The Whistler's Wonderings

"Why Don't You Do What You Dream?" Pt 3

2012-02-07T13:34:00.006-05:00

Check out parts 1 and 2 of this ponderous piece of... exposition, that ye might understand from whence we have come and wherefore art we goeth.

OK - so I have some ideas of things that I dream - things that exist in my heart and mind, a lot of which may never see the light of day. They're important though, because they're a little window into how my head works. For my own mental development, as well as for my beloved to see some of what's going on in there (instead of having it mumbled at her, shotgun style and random), it's worth the time to wade through it all.

First though, this real-life note...

My mom had zero patience for dreams. "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride" was one of her standard replies, fired off anytime I would articulate something she considered foolish. Another chosen smackdown was to ask why my head couldn't get around practical things, instead of all that junk I would fill my mind with. Get my head off of those useless things and on to the stuff right in front of me.

(Like math, for example. She could never understand why math makes no sense to me. Ever. When I got A's and B's in geometry, she was convinced I had been playing games with her head all those prior years of D's in math. After a seminar on "Hemispherical Tendencies," my left-brained mom called her right-brained son and said, "now I understand why I'll never understand you." Have you ever seen or heard a frustrated teacher-mother try to drill multiplication tables into the head of a right-brained dreamer? No? Be very VERY grateful...)

"But the mother and child reunion, is only a motion away." - Paul Simon

Thanks. Steve the Hamster and I feel much better now...

Now, this isn't a "resolving issues from your childhood" therapy session. Really. It does say something to those of you who live with dreamers, though -

Dreamers, especially young dreamers, are tender souls, and contained in those ponderings are some deep windows into their hearts.

Impractical? Usually.

Useless? Probably.

But that ridiculous, improbable dream contains a little nugget of what makes a dreamer tick. There's a little bit of them in there, mixed in with the whimsy and wishes, and when the steamroller of reality comes in, doing 60 in a 35 zone, a little bit of a vulnerable heart turns into roadkill. And part of what remains of that heart gets a little hard.

Yes, reality must rule. But it doesn't need to rule with an iron fist.

Just a word from a dreamer, who's been squashed a few thousand times. I'm impractical, I dream useless things that'll probably never ever EVER come into reality...

(Like getting our old sax quartet back together, expanding it with wind controllers, recorders, and technology that didn't exist back when we played together, and making it into a totally gnarly awesome group, dude!

Oh, and a contrabass clarinet and a bass sax added in there too. I miss playing contra.)

(How about a dream of hooking up with a couple of other musicians, along with computer assistance, to do a live performance of "Tubular Bells" by Mike Oldfield - the whole, original album. Only the tympani would be in tune this time, unlike on the original recording. Vicki, my personal tympanist, cringes every time she hears it.

Three musicians, extra tracks, Tubular Bells... *sigh* Did I mention I'm a Mike Oldfield fan? Or that I own almost every version of Tubular Bells on CD? Or that I even know that there are multiple versions of Tubular Bells? Shower my wife with your sympathy sometime, 'k?)

(And yes, I do even know who those other musicians are, what parts and instruments they would play, and how the thing could lay out. When I dream music, I dream in 3D.)

The preceding dreams brought to you by Steve the Mental Hamster, sitting in the corner laughing at me...

The danger is, there's a little bit of me in every one of those dreams, and that little piece of Cal can get flattened easily. Dreams are all well and good, and in balance they are breath for the soul and light for the eyes. There are a couple of dangers, tho, especially for young dreamers:

1. If all dreams come into being, roll around for a bit, and then fade away (or get squashed into oblivion), then the lesson we learn is to never dream, because none of them ever become real. This can be a hope destroyer - don't bother dreaming, because they never happen. Things never change. It is what it is.

To quote the bard, "A man will grow tired and his soul will grow weary, living his life in vain." ("Ammonia Avenue" - The Alan Parsons Project)

A dreamer needs to learn the balance between dreams and reality, and where the two intersect, but that's something they have to discover for themselves. It can't be beat into them with a rubber mallet. (or a rubber chicken, for that matter...)

2. The opposite is true - if we dwell in our dreams, but never live in the here and now, then life, real life, becomes dead and stale, never joyful, never beautiful because we're always waiting for our dreams. Nothing is ever quite good enough, nothing is ever quite fulfilling enough, because it's never quite as amazing as what I'm dreaming of.

For example, I have to be very careful what movies I go see. Sometimes, I get so taken with a movie that a part of me wants to stay there. I'll imagine extended story lines, complete with how I'd live in that world. Imagination is great, as long as you learn how to let it flourish without trying to live there.

Dreams are beautiful, wonderful, fragile things, but they're never strong enough or real enough to live in. (Albus Dumbledore reminds Harry of this when speaking of the Mirror of Erised in The Sorcerer's Stone)

Thus endeth the mini-lesson about dreams and dreamers. Amen.

In her book "Smalltopia," Tammy Strobel (she of the Rowdy Kittens blog, one of my faves) writes about defining our dreams, and small steps toward bringing them into reality...

Pick one dream, then pick one step you can take today to bring that dream one step closer. Repeat.

Being the short-sighted just-barely-starting-to-grow-up-even-though-I'm-fifty-two-years-old person that I are, this is a good plan for me, for a couple of reasons:

1. I have a terminally short attention span when it comes to long-range planning. I could be working on surprising Vicki with a trip to the Shack (bed and breakfast - not the book...) and need to sock away every penny I can scrounge to make it happen, but I'll throw it all over for some bright and shiny thingie that grabs my attention, forgetting all about the bigger goal.

Dave Ramsey says that the difference between a child and an adult is the ability to delay gratification and keep your eyes on the long-term goals... I'm growing up pretty fast, but not quite there yet. "Ooooh... Shiny! Pretty! MINE!"

(The only quote I ever do from Finding Nemo: "Mine? Mine! Mine? Mine! Mine? Mine! Mine?")

Oi.

2. Along with that short attention span, I have a tendency to get bored with projects that take a long time, or get so overwhelmed that there is so much to do and it'll take so long to finish, that I just give up. (This had its roots in the days when I weighed 480 pounds - back then, EVERYTHING took too long to finish, was overwhelming because even the simplest things were hard to do, and there was no energy left over for anything, so all dreams die and despair reigns. Things have changed, thank the Good Lord above, but digging out the roots takes time.)

Interesting but sad and pathetic note... This last reason - my tendency to just give up - explains my musical career.

"Wha?"

Take someone blessed with a tremendous amount of natural ability in music, (God gets the glory for this - it ain't nuttin' I done did myself) who can pull off a lot without having to work really hard at it, and add that tendency to get bored with things that take a long time or a lot of work, and what do you get?

A person who can play almost anything, but doesn't play any one instrument excellently. Or as I put it, I'm not outstanding at any one instrument, but I'm really passable at many. In other words, I'm a musical Swiss army knife - good for a lot of different functions, but not the best tool for any single, focused task.

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** Before you roll your eyes at me, say something like "I wish I was that 'adequate' at anything musical," or slap me upside the head the next time you see me (head or body slaps are fine, but please - no face slaps...), understand a couple of things:

First, I love you. Thanks for leaping to my defense.

Second, I don't deny the tremendous gifts God has placed in me, nor the way He allows me to use them - to fit into any space, wherever I'm needed in a musical setting. I'm one of those musicians on the worship team (not the only one, 'cause we are blessed with some amazing people!) who not only needs to know when I'm playing, but WHAT I'm playing on a given week.

(One of my favorite memories from early college: I was home, for a weekend I think, and came in late to Oscoda Baptist. Came down the aisle during a hymn while all were standing, and Jim - songleader and musician maximus - caught my eye and looked over at the piano. Cue received. I went over, sat down, and became the pianist du jour for the service. I love doing that sort of thing!)

God knows me best, and knows that as I'm growing up, I still have issues with getting bored with just one thing. **

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So, (If you can even still remember where the heck I was going with all that... I had to go back and check.) the plan of "pick one dream, then pick one small thing you can do today to make a step toward it" is a good plan for me. And as I take one small step, I'll hopefully find that perhaps I can do two or three steps in a day. Maybe I can take some bigger steps, while keeping the longer view in mind. Then I can make some bigger moves, learning to see where it's all headed.

Then Vicki finally gets that trip to the Shack. (the bed and breakfast, NOT the book. Just so we're clear.)

Steve, ramp up the "Final Thoughts / Winding Down" theme music, please... No, I don't think the tiny bagpipes give the feel we're looking for here... No, not the tiny accordion either... Ah, the very tiny harp. Perfect...

So what have I learned from this long, rambling, self-centered, introspective examination?

No clue.

(Ba-dum-DUM! He may be a mean hamster, but Steve is always ready with a rim shot...)

But seriously, folks...

• I'm a dreamer.

• Dreams are fragile things, that contain a tiny piece of the their dreamer.

• Dreams change and grow, just like we do.

• Dreams can come into fruition with time, patience, and small steps.

Working a long time to bring a dream into reality seems to get a little easier, the more that we grow up. (not being grown up yet, I'm not certain about this - I'll keep you posted...)

The whole "growing up" thing also shapes and molds our dreams. It helps a dreamer learn that while dreaming is good, not all dreams are possible, nor should they be. Growing up allows us to focus the lens, to really see what matters, and to see the clear and shining path God lays before us. (For the record, I'm not giving up on the Chapman Stick, no matter how impossible it seems. There. I said it.)

Dream one, I think, will be to live a smaller life. It'd be nice to do that in a tiny home with a big garden, but there's no reason we can't start living tiny in our present home. We're already starting on small steps - you wouldn't believe the amount of junk we've already launched, and you would be horrified at the amount there still is to get rid of.

(If you're an Ebay, Amazon, Craigslist or any other kind of selling ninja, and would like to help a scatter-brained old fart actually make a little coin while launching tons of stuff that I'll never need again, while keeping some coin for yourself, contact me. I'm deadly serious, and I'd rather slip some love to a friend than pay someplace to sell it for me. Goodwill is all well and fine, but it'd be nice to get a little return for some of this stuff...)

Steve - put down that trombone! Sorry - he thought it was closing music time...

So, like most things in this journey I'm on, it's a work in progress. I never would have seen this stuff coming on the morning of March 30th, 2010, but I'm so glad it has, looking at it from my chair here in February 2012. Vicki is too, for the record - she's gladly traded many trips to the Shack (b&b, not book) for a husband who's alive and shows potential of actually becoming an adult - soon.

Maybe.

In some ways.

This transformation only changes so much - there ain't no cure for crazy.

(Ok - maybe electroshock. Don't suggest that to her, though. Seriously.)

'lemmie sum up...

God provides the best dream of all - not being who I was yesterday and making steps toward who He wants me to become. Together, we'll keep taking those small steps toward the goal, the one He can see and allows me glimpses of. Not all of it - just enough for me to handle.

After all, I am and will always be...

a dreamer.

"Why Don't You Do What You Dream?" Pt 2

2012-02-02T16:34:00.023-05:00

Check out Part 1 of this post to be pickin' up what I'm layin' down... Part one is the intro, Part two is the list of dreams.

Obviously, everything on this list will require work. No dream just pops perfectly into reality, fully born and working in all its glory, regardless what the movies would have us believe. So this list is not the place where I try and keep my feet on the ground, to realize the impossibility of these things. These are my dreams, not my to-do list. So no squashing, no moaning that they'll never happen, no discouragement. When and if the Lord points toward one of them and says, "Go!", He'll make the path open before me. But it's hard for Him to point out the path if I've not even opened my eyes.

So here's some of the answers to the question, "What do I WANT to do?" Actually, the first is more about "How do I want to live?" And the answer is "Small. Very small."

Living small is my primary, starting place dream - #1. Of course, this has multiple layers...

• Becoming clutter-free - Vicki and I are both messies and have lived with that all our lives. But we yearn to have a home that doesn't look like a bomb just went off, to actually be able to find things without a half hour of searching, or to be able to say to friends, "Come on over!" That'd be amazing...

• Living much, much smaller - I'm not going to smack down a dream with reality here... We'd like to someday move to a new house. Now, by "new," I don't mean "bigger." We'd like to go small - very small. As in less than 600 square feet. There'd be a couple of extra buildings for other activities, but the main living space would be really small. Look up "minimalism" to get a feel for my shift in attitude and outlook.

• Staying a one-car family - we'd like to have one vehicle, one that's capable of pulling small trailers, or of putting a whole load of equipment for a gig inside. Front runners include the Ford Explorer Sport Trac or a Honda Element. (I'm leaning toward the Element, but only if we get it repainted purple. Vicki's leaning toward, and I quote, "Anything we could afford." Amen.)

In order to remain a one-car town, we'd need to have pedal power available year round. Enter the Velomobile! Feel free to look up these wonders of the modern age, and imagine the Captain scooting down the Beltline inside of one of these puppies, laughing at the frigid temperatures right before he gets buried in a drift all the way up to his... um... April.

But still smiling.

• A little land - with the idea of the small house and a couple of extra buildings for specific things, we'd like a little bit of land to produce some of our own food. I'm not talking totally self-sufficient, off the grid, greener than Yoda - just to be able to garden, to can and preserve, and to live at least partially off of the work of our hands.

• Areas for tasks - in this grand plan would be a few outbuildings:

1. office / music / writing studio (potentially could be separated - office / music / technology lair; and a writing / thinking / devotions place);

2. hobby / craft / making stuff and selling it place;

3. garage / storage / wood / metal / glassworking place;

4. guest accommodation - living in a tiny (or at least small) house, it'd be best for guests to have their own little space, that they might not feel run over. Oh, and able to use the necessary without the whole world hearing the outcome.

(I saw one amazing example of a great guest room for a tiny house - a couple bought an Airstream trailer in need of some work, refurbished it inside, parked it in their yard, and built a roof over it to keep it from leaking in the rain. That's their guest bedroom - brilliant!)

5. Greenhouse / prep kitchen - I do think this is a bit brilliant, and I don't say that about my ideas often...

Attached to a moderate but useful greenhouse would be a moderate but useful kitchen space, complete with freezer, dehydrator, sink, stove and lots of counter space for cleaning, chopping and washing. Why? To take our produce after harvest and prep it for storage - either canning, freezing or dehydrating. And to be able to take the produce, cook it into soup or whatever, and can it right there. In a small house, we'd have a kitchen sufficient for day-to-day life and a little more, but to do the kind of tasks that food preservation requires, it'd be nice to have a little more room to work with. Wouldn't need all that space daily, but having it available for use would make things run smoother.

6. Exercise - I'm not talking home gym, spa, or anything extravagant here. Just a space to have room to do Tai Chi without standing in a snowbank, to have the trike on the rollers without having to try and find a place in the living room to set it up, or to use a treadmill without having to redecorate. A few weights, a balance ball and some resistance bands would keep it simple.

(Those last two might be combined, by the way - greenhouse with room for exercise and kitchen addition. Working out in a sunny space always makes Cal a happy boy...)

7. Outdoor entertaining / clay oven - if you look up the word "yurt," you'll see what I'm thinking of as an outdoor space that would allow for entertaining or even guest lodging. This could also become the exercise area. The clay / brick oven would let me do some baking and other type of cooking - ok, it's an extravagance, but a pretty cheap and fun one to build.

Does that sound like a little much? Why not just one house, with areas for all that garbage?

Honestly, I'm easily distracted and a messy person, at least in my home persona. I tend to be neater at work, where it counts. In order for me to actually function, multi-tasking is my nemesis. So one area, one function is my path to efficiency, or at least making one area do multiple things by being able to completely switch it over from task to task, getting rid of distractions and clutter in the switchover.

Dreams sometimes are shaped by reality, and how we're wired.

Ok, now we live in Smalltopia (to borrow the word from Tammy Strobel of Rowdy Kittens). Now, what do I want to do when I get there? Well...

(Steve ramps up the "suspense / big revelation" music, using not only his tiny kazoo but a really small hurdy gurdy...)

Storytelling - being able to tell stories in churches, camps, libraries - wherever - is the most amazing thing I could imagine. Of all the many things I do, being a storyteller brings me so much joy.

One of my fondest memories happened in the fall after Mom retired from teaching... We did something we had promised each other we would do for years - we went to the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN. Three days of some of the most amazing storytellers I have ever heard. On that trip, Mom discovered that she was a speaker who likes to use stories - I confirmed that I AM a storyteller.

One area of storytelling I'd like to explore is Kamishibai - Japanese paper storytelling. It's amazing, and I think it could be a niche that would work well with my gifts. I just realized that an area of 'telling I'd like to explore is hospital visitation, especially for children. Kamishibai would be a great technique for this, as would some of my musical gifts. (Probably not the tuba though, for the record. Tuba good - hospital tuba bad.) Anyway, I'd like to see how it would work to be able to minister to sick kids in that way.

Writing - I had no idea that I'd ever consider this one, but I'm learning and growing so much from my writing. And I'm finding myself desiring - even compelled - to spend time at the keyboard, writing away. One of a gazillion bloggers, typing away, believing that someday our words will catch on, thousands upon thousands will flock to our doors, and we will be "there."

Yeah. Right. I'm a dreamer, not delusional.

If the Lord would show me the link to be able to write stories that I could then tell, that'd be amazing. So far, not yet. But there are seeds here that could lead to something else - more than one person has whispered the word "book" in my hearing, and they weren't talking about the type of thing that happens on "Hawaii Five-O..."

(Too old of a reference? How about on "Cops?" Better? Alrighty then.)

(Here's a Steve the Hamster Memory Moment: The whole dorm was gathered in Quincer Lounge, watching the last ever episode of Hawaii Five-O [before it was ushered into rerun pergatory], waiting for the ending, and the last uttering of the immortal words by the terminally tough Jack Lord, "Book 'em, Danno..."

And he said, "Wait, Danno - I'll book this one myself."

"ARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!"

Thanks, Steve - now get back on that wheel...)

Moving on...

Gospel magic and clowning - this goes hand in hand with storytelling. I love being a magician, because I love the wonder of it. Being able to teach or tell a story and have some of the wonder of it happen right in front of others is such a kick!

As for Eye-Bee the Clown, the only reason that he got stuffed into a trunk for years was my physical condition. I never lost the desire, even though I said I did. I just couldn't do it when I was way over 400 pounds. This past October, I wandered around our church's Hallo-luia party in face, doing some marginally funny stuff, dreadfully out of practice, but found that it's fun once again. So I'd be open to working on my character and routines, and getting back to "bumping a nose." (The clown equivalent of "breaking a leg.")

BIG DREAM... I'd like to go to Clown Camp this summer. It's the week before our 30th anniversary, and it'd be amazing to go and camp there. I'd toddle off to clown camp while Vicki has the days free, and I'd get to learn so much. There's no way it can happen from what I can see on the horizon right now, but these are dreams - no stomping.

(Alright - I did stomp a bit... I didn't fill out the application for a scholarship since I knew that there's no way we could make the rest of it work, even if I had gotten a scholarship. "The difference between an adult and a child is the ability to delay gratification." [Dave Ramsey] Since the Lord didn't open a path, that's enough for me.)

Music - If you know me at all, you know that just saying the word "music" opens quite a vast chasm - I do need to narrow that dream down a bit, but continuing to use my musical gifts is important.

For the record, I still really want to learn to play the Chapman Stick. And the cello. And possibly a folk harp. I have plans for a series of hymn albums called Quiet Strength, as well as finishing the series The Church Year (my Advent album was the first of these), but reality has put most everything on hold. So we'll give those dreams CPR when the Lord says to.

The amazing man to the left, by the way, is Emmett Chapman, the inventor of the Chapman Stick. I sigh, I swoon, I drool. Sorry about that last bit...

Fiber arts - this includes loom knitting, weaving, sewing, machine knitting, and (since we're dreaming here) learning to crochet. (I've tried, I've died. My dad had the gift of crochet - and didn't pass it along, apparently.) Weaving is a biggie - I'd love to get a floor loom.

