
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