Woodworking - building stuff, doing things with a scroll saw, making stuff. I've always wanted to work with wood ever since I was little and my great-grandpa cut me a very simple bunny out of some plywood with a bandsaw. No time to learn growing up, no dad in the house to learn from (and a mom who wasn't a handyperson) or anybody else for that matter, and shop class always conflicted with music - thanks, public school. :-D No complaints - I'm a musician born and raised, but it would have been nice to make some sawdust along the way. Someday, Vicki may even trust me with tools. Maybe.

Jewelry making - I love bending wire, either in sculpting a pendant or weaving a bracelet. And I really like soldering and making pieces with that technique. I like metal work in jewelry more than beading or stitching.

Glass fusing - this has applications in jewelry but there are many, many other projects for fused glass, and I'd love to explore them. I love glass and the boundless things you can do with it.

Audio work - I really do love editing and sound design, even though I have to kick myself to get to work on the projects on my plate. The storyteller in me finds it so rewarding to take a spoken word performance, adjust it to make the words have the best rhythm and impact they can, and then add to it the special touches of sound effects, music and those other things that bring the story to life.

Those are pretty much all personal dreams. They all have Vicki's support (although the instruments she wavers on a bit - she's more behind the Chapman Stick than the cello. And is neutral about the harp. She is VERY positive about me continuing to record music, loves it when I do magic at children's church, enjoyed seeing Eye-Bee get out of the trunk, and would join me in glass fusing. She also wears the jewelry I make and the scarves I knit.

Floor loom for weaving? Um... not so much.)

As for dreams involving the two of us...

Traveling - I'm not going wild here, not dropping everything to trike across the country (although triking Route 66 did cross my noggin - wouldn't that be amazing?...). But too many people that I know, including my mom, said for too long that they'd always like to go to *insert selected destination*, or to see *insert selected attraction or other cool thingie* and never did. Life interrupted, opportunities never came, and it didn't happen. I think seeing some stuff is really important, I think it deserves a place on our radar and, in my world of dreams, getting out and seeing new things is a biggie. So here's some traveling stuff that is on the list:

First of all, to make traveling possible, we'd like a teardrop trailer of some sort - it's basically a mobile bedroom, camping at its simplest without putting two people in their nifty fifties in a soggy tent, (ok - Vicki has a few months before she joins me in that happy club) and just about the right size for the two of us. Vicki would like one that we can sit at a table in (a "standy," as they're sometimes called), but I'd be happy with a very small one - just enough room to sleep. Taking our own tiny home on wheels would make traveling affordable, and it can be pulled by a tiny car instead of a honkin' truck or SUV. Best part - this could be something that we build ourselves, if I had some of the aforementioned skillz (or could get some guidance from some of the dreadfully talented folks I know.)

As for where to go...

1. Route 66 - ever since I saw "Cars," I've been wanting to get my kicks on Route 66. I'd like to travel the length of it, not necessarily in one trip, although that would be outrageous, but I don't want to wait until I'm too old to remember what I saw yesterday.

2. Alaska - we'd like to see it someday. I'd really like to do a short term mission trip to our denomination radio station in Nome, even in the dead of winter - that'd be a hoot!

3. San Francisco - I was there when I was like 8 or 9, and I'd love to take Vicki there someday. I still remember Fisherman's Wharf - loved it.

4. Florida / Disney World / Universal - I was at Disney World in the first year they opened. They set a record for reaching park capacity early that day, so the lines were obscene, the crowds immense, and my memories vague. The only ride I remember is "It's A Small World." *shudder* I'm told EPCOT is amazing - I'd like to find out for myself.

(Alright - you got me. Yes, I do really, really, REALLY want to see the Wondrous World of Harry Potter. There, I said it. Happy now?)

5. New England - does one really need a reason? I think not.

6. West - Montana, Mt. Rushmore, and other big ol' amazing rock formations - Land, spreadin' out so far and wide...

For the record, you'll notice that these are domestic locations. I don't have fantasies of flying off to exotic destinations, since you can see some pretty awesome stuff right here. But there are a couple of places...

1. Ireland & Scotland - I'm a whistle player. That's all the reason I need.

(Our eldest Niecelet left for some studying abroad in Scotland, and although we'd dearly love to go and see her while she's there as well as to do a little touring while on that side of the pond, unless the Lord makes a way, that won't happen. No squashing - just truth.)

2. Israel - as Brian Hardin puts it, to see the Bible in 3-D.

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"Ok, Cal - this is all interesting, but utterly useless for most humans. Why in the name of Fats Waller would you put this, a cross between pure flights of fancy and a very useless letter to Santa, out there for public view? Who cares??"

That is a fair assessment and question.

Bear in mind that this blog and journal are tools to help my mental recovery and rebuilding. These are the things in the physical world I use to help remake my inner landscape - to try and sort through all the twists and turns on this path of being reborn. If this list were all fantasy, there'd be a LOT more stuff, MUCH more whimsy, and perhaps a few ponies.

Or at least alpacas.

What it gives me is some sort of picture of the many, many things rolling around in my noggin. If I ever needed proof of being reborn, consider this: I'm a 52 year old man, who still thinks that maybe someday I'll have time to learn the Chapman Stick or the harp. That I might be able to learn to be a clown - a good clown. That I just might start on that writing career, "tho' no one read me, still I will write-o." (Just trying to make it fit the song...) Honestly, dear ones, there's nothing on this list that seems ridiculous or fanciful to me - they all seem good, noble, practical (sort of) and possible. Nothing so outrageous that it's out of the range of what might just come into being.

In short, "Hey - it could happen."

Maybe buried someplace in all these ridiculous notions is a glimmer of reality, a nugget of possible, a tiny diamond of hope in the rough of the mundane. And therein would lie a compass, a spark, a direction to help point the way in this adventure God lays before me.

And maybe, just maybe, someone else dreams. Maybe someone else feels like they're looking at a brick wall, no path, no way to move. And maybe, just maybe, they'll think, "If an old dude like Cal can dream like this, maybe I can too."

Hey - it could happen.

This is the dream list, with stuff that catches my attention and imagination. Some of it is downright fantasy, some of it possibility, all of it resides somewhere in my heart. Getting it out into the world gives me the opportunity to sort through it, see which ones really move me and which ones don't. Hopefully I'll reduce some mental clutter, get some focus, and allow God to shape my sight and illumine the path.

To continue this grand experiment, Part 3 will ask the question, "What do I do with this stuff now?" Steve, play us to commercial, then we'll be back...

(insert sound of "Hampsterdance" being enthusiastically played on a very small kazoo, along with bongos being played by tiny hind feet...)

"Why Don't You Do What You Dream?" Pt 1

2012-01-31T10:16:00.004-05:00

"Sebastian! Why don't you do what you dream?"

- the Childlike Empress in "The Neverending Story" (the movie - I don't believe that line is actually in the book, but it made for high drama at the climax of the film... sort of...)

(Although the young lady that played the Empress did a fine and noble job, I could never quite get over the way she moved her mouth, which distracted me a touch and thus some of the emotion of the ending was lost on me.)

(And then, when I read the book and found out that the ending was totally different than in the movie, I cursed all the closeups of the Empress at the end, which caused me to be so distracted with odd mouth movement and such, and vowed never to watch a film adaptation of a beloved book again.)

(Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go watch either The Fellowship Of The Ring, or Charlie And The Chocolate Factory...)

(I'll save my usual discourse of why I like the Johnny Depp version of the latter for another time. You can thank me now, tho.)

The preceding rambling brought to you by Steve the Hamster, mentally shoving Cal down wandering bunny trails since 1959. Although, come to think of it, the really serious bunny trails didn't start until... never mind.

"Why don't you do what you dream?"

And Sebastian's reply?

(Another fine child actor, but he also had funny mouth movement. This suggests that the issue isn't with the pint-sized thespians, but rather in the head of the observer. Considering this observer has a mental hamster named "Steve," I think we've found the source of the problem...)

"I can't! I gotta keep my feet on the ground!"

Thus endeth the reading of the movie script. We now proceed to what the heck I'm talking about...

In this whole process of being reborn, I've been directionless, waiting, uncertain. The way I've been putting it is,

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

I mean, I've been given a new life - bright and shiny, all zeroes on the odometer, new carpeted floor mats, and that lovely new life smell (hmmm... maybe a little too much metaphor mixing there...).

And my counselor, who is a wise woman, keeps gently nudging me by asking,

"What do you WANT to do?"

Big difference there. One that I've been so very slow to embrace.

I do a lot better with externally applied requirements. The simplicity of showing up, being told what I'm to be doing, doing it, then leaving is just dandy with me. No need for me to do some heavy lifting, mentally speaking. (Which is a good thing - Steve is a pretty zippy little hamster, but he's puny. Can't lift his weight in pellets.) Don't think, don't ponder, don't try to sort through a list of seemingly equal and lovely options, and thus get overwhelmed and paralyzed, doing my best "deer in the headlights" impression. Show up when you're told to, do the tasks you're told to, leave when you're done, repeat ad infinitum, world without end, amen.

And I'd be as happy as a clam buried in the sand.

The problem, as so succinctly stated by Jim Carey, as the Riddler in "Batman Forever," is this: "If ya kill him, he won't learn nuthin'." Maybe I should put it, "If he's on auto-pilot, he won't learn nuthin'."

Being on auto-pilot is never a good thing, at least not for me. When I run in a rut, with externally applied expectations and deadlines, I shut down, I go numb. I don't mindfully approach the day, since I don't have to sort through options or make decisions - I just go, do, leave, done.

When I weighed 480 lbs, that's pretty much all I could manage and, truthfully, I didn't manage it well, as any of my co-workers would tell you. I had my moments of light, but I had many moments of darkness, more than normal or expected. So, when I was laid off in 2006, it's understandable that my world caved in - I hadn't developed the abilities needed to find my own way in adult life. I was still living a grade school or college existence - show up, do what's expected, leave.

(And truth be told, I never did that very well - there's a reason I went to college for 5 years, majored in solo performance on an instrument that I hate the solo literature for, and have no degree. I tend to slap it into auto-pilot, without making decisions or thinking through options. If I ever consider finishing a degree, I have a feeling it'll be nowhere near what I started out to do those many, many years ago.)

Here I am on the other side, hovering around 220 lbs, and now it's time to grow up. So, today's question, kids, is this:

"What do you WANT to do?"

The second question is much like the first:

"Why don't you do what you dream?"

And my response, properly in the form of a question, complete with strange mouth movement, is this:

"What ARE my dreams?"

If I cast aside everything, hold on to nothing, put it all on the block, ready to be cut or saved, kept, sold or trashed, what stays? What do I dream? What do I love? If I could be doing anything at all, what would it be? (Or what would they be, since I am and will probably always be a "jack of a few trades." I'm not ADD, but I sure relate...) If mounting financial pressure or a self-imposed obligation to dig us out of the money pit I've gotten us into with my lack of income and my "spend now, pay later" attitude wasn't a consideration, what would I be doing?

"What do I WANT to do?"

In my dreams, I really don't see anything like "travel the world," "live an existence of affluence and ease," or anything involving the words lifestyles, rich, famous, or fabulous. The dreams I can identify, at least at this stage in my ponderings, have more to do with meaningful, mindful activity than gain and getting. Digging out of the hole, living within our means, actually having a chance to change our lives to something smaller and much less cluttered - those are the thoughts that are in the forefront of my mind.

But right now, it's time to see what I dream, what I love, what I want to do. Steve the hamster is spinning up the wheel nicely, getting ready to fling stuff. I'll catch, assemble, and hopefully have some sort of list to play with afterward. Saddle up, kids - we begin in Part 2...

The Disparity

2012-01-27T10:31:00.005-05:00

Today, January 27, 2012, would have been my mom's 78th birthday. And though she would have loved to have seen what I've become in the last two years, she would also remind me that everything happens exactly at the time God has for it - not a moment earlier, not a second late. Thanks for the seeds of faith that have bloomed into my own walk. I love you, momma - see you someday!

The disparity: the difference between speaking a blessing over someone one night and getting lost in useless wanderings the next, which can lead to believing that one negates the other or that, because we swing from one extreme to another, we have the word "hypocrite" tattooed on our foreheads.

Were that true, here's some of the folks that should line up behind the needle, awaiting the artist's loving and painful touch:

David

Paul

Solomon

Moses

Abraham

Asa (along with bunches of the kings of Israel)

Peter

Jacob

... and pretty much anybody sitting next to, across from, behind or in the same room with you in church, including (and especially) the person sitting in your chair. And (by their own humble admission) the dude or dudette up front behind the pulpit.

To those who are inclined to believe that religion is a crock, a shelter for the weak-minded or superstitious, the disparity provides a perfect scapegoat for the uncertainty of their own conscience. "If I can't live the life without being one of those religious hypocrites, then I just won't live it at all."

("Whew - dodged that bullet. Now I can sleep in on Sunday morning...")

Nice try - but the easy way isn't the right way. Using that excuse to avoid striving with the war of our fallen natures is simply giving up.

To those who, every time they prove in a most profound manner that we all are just human, spout off that most tired of excuses, "I'm not perfect, just forgiven!", the disparity provides a Get Out Of Jail Free card with a lifetime of grace expiration date.

Nice try - was the death of God's Beloved worth you getting to use the grace excuse every time you indulge your lower nature? Or is that all you think He accomplished in His sacrifice?

"Holy cow, Captain - did you wake up on the wrong side of the bunk this morning and set the phasers on 'extra crispy?' "

Yeah, and then I pasted a bullseye on my own backside. "Among whom I am chief..."

Speaking of the Apostle Paul, here's how he put it:

"What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise." Romans 7:15 (The Message)

Yup, that's me. And that's the disparity.

In my first life, Sightblinder could use the disparity to paralyze me. Since both light and dark could and did dwell in me, it must prove that neither has a majority vote. Remember the whole "lukewarm, so I spit you out of my mouth" thing? Yeah, that was thrown up to me (sorry - no pun intended) at every moment. "Obviously, you're useless for the kingdom since you don't ever grow, you don't ever put the darkness behind you and live totally (without exception) in the light!"

And, in my first life, I'd believe it. Hook, line & sinker. And the whole rod. And the fisherman. And the cooler full of worms - the whole shebang.

But in life 2.0, things have changed up a bit. Ok, a lot. Ok, a whole honkin' lot. And I've been realizing that some of the flowers that are blooming in life 2.0 are from seeds planted long, long ago. I'm thinking of some of those who planted, hoping for but never expecting to see a harvest, let alone one that looks like it does today...

- My theology professor, opening the door to how I view most everything in my world with the concept of "Both/And" - for most theological views, there can be a balance where two things that seem to be opposites can dwell, equally without conflict.

Want an example? OK... Jesus - fully God or fully man?

Answer: both/and. Both, equally, without compromise.

So the gentle balance of both/and stabilizes my world in many ways. Interestingly, this seed really bloomed when I began Tai Chi, which, at its core, is totally about balance.

- My counselor, who has gently been speaking truth over me for years, reminding me that we are never meant to live in guilt and shame but in love and grace. Even when we walk in darkness sometimes, we still live in the light.

Just because we pass through the valley, we don't move into a condo there and put out a change of address form. The enemy can assail our minds but can't overthrow our hearts.

My heart belongs to God alone.

- My beloved, whose clear vision of who I really am inside shone through the layers of weight, depression, unbalance and insecurity, allowing me to see who I really am in her eyes. And no, she's not perfect.

(I pause to allow those of you who know my beloved to recoil in shock... Breathe deeply. Use a paper bag if you have to.)

But she never allows darkness to define her reality - she lives in the light.

(Yes, dearheart, I really was listening all those years. I'm glad that you're finally seeing the harvest of what you've sown for so long.)

- My Father, who knew before I was born that these days would come. He knew every moment that would lead up to this, through all the lonely roads and confused paths. He put everything in place so that someday I could come out the other side shining like gold, blazing with light.

As for the disparity...

- Both/And shows me that both darkness and light are in me. But even though they both dwell there, I don't live in the darkness - I live in the light. Falling doesn't make me a resident of the concrete... I get up, I dust myself off and I get on with the step by step adventure of living as a follower of the Christ.

- I don't live in regret and guilt because those things aren't who I am in Jesus. Sightblinder can confuse and oppress my mind but he can never have my heart. At the end of the day, He who has my heart wins. Every time.

- I am slowly and gently becoming what my beloved has seen all along. Every day I'm a little closer to what she sees with her clear gaze and further away from the things that concealed me. If I have a day when EvilCal seems to be back in control, I need to remember that it's just a game of mental hide and seek - I'm still here, and can easily be found, if I just look around a bit. The important thing is to look.

And the path goes on - I'm not there yet, nowhere near. So there will be bumps and trips and falls. There will be dark passes, times of blazing sunshine, and times of absolute flat roads where it seems like I'm not even moving - miles and miles of absolutely nothing.

But it's never about what I can see.

My eyes are easily fooled, my senses are easily overrun and my fallen nature is oh-too-quick to take over. No, the One who puts the path before me can see all of it, perfectly. He knows where I will stumble, He knows right where I'm going to do a face plant and, though His Daddy's heart winces when I scrape my knee or get a lovely case of road rash on my cheek, my Father knows what lies far beyond what I can see.

And it's gonna be amazing.

No disparity - just a fallen creature in need of redemption, a recipient of grace who is learning to do justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with His God. I am a complex, wondrous creature, bearing the image of He who made me, astonished by wonder, frustrated by my own shortcomings, and deeply grateful for unconditional grace. I stumble and stub my toes in the darkness but I live and walk in the light.

And someday the darkness will end, the light will blaze, and "ever after" becomes "now."

Like I said - it's gonna be amazing.

The Last Words

2012-01-25T12:22:00.004-05:00

No, this isn't to announce my departure from the writing world. Hold off on those celebrations of untamed joy. Also those comments about how I shouldn't get your hopes up like that. Or the ones about giving you a heart attack before the morning coffee, and how dare I sneak up on you like that. Or anything about Chuck Norris.

Thanks for your restraint.

I've been noticing lately how important last words are. Parting words, blessing words, benedictions - all things we may or may not notice, or place value in, but that I think are more important than what we see at one glance. And so I'm trying to mindfully change my actions to match these new thoughts.

As I say so often, 'lemme 'splain.

When my mom was in her final months and weeks and days here in this world, the importance of those last moments came into crystal clear focus. When any moment might be the last one, they all become essential.

But really, doesn't that last sentence apply to every moment?

Anyway, when my final moment with her came, I had no idea it was the last one. We had moved her into a care facility (at her request), we came that evening to see her settled for the night, Vicki was off getting something for her, and God prompted me to do something that I am so grateful for.

A blessing.

I placed my hand on her head, and spoke the words we've all heard so many times... "The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face to shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up His countenance on you, and grant you His peace, now and evermore." I don't know if she heard those words - she was in and out of this world and in and out of the new world. But I heard them, and our Father heard them.

And in the morning, He granted His peace and brought her home. So those were the last words I ever spoke to my mom in this world. She departed in peace, and my heart was left in peace as well. No regrets.

This tells me that our last words are essential - more important than we sometimes think. For those we love, if they are our last words, and they go on, those blessing words will stay with them.

But if we are the ones to go on, we will know that we parted with something more significant than, "Catch ya later." There's nothing wrong with casual departures - life, with all its complexities and fast turnings and twistings is filled with them. But when time, circumstance, and God's spirit align, those parting, blessing, life-giving words are more than just spouting off some pithy phrase.

To those we leave behind, they are a blessing over their heads and a light along the road.

To those who are left behind, they are closure and peace when the unexpected threatens our sanity.

In a weekend recently past, we spent time with family, those we don't see often because distance separates us. It had been a year since we had seen one another, way way too long, but time and gas prices sometimes rear their ugly heads to drive a wall between intention and reality.

Or perhaps I'm just too lazy - after all, gas prices don't really matter to a trike, only time does. Oh, and luggage - camping stuff, for example. There's fuel too - the fuel to keep the legs pedaling and the fuel to keep the mind clear and functioning. Got to take training into account too - one can't just take off without at least some preparation. Well, one can, but one will find himself kicked in the can not too far down the road.

Can one justify months of riding for a short visit, then months of riding the return trip? Let's see... months on the trike, off the grid and out of the loop, traveling at snail's pace under my own power? *sigh* Let me think about it, and get back to you...

(I wonder if Greyhound or Amtrak would get me and Big Blue part of the way, to trim a couple of months off the trip...

This random thought brought to you by Steve, the Mental Hamster, who reminds me that whither I goest, so goest Steve. Months of just me on the trike, with Steve for a co-pilot... That may kill the whole thing right there.)

So when my dear ones left, I took the time to speak words over them.

To myself, I was thinking, "Here you go again - putting the 'Weird' in 'Weird Uncle Cal'. A little pompous, isn't it - pronouncing a benediction over them? Who do you think you are, a pastor blessing the flock on their way out the door and home to pot roast?"

And myself told myself to stuff it.

I don't know when I'll see them again - I hope it's soon, I intend for it to be soon (after all, their trike riding season starts WAY earlier than mine, so a spring fever trike trip in, say, early March would do a lot to take off the chill of Michigan February!), but my intentions can easily get splattered in the aftermath of the reality steamroller. It could be months or a year or more until I see their faces and hug their necks...

Or never.

Life is fragile and fleeting, and although we can't live on eggshells, like every moment is "the" one, we can live realistically, intentionally. So it may be weird, it may be pompous, but I think it's only weird and pompous in my own head, and so I veto my own vote and get on with it.

Words of blessing at our parting. Words that will stay and light the ongoing path, or will grant closure and peace at the end of the path. To that end, I'm becoming a blessing collector. I want to have many, many words of blessing in my head and heart, a wide palate of choices so that when the Lord prompts me, He can speak the words He chooses over my loved ones, my friends, or whomever He wants.

--------------------

There is a leather bound journal, made for me by my nephew who was one of those I spoke a benediction over that particular weekend, and I'm using that book to write blessings. When I find blessing words in scripture, they get written there by my own illegible hand in my own faulty penmanship. When I come across blessing words in something I read, a post I see, a sign I remember, they get written in the blessing book. Sometime, someplace, those words will be used to become a light on the path or peace at the end... even if those words are only for my own eyes and heart, to remind me to be watching and waiting for those times when blessings must be spoken.

Weird? Perhaps. Pompous? Hopefully not, but I guess you could see them that way. But way, way too important to just let them slide, to worry about being seen as odd, or to allow my self-conscious self to shut them down.

Parents? Speak the blessings - always.

Families? Speak the blessings - always.

Lovers? Speak the blessings - ever and ever.

Friends? Speak the blessings - over and over.

After all, the One from whom all blessings flow speaks the blessings over us - always, ever and ever, over and over.

"Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen."

Hebrews 13:20-21 (TNIV)

Did It Once... Do It Again

2012-01-19T20:49:00.009-05:00

I've always thought of myself as having no willpower whatsoever.

That's typical of fat folk, by the way. After all, "everybody" will tell us that if we had even a little willpower, we'd eat less, exercise more, and voila (pronounced: "Voy-LAH!"), we'll become skinny, well-proportioned, automatically beautiful, and unreservedly popular instantly.

(And by "everybody," I mean well-meaning people directly involved in our lives; well-meaning-but-skinny people directly involved in our lives who are clueless when it comes to the multi-layered issues involved in obesity; not-necessarily-well-meaning-or-snarky people who don't know us at all; and, most obnoxiously, all types of media, who don't even care that we exist, except as a huge potential market that they can guilt into buying whatever poopy they want to sell us. We be sheep. And dumb sheep at that.)

Of course. Why did I never see it's just that easy?

So through that haze, you and I, the fat persons du jour tend to believe the idea that we have no willpower whatsoever, and that whatever fancy enters our weak minds, we will succumb to - after all, we have no power to resist.

Quick quiz:

1) Have you ever been so angry at (insert person who is the target of your wrath) that you could have done physical violence to their mortal being?

1a) Did you?

2) Have you ever been so frustrated at a service provider that you wanted to throw (insert heavy object of your choice) through their front window? (Or their virtual front window, in this age of technology, with a desire to bomb their servers back to the stone age?)

2a) Did you?

3) Have you ever gotten so ticked at your (insert your make and model of vehicle) that you said you'd be better off driving it into (insert body of water of your choice) or off the (insert bridge of your choice, but not the Mighty Mac, 'cause you might damage it and I really love that bridge)?

3a) Did you?

If you answered any of questions 1, 2 or 3 "yes," congratulations! You're just as human as the rest of us. (If you answered "no" to all of them, I don't want to know - you are dead to me.)

(Just kidding. Really. But you do live on a different level of existence than I do...)

If you answered questions 1a, 2a and 3a "no," congratulations! You have willpower - the ability NOT to act on something your mind brought forth and conceived of, even possibly entertained, or pondered, if only to allow yourself a cartoon moment involving some product labeled "Acme."

(If you answered "yes" to ANY of questions 1a, 2a or 3a, by the way, please seek professional help immediately. And I DO mean immediately.)

(And yes, I do have some names I could pass along if you need 'em.)

(But not because I answered "yes" to any of questions 1a-3a, just so we're clear. I have issues, but those ain't them.)

Isn't that all willpower is? The ability to NOT act on something our mind could entertain? Allow me to elucidate (thus getting an opportunity to use the word "elucidate," which is a fun word):

- Ever shown up for an appointment on time? Or a meeting? Or church?

- Ever dropped off / picked up / transported to various and sundry activities your kiddos, and got them there on time?

- Ever done something exactly correct in a timely manner because someone was counting on you? Or because you love them and didn't want to disappoint them?

- Ever withheld something from your child / pet / other being in your care because you knew that the "something" in question was not only bad for them, but dangerous?

"Yeah, but that's just common sense."

Yup. It's also willpower. The ability to NOT do something when it's within your power to do it is exercising your will. Ergo, willpower.

So perhaps even us fat folk (or reformed fat folk - my outsides may be different, but my house is still on the same street...) have some willpower. We are not as powerless as others would have us believe, or that we would allow ourselves to believe.

When some folks have the type of surgery I've had, a response that they fear (and actually sometimes get) is, "oh - you took the easy way out." (Which can bring about a question 1 thought, and dance close to a question 1a response...)

I've not gotten hit with this one, probably because those close to me know my journey, both the sublime and the unmentionable; the glorious and the downright disgusting. (Aren't you glad that there are indeed some things that I don't put out in public? Don't you wish there were more of them?)

Anyway, a post-surgical patient has to exercise a great deal of willpower, not just to keep losing weight, but also, especially in the case of my type of surgery, to prevent malnutrition and becoming very, very sick. My will comes into play when I keep after my maintenance, taking my calcium and extra vitamins, drinking all my water, and sticking to the types of food I can and must eat, while staying away from others that will cause issues.

So I do gots some willpower. I ain't gots good grammar (or grampar for that matter), but I gots some willpower. Yay me!

At my last counseling appointment, we were looking at an area of my life that still is difficult - something that I am able to do, something that when I finally get to it, I really do love to do, but so far am dragging my heels on. It's right there, there are projects overdue, I have all the tools and skills, but I simply don't do it.

Why the HECK not?

Near as we can suss out, I'm being a little bratesque. I'm not pushing myself, I'm not working on it with focus and effort. I'm not using my willpower.

And, sometimes, knowing that can change everything.

See, I've already been down this road. My morning routine, which I've discovered is not only essential for my mental health but feeds my soul as well, has grown from something that got thrown under the bus anytime I felt like it, to something that I knew was important but I could do without easily, to something that I knew I needed to do, even sacrificing other things to make it happen...

To today, where I eagerly come to it each morning. Listening to the Daily Audio Bible, spending some quiet time thinking and meditating, then turning to my keyboard and iPad and writing. Some days, it's just time in the Word and then I move along. Other days, the words flow and God uses them to frame my mind and heart for the path ahead. But each day, to be here, to offer it to Him, is something joyful.

So, I've taken a task that wasn't that important to me - or that I didn't understand was so important - and made it into something that I'm eager to do... Something that I must do.

And since I did it once, made that kind of a change, I can do it again. I can apply those lessons to another area, another task, another opportunity, and make it work. I know that it's hard, that it takes time and a lot of effort to make the new behavior stick, but I also know the satisfaction of what comes when it does stick. When it moves beyond obligation or habit, becoming important and essential.

The trick is, as my list of those essentials grows, can I stick with them all? Can I keep each one in the place it should be, not forgetting or shrugging off any of them because it's too much work or I just don't feel like it?

----------

As I was writing this, I just got a great visual to help me see how this flows...

I've always thought of all the tasks in a day as juggling, trying to keep them all in the air, all moving in the pattern, not dropping any of them, all soaring in time perfectly.

*Pause here to let the lovely vision of objects smoothly floating through the air fill our minds and hearts. Aaaahhhh... inspiring.*

The problem?

I can't juggle. Not at all. So the image of juggling is one that makes no sense to me - it doesn't help me navigate the chaos, but rather it intimidates me and makes me want to shut down. But that was the only image I had to see my day with, when it's filled with multiple tasks and stuff. Throw it all up there, and try to keep it all moving without dropping anything.

*Pause here to let the awful vision of everything crashing to the floor, making a mess, fill our minds and hearts. Arrrrrgggggghhhhh!!!... and don't think I don't hear you laughing back there! Stop it!*

So, for this visually-oriented non-juggler, here's a better picture... a charm bracelet.

I have a day ahead of me - one day, one bracelet. And it's the only one I get today. On this bracelet are some beautiful things - some are silver objects - tasks that are before me today; some are beautiful jewels, lovely joyful things that are waiting for me today; and some are woven into the structure of the bracelet - things that are a part of every day, and must be in each day's bracelet.

Here are all these wonderful things, all together, that will make up my day today. And my goal is to not let any of them drop off. Just like when I make a bracelet or a necklace, I make sure that all the links are closed, all the wires tightly wound, the piece finished and ready to wear. It's everything I have to be aware of today - not trying to keep balls in the air in a certain pattern, but mindful of the jewels and charms of the bracelet, that none of them drop off and get lost.

Now, some of them might get moved to tomorrow's bracelet - but not because I dropped them, picked them up, and then stuck them on because they were just laying around. No, just as I choose the elements in a piece I make, or in something I write or music I play, I choose where they fit on tomorrow's bracelet, just in the right place where they will work the best.

The mindful, careful progression of day to day, item to item, link to link. To me, that's way more amazing than trying to keep all the balls in the air. *shudder*

----------

Can I build my willpower and structure my mind to insure that these jewels that are hung on my day don't fall off and get lost? I think so.

After all - I did it once... I can do it again.

The Grace of Moving Step to Step

2012-01-17T18:40:00.005-05:00

Watching my teacher move is sheer poetry.

It's been a year since I began my journey into Tai Chi and, although I love it, I'm not great at it. Of course, no one is after just one year. Some are getting good, some are really moving along, and some actually practice every day and are getting downright amazing, but we all are students. And that truth is obvious.

My teacher will say that he is also a student, just one who got started a little ahead of the rest of us. Here's another obvious truth - "a little ahead of the rest of us" is an understatement.

When he demonstrates a move for us, shows us the transition from one move to another, or shows us how they link together in one continuous flow, I understand the phrase "sheer poetry."

I have an instructional DVD with Master Yang - we are learning Yang style Tai Chi, and Master Yang is the 6th generation of the family that invented this style. Watching Master Yang demonstrate the form is like this: if my teacher is sheer poetry, Master Yang is a symphony. Absolutely beautiful.

(As opposed to faltering student me, who looks more like a baby giraffe sliding down a muddy slope while being assailed by penguins bearing Nerf bats. Sheer slapstick.)

So how does one get from fumbling sub-part-time student to the Master Yang symphony? Simple - one step at a time. Add countless hours of practice, season with years of study and pursuit, and serve something that looks effortless and is beautiful to behold.

As I'm re-learning life, in my second year after being reborn, I'm trying to figure out how things move forward. I'm getting the basics down, turning the necessary little things that I have to do for the rest of my life into habits. My weight seems to have settled, and I really like where I'm perched, at least for now.

My wife thinks I'm cute. And some days, very quietly, I'm inclined to agree with her. I actually allowed myself the rather non-modest thought that I'm kind of... sort of...maybe... possibly (a little bit)...

cool.

I guess wearing a beret can do that to you.

So now what? How do I expand my horizons? How do I increase my world to match how I feel inside? How and when do I transition from "waiting and learning" mode into "mindful and active" mode?

How? One step at a time.

When? When God says to.

So I'm learning the grace of moving step to step. I'll admit - it's a slow, frustrating road that I simply don't get sometimes. I see things coming so fast all around me, I hear the cries of the urgent yelling for my attention, I feel the pressure of the immediate and all those demands push and pull me.

But to go any faster than step to step is to lose my balance. To ignore the graceful way of slow movement is to forget my path. Interestingly, in the last day or so, I've begun to wonder if what I see as being stuck, being shelved or cast aside might be something else altogether:

Being intentionally set aside, carefully nurtured and tended, and prepared for a specific purpose - one whose time has not yet arrived.

I've noticed that the faster I move, the less mindfully I move. Slower means I take more notice and more time with things... always better. How I think of this, the language I frame it in, can totally change how I live and how I view life. A conscious step away from impatience, frustration, and feeling useless, and a step toward patience, understanding, and anticipation of when the waiting is over and my time arrives. It's all a matter of perspective...

----------

One of my all-time favorite books is "The Phantom Tollbooth" by Norton Juster. I totally identify with Milo, the main character, who is surrounded with things to do and see, but is usually bored. All too often, I miss the wonder and the opportunities all around me and stare at my shoes. Yeah, way too often I relate to Milo.

But I think my favorite character in the book is Alec Bings, who sees through things. In the Forest of Sight, Milo meets Alec - he stands about three feet in the air, which puts his feet right about Milo's eye level. In Alec's family, everyone is born with their heads at the height they'll be when they grow up, and their feet grow down toward the ground. So their point of view stays the same regardless of their age.

----------

Alas, not so for me.

My point of view, my perspective, changes almost daily. Sometimes it changes by itself, adjusting to new input. But a lot of the time, it has to be changed from the inside out. I have to mindfully, actively change how I perceive something, change how I think of it or how I see it, and work to make that change stick.

Not easy.

Changing your perspective can be tough, requiring time and attention, making the subtle and not-so-subtle turns to keep your sight toward a new direction. Perspective wants to snap back to the rut it was used to running in - it likes the path of least (or less) resistance. It really likes auto-pilot and prefers not to have its little world rocked. Perspective, or point of view, is fond of the big comfy chair and snacks. Getting up, moving, changing the furniture around, eating carrots instead of popcorn - these are things that perspective does not love. Being reborn does not a happy perspective make.

Well, it does - eventually.

Eventually comes in the grace of moving step to step. The slow, mindful learning and repetition that results in a symphony or poetry. And in that slow graceful progression, perspective shifts and point of view moves.

And, at any age, when our perspective shifts, we all grow up a bit.

So, for the record:

I'm not stuck - there is a purpose, but it hasn't arrived yet in my slow, mindful journey.

I haven't been shelved, forgotten or "Plutoed" - the One who in His grace brought about my rebirth is the One who will move me into place at exactly the right time.

I hear the loud cries of the urgent all around me but, with focus and concentration, I choose to listen to a calm Voice, guiding me in graceful movement.

There are things to be done, responsibilities to fulfill, obligations to keep, and I can and will do all of them - but I have to do them in the grace of moving step to step. To try and move any other way is to lose my balance.

And get hit by penguins with Nerf bats. Nobody wants that.

----------

Alec tells Milo, "Once in a while, someone is born upside-down, with their head toward the ground and their feet pointing up. But we try to discourage that sort of thing."

"What happens to them?" Milo asks.

And Alec replies, "They grow to be giants, and walk among the stars."

The Unclenched Hand

2012-01-12T12:28:00.013-05:00

I'm getting older.

I'll pause for the shock and denial of that statement to pass through you. After all, I'm Momma O's baby boy, youngest of my clan, with all the baggage that implies - how could I, the kiddo of the family, possibly be getting older?

Oh, the horror...

(and if nothing else proves that I'm the youngest in my family, the preceding dive into melodrama certainly does...)

So what? Age is something we all have in common - get over it, baby boy.

Really, I am over it. I didn't have much of a hump turning 50 a couple of years ago; I passed 52, the age at which my dad died, so that was a biggie. From here, then, the getting older thing really isn't an issue.

It's the stuff that goes with it that I take umbrage to. Specifically the aches, pains, creaks, groans and other strange sounds and experiences that hover around aging people like seagulls in a Wal-Mart parking lot. (Or is that just at the one in Sault Ste. Marie? Makes me think of "The Birds" every time we go there... *shudder*.)

(Of course, that makes me think of the scene from Mel Brooks' "High Anxiety" - the dark suit, the park bench, the BIRDS, the run to the dry cleaner's, the people running out... Now I'm laughing. Loudly.)

I watched members of my family age: My great-grandmother, who was so tough of an old bird that were she still around, she could still whoop my hiney without breaking a sweat. Honestly, somewhere along the line she HAD to have been an ancestor of Chuck Norris. Seriously. My great aunts and uncles, who slowed down gracefully and faded, each one of them still able to whoop my hiney without breaking a sweat or straining a muscle. My mother, who could and did whoop my hiney just with a glance...

(I tell you this truly - when I saw her laying in the casket, the expression on her face startled me... it was the same expression that her face bore when in church on a Sunday morning I was being perhaps a bit too boisterous and, as her eyes remained focused on the Pastor, her hand, on my coloring pad, was writing - in her perfect teacher penmanship - "just wait until we get home...")

(*mega-shudder*)

And then there was my grandmother, Wilma Ardra Carlton, who went by Ardra. Yes, my grandmother's name is a palindrome. Envy me.

Grams was a woman of faith and a woman of an open heart. She constantly taught us all the gift of giving, and I'm ashamed to admit that I learned the lesson way, way too slowly. In fact, the lesson is hardly evident in my life... yet. I'm getting there.

She rose before the sun almost every day of her life, often around 3:30am, to go downstairs to her restaurant and begin the prep work for the new day. She owned that restaurant for 28 years, open every day but Sundays and holidays, sometimes opening way early for the deer hunters, and she showed us all what faithfulness and hard work looked like. She was smart, savvy, and above all, giving.

She knew the lesson of the unclenched hand.

In fact, when and if some of my friends and loved ones from Oscoda (my ol' hometown) read these words, they'd be able to tell story upon story of Grams and her giving heart.

Where this story intersects with today is in my hands. Something that I share with Grams and my mom is arthritis and all the joy that implies. Mine has been showing up mostly in knees and back, since an early age actually, multiplied by weight, but I'm noticing in my later years that it's making its presence known in my hands. I love having things in common with Grams, but I was hoping to pass on that one...

Grams' hands were stiff - very stiff. At times, she couldn't close her fingers. What she did with those stiff painful fingers was magic - the work of her hands was blessed indeed, as was the work of her heart - but I saw her suffer. And I was hoping that my own hands would stay free of it, since as a musician I tend to be really, really protective of my hands. But the stiffness seems to be coming. Slowly, I'm thankful to say, but still there.

The interesting thing I'm noticing, and remembering from Grams' life, is this: things get worse with clenched hands.

When I've been loom knitting for a while, my right hand, the one that holds the tool, locks up and becomes sore (so does the left, the one that holds the loom). Too long without stretching and my right thumb stops being able to do its part. Too much of any activity that requires a closed or clenched hand produces pain and stiffness. If I'm playing wind controller and don't take the time to stretch my hands between songs or in places where I have a break, the fingers will lock in a curved position for a bit, and I have to carefully work them a bit to get them loose again. I don't seem to have that problem on bass guitar, for which I am grateful. As for whistle, the low whistles use a technique called Piper's Grip or "flat fingering" that lets me keep my fingers stretched. Thus explaining why I'm happier on the low whistles.

(More detail than you ever wanted to know - that's what I live for. That and Ramen noodles. Oh, and chicken. And beans. Like I said - more detail than you ever wanted to know.)

Why this all hit my radar this morning is wrapped up in today's Daily Audio Bible podcast, in the reading from Proverbs:

"Honor the LORD with your wealth and with the best part of everything your land produces. Then he will fill your barns with grain, and your vats will overflow with the finest wine."

Proverbs 3:9-10 (NLT)

Brian Hardin, the voice (and heart) of the DAB, commented on this, asking us what if this becomes an opportunity to open our hands and experience freedom? What if, instead of clenching and hoarding and worrying over our wealth, we open our hands and give it all over to God? What kind of freedom comes when we know He is in control of it all and we can just let it go?

Freedom comes by being obedient to God, and not just paying our 10% so that He will bring all sorts of prosperity and goodies into our lives. (Sorry if I offend by this, but I do believe that the phrase "prosperity Gospel" is an oxymoron. Just sayin'.) Obeying God is not playing the lottery or dropping coins into a slot machine, expecting a payback. "I did my thing, just like the rules in Your book say - now gimme, gimme, gimme!"

In obedience we acknowledge that He owns everything - all we have and all we are, by the fact that we offer our best, our first to Him above all. Even when we can't see how we'll put food on the table or keep the lights on. When we can't see how we'll put gas in the tank or find somewhere to go to earn anything to buy gas with. We clench, we hold, we buckle down to survive and endure. We dig trenches and foxholes and we hold on to the little we have, because that's all we know how to do.

There has been a lot of clenching going on in our house lately. We've gotten ourselves into some very deep water, very tight situations, and no hope on the horizon of digging out.

Actually, let's dispense with the royal "we" here - I'm clenching. I've gotten us into deep water. I don't see hope on the horizon. Not wallowing in pity or blame or regret - just truthfully admitting who the "free spirit" in our family is (to use a Dave Ramsey term...).

So I grasp, I tighten in anxiety, I wring my hands over worry and regret and frustration...

And wind up with closed, locked, painful fists.

There's still no hope on the horizon, at least not from my limited view; there's no resolution I can bring with my small power, and my feeble efforts can't move the mountain before me.

There's a little too much "I, Me, My" in that preceding sentence, don' 'cha think? Me too...

In my unfaithful, faltering, infrequent pursuit of Tai Chi, I'm learning not just poses and postures, but a new way of movement, at least for my stiff ol' bod. In Yang style, the form I'm learning, the hands remain open, not stiff, with the thumb extended - the "tiger's mouth" (the space at the base of the thumb) is open. The hand is soft, not rigid; the fingers relaxed, not stiffened. When the hands need to close, to make a fist for a punch or another movement, they are able to do so because they are relaxed. When that movement is complete, they open and become relaxed once again.

"Honor the LORD with your wealth and with the best part of everything your land produces."

Grams knew the freedom and blessing of the unclenched hand. So did my mom. So does my wife, who models a servant's heart in everything she does.

So Lord, I confess a clenched, painful, stiff hand, and the clenched, stiff heart that goes with it. All my grasping, my holding, my keeping back - even from You - is wrong. I'm creating more frustration when trying feebly to relieve it. I'm causing more insecurity when I should be letting go. I'm creating instability while trying to find solid ground, because I'm looking at the wrong things.

Come and take Your proper place, Father - the head of all I am and all I have. I open my hands, Lord. All I can see and all I can figure out screams at me to close and clench, but my own wisdom is, as always, flawed. Holy Spirit, close my ears to screams of desperation, and open my eyes to Your freedom. When I get rid of it all, when I open my hands and put it all in Your hands, then I'm truly free. The problems I've created, I confess them and ask for Your forgiveness. Remind me that the solutions are Yours to reveal - my job is trust and obedience. Help my resolve to give You the first and best of it all, and to leave the rest with You too, guided by Your wisdom and Your economy, resources that You can use according to Your perfect will.

My hands are open and relaxed. And all that they held is Yours.

The Beautiful Ugly Clock

2012-01-11T10:27:00.012-05:00

"Broken Time" by Andrew Van Zyll
Check out his creative pursuits at his Etsy store

God's timetable: the clock is always 100% perfectly on time, but it's an ugly clock.

I'm sorry - was that a little impious? Should I couch it in more Psalm-esque language? Yelling stuff like "HOW LONG, O LORD??" Nope - I'm stickin' with hows I sees 'em.

I do not doubt God's timing - in my limited, narrow view over the past 52 years...

(Come to think of it, it was more like 51, since that first year is pretty much a blur, an "eat, cry and poop fest.")

(Come to think of it, that first year wasn't so bad, except for the whole diaper thing...)

(Come to think of it, that'll pretty much sum up most of my final years, I should think - up to and including the whole diaper thing...)

(Come to think of it, I think we've discovered that Cal really shouldn't "come to think of" anything. Especially sitting in front of a computer keyboard. Ever.)

Anyway, I've seen God's timetable work its perfect way in too many places to ever rail against it or deny its existence. Everything falls to His sovereignty, willingly or unwillingly. We can accept the roaring flow, go with it, or we can try to buck the tide and end up on our hineys, flying downstream, producing the kind of facial expressions captured for all time in those photo thingies they always take at the most horrific moment of the most mind-numbing amusement park rides, then sell you at a "bargain" price for this souvenir that will bring back wonderful memories for generations to come. (Like panic, screaming, and bile, to name a few.)

But just because I accept and surrender to God's timetable does not change that fact that, in my limited and narrow view, it's an ugly clock.

Maybe I see it as ugly because I simply have no way to read it or understand it... It's like one of those LED clocks that tells the time in binary code, thus prompting smug looks from geeks and geeklets in the room, sharing their secret knowledge of being able to read the thing while us lower mortals wander in confusion...

Until we look at our phones, see the time, and get on with our uncaring agendas, leaving the geeks and geeklets frustrated, their lake of superiority dammed up with the concrete of indifference. Hoover dam, baby. Deal with it.

I stare at God's clock with no comprehension. I can't even see the whole face of the thing. The hands move in ways I can't perceive; the units they measure have no meaning in my existence; and the outcome of its progress is beyond my understanding.

Now, I do admit that I've never been the sharpest chisel in the tool box when it comes to clocks. I didn't learn to read the clock until fifth grade, even though I started reading at age 3. There was always someone around to tell me what time it was, so no need to learn the significance of "the big hand is on the 3, and the small hand is on the 8."

Yes, no digital clocks. I am indeed that old.

Anyway, I came late to the party with the whole "learning to tell time" thing. I did make up for it later, when I started working in broadcasting. When one is responsible for every second of every minute of every hour of an air shift, you start to gain a sense of time passing, really understanding just how long it takes to do some things. Learning to read something out loud, so that it comes out to exactly 27 seconds (to allow 3 seconds for the music hit at the end) teaches you a lot about time. So does having to vamp the weather forecast when you have 30 seconds to fill, and a forecast that says "partly cloudy, partly cloudy, repeat repeat repeat..."

So I do understand how time feels.

And I think we all understand how time feels in the long, long silences when we think God has gone south for the winter. Those stretches of darkness where we wonder if we've ever really heard from Him at all. The heavy night curtain that falls after a long, sunny, extended period of His blessing, when things go from bright to dark faster than the switching off of a lamp in a basement room. We all, or at least most of us, understand how the dark rises up, immeasurably fast and overpoweringly strong.

At times, we believe that not only is God not in the same time zone as us, but that He's changed over to another calendar, one where seconds, minutes, hours and even days and weeks are graded on a sliding scale. Where time itself becomes elastic, and it ebbs and flows in harmony with the One who exists outside of its steely grasp.

Time is NOT finite in the hands of the Infinite.

But we feel every dragging second in our small world.

Right now, I'm in a place where the clock is very ugly, moving so slowly that I have to fight the urge to keep replacing the battery, and it doesn't show signs of changing anytime soon. I'm on the other side of almost two years of very fast change, where time flew beyond my ability to catalog it. I tried, vainly, to grab some small pieces of it, to note the events in these pages, to be aware and keep reminders before it all blew past, never to be seen again.

Then it all stopped. We got stuck in a holding pattern while the runway is being cleaned by three Oompa Loompas with toothbrushes. It's gonna be awhile.

Meanwhile, to stir the pot of ugly clock soup, throw in a few years without employment, add in someone not wise enough yet to learn to live within his means, and whip into a financial frenzy.

** before Vicki or a few others jump in here, I probably should have said "gainful employment," or something like that. I have been pursuing an occupation - learning my new life so that all the things that come with it become habits, a part of my normal life. It was necessary, it's equipped me to live in this new body and keep it working well, and everything is happening exactly when it should. I just didn't learn the bigger lessons, and I took a little longer to grow up, so it'll take a little longer to dig out. **

Always on time, but it's an ugly clock.

Sometimes, some of that ugliness is self-imposed, I'm discovering. The clock is ugly because it has a highly polished surface and shows me all the mistakes I've been making while the timetable moves on. Maybe the ugliness I see in the clock is just the choking regret I feel for lessons not learned, time lost, resources wasted, failures committed. In the mirror of the clock, I see my own ugliness.

I don't think God intends us to look at ourselves in that harsh, unyielding place. With nothing between our limited viewpoint and infinity, how could we ever stand the sight? How could we perceive anything but LOSS... LOSS... LOSS...

"In the fullness of time, God sent His son..."

"God works all things together for good..."

"If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed..."

"Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!

How unsearchable his judgments,

and his paths beyond tracing out!

Who has known the mind of the Lord?

Or who has been his counselor?

Who has ever given to God,

that God should repay them?

For from him and through him and to him are all things.

To him be the glory forever! Amen."

Romans 11:33-36 (TNIV)

By itself, God's timetable is perfect, always on time, always on track.

From my limited view, it's an ugly clock.

From His view, He makes all things beautiful, even where I only see ugly...

In His time.

The Lost Puppy Lesson

2012-01-08T20:26:00.005-05:00

In high school, there was a group of guys. And they, in my view, were cool. Not cool by the standards of how others would gauge cool - hot looks, mad sports skillz, that sort of drack. They were cool because they were unique. They weren't afraid of being themselves. They fired off Tarzan yells from a little cassette player at the drive-in movie during love scenes. Now THAT'S cool!

And I desperately wanted to be one of them.

A couple of them played guitars. They played in bands. They did, at least in my own imagination, many other amazing and wonderful things each day, the details of which, were mere mortals like myself to know them, would make them weep with the sheer weight of their awesomeness.

Wow.

And boy howdy, did I ever want to be one of "them."

And boy howdy, was I ever not one of them. Not even close.

Not to say that I didn't know them, that we weren't at least acquainted, or that they were so snooty and cliquesque that they wouldn't even notice my existence. Nope. I just wasn't one of them.

Like most teens, I wanted desperately to belong, to be a part of some group someplace. It would be years and years before I ever came to understand that I'm not really a "belong" sort of person. I'm more of a "hang on the fringes and observe" type of person or a "comfortable with my beloved and a small list of close friends but not really totally integrated into any group" type of person. And years and years more before I came to accept that.

And every once in a while I catch myself in that behavior. I'll hover around the edge of a group, imagining all the camaraderie and fun they must be having together, and begin wishing I was a part of their "club." Trying to fill some sort of void I think I perceive in my own existence by filling the lonely hole with belonging.

I call it the Lost Puppy Lesson. Hovering around the edges like a little lost puppy, hoping that someone will take me in and give me a home.

(I think my mom first gave it that name when she would laugh a bit about my attempts to fit into this or that group. Not quite sure why she needed to revisit those memories, or find amusement at them, but there it is.)

Recently, I've been wondering if I'm dancing around that lesson once again, hovering around the edges of somewhere I was employed for a very long time. I do a little bit of part-time work there, which is cool, but I'm wondering if, by keeping my "foot in the door" (so to speak), on some level I'm doing the Lost Puppy thing, hoping to get taken in, to be welcomed back and officially be part of "the group."

Which isn't cool, for the record. At least, not for me.

What I know now, that I didn't know then, is that I don't need to look for something external to "belong to" in an attempt to fill some sort of hole or void. If there's a hole, the solution won't be found out there - the place to look is within, usually in the area of having stepped away from where I belong in relationship to my Father. As always, if I feel distant from Him, He's not the one who moved. If I'm feeling disconnected, I'm probably the one who pulled the plug.

Ok, so knowing that, I now have a grid to process things through. In the case of my part-time work, am I hovering around the edges, hoping to be let back in and to belong? Honestly, maybe a little bit - but I think it's more a desire for some sort of regular work and income. I don't think I'm searching for something to fill an emotional hole, but rather something to help in an increasingly tight financial situation. A little stability in a stormy sea.

I think God uses our past lessons to help us navigate our present path. The question is, will we mindfully look at where we are through the lens of what we've learned?

One more thing to add to that - using the lessons learned is alright, as long as we allow Him to teach us through them and not let our past be an open door for all sorts of regrets to reach out and choke us. God doesn't intend for us to live in our regrets, but rather to commit our past to His keeping, and our present to His grace.

The final thought: sometimes, in God's grace and timing, good can come from the Lost Puppy Lesson...

If I hadn't wanted so desperately to be a part of that group from high school, I wouldn't have fixed my eyes on a certain instrument, one that would enable me to jam along and (hopefully, in my eyes) let me "in." At the very least I wouldn't have pursued that instrument so desperately at that time. The group of guys came and went (and I'm friends on Facebook with a couple of them!), and I moved on to other lessons and other puppy pursuits from time to time, becoming a little wiser for the wear.

Yet that instrument - my attempt to become one of them - remains a huge part of my life. I think of the guys sometimes on Sunday mornings when I'm part of the worship team at First Cov...

playing my bass guitar.

The one I play now has six strings and no frets, but the black and white four-string Electra bass that my grandmother bought me (after much begging, I'll admit, and much thankfulness) set my feet on the path. Thanks guys, especially Jeff - I had no idea at the time that a case of wanting to be part of the cool dudes would turn into a lifetime of joy playing bass.

The moral of the story? Sometimes puppies learn cool tricks, that they still do as old dogs.

The Advent Writings: Postlude

2012-01-02T17:00:00.004-05:00

Behold, the new year rises.

Yay. Woo hoo. *insert sound of party horn here*

*insert sound of Cal coughing up a furball here*

*insert sound of literally twos of mouses clicking on various bookmarks*

These last couple of weeks of 2011 have kicked my formerly huge hiney. (Now it's more like my formerly huge now smaller but saggy hiney. Mental imagery to give you nightmares - that's why I'm here.) Frankly, things feel like they haven't moved or changed at all this last month.

When I began The Advent Writings, they were a way to try and sort out the season, to find some answers to deep feelings not just about the season, but about my walk and faith in general. I wanted to see what would happen as I pushed myself to write more frequently - daily if possible, but certainly much more frequently than my normal habit of once an age. (Or twice, if things were particularly weird) In the course of this 'experiment' (for lack of a better term), the Lord once again reminded me of why I am compelled to write - to journal my story, to document the journey, to raise the stones and remember, and to use these words to clear some of the fog in my mind that would keep me bound in the darkness.

Does that sound selfish? Wasn't there way w-a-y too much "I Me My Mine I MeMeMe" in that last paragraph? Shouldn't I be saying something about encouraging others or edifying others, or at least desiring "world peace?"

(shout out to fans of Miss Congeniality 1 - Sandra Bullock, comedy genius)

These last couple of weeks have reminded me that my "forward" gear doesn't have as much power as my "backwards" gear does. All through this month, trying to mindfully approach Christmas from a new perspective, I've been making some good steps. I've been learning things about my journey, I've been seeing how to walk in a new way, and I've been marveling in where God is bringing me in my second life. There have been moments to laugh, moments to be astonished, and moments to hang my head in shame.

And then, wham. It's like playing a living game of Snakes and Ladders (or as it's known in kiddie game world, Chutes & Ladders) - you're moving along, maybe taking a ladder up, making progress... then you hit one of those pickin' snakes, and you crash all the way back to where you started.

I hate that game. Seriously.

"Snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes?"

(Harrison Ford, comedy genius!)

"Laugh it up, fuzzball."

(See? Comedy genius!)

In the last couple of weeks, it seems like all the learning, all the growing went right down the biffy on the express train to the set of Dirty Jobs. It got flushed. Step, slip, down the stinkin' snake, back to square one, start all over. In the parlance of the Uglies series, it's not very happy-making. In fact, in the parlance of the Cal, it's very, very Grrrr-making.

You'd think I'd at least be able to grab some traction, to not fall as far, to slow my decent, or even hit the ground running and climbing. Nope. *wham!* Hit the floor (or whatever the heck it was that I just landed on - I really don't want to know), gasp for air, stagger back to my feet, then look around, blinking and dazed, wondering where I am and how I got here. I don't even recognize the scenery, which is kind of weird since I was just here not that long ago, last time the dumb snake dumped me on the express train down.

I really, really hate that game.

And now, for the light at the end of the snake... um, tunnel.

(Captain Cal, comedy dufus!)

Because God is faithful, and because He knows that we're slip-slidin' away (to quote the Bard, thankye Mr. Simon), He tells us to raise the stones. He tells us to put markers along the way to remind us of where He has brought us and where He is taking us. I guess I always thought of them as memorial stones or signposts - kind of like the "Somewhere In Time" spot on Mackinac Island.

("RIIIICCHHHHAAAARRRDDDD!!!" Jane Seymour, comedy genius and Medicine Woman!)

I never thought of the stones as hand and food holds. Kind of like the things on a climbing wall that you grab and cling on to as you keep going up. Unless you're a certified GirlyMan like me, and have never ever climbed or even been near a climbing wall, but have been the subject of much laughter and derision during gym class when the teacher said, "Olson - climb the rope!"

(My gym teacher - comedy genius and torturer du jour all rolled into one manly bundle!)

Last night, after another rough slide downward, I realized that I haven't 1) listened to the Daily Audio Bible in 4 days, and 2) haven't written in a week. Not for dumb reasons, just because my attention needed to be in other directions. Mostly, helping my wife clean out a storage thingie we've been paying rent on for about 12 years.

12 years of paying folks for the privilege of storing CRAP. Talk about a stinkin' snake...

Anyway, after the distractions, the good, right and valid distractions, I had no handholds, and somewhere along the way had changed into my silicone bodysuit, making me very slippery and taking my wind resistance down to nil.

** I pause to allow the mental image of me in a silicone body suit to plant itself firmly in your psyche, to assault your dreams in a disturbing manner. Don't thank me - it's my job. **

So, onto the snake I go, sliding down, getting ready for the inevitable crash into the unmentionable at the bottom...

And I slow to a gentle stop.

Why? Because God says, "open MacJournal, read what you've written there, toss out hands and feet, and grab some traction. You've raised the stones, now look at them, read them, USE them."

Handholds and footholds to stop the slide. Traction to fight the downward fall. Rubber grippers for snakeback.

"BWAAH HAAH HAAH! Take that, stinkin' snake!"

"Hold on, little superstar - remember that whole pride-fall thing..."

"Right. Sorry."

Now, I'm not back where I was. I have some climbing to do. But I'm not at the bottom either, up to my nose in... um... Nope, not gonna say it. I didn't hit the bottom, and I'm on my feet, climbing. And maybe, just maybe I'll make it a little farther before the next slide. Maybe, just maybe I'll catch myself faster on the way down, and not slide as far. Perhaps, just perhaps I'll stay on my feet, get back to climbing, and make it farther yet. And hopefully, definitely hopefully, I'll remember sooner to use my handholds and footholds. Or clip a safety line to my Partner so He can help break my fall.

Maybe I'll get up the rope after all, and show my gym teacher my turbo-moon happy dance from the gym ceiling.

"Ahem... pride? Fall?"

"Right. Sorry. No turbo-mooning, right?"

"Definitely not."

"Gotcha."

The Advent Writings, Day 14: Ammirationis

2011-12-21T15:45:00.007-05:00

Ammirationis: wonder, surprise, astonishment; admiration, veneration, regard; marvel.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

"Edward Magorium - Toy Impresario, Wonder Aficionado, Avid Shoe Wearer"

(Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium - one of my all-time favorite movies. When it comes to adult taste in movies, I just say "no.")

(The list also includes both Nanny McPhee movies, both Cars movies, and absolutely both Kung Fu Panda movies. Insert the Vicki mantra here - refer to previous installments to find that reference.)

(Oh - and "UP." Loved it.)

(Not so much "Finding Nemo," for which opinion the Eldest Niecelet has written me out of her will. Just for that, I'm going to make good on my threat to have myself stuffed, and force the Niecelets to pass me around year after year like a sport trophy. That'll show her, especially when the other two realize it's all her fault. Hah.)

Anyway, Mr. Magorium, Wonder Aficionado. I loved that phrase as soon as I heard it. It's in the movie twice, and I won't reveal where, since it would give away part of the plot, but the words stuck with me - Wonder Aficionado.

Is that me? Shouldn't that be me? Or us?

Sometimes, I think we see adulthood as the opposite of wonder. One comes in, the other goes out, as if someplace there's a rule that both can't exist in the same space. You're either filled with (childlike) wonder, or you're an adult. Pick one - you can't have both.

If you're an adult filled with wonder, it's because people wonder about you. They smile tolerantly as you stroll by, wearing a cape or a beret, smiling and laughing way too loud, perhaps dancing a bit as you walk, doing a few Tai Chi moves in the aisle at the store, or busting out some of your best (worst) moves every time the "Save Big Money" song plays at Menard's. You dance around as you play the bass, proving that a certain white boy ain't got no game, or make all kinds of other odd gyrations as you play any other instrument. They call you eccentric, they laugh and smile, and make the "few fries short of a happy meal" sign behind your back. (That last you don't know for certain, since, of course, it's behind your back. But having a fertile imagination, you can certainly see it happening.)

Is all this sounding a touch auto-biographical? Have you ever SEEN me shake what my momma gave me during the "Save Big Money" song? You have?

Oops. Busted.

Alright, so we've established that I'm a wonder that you wonder about. Wonderful. Riddle me this, Bat Friends...

Where is it along the way that we dump wonder? What's the point where we lose the ability to cut loose in public? How do we go from "not a care in the world" to "stop it - people will stare!"?

When does the opinion of people we'll never know trump inner joy and outward expression?

Ah, my dear ones, the advantage of being reborn is this - the second time around, you simply don't care what others think.

Now, I don't mean that in a "I can make inappropriate comments and noises in public because I don't care what people think" kind of way, not a "my way or the highway, bow before my needs, or I'll flatten you like a steamroller because I don't care about what you think" kind of way, and certainly not a "I can't possibly live up to your expectations, so I'll go the other way to be as obnoxious and contrary as possible and prove to you that I don't care what you think" kind of way.

No, the view of the reborn is that of seeing the world as it really is, free of the baggage we all place upon it. And, my dear ones, I'll say it right out loud, crystal clear with no doubt about my meaning:

I've been reborn.

In your second life, the superficial seems to have no hold upon you, because on the path to being reborn, you shed a lot of the garbage you've built around yourself over the years. If you are reborn later in life, as I was, there's no time for status, opinion, or shallow expectation - the time you have left is so precious that to spend any of it on the mundane seems wasteful and wrong.

"Cal, isn't it a little lofty and extreme to say you've been 'reborn?' I mean, sure, you've been through quite a change, but using that term? I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that claim..."

Let me refocus a bit, and see if it becomes clearer...

When I say I've been reborn, understand, dear ones, that I'm not the one who did the reborning. I've been in the back seat, along for the ride, a willing participant, but not the one driving the car. Our Father God asked me to take one step on the path, to simply say "yes," and He put the pedal to the metal.

I've been reborn because He gave me my second life. I'm a miracle because He made me one. I see the world with eyes of wonder; because I see it with new eyes. I've told this story many, many times, and will continue to do so:

The very first words I heard when waking up in my hospital room after the surgery that started my journey to rebirth, either in a voice speaking to me or in my own thoughts but not of my own making, I don't know which, were these: "My chains are gone, I've been set free."

I've been reborn.

There's no other way I can put it - believe me, I've been flailing around for the right word picture to explain what's happened to me since March 30, 2010. Weight lost, health gained, and those are the tiniest parts of it. When you see it all together, see the gestalt, the whole that's greater than the sum of the parts, there's only one way to capture it in one phrase:

I've been reborn.

And wonder is now my native tongue.

To put it any less extravagantly would be a lie, and would diminish the miracle my Father has done. (Ok - it would attempt to diminish it - God's work can't be added to or diminished by my tiny words...) Were I claiming that I did this on my own, that I've made this great achievement, then that declaration would deny His provision and negate my claim. If you grit your way through by your own strength and are standing on your own merit, you haven't been reborn.

Sorry - just callin' 'em like I sees 'em.

"Um, Cal, oh he who claims to be reborn, who I suspect has just taken an overdose of his happy pills today, where are you going with this?"

I'm going to the best part... I'm no different than anyone else. I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam. And so's you.

"Huh?"

Dear friends, in Jesus Christ, the Babe of Bethlehem, we are all reborn! We are all living, breathing, walking miracles. We have come from darkness into His marvelous light! Sure, my rebirth has been dramatic, one that you can see and understand. I'm a mobile picture of walking from death to life, but that picture fits all who call on His name! The reason I've been given so much light, so much wonder is this -

Look at me, look at HIM!

The same God who parted the sea is the same God who raised our Lord from death to life. He's the same God who spoke through the prophets, healed the sick, restored sight and wholeness, brought sanity out of madness, and empowered believers in a rushing wind. He's the same God who took me from 480 pounds in January 2009, to around 440 in February 2010 to around 220 presently. From death to life.

And guess what? He didn't go covert. He's not undercover. He still moves in a mighty, dramatic way. His hand still does the impossible; He still rescues and saves, comforts and heals, restores and empowers.

Look at me, look at HIM!

Where, along the way, do we decide it's time to dump wonder and "grow up?" Why can't wonder and adulthood exist in the same person? It can, it does, and it's wonderful, because He continues to move. He is wonderful, and we are filled with wonder.

In Jesus, we are all reborn. So enter your second life, leave behind all the stiff trappings of being "adult," and celebrate in childlike wonder. Be reborn. Shed the darkness of the mundane and become the luminous beings we are in Him - to shine like stars in the universe. Embrace the wonderful, absurd, amazing, puzzling, breathtaking, inexplicable truth of the Good News: in Christ, we are new!

Welcome to the promise of Advent that we carry through all our days. Welcome to your second life. Care to join me in the "Save Big Money" happy dance?

No?

No worries - when you're ready, I'll be here. And so will He.

Ammirationis: wonder, surprise, astonishment; admiration, veneration, regard; marvel.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!"

2 Corinthians 5:17 (TNIV)

The Advent Writings, Day 13: Exoletus

2011-12-21T13:53:00.006-05:00

Exoletus: grow up, become adult; grow stale, deteriorate; die out/fade away; be forgotten.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

Anybody else out there forgetful?

Anybody?

Hmmm?

Ah - I see. Just me, then. Alrighty.

And no, my forgetful thing isn't just a result of having pushed the boulder up the hill for 50 years, and now it's rolling down the other side and I can't keep up with it. Ok, that might be some of it, but not da whole ting... We, as human beans, are forgetful.

It's not just for fun or grins that the Bible tells us over and over to "remember," to "forget not," to place the stones and recall what God has done, to talk with our children about God's law and to teach them, which results in us learning it well ourselves, truthfully. We forget. We forget the basics, we forget the wonderful, we forget the astonishing...

But somehow we have amazing recall when it comes to the bad, the painful, the insults, the disappointments, the hurt. 20/20 memory right there, baby. Ask me about being embarrassed in front of the whole school at an assembly in 3rd grade, and it's right there. Ask me what I did yesterday? Um... ah... nope. Nuttin'.

Now, taking my usual left turn from "wander mode" into "wander into something else mode," how does it feel to BE forgotten? It's less painful to be the one forgetting - after all, you don't remember it. But to be forgotten? I imagine that's one of those things that gets filed along with the other disappointments and letdowns in total recall memory. So it's there to stay. Lovely.

I thought it was really interesting to look at this word from my (and your) trusty source, William Whitaker's Words:

Exoletus: grow up, become adult; grow stale, deteriorate; die out/fade away; be forgotten

I've never claimed to know the least thing about Latin... Oh, except for the "correct" pronunciation of Gloria In Excelsis Deo - that one I got. (Side note - of course, like all geeky music kids, singing it "Gloria in Ex-Shellfish Deo" during a Sunday service has been known to happen in my past. I'm not proud of it, and less proud of the fact that I still sing it that way on occasion, but usually not in church. I've matured...)

Anyway, I found the progression in the definition of exoletus really fascinating - grow up, become adult, grow stale, deteriorate, die out/fade away, be forgotten. I know - these aren't really supposed to go together. The semi-colon divides them in the definition, but when I use commas, doesn't it look like a picture of the human journey? Grow up, become adult. THEN, grow stale, deteriorate. FINALLY, die out/fade away, be forgotten.

Wow. Once again, the holiday cheer that radiates from these musings leaves one breathless. Gasping, as it were.

How does it feel to be forgotten? Are you one of the many, many folks who finds very little joy in Advent? There's a lot of dark in this season of light. Memories of disappointments, of loved ones who are gone, taking with them some of the only happiness we ever felt in Christmas, of promises never kept, of gatherings never invited to, of loneliness so thick that it chokes us - and all stored in perfect recall memory, to be remembered at a moment's notice, augmented with extra bitterness from the erosion of time. Things will never be THAT good again, the pain will NEVER ease, the hurt will never be LESS deep.

My dear one, you're what God had in mind when He invented Advent. It's about hope.

----------------------------------------------

And now, this just in from the "God has a great sense of irony" department...

I had just written those words about hope when my phone rang. I answered it, got the news that a job I was being considered for went to the other person, hung up, and re-read what I had written...

My dear one, you're what God had in mind when He invented Advent. It's about hope.

And God says, "so, big boy, do you believe that stuff you spout off? Do you really see hope? Or do you only remember the hurts, the failures, the disappointments? You put in the job application because you were being obedient to Me, and you knew that the outcome was and is in My hands, so what will you choose to do now?"

Of course, I went on my merry way, wagging my tail, smiling and humming a lovely carol.

Not.

This application had been a lesson in obedience - take the step, then leave it ALL completely in God's hands. No thinking about it, no dwelling on it, no considering the scenarios, no planning and scheming and dreaming - hands and mind OFF! Knowing that, resting in my Father's will, learning the lesson and moving on went pretty well... until last night when I went completely ape-crazy for a while.

My Father patiently watched my ranting and doubting, my very, very human reactions, my out- of-control emotions, and then He watched over me as I slept.

And in the morning, I returned to these words, my words, His words, and said, "Yes. I do believe them. And I'm trying, imperfectly, to live them."

------------------------------

My dear one, you're what God had in mind when He invented Advent. It's about hope.

I'm not forgotten. All the failures and disappointments I can summon in perfect recall, even the most recent ones, even the last twenty-four hours, have no power to diminish what Advent means. The One who came to this world came to bring light, and that light overcomes our darkest corners. It banishes shadows. It conquers all.

He IS the light.

So now, you know that I'm not just writing these little pithy phrases to tickle our Advent ears. I'm not sitting on a lofty seat, dispensing jewels of wisdom to the masses. (The mental picture of me sitting on a lofty seat, dispensing wisdom is sufficient to make me laugh so loud I snort... And usually the Eldest Niecelet is the only one that gets away with that sort of thing... the snorting, I mean. She does dispense wisdom, but the snorting is really her trademark. If it ever gets on YouTube, she'll be set for life. I'm just sayin'.)

I'm just a garden variety dufus, trying to work out my faith with fear and trembling, as the Word tells me to do. Ok, I'm much, much more than that - and so are you.

What I am NOT, is forgotten. I'm not any of those failures or disappointments that I can recall so vividly. I'm not lost in darkness, I'm not wandering with no path, and I am not hopeless. Not now, not ever. And, for the record, neither are you. How do I know that?...

"For a child has been born—for us!

the gift of a son—for us!

He'll take over the running of the world. His names will be: Amazing Counselor, Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness.

His ruling authority will grow, and there'll be no limits to the wholeness He brings...The zeal of GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies will do all this."

Isaiah 9:6-7 (MSG)

So as we grow up, we don't have to grow stale. As we fade away, we won't be forgotten.

If this season is more about sadness than celebration for you, if you've taken too many hits from a falling economy or a broken family, if this present darkness seems to be covering your eyes, look up! See the Light, the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth! He knows you, He loves you, and He NEVER forgets you. Never.

Advent is all about hope!

Exoletus: grow up, become adult; grow stale, deteriorate; die out/fade away; be forgotten

"In Him was life, and that life was the light of men."

John 1:4 (NIV)

The Advent Writings, Day 12: Meditare

2011-12-19T13:09:00.005-05:00

Meditare: meditate, think about; reflect on

I think meditation has gotten a bum rap. Of course, I'm a child of the 70's, where transcendental meditation became a "thing." So all of a sudden something that we're told to do with scripture became Eastern mysticism, and we had to avoid it like the plague.

By "we," of course, I'm referring to the semi-conservative but still great and excellent way I was raised in the faith. So I guess I'm saying "me" instead of "we." Hee hee hee. Whee.

So instead of meditating on scripture, we were "thinking on" scripture, "focusing on" scripture, "keeping your mind on" scripture, "spending time with," "dwelling on," "pondering," "contemplating," "considering," etc.

That's an awful lot of baggage that could be simply replaced with "meditate." So I shall. And frankly, when I think of meditation, I don't get an image of someone in the lotus position, fingers in the "okey dokey" position on their knees, blissed-out expression on their face, and the melodious sound of "ooohhhmmm..." coming from their lips.

If that image does come to mind, it's usually to the sound of joints cracking and "oooooowwwwwwcccccchhhhhhh!!!!" coming from their lips. "Bwwaaahhh haaahhh haaaahhh" is the sound coming from my lips. Strange looks from those nearby are usually the results.

What then, I asks myself, are we talking about when we say meditate? And myself responds, "Well, dufus..." Then a fight breaks out 'cause I know that myself shouldn't call I dufus, and we've discussed this time and again, but apparently someone in this conflicted being hasn't gotten the memo and insists on continuing this naughty behavior.

And this is certainly not the season to be on the naughty list.

Meditate, in my unlearned and non-scholarly opinion, is something like watering a tomato plant. It's not just splashing a few drops of liquid on the parched soil, then going on your merry way, expecting to see a thriving and flourishing plant when next we check in, but rather giving the plant what it needs. Meditating is like giving the plant sufficient water, not just a few drops, and having that essential nourishment soak in, going all through the soil to reach the roots, to be taken in and spread throughout the plant.

When we meditate on something, we're allowing time for it to sink in, to reach the roots and spread through us.

This can apply to a big and difficult decision - we can't just take a look at it, kick into decision mode, and have at it. We have to take some time, whatever time we have, to let it roll around in our heads, look at it from different angles, and make the connections that allow us to finally make a good decision.

Meditation (or something like it) can be how we think of friends and family, letting their places in our lives replay in our minds, enriching our heart's response to them, making us better able to extend love, grace and patience not only to them, but to others as well.

I guess we're talking about deep and mindful consideration here. Let's take this over to Advent, shall we?

It's so easy to keep the Christmas story on the shallow level. After all, the decorations, the parties and events, the music, the lights and candles and tons of goodies - they all rush in and seem to fill all the empty spaces. Their sheer momentum sweeps us along, making enough noise to silence our questions, providing enough sights to keep us from truly seeing, and making us think that all the dark spaces are truly and wonderfully lit. We hear the stories, we keep the traditions, we follow along with what we've done before. It's familiar, comfortable, warm and fuzzy, and totally alright, even wonderful in and of itself.

But it's not meditation. It's not reaching a deeper level, getting to the roots and penetrating our beings.

"Dude, lighten UP! It's CHRISTMAS, man! Can't you just relax and have some holly jolly yourself? Does your fruitcakephobia have to bring out your grinch in philosopher's clothing? Can't you keep your pondering a little more upbeat?"

Hmm...

For Christmas, the answer is yes. I'm just as capable of having wild, merry, excited, warm and fuzzy Yule as anyone else. Actually, sans 200 or so pounds, I'm more capable this year than any other of getting my jingle on. The former fat man will bring it on Christmas day. (Not sure what "it" is, but I've still got a few days to figure that out...)

But we're not talking about Christmas - we're talking about Advent. And that's where I take a sharp left turn internally. For many, many years, I went through the motions with none of the substance. So much so that when my mom died, I really wasn't sure what Christmas looked like anymore. Much of the joy went away for me.

(This is not to say that it became a train wreck - lovely times were had, my family is still there, some things changed, but much {very much} remains. I am blessed, I am thankful, I am touched by love and grace.)

I was wandering through the season blind and deaf. The few drops of water never reached the roots. And I never took in enough to grow and be nourished. I lived, but I didn't thrive. I moved, but I wandered. I saw and heard but I didn't feel. Last year, with all the physical and mental changes happening so quickly, Advent was madness.

Which brings us to this year. These writings. And the reason I seem to have gone from holly jolly to bah, humbug!... I'm trying, imperfectly, to mindfully appreciate Advent, to walk slowly through it and see the details with my new eyes, to hear the songs and story as if for the first time.

(If you think I'm way serious in this happy holiday season, you ain't seen nothing yet - Lent is coming...)

For me, I see the need to meditate on Advent, to allow these days of focusing on our King, His arrival, and His presence to permeate my whole being. The outward trappings - lights, decorations, parties, even some of the traditions - they seem to be moving to the background, while the message - prepare a way for the Lord! - is coming to the foreground. As I take it in, slowly, mindfully, I'm becoming aware of His presence in my life, and how He is preparing me for this new year. I know there are changes coming, challenges and blessings, questions and (hopefully) some answers, joy and sadness, and now is the time to get grounded and planted, so that everything to come will be with my hand in His.

It's not that I'm taking things too seriously, becoming a grinch, or turning my back on Christmas joy. I'm simply taking a longer path to get there. When we get to the big day, which is coming up all too quickly, I'll have arrived with the others, ready to celebrate with a full and happy heart. Until then, I remain aware, mindful, slowly considering what this all means, now and in the days to come.

I meditate on the timeless story of redemption and the wonder of it all. Holly jolly? Perhaps not. Deeply joyful? Definitely.

Meditare: meditate, think about; reflect on

"but Mary quietly treasured these things in her heart and thought about them often."

Luke 2:19 (NLT)

The Advent Writings, Day 11: Aversionis

2011-12-15T10:30:00.007-05:00

Aversionis: distraction (of attention / from the point)

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

My Beloved can tell you about hamster mode. And she's very patient about hamster mode.

(Repeat the Vicki mantra here - if you see my wife today, give her a hug. She needs extra hugs...)

Shauna Niequist, in her book Cold Tangerines, which in spite of being a "girl" book (if it really is a "girl" book - I'm not sure it is...) taught me a ton about how I look at life, inspired me to consider writing as a way to express myself, and made me believe that a creative life is worth pursuing, describes what I have come to call "hamster mode." She tells how sometimes at night, her brain starts whirring around like a hamster on a wheel, and that writing is where she lets the hamster out of the cage and allows him to run around the desk for a while, to see where he goes.

Dang, I wish I had written that.

So, hamster mode, for me, is where my brain is jumping from idea to idea, thought to thought, without much room between jumps. The ideas and thoughts kind of pile up, spill over, and randomly emerge from my mouth, without any sort of order or relation to each other. Writing is where my hamster gets out of the cage, dances around the table at Biggby for a bit, sticks his tongue out at me, shakes his tail in my face, and runs away, laughing as he goes, leaving little blessings in his wake. I have a mean hamster.

I really should name the hamster. Maybe I'll call him "Steve." Why Steve? It's a pretty name. "Oh great and powerful Steve - Whaddya WANT?"

(Captain Cal's Reader's Theatre presents a scene based on Over The Hedge. Thank you for your support.)

Now, a person with a bit of order and discipline in their nature would realize that, mixed in with the aforementioned thoughts, ideas and poopy, is some stuff that really should be remembered, so they would take the time to either write it down as it comes or at least use a little recorder (or their phone) to grab voice memos to refer to later. They would know this about themselves, so they would be prepared at unusual times to grab these fleeting inspirations, since you never know when the hamster is going to kick you in the frontal lobe. (Or wherever it is that such doo doo comes from - Eldest Niecelet knows that sort of thing... I don't.)

TGeorge is this type of person. I love her for this. I wish I was her for this. Greg is glad that I'm not.

I, of course, am not a person with a bit of order and discipline. I can't even spell discipline. The reason you see it correctly spelled here is because a) the spell checker on the ol' iPad keeps marking it as if to say, "Dude, didn't I just TELL you about this?"; and b) The Proofreader is faithful in all her ways and, under her gentle hand, much that is incomprehensible and jumbled becomes smooth and straight.

Insert the Vicki mantra here...

So, hamster mode kicks in, random thoughts and ideas pop out, most of which get left in the ether someplace, and I wander about, not really knowing what just happened.

No, I'm not ADD, for the record. I was tested, I do have some of those tendencies, but I'm really not AD... OOH! A Squirrel!!!

What was I saying?

(The preceding was a shout out to my brother Ludge who understands that joke better than most.)

Yeah, I get distracted. A lot. I use some tricks here and there to try and keep focused when I really need to - the operative word here being "try."

I have a purple notebook that contains many, many random things in no order. The theory is that things get noted in there, since writing them down is faster than getting out the device, turning it on, opening some sort of memo app, and typing it in. (Who has that kind of time when a small rodent is nibbling at your cerebral cortex? "Get thee behind me, STEVE!" Oh great - guess what he's nibbling now? Ewwww...)

The reality is that either I forget to get the thing out; I totally blow past the fact that stuff is in there to be acted on, and the notebook stays happily (or not) in my backpack; or I scrawl things down so quickly that when I refer to it later, it comes out something like "get rizzleflap out are bongo day home urp!!!" Oh, and add a few stars to make sure I notice this very important... something.

I even have a cool name for the notebook: the RIGA (Remote Information Gathering Apparatus). If you're going to be a train wreck, organizationally speaking, you at least have to have cool acronyms.

(Amusing side note... if I start a list, leave it out where I'll remember to see it and use it, magically, things get added to the list, in a completely different handwriting than mine. Odd how that happens - every time. Someone in my house LOVES lists, and I ain't talking about Ezzie the Wonder Dog...)

(Amusing side note 2... I have a tab marker thingie to find my place in the notebook marked "Wonderwall." As in, "Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you." I wouldn't even know those words if it wasn't for Jeremy Hoekstra. Thanks, Jer.)

Another trick I use for focus: loom knitting. Some of my First Cov peeps will notice that when I have a Sunday off from worship team, I can be found sitting upstairs in the balcony, and am usually knitting for the whole service. Here, then, are the reasons for that: 1) I sit upstairs because my beloved NEVER takes a Sunday off from the tech team, so this way we sit "together" once in a while; 2) as I'm knitting, my ears are wide open. I'm actually hearing and retaining much more than if I was just sitting listening, even if I was reading along on the iPad;

(Yes, I do have a Bible app on my iPad, and I LOVE it! PocketBible for iPad ROCKS!)

3) if I'm knitting during the service, I'm not standing or sitting there getting twitchy and antsy because I don't have some instrument in my hands, and not thinking that I wish I was up there playing along. Keeping my hands busy and my mind engaged keeps me from wanting to be bass boy (or keyboard boy or wind controller boy or whistle boy or... you get the idea) for the morning. I can actually be off for a week, instead of spazzing out over not playing.

Generally, anyplace where I'm trying to listen and focus, and think I can get away with it without offending someone, I'll be loom knitting. If you were to come across me at Biggby some morning, you might find me listening to the Daily Audio Bible on the iPod while knitting. Same deal.

I have issues. And they are deep and wide ranging.

So, I'm now at around 1100 words and climbing, and haven't gotten to the point. Ain't hamster mode neat?

The point is, I'm sure I'm not the only one who gets distracted. Can I get a witness, brethren and sistern? Hallelujah! Amen! Get ye down!

Normal life is distracting. Then dump a few weeks of holiday happenings on top of it, set the blender to "Whip it! Whip it GOOD!" and what do you get? A primordial ooze that would make Carl Sagan drool with joy, were he still around to do so. No wonder we can't see our way through it - no scuba mask in the world is gonna keep our vision clear in that, not even if you spit on it and wipe it around to keep the mask from fogging up.

Or am I the only one who ever did that?

How in the name of Fats Waller are we expected to mindfully find our way through Advent, coming out the other side with hearts and heads ready for the King to take His throne? How do we walk into the new year with our focus on Him, following Him in the adventure He has for us?

In the words of Master Oogway (Kung Fu Panda 1), "I don't know."

The great news is this: We aren't being graded on neatness (as my beloved would put it, "this isn't a 4-H project!"). We don't have to reach a certain grade in Advent 101 to pass. No final exam (not yet, anyway), no 10,000 word essay on the cultural significance of fruitcake (ba-dum-DUM!), no more school room, no more books, no more teacher's dirty looks.

Hmm... that sounds familiar for some reason.

Our Father God who sent His Son knows us and loves us, in all our quirks and issues, in all our frailty and distractions, in our striving to keep our heads clear and our eyes focused. He cheers when we take baby steps forward, and holds out His arms to catch us when we stumble. He sees our sincere attempts to make space for Him, and it touches His Father's heart. He smiles when His kiddos sing the songs of Christmas, when the little ones put on the costumes and tell the stories, when the organ cranks up to the final verse and we all belt out,

"Yea Lord, we greet Thee on this happy morning! Jesus, to Thee be all glory given! Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing..."

So, our Advent is hectic, imperfect, distracted, and not as pure and focused as we hoped it would be a couple of weeks ago? That's okey dokey. Our Father knows who we are, He knows how we sincerely try, and He meets us where we are with love and grace, as we keep moving toward Him. The point is, keep moving. Keep trying. Keep looking, watching, wondering, praising, loving and living for the King. Then room will be found for Him, and other things will find their place under His feet. Keep moving Him back to the center, setting the other stuff aside, and when things shuffle and quake, move them around again and bring Him back to where He always should be - at the center of our hearts and lives.

That's Advent.

Aversionis: distraction (of attention / from the point)

"Oh come, let us adore Him. Oh come, let us adore Him. Oh come, let us adore Him...

Christ the Lord!"

(O Come All Ye Faithful, John Wade / trans. Frederick Oakley)

The Advent Writings, Day 10: Magnificat

2011-12-13T15:32:00.006-05:00

Magnificat: esteem greatly; praise, extol

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

How often do you use extravagant language? I know I don't hear a lot of it, except in commercials or spam emails. The words we tend to use in daily life seem to be of a smaller scale, don't they? "And I was, like, really? And she was all like, yeah. And I was like, whoa. And she was like, yeah."

Thus endeth the deep conversation. And yes, I've found myself saying "like" in that context. I've also taken to using the word "dude," which no self-respecting 52 year old should be caught uttering.

But, as I totally lack self-respect, I guess it's fair game for me.

Just kidding. At least, in this present life, I mean.

Texting seems to be leaking into our conversation and condensing everything into the correct length for a Twitter feed or a Facebook status and making it seem to be the norm. We pare back, we consolidate, we boil down, we cut to the chase, get to the bottom line, cut out the middle man, and damn the torpedoes - full speed ahead! We git 'er DONE, dude!

Uff da.

Extravagant language becomes suspicious - trying to truly praise someone is saved for an awards presentation or is considered flattering or buttering them up.

"Buttering them up." Sounds like the prep for Christmas dinner. Or Christmas baking. Or Christmas breakfast.

Can you tell I'm a little hungry?

When Mary comes to visit Elizabeth, there's a passage we call the Magnificat, or the Song of Mary (Luke 1:46-55). And you won't find any economy of language there, no pulling back, no wondering what Elizabeth will think, no attempt to preserve dignity. When Mary lets loose with praise, she brings it!

Sorry... Mary brought it. I dump it.

The sad thing is when our language conservation extends to the One who truly deserves all the extravagance we can muster. He is worthy of all of the depth and breadth the limits of language can push against, and He deserves every bit of honor and praise we can wring out of mere words. Yet, as with much of our daily conversation, we dial it back. If we ever do let fly with the kind of praise our soul would bring forth, people look at us as if either we just stepped out of the Way Back Machine from the distant past, or as if our elevator no longer reaches the top floor.

("And the things that he said made the people assume there wasn't too much left in the upper room." - my favorite line from Jesus Freak, DC Talk)

We were watching a DVD with our worship team at church, featuring an interview with Bob Kauflin, when, as he was talking about worship, he said this about our God:

"He is exquisite."

Bob said this short phrase with such love, such passion, that it stopped me in my tracks. When have I ever used that kind of language to describe my Lord? When have I ever heard that kind of language outside of a diamond commercial, thus producing feelings of guilt that I've never actually given my beloved the gift that she really desires, the one that shows I really do care, the one that every kiss begins with?

Why doesn't that kind of language come immediately to my lips when speaking of my Father? What happened to me that dialed my expression back to zip, so that to try and communicate the depth of my love for Him in deep, deep language seems clumsy, archaic, or just plain dumb? I mean, if I were to stand up in church Sunday morning, and start shouting "Holy, holy holy is the Lord God Almighty! The whole earth is full of His glory!", well, just imagine the kind of response that would bring.

*imagining*

*chuckling*

*shuddering*

*snickering*

As you might imagine, I have mixed emotions about it. (And for the record, my dear First Cov family, no amount of double- or triple-dog daring is going to persuade me to give it a go.) But in Isaiah's vision, we're told of the beings that spend night and day crying that to each other in the presence of God. In Revelation, we're told that the living creatures cry something similar and, when they do, the 24 elders drop to the ground and worship, laying their crowns at His feet.

And we're not talking an old English language thing here... Read some of those passages in The Message or the NLT, and you get the same sense of no-holds-barred, full-tilt, all-in, total-access, no-punches-pulled, full-contact praiseapalooza.

Go here with me for a bit, kids...

Imagine your gang from Sunday morning busting out in the sky over a bunch of guys in flannel bathrobes holding sticks and hanging out with sheep. And the mighty host of your own congregation bursts out in:

"Glo, o-o-o-o-o, o-o-o-o-o, o-o-o-o-o, ri-a, in excelsis Deo!"

Did the shepherds fall down at that mighty wall of sound? Or did they stand there, checking their watches? Um... sundials.

Is our praise extravagant? Do we launch into it with all our hearts, with our whole beings, and with all the resources and language we can muster? Do we let fly with everything, holding nothing back for the sake of what the people next to us might think or (more correctly) what we think or imagine the people next to us might think?

(Cal's honest response: I am guilty of sometimes not putting my whole heart and being into worship. At other times, I make the folks at First Cov grin from ear to ear, as the artist formerly known as the Fat Man dances with his bass, grooving with all groovedness.)

He IS exquisite. He IS worthy. And when He came to this world in human form, the praise that burst forth from the angels put the shepherds on their faces. But it didn't stop there. They went, they saw the child, they worshiped. And I'm quite sure their worship wasn't limited to "Whoa, dude." The Magi, when they arrived, worshiped the child. Again, I don't think we're talking about some basic King James phrases here - I think that when they saw God incarnate, deep and heartfelt worship was the only response they could make.

And nothing has changed between now and then. Except, of course, our level of distraction has gone way up, while our level of comfort with expression has gone way down. Our concern of status and what people will think has hit critical mass, while our level of abandon to love and praise is in the basement. We've drawn back, closed up, shut down, toughened up, and somewhere along the way lost our sense of wonder when we consider our Father God.

Do you, like me, need to get that wonder back? This is a great season to find it. Look at all the children around you, wide-eyed and eager. See the lights, hear the music, remember the story. Wonder surrounds us during the Christmas season so what a great time to start seeing the rest of the year with the eyes of a child!

Advent is about preparation - preparing for the arrival of the King. For me, it's also about preparing to walk with Him every day of this new year and beyond. And I think part of that preparation has to be about praise - learning to worship Him with my whole being. Just as people will bust out in Christmas songs with total abandon, praise should flow out of me just as readily, anytime, any season. No holding back, no worries about what others will think, no other thought than offering myself to my Father.

In short, I ought to be ready at all times to knock a bunch of shepherds off their feet. With praise. Just so we're clear.

Magnificat: esteem greatly; praise, extol

"Whenever the living creatures give glory, honor and thanks to Him who sits on the throne and who lives for ever and ever, the twenty-four elders fall down before Him who sits on the throne, and worship Him who lives for ever and ever. They lay their crowns before the throne and say:

'You are worthy, our Lord and God,

to receive glory and honor and power,

for You created all things,

and by Your will they were created

and have their being.'"

Revelation 4:8-11 (NIV)

The Advent Writings, Day 9: Deus ex Machina

2011-12-13T11:46:00.004-05:00

Deus ex Machina - "god out of the machine"

"A deus ex machina (plural: dei ex machina) is a plot device whereby a seemingly inextricable problem is suddenly and abruptly solved with the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability, or object."

(Source: Wikipedia)

I've admitted elsewhere in my blog that one of my "guilty pleasures" in this world is RiffTrax. Created by some of the minds behind Mystery Science Theatre 3000, they're a narrative track that you play along with a movie, providing pretty darn funny commentary (or riffs) on the movie.

**full disclosure - the humor is sometimes a tad bawdy, sometimes downright offensive, making me respond in disgust, "come on guys!" only because these folks are very clever, too clever to go for the cheap shot frequently. Funny? Yeah, but... **

WARNING: Gratuitous LOTR references follow:

In the RiffTrax for The Lord Of The Rings, I heard two references to deus ex machina - the first is when Merry and Pippin are being held by the orcs, and suddenly the riders of Rohan show up to save the day. (One of the commentators says, "and it's the 42nd Deus ex Machina division!") The other is when the eagles are flying to Mt. Doom to rescue Frodo and Sam, and the RiffTrax says, "we've got a flock of deus ex machina incoming!"

So I was curious, and Wiki'ed it. And I then backed up to hear it again, and laughed loudly.

Further reading tells me that it began as a Greek play plot device, and sometimes was represented in a golden couch being lowered to the stage, so that the hero/heroine could just hop on, and be lifted to safety in a miraculous manner.

The deus ex machina plot device isn't regarded as a great way to go. Sudden, unexplainable rescue doesn't seem to go over well in our literal rational world. Reminds me of a cartoon with two professors where one has written out his equation in numbered steps, and step 12 says "then a miracle occurs." The other professor says, "I think you have a problem with step 12..."

The Advent story tells us something different. Evidently, God (capital G) is totally fine with Deus ex machina as a plot device. As a matter of fact, the Bible would seem to indicate that Deus ex machina is on God's resume.

Sorry if that bordered on irreverent - just trying to paint a picture, and I'm really bad at paint by numbers. Or crayons, for that matter. And you don't even want to know about the "oil painting set for Christmas" incident one year... ends with a scrawl in a diary that said "I shall NEVER paint again." That line gave my mom loads of laughs over the years. Me, not so much...

- Adam and Eve; disobeyed, sin entered, banishment.

Deus ex machina: there will be redemption!

- Abraham and Sarah; no son, no legacy, no great nation.

Deus ex machina: there will be a great nation!

- Moses; slow of speech, old, hesitant, unsure.

Deus ex machina: the rod of God, signs and wonders, plagues, exodus, Red Sea, cloud and fire, manna, quail, water from rock, Promised Land.

- People; repeating the same cycle of disobedience and punishment.

Deus ex machina: judges, rescue, times of obedience.

- "We want a KING!" Ooops - that wasn't what we REALLY wanted, was it?

Deus ex machina: a young man, who wasn't even recognized by his own family, called in from the sheep and marked as a king, a man after God's own heart.

All through the long years, God continued to warn and correct, to punish while pleading, "return to Me. I will be your God, you will be My people." The Faithful One, with arms wide open, longing for His beloved ones to return to Him. And He continued His work, to provide redemption for His creation.

And in the fullness of time, we saw Deus ex machina in living, breathing form. God out of the machine and into our world. No golden couch - "Jump on! Vanish into the clouds and be rescued!" Instead, God's redemption came in a living man we could see and touch and listen to and learn from. God incarnate - Emmanuel.

Unexplainable rescue? Absolutely.

Bad plot device? I suppose so, if you're a literary critic. If you're a fallen creature in need of redemption, however, it's the best news you could ever hear... the kind that leaves you on your feet, applauding until your hands are red and sore, whistling and cheering and shouting "BRAVO!" until your throat is raw.

God out of the machine; God out of the heavens; God out of the invisible; God made real in our reality.

And not just a little of God - not an angelic messenger, not a prophet as was of old, not a sign saying "this way to our representation of what God would be like if He was here." Not even the separation of the Holy of Holies - God behind the veil, at the mercy seat - His presence. Fully God, fully human, here in our world; One like us sent from the Father, so we could see how much He loves each of us. Get that firmly in mind - so we, with our human, unbelieving, doubting, rational, logical, unexplainable-rescue-is-a-bad-plot-device eyes could see Him. And know Him. And know that He knows us - completely.

How's that for deus ex machina? Didn't see that one coming, did ya? And yet we should have.

God promised; He foretold; He spoke through the prophets; He sent the forerunner; He painted the picture; He set the stage; He posted all appropriate signs and pointers; He had the cast all in the right place at the right time. If God were a director, He'd have so many little gold statues that there'd be no curio cabinet big enough or strong enough to hold them all. And whoever was hosting the awards show would, about halfway through, just say, "let's cut to the chase - the award for everything, all of 'em, every last one goes to... wait for it... wait for it... the Lord God Almighty!" And everybody who blogged about it in the 5 minutes afterward saying that it was rigged and how those awards don't really mean anything would look like an idiot, since it would be obvious to all that the awards went to exactly the right choice.

Oi. That was a rabbit trail of epic proportions.

There is no logical explanation for Advent. There's no nice and tidy recap that shows us all of the breadcrumb trail that explains in a rational manner how this all got resolved perfectly. (Oh, the trail was there, but didn't lead anywhere anyone was expecting.) Advent leaves the world scratching its head, going, "Wha?..."

Deus ex machina, meet Emmanuel, "God with us." God's expression; God's reality; God's answer to the conflict; God's love letter to us all. Don't try to explain it, don't try to do the CSI thing and decipher it; no code, no secret decoder ring or clues hidden in public monuments. The almighty, inexplicable God doing what He does best - the miraculous. He redeems us by Himself.

No explanations, just grateful hearts. Thank you, Lord, that, in our darkness, You provide Light. In our fallenness, You provide a way. In our loneliness, You come Yourself to heal our hearts.

Thank you for Advent. And for staying with us through all the days to come.

Deus ex Machina - "god out of the machine"

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."

John 1:14 (NIV)

The Advent Writings, Day 8: Reformationis

2011-12-09T12:29:00.003-05:00

Reformationis: transformation; reformation;

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

What creates lasting change?

You'd think I'd know that. Since being changed literally from the inside out over the last 21 months, I should think I'd have a good handle on lasting change. After all, the redecorating of my innards wasn't done with Velcro - there's no going back, baby.

But that doesn't keep me from trying.

Old habits creep in when I'm not mindful. An attachment to food that I thought was long dead will insidiously rear its ugly head, and I'm mindlessly snacking without realizing it.

Although my new frame and form are capable of doing an astonishing (to me) amount of things in a single day, I can easily find myself slipping into veg mode at the drop of a knitting loom. Or numbing out in front of a movie. Or letting hours pass while surfing the web. Or doing anything but moving forward on the many, many things that are worth my interest and attention. Mindlessness.

I'm finding that the same vigilance I've had to use to even start to make habits of my new way of living continues to be required to make my new life stick.

Excuse me for a moment - need to take my mid-morning calcium, vitamins, and such...

Like I said, vigilance. (And yes, I really did pause right then, take some pills, and am chewing away on the first of two calcium chews for this time around.)

Transformation doesn't always equal change.

Imagine someone who loses a leg to some sad occurrence. They are truly transformed, permanently and irrevocably, but are they changed? Perhaps, since the reality is that they will have to learn to accommodate what is now their reality. They will have to adjust, to relearn, but the change is forced upon them. How deep it goes, and what results from it is up to them.

How my body processes food is permanently changed and, if I don't live that way, it can result in some mild discomfort all the way to serious malnutrition and a St. Mary's vacation. Not a great way to "make the Yuletide gay." But how deep the change goes is up to me. I can follow the new requirements, I can "mostly" follow them, or I can go ape-crazy sometimes and totally blow them off.

That last one not only results in major discomfort, but large protests from the other members of my household. Yes, even Ezzie the Wonder Dog looks at me as if to say, "Dude, I'm a DOG, and that's still a bit much for me to handle." Don't believe me? Spend 24 hours with me after I drink a 20 oz soda - especially a Diet Coke. You'll be cryin' for yo mama in eight.

And how do I know these things? Because I HAVE gone ape-crazy, and I have danced around the edges of obedience, and I have had days where I didn't take care of the basics. After everything I've learned and everything I've been through, I'll still do the dumb and shrug off the new while returning to that which is bad for me.

Sometimes, transformation doesn't go deep enough into change. Sometimes, transformation remains external, and change never penetrates below the surface.

With all the trappings of Christmas surrounding us, focusing on Advent and the reason we celebrate seems a no-brainer. We see it all around us, our hearts are moved by the story once again, and we find ourselves turning toward the One who was always there, all the time, waiting. Transformation - our vision realigned; our hearts refocused; our resolve renewed.

Then the other shoe drops in January, and we learn that transformation does not equal change. Are you inclined toward New Year resolutions? Things that you will accomplish/change/address in the year to come? And how many of those goals/dreams/hopes/resolutions have gotten laid by the wayside, victims of change that hit the surface and bounced off?

(Cal's honest admission: I've got a long, l-o-n-g list of 'em, and enough regrets to repaint the White House a lovely shade of grey.)

Something worth noting: We KNOW it's coming. Every year, we know that the joy of the holidays is followed by the deep plummet into the valley of the shadow of the new year. Like the light on an oncoming locomotive, we see it coming down the track, and turn into Bambi in the headlight - frozen stiff. The holidays fly through, leaving light and joy and fuzzy stuff and some tinsel in their wake. (Because no matter how carefully you clean, there's ALWAYS some rogue tinsel left. Always. Oh, and fruitcake. That always gets left behind too.)

("But deadly for 10,000 years is carbon-14." - Sting, We Work The Black Seam Together)

("And fruitcake. Seriously." - Cal)

(Cal's honest admission: As much as I use the recurring fruitcake gag, I do like the stuff. And even in my altered state, I usually find a way to get some fruitcake - usually too much, which results in the aforementioned dire consequences.)

What the heck was I talking about?... Oh yeah - Bambi in the headlights eating fruitcake. Not really - he'd never touch the stuff.

We know that the new year approaches, and that we'll always try and buckle down to make this the year that the change sticks, the resolve remains firm, the dreams are realized, and the fruitcake disposed of. (That's enough of the recurring gag for this installment...) But change, real lasting change only comes from habits, real lasting habits carefully learned and constantly renewed.

So now is the time to be working toward habits that lead to change in the new year, which brings us to the whole "Advent is a season of preparation" thing. What if the point isn't preparing for the arrival of the King, but preparing to walk with Him every day in this and every year? To place Him in His proper place, at the head of all things, and to live life this and every year acknowledging His sovereign Lordship? What if we turn the daily Advent calendar into daily time hearing His word? What if Advent family devotions become daily family devotions? What if the reminders of the tree and the nativity scene turn into daily reminders that our lives are well-spent when they begin and end each day with Him?

What if the best, most worthy resolution we can make is a daily walk with God? So simple and wonderful! From that, all sorts of amazing things can follow because He can and will lead us there.

(Cal's honest, fruitcake-free admission: My habit of listening to the Daily Audio Bible, which is a podcast that I highly recommend, is not perfect. I sometimes get a week or two behind. And what results is not guilt from failing at my resolve, but rather a sadness, a missing piece from not having a daily reminder that God walks with me, each day. He is always there and always will be but if I am not careful, I'll walk away and wander. I'll turn away, even though He's right there, and there will be a hole left behind. I am made less when I fail to turn to Him daily, hourly, minute-by-minute.)

Behaviors lead to habits. Habits can lead to change. And change can lead to lasting, deep transformation. We can be reformed, reborn, renewed, but only in daily behavior, daily habit, daily resolve to walk with Him and follow hard after Him.

And so, we prepare. We celebrate. We wait for the coming King. And personally, I want to use this time to remember where I walk. To refocus my vision. To follow the Christ. I follow... failingly, imperfectly, falteringly, hesitantly... but I follow.

Reformationis: transformation; reformation

"Out of my sorrow, bondage and night, Jesus I come, Jesus I come..."

- William T. Sleeper

The Advent Writings, Day 7: Memoratus

2011-12-09T11:01:00.003-05:00

Memoratus - remember; be mindful; mention/recount/relate, remind/speak of.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

I'm a firm believer in raising stones. Actually, I'm a firm everything - my beloved refers to me as "bony" these days. Folks give me a pat on the shoulder, and hit skeleton. I look at my upper chest and can see ribbage. It ain't pretty.

Where was I? Oh yes - stones.

There's a tag on this here blog called "The Stones" made up of things that I need to remember; to keep in front of me; to hold in; to use today's word, memoratus. Things that I must not forget, that I must be mindful of. Signposts of God's faithfulness, reminders of where I've been and pointers to where I am heading.

What does this have to do with Advent? Not a thing - I'm running dry here.

Just kidding.

In this season of preparation, of getting ready, knowing where we are, where we have come from, and where we are heading is important if the King is to be given His proper place in all things.

Sorry - that had overtones of "A Christmas Carol" in it... The Ghost of Advent Past will not be making an appearance, rest assured.

Where have you been? Has the King been on the throne this year in your life? Did situations, feelings, responses, thoughts all find their right perspective under His just rule?

(Cal's totally honest response: Nope. Things have been shifting in the last few months, to His praise, but I ain't there yet. At least I'm in the same area code.

Which one?

906 of course - everyone knows God lives in the 906 area code.)

Where are you now? Is it the same old same old, another hectic holiday haul, go here, do that, buy those, wrap them, watch this, listen to that, all the usual trappings that so obscure what it's really all about?

Do you find yourself empty, longing, unsettled, bitter, disillusioned, or just generally feeling blue? Are you so extreme that you'd gladly be the one driving the sleigh and running grandma over with the reindeer?

(I had the um... joy... of working at a little bitty station in da U.P. when that song started getting airplay. Lovely. I know my life will never be the same...)

Do you bury yourself deep, so that all the jolly and jingle bounce right off? Keeping the holiday at bay, because it's been bad for so long that you have to import daylight?

(Cal's honest response: My mom was the heart of our Christmas celebration, so when she was gone in 2003, Christmas kind of went too. There have been good times, dark times, and numb times. Stay tuned for current conditions...)

Where are you going? Has everything felt perfect on the outside, with a yawning emptiness inside, leading you to decide that this year the King returns to the center, His rightful place? Has Advent opened your eyes to making Him central every day? Are you sweeping the house, cleaning the dirt away so when the King arrives, you can welcome Him with joy and open arms?

(For the record, He will enter in anywhere, even if your house looks like the result of the last freight tornado to Oz. Trust me - I'm an expert in this.)

So what stones will you raise to help you remember?

What will remind you of the past, the places where you slipped and fell, and of where He gently lifted you up and carried you? Where His light shone so brightly all around you that you felt sure your eyes would never recover? What will make you take notice of the darkness, to help your resolve to live in the light?

Where will you place reminders of your present, of either a steadfast steady walk, or a rough path that reached a crossroads in 2011 and took a sharp turn toward the light? What will remind you of an Advent that opened your eyes and rocked your world with its gentle presence?

(Cal's honest response: You're looking at my signposts right now. I place "the stones" here on the blog, so that I can look forward and back and remember. My beloved looks here too, and we walk the journey hand in hand.)

The stones help those we love too. They see where we were, where we are, and the mindful journey we are on. The stones give our family and friends tangible reminders of our path, our choices, our resolve, and help them understand more fully. And perhaps to join us on the journey.

We are forgetful critters. It's that simple. Nothing evil in that statement, no declaration of the frailty and fallenness of peoplekind, no loud shouting of the deceitful wickedness of the heart.

(Those are all true, for the record... I'm just not the shout and declare type of dude, at least not in my new life.)

Without real, physical, tangible reminders of Immortal Invisible God only wise (to quote the hymn), we will let slip the most important things. I've said it before - the presence of the mundane clouds our eyes, stops our ears, captures our senses and pushes God to the background. For me, wrapped up in the stones is this phrase:

"As He has been, so He shall be."

He does not change. The same God who put stars in place is the same God who spared Abraham's son; is the same God who moved ahead in fire and cloud; is the same God who keeps His promises through all generations; is the same God who sent His beloved to be born and live and breathe and die and rise...

and is the same God who said He will continue His good work, and will complete it.

We put up our tree, then decorate it with ornaments. Some have a short history with us - on sale 50% off last year the day after Christmas, picked up at a yard sale in July, that sort of thing. Some have a long history, full of memories and family and Christmases long, long ago. And the act of putting them on the tree brings back those past jewels, or past shadows. We remember, sometimes in delight, sometimes in gratitude for how far we have come, and usually in joy for it all.

And there, in a nutshell (a chestnut roasting on an open fire, if you will), are "the stones." The things we collect and hang on our days to keep us mindful of things we need to remember. As we unpack (or have unpacked - I'm usually weeks behind...) the Christmas treasures, hang them for all to see and recall their stories, let's take that with us into the new year, placing the stones and recalling their stories as we walk with the King, listening to His voice and learning His ways.

Memoratus - remember; be mindful; mention/recount/relate, remind/speak of.

" At the right time, God wrote Himself into the story. 'For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.' And that's the reason that All is Well. Remember?"

- Frank Peretti, "All Is Well"

The Advent Writings, Day 6: Temporis

2011-12-07T16:44:00.005-05:00

Temporis - time, condition, right time; season, occasion; necessity.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

We are a time-conscious people. Clocks in our vehicles, on our cell phones, in our computers. Places that we spend time or just hang out, we're always aware of the clock, and we keep an eye on it. Alarms, reminders, beeps, blips, or cool ringtones - we find all sorts of ways to be mindful of time. If you use it efficiently, that's good, but if you're watching the clock, you're just killing time until you get to split, and that's bad. Planners, Palms, PDAs, smartphones, apps, tablets, netbooks, calendars - all sorts of ways to divide time, to account for it, to "spend" it, as if we had the ability to hold it like currency or control where it goes like a budget.

Or lack thereof.

So from our limited temporal view, trying so valiantly to corral time, to break it and domesticate it, God's abundance of eternity seems like... well... actually, we don't have any way to even begin to comprehend it. Our whole existence is made up of start and stop, of beginning and end, green for go and yellow for punch it, 'cause it's gonna turn RED!

So no wonder God's schedule eludes us. I mean, just thinking of asking God to check His calendar? Forget about it - a Day Timer the likes of which we'd never be able to lift. To understand His view of how sometimes it takes an entire human life for one lonely soul to finally turn to Jesus? Or how a faith begun at 5 years old can grow so beautifully through teen and young adult years, only to turn cold and bitter near the end, just at the doorstep of "faith made sight?" A young man, heart set on ministry with youth, steps into eternity the night before spring semester of his freshman year of college?

(And yes, that last young man was a friend of mine... we were freshmen together at GR Baptist College in 1977.)

Why do some lives, filled with such hope and promise, seem to get shortchanged on number of days, yet some lives, filled with bitterness and regrets, go on and on?

How can we understand God's timetable? We can't.

Think of the centuries of waiting, the looking and hoping for the deliverer. Seeing (or hoping that we are seeing) signs of His appearing, only to remain alone. Believing that things can't possibly get worse, and this must be the time when the redeemer will arrive, only to see things indeed get worse, and no relief in sight.

"O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lowly exile here until the Son of God appears..."

Now, maybe like me your longing hasn't lasted for centuries, or even decades. Maybe your season of suffering, of change, of upheaval, of uncertainty has been relatively short in the scheme of things. Yet the depth of that season is just as deep for you as it ever was for the ones who waited long and weary years for the promise to be fulfilled.

To you, as to them, He gives Advent. Advent isn't just longing, not just preparation - Advent is hope of a promise fulfilled, and remembering that He who kept His promise by sending the Messiah is the One who promises that He will wipe away all tears, that death and sorrow will be no more, that He is coming and will make all things new.

Advent is the sure and certain hope that the One who gave His Son as a gift to us all keeps His word; that He remains faithful and true; that He understands us in all our sorrow and hardship; He understands us in our joy and delight; He knows how to laugh and He knows how to weep. He knows fellowship with friends and He knows how to endure loneliness, the kind of deep loneliness that we can't begin to understand.

And He knows the proper time for all of them. He not only knows the "what," He knows the "when," the perfect "when," the time when the season or event or trial or blessing or joy or sorrow will accomplish exactly what He intends. There's never an interruption, never a delay, never a little glitch, never the blue screen of death. (Of course not - God uses a Mac.)

** Sorry - couldn't resist a little Microsoft baiting. Besides, the Linux folks are smugly saying to themselves, "we KNOW what operating system is the OS of the Throne..." **

** Wouldn't it be funny if when we tour the IT department of Heaven, that all we see are the names Atari and Commodore? Hee hee hee... **

At the right time, God spoke to Abraham.

At the right time, God spoke to Moses.

At the right time, God introduced Ruth to Boaz.

At the right time, God raised up David.

At the right time, God spoke through Isaiah.

At the right time, John was born.

At the right time, Joseph met Mary.

In the fullness of time, God sent His Son.

So as we count down time to the holidays, as we struggle to find enough time for all the preparations we think we need, when we run out of time for last-minute shopping, when we wish for more time to spend around the tree or table, when we hope for more time with loved ones, or wish we had spent more time while they were here...

As we try to slice and dice time like a crazed Japanese steakhouse chef to make everything fit; as we stuff and cram and juggle to fit in all the celebrating with as much wild abandon as our overburdened lives will allow; as we work hours upon hours to have minutes upon minutes to spend on Christmas day...

And when we get to January 2nd and wonder where it all went...

It's good to remember that He who sent His son has all of time in His grasp. None of it escapes or eludes Him. He gives us exactly as many days, years, hours, minutes as we need for what He has in mind. If our lives are cut short, it's no shock to Him - they lasted as long as He intended. We react with human emotion, with dismay and sadness, but He remains in control. When a dear saint finally says goodbye, and closes their eyes here in this world, they open their eyes before Him exactly at the time He knew they would.

Perhaps this Christmas season, it would be a good thing to let our fast-paced plans go for a while, and adopt a bit of God's view of time. To slow down, mindfully approach the season with a sense of longing, quit trying to fill every nook and cranny of the calendar and instead thin out the thundering holiday herd to have some significant time and memories for the days / months / years ahead. To have time to allow Advent to grow, to see it bloom in its arrival on Christmas, and to enjoy its beauty into the new year.

Yeah, it might make us feel like we're missing out on things. It might drive the kids batty to see so much going on around them only to be doing less at home. Maybe comparing a meager, reduced Advent season to all the hyper-jingling-jangling-multidimensional-overstimulating-flashy-shiny-impact-of-a-bullet-train festivities we see in media will make some feel like they got robbed. Maybe you thrive on the full-impact assault that is your major holiday celebration - maybe the only way to get your jingle on is to hit it full throttle, take no prisoners, go big or go home, and wring every drop of jolly out of every day, so a reduced calorie Advent ain't how you roll, baby.

Fair enough. It was just a suggestion.

As for me and my beloved, a quiet Christmas is a better one. A mindful Advent is the way to make sure that I'm very aware of what God did when He showed us what giving is really all about. Personal, intimate connections in this season remind us that God made the most intimate, personal contact of all - Himself. So I think I'll follow, ever so slightly and imperfectly, His example. I want my Advent to be one of connection, of intimacy, of contact. And in that way, I can establish a pattern that can continue into the new year, walking with Him each day.

Temporis - time, condition, right time; season, occasion; necessity.

"A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn..."

The Advent Writings, Day 5: Deliratio

2011-12-04T21:29:00.004-05:00

Deliratio - delirium/madness

Source: Oxford Latin Dictionary, 1982

When the Lord used a friend to nudge me into blogging, He made it pretty clear that I wasn't supposed to hold a lot back. Graphic and unlovely details, yeah. But things that might be embarrassing or deeply personal? No. Sometimes I look at what I've written and think, "holy cow - do I really want this out there?" I consult with the Master, I think, I re-read, and most of the time it stays. He doesn't let me hide a lot.

And yes, sometimes my beloved (the Proofreader) reads the words and thinks, "why in the world did he have to write that? Why do people have to know that about us?" And yet, they don't get edited out. She understands the need for transparency that God has laid before me.

As always, give her a hug today if you see her, or send her one via email or Facebook - she always needs extra hugs. :-D

These are two very personal stories from my life, so I beg those who know of what I speak to not take offense. The stories relate to my own mental workings, and not anything about the events they reference. It's my issue, not anything external. And as always, there's a point to this wandering.

Ok, "always" might be a stretch. How about "usually" or "sometimes" or "even a broken clock is right twice a day." That's probably more like it.

When madness invades Advent, scene 1:

There is a yearly event, a holiday tradition, and something that many would consider an essential part of their Christmas celebration. It's a biggie (for the folks involved or with personal interest therein) and is always a labor of time, sweat, effort and love.

And no, it is not egg nog, fruitcake, the Fifth Third Holiday Pops, or the annual playing of "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer."

This event drove me nuts every year. I'm ashamed of that - it speaks about many layers of me and how I used to view the world. My part in it was very, very small, very easy (for one with my particular gifts), and not a big deal. Yet the mental angst and stress over it would smolder through the rest of the holidays. In short, my issues with this particular event would yank the rug right out from under Advent for me, every year.

For a number of years, it was related (as were most things) to my weight and self-image. My world was pretty pathetic, my response to most things selfish and impatient, and my field of vision limited to what I could see around my ponderous bulk. So this particular event would bring out EvilCal in the most profound way, and it would take the rest of the season to jam EvilCal back into the box.

If he ever actually got stuffed away at all.

It was madness, to get that worked up about something so small, yet I did. Every year. Why didn't I just stop participating? Not sure - I could try and peel back the layers to explore that, but there's no point.

Last year, well on my way to my present size, you would think that things would finally change. That I'd react with grace and patience, with all that newfound energy running around in me. You'd think that NewCal would triumph, that all would be well and jolly, and that angels would sing joyfully as peace and harmony ruled within my mortal frame.

And you'd be oh so very wrong.

Same piddly little stresses. Same overreactions. Same lack of patience and kindness. Same madness.

Sometimes kids, you hit a wall you just can't ride around. You can't go over it, you can't dig under it, you can't rewire how you perceive it, and you can't sort out why it summons your inner beast.

And that's when it has to go. Not just for the sake of your own happy little world, but more for the sake of those around you who receive the poison of your fractured heart.

Why relate this to Advent? Because I think there's so many more of these opportunities for an express train to madness in this season than other times. So many activities, so much stuff, so many expectations piled on one little holiday, and so many ways to experience madness on a personal level.

If you're a happy soul, well-adjusted and stable in all your ways, you have no grid on which to reference this. It's a foreign concept, one you simply can't wrap your head around. If that's you, bless your heart. Go forth, celebrate with your entire being, and don't get stuck with the fruitcake.

But if any of this rings a chord of familiarity in your heart, read on...

When madness invades Advent, scene 2:

In the last few years of my mom's life, we spent each Christmas in Oscoda, never knowing if this was going to be "the one," the last one ever.

Stressful? Oh yeah, you might say that.

Know this about my mom - she was the heart of Christmas for my family. I didn't realize this until she was gone. She was the one who made our season bright.

I remember one year, the one before the real "last" one, when mom was so sick. She'd always make stockings for each of us. Not just a few little things stuffed in a sock (not, for the record, that there is ANYTHING wrong with that - she just took it way over the top... and sides... and bottom... and everything...), but all kinds of things - toiletries, goodies, useful stuff, fun stuff, all individually wrapped, and put into something unique. Tupperware. Rubbermaid. A hand-woven basket. A garbage bag. My stocking has been in all of these. The rule was, if there was a picture of a stocking on it, it was a stocking.

This year, Mom had been trying very hard to do the stockings, but had no strength to shop for things as she would do every year. She ended up ordering some things (gotta love QVC), picking up others the rare times when she could get out, and had piled them all in bags in the spare bedroom. I remember helping her look through it all, and the sadness and confusion on her face. She had no idea what she had bought, how much she had, or who it was supposed to go to. This tradition, this fun thing that always brought us so much joy was so far beyond what she was physically capable of, and that came crashing down on her. I remember helping her sort through it, separating it into bags, no wrapping, just going through the motions, and I wished that I had understood just what this meant to her, so that I could have helped her more.

Madness.

That was the year that we all tried so very hard to make it "the" Christmas - the one to remember. We honestly thought it would be our last together, and that desperation took hold big time. I was sick with a cold, we were all exhausted, and so we bustled around, trying to do the things we always do to make it feel more like how we all remembered or thought it should feel. I remember baking sugar cookies and decorating them at midnight Christmas day - because it wasn't Christmas without sugar cookies, so we HAD to have them so we HAD to get them done. We all tried so hard that we ended up with one of the most miserable holidays we'd ever had.

And on the way home from that sad time, Ezri ate the two cookies Vicki had especially decorated and saved for herself. I took over driving, as Vicki wept. The cookies were the last straw, and we felt broken. My most vivid memories of Christmas with my mom are the year when we tried so hard to make it Christmas, and we left brokenhearted.

Madness.

"Gee, Cal - just when I thought you couldn't put much more 'blue' in a 'Blue Christmas,' well, you proved me wrong. Well done, Grinch."

My dear ones, this season of joy can turn to a season of madness in so many ways. We can pile up expectations, we can bury ourselves in activities, we can spend well beyond our means to try and use stuff to create meaning, we can numb up and dive under work or obligations to keep away the lonely...

Or we can recognize it for what it is: madness.

We can choose to set some things aside, to close the door to madness - activities that cause us nothing but angst. Demands that place the weight of the world on our shoulders. Expectations that no sane person would try and meet. Schedules that rob us of time and strength and meaning.

And we can choose to embrace the only thing about the season that matters: the gift of God. We can restore Him to His right place, as the only One who gives meaning and clarity to this world.

As I said, if in your happy world, everything fits and makes your season bright, blessings to you. Enjoy your celebrations with a glad heart, cherish your loved ones, and celebrate Jesus.

But if the season brings too much stress, too much busy, too much excess without enough meaning, consider lightening your load.

The event that causes EvilCal to take over? I'm typing this as it's going on, staying away from it. For my heart's sake and for the sake of my beloved and my dear friends, I have to step away.

All the memories of Christmas as my mom declined toward eternity? Or the gleaming ones that proceeded them? Those shadows have to be set aside as well. Nothing will ever be like that again, no Christmas will ever feel like that, and I can't live my future shackled to that past, no matter how wonderful or horrible they were.

This year, I'm working toward a clean house, using the preparation time of Advent to sweep the floor of old dust and memories, and taking some things away, getting rid of them because they just shouldn't be here anymore. Polishing and cherishing some things from the past, while realizing that I'll never see their kind again, and that it's madness to try and make my present live up to their real or imagined memory. Raising my vision from the distractions all around me to the One who it's all about, and rearranging my celebration around Him. I lay down the past, the good and bad, the bitter and sweet, the treasured and the stressful, and realize that it was never about any of that in the first place.

Away from madness, into clarity.

Away from stress, into peace.

Away from unfocused busyness, into single-minded purpose.

Away from everything being about me, and making it all about Him.

"For to us a child is born,

to us a son is given,

and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father...

Prince of Peace."

Isaiah 9:6 (TNIV)

The Advent Writings, Day 4: Adsonare

2011-12-02T12:20:00.003-05:00

Adsonare: respond, reply; sound in accompaniment; sing as an accompaniment.

(Source: William Whittaker's Words)

Michael Card's song "Immanuel" is a favorite of mine, and not just in the Advent season. In particular, the words of the last verse:

"So what will be your answer? Will you hear the call - of Him who did not spare His Son, but gave Him for us all?"

In the midst of the fun and fuzzy feelings of the holidays, I'm thinking about my response. Not just today, but when Advent is a memory, when everything Christmas has been stuffed back into the boxes and put up in the attic, awaiting its next glimpse of freedom in 2012, and when the Christmas Favorites playlist isn't heard for a year or so on the ol' iPod.

When the stage is bare, the lights are off, and the audience has left the theatre, what is left? How do I respond?

Vicki has mentioned this to me after playing in a pit orchestra for a musical, and in our lives as musicians we've experienced this many times: You work together as a group, preparing and polishing the concert (show, recital, play, etc). Many, many hours spent together with the common goal of making the thing as good as you possibly can. Practicing, examining, rehearsing, tweaking, more practicing, all leading up to (at worst) one or (at best) multiple performances. But even in a week-long run, the dreaded closing night finally comes...

Then what?

There's a feeling of emptiness. Loneliness. Many hands working to a common goal, executed with style and love, and over in the blink of an eye. Those united now withdraw as individual parts, never to come together again in quite that same way. If there's not another gig on the books, another show to get into, another goal to practice for, then it all ends. Exit, stage right, blackout.

And it's a terribly dark feeling.

Did you ever wonder why musicians put up with lugging all that equipment, taking it over hill and dale, setting it up, all to play for an hour or two, then to take it all apart and lug it all out again? Did you ever ponder why someone involved in theatre seems to always be either getting ready for a show to open, or auditioning for the next one?

Because the silence between gigs can drive you insane. The whole point of the performing arts is to PERFORM. There's nothing fun or glamorous about practicing by yourself - it's necessary, but not fun. It can be satisfying to see your skills improve, but not fun. (At least it isn't to me - your mileage may vary...) It IS fun to practice with others - the unity of working together and the surprises that come when a group of unique people bring their individual gifts to the table makes for a lot of joy. But then taking that preparation, that common effort, and launching it out there for an audience to (hopefully) appreciate? There's a rush no energy drink can come close to.

And then it ends.

When's the next one? (Not soon enough.) What do we work on now? (Nothing for the moment.) When will we hang out together again and work together again and have this experience again? (Maybe soon, maybe later, maybe never.)

What do I do now? How do I respond when it all ends?

Advent - preparation for the coming of the King. Christmas - the King arrives.

And then? The Christmas costumes are packed away (after laundering, of course), the tree and the star and the shiny bits are carefully boxed up, the memory of the special goodies starts to fade. But the fruitcake remains. With a half life of 10,000 years.

We've celebrated with a common goal. We've gathered over the Sundays of Advent, lighting the Advent wreath all the way up to the final candle. We've been to the concerts, the pageants, the programs, the movies. We've seen the ghosts, learned the lessons, laughed and smiled as a heart is warmed to the message of Christmas. We've given and received. And then the end. How do we respond to these days of celebration when the party comes to a close?

What about those of us who had another knot in a string of holiday wreckage? Where the joy is simply salt in an open wound? Where the brightness of the season simply casts our personal hell into sharper relief? When the over-indulgent expectations of the "perfect" Christmas push us further down the road of hopelessness every year?

Don't get so lost in the brightness that you forget about the darkness. It's waiting out there, just beyond the lights. When the warm glow of Christmas fades, it sees that its time has come.

The holiday that I simply have no use for is New Year's Eve. Never have, never will. It's the final curtain, the ending of the season of light. It stands at the door of the long cold winter, bearing the message, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

(Was that a little overdramatic? Sorry... Although I think it says something profound that the driving force behind New Year's Eve is working hard to make sure you can't remember it the next day.)

I've occasionally had a good New Year's Eve - actually we had a whole string of them years ago celebrating with family and friends, until the kids had the nerve to grow up and put a slamming halt to the whole shebang. I've forgiven them for it, but only a little. Maybe.

When you stand on the threshold of New Year's Eve, all you can see is a dark and icy January waiting. I suspect that it looks that way even in Florida or Arizona or somewhere else warm and sunny, but I've yet to test that theory. (For the record, I'd really like to, sometime.) It's like the letdown after the big celebration. Not even the Rose Parade can help - it just prolongs the agony. (Especially if nobody you care about made it into any of the bowl games.) It's a bandage over a sucking chest wound - a nice thought, but useless.

I once spent an entire Rose Bowl in front of the TV with my dad as he tried to teach me how to knit. I made a lovely long... um... thing. Yeah, I never quite got the hang of it, unlike my dad who could both knit and crochet quite well. Dang. That has nothing to do with the matter at hand, just a cute little family portrait. Think of it as my holiday gift to you!

("Ok, Mister Ray Of Sunshine, thanks for this deep pit of gloom. Got a ladder now, or are you leaving me down here to rot?")

The great hope, the great joy, the great news is that it doesn't end! We celebrate just a part of the story in Advent - the beginning of this chapter. The story began before time, when the Word spun the world out of darkness. The story continued when the Word was a promise that became a covenant to a people. Then we come to the chapter that could be titled, "The Word became flesh..." It's a chapter filled with glory and light and song and appearances and beginnings.

But it's not the ending chapter.

No need for sadness or emptiness or loneliness. It's not time to close the book - this wasn't the last chapter. There is much more to read, many more things to consider, stories to amaze and instruct, to encourage and rebuke. The story goes on.

"So what will be your answer? Will you hear the call - of Him who did not spare His Son, but gave Him for us all?"

Take the light of this Advent chapter, wrap it all around you, take a deep breath, and jump into the new year. We're not leaving anything behind, rather we're taking it all with us. I can choose to respond to the story by walking with the Storyteller, awake and mindful, watching and listening to Him, to see where He will spin the story next. I can walk in wide-eyed wonder into the adventure of each day. There will be dark days and days filled with incredible light. Days of hard battles and days of unspeakable joy. Just like any good story, there will be conflicts and triumphs, there will be times when you want to yell at the book and throw it out the window, and there will be times when you simply can't put it down - you HAVE to know what happens next.

Perhaps the best response to the season of light is joy and anticipation, filled with wonder as the story continues to unfold, and we see ourselves as a part of it. The story doesn't end, not yet. And neither does the wonder...

Adsonare: respond, reply; sound in accompaniment; sing as an accompaniment.

"The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told."

Luke 2:20 (TNIV)

The Advent Writings, Day 3: Annotare

2011-12-01T14:55:00.004-05:00

Annotare - note/jot down, notice, become aware; mark, annotate; record, state; designate

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

Ever notice how when you become aware of one thing, that you notice that thing just about everywhere you look? When we got Gracie, our Mercury Sable...

Yes? I see a hand in the back...

Yes, we do tend to name our vehicles. I have names for some of my instruments, my trike is called Big Blue, and we have way, way too many stuffies from Build-A-Bear, all of which have their own name.

I sleep with a snowy owl called Bubo. I'm not ashamed of that.

Wait - yes I am. Forget you heard that.

Anyway, when we got Gracie, I suddenly noticed that all vehicles became Mercury Sables, most of them were the same burgundy color as ours, and oddly enough, most of them had vanity plates that bore various adaptations of the name Gracie.

I might have been making that last part up.

When our attention gets drawn to something, we tend to see it all over the place. That's why, during my tenure as WCSG's Music Director, I would regularly get calls complaining about the fact that we played this one song about a gazillion times every day. Your attention is drawn to something, so you notice it every time. Hours may have passed between sightings, but all you remember is "there it is again!"

(I call it the Olson Theory of Attention and Time Displacement. No one else does. Wait, Vicki does. But just her.)

Today, what's capturing my attention is the thought of mindfulness - of being awake and aware as the days draw closer to Christmas. And as I do, I see more and more places where God continues to draw attention to Himself.

I see His hand in a blissfully sunny day today, in the clear blue sky, and the gold and brown reminders of the passing of fall.

I see His hand when I encounter an old friend, who I've connected with on Facebook but haven't seen in years. A quick hug, a little re-connection, and a little more brightness to the day.

I see His hand when I'm listening to the Daily Audio Bible, when I've gotten about five days behind and am listening to one that I should have heard two or three days ago, and yet that one is speaking to where I am, right here, right now on this day.

As my attention is drawn more and more to Him, I notice His loving hand moving more and more. As I think about my commitment to write each day leading up to Christmas, I notice more and more of the things I've written about, and more and more of the things that He will lead me to write about.

I think it's supposed to be this way every day, don't you?

"Well Cal," I hear you mutter (and with good reason, I might add...), "I don't have the luxury of sitting around at Biggby, pondering the truths of the universe and then pontificating upon them for all the world's edification. My world moves pretty fast, the load on my shoulders is pretty heavy, and sometimes I'm just glad to make it through the day, let alone making it through while staying mindful and aware."

Indeed. I hear you, I affirm you, and I understand. Living life in a state of open eyes and open mind is a tough discipline, one that I'm just beginning to get a glimpse of. The world assaults the senses, it screams for attention, it's hard to ignore, and more and more it's nigh unto impossible to escape from.

I'll admit - it chases me everywhere in the form of my trusty little iPad, my own window to distraction and oblivion anywhere I find WiFi. Even in bed, late at night when I should be sleeping. *sigh* On the side of balance, that selfsame iPad is what I'm writing on right now - it's like the whole "out of the same mouth comes blessings and curses" thing. Except it doesn't have a mouth, unless I'm watching YouTube.

And if I'm watching a mouth on YouTube, I really REALLY need to shut it off and go to sleep. Or go for a trike ride, depending on time of day and situation. Never both at the same time.

Um, sorry... back to the actual point...

The amazing thing, the hopeful thing is this: the more we notice something, the more something gets on our radar, the more we see it, then the more we make note of it, and the further it gets into our consciousness. We start connecting them together, we scrunch up the time between sightings, and all of a sudden we see God's presence in most everything. We notice more and more, and the mundane gets pushed further and further back.

With eyes and minds wide open, a life of expecting to see God's hand at work every day is the result. How cool is that?

"So, big boy, do YOU live that way, every day, every hour, every minute, eyes and mind open, looking for God?"

*sigh* No I don't, nor do I claim to. And that too is hopeful - I don't trust someone who never admits that there are times when they don't get it right. Perfect people make me nervous... except for Mary Poppins or Nanny McPhee. (well, Mary Poppins mostly. Nanny McPhee does make me a little nervous, even though the Nanny McPhee movies are two of my very favorite movies...)

Holy cow - my keyboard must be set on RabbitTrailusMaximus or something today...

But I can honestly say that slowly, slowly, I'm getting my head around living with eyes and heart and mind wide open - so slowly, in fact, that a snail following me says, "could you pick it up a little, Speed Racer?"

When I remember to start my day mindfully turning my attention to Him, when I notice the stuff that would blind and deafen me, when I take my thoughts away from me and my little world, and turn them to Him and His all-encompassing vision, then I take another step forward. Behavior becomes habit. Habit becomes life. And God remains central, right where He should be.

And so in this time of preparation, in this Advent season, it's great to use all the visual Christmas reminders to begin an attention shift that needs to be a lifelong pursuit. I don't have it down yet, nowhere near close. But I've begun.

And that's a good place to start. "A VERY good place to start." (Ok - I crossed Julie Andrews movies there... it's all good. Very good.)

Annotare - notice; become aware...

"My dear friends, this is now the second time I've written to you, both letters reminders to hold your minds in a state of undistracted attention."

2 Peter 3:1 (The Message)

The Advent Writings, Day 2: Consideratus

2011-11-30T15:38:00.003-05:00

Consideratus - examine/look at/inspect; consider closely, reflect on/contemplate; investigate (Source: William Whitaker's Words)

What an amazing day! What was supposed to be 1-2 inches of snow turned into a blazingly sunny, chilly but beautiful day. A day when Grand Rapids bid farewell to Fred Meijer. A day when I left the car parked at home, and rode the trike to my Biggby office. Light, marvelous light, brilliant light, abundant light.

I think introspection and deep pondering is best saved for sunny days. Grey days, when one would think it'd be best to curl up with a book and some cocoa in front of a fire, don't make the best pondering days for me. The grey outside tends to call up the grey inside, and it all goes south from there. Do your pondering when the sun is shining, and the light within tends to rise up and join it.

Why yes, I do struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder - why do you ask?

So what do I see?

I see brown all around, the leaves having long left the branches, the world shutting down for a chilly nap. And yet I see people, almost as if they're picking up where nature left off, putting up lights and trees and other shiny bits. Bringing out red and green and gold, wrapping and stars, snowmen and reindeer.

And lights. Lots and lots and lots of lights.

Cozy Christmas sweaters, some of which are so horrible that they should never see the light of day (which is exactly why they get trotted out every year...), make their appearance. We show our willpower and restraint to not hit the Christmas playlist on the ol' iPod until 12:01 on Thanksgiving morning, while at the same time getting disgusted looks on our faces when the seasonal offerings get thrown up on store shelves at 12:01 on Halloween morning.

In some ways, we charge into the season, and can't get there fast enough. In some ways, we dig in our heels and try to keep the days from flying by. And in some ways, we get ready for the letdown that we know is coming, 12:01 on the morning of January 2nd, when the bullet train of the holidays vanishes over the hill, out of sight until next year. The 2011 edition of the Greatest Show in December is a wrap.

What about Advent?

If the season is indeed about preparation, looking forward to the arrival of the King, why does it sometimes feel that when He gets here, we hit a wall at 60 mph - all that rushing force meets the immovable object of the new year. What good is all that preparation if we don't do anything with it after the calendar turns over? We go from Advent to what? Do you know? The Church year is about moving mindfully through the seasons, so what happens next? What are we preparing for?

Not so fast, Grasshopper - we'll turn that page later.

Anticipation, preparation, excitement - not just for the purpose of celebrating one day, or even one week, but for a greater purpose: making the coming of the King a reality in our lives all year long.

What if we go through Advent mindfully aware that all this preparation is not just for celebrating the arrival of the King, but preparing to step into this new year having restored Him to His proper place in our lives? What if the point of this is getting ready to see this entire year as an opportunity to live as people of the King?

What if this year the decorations, the shiny bits, the songs, the celebration... what if the whole point is taking that light and joy and making it an everyday thing, because the King has come? He is here, He is with us, and we don't ever have to live in the darkness alone again.

To take an idea from a song by Sara Groves ("I am the moon, with no light of my own. Still you have made me to shine..."), what if we become the shiny bits, to reflect the King's light all through the new year? What if we ARE the Christmas lights, not to be taken down and stuffed away in a box marked Christmas decorations, but left out to glow beautifully the whole year long? The celebration never ends, never gets swallowed up in the mundane, because He never ends, and He never gets swallowed up in the mundane!

I think my focus through this Advent season is going to be preparation for the year that is coming. I want to mindfully note the joy of Christmas, the way that we all put aside so much of the "same old same old" and embrace the different schedule, the additional gatherings, the busyness, the craziness (much different than madness, by the way) and all the extra good stuff that we cram into this season. Then I want to take that excitement and keep it to sprinkle through the year to come.

We'll celebrate the arrival of the King, but the greatest news is that He stays. He's here. I'd like to see what this new year could look like if I try to live in that reality. To be shining all year with Christmas light.

Instead of dreading the train disappearing over the next hill, taking Advent promise and Christmas joy with it, I want to eagerly climb on board and ride that bad boy into the new year, shining with light that's not my own, looking forward to the adventure that He has waiting for me.

And for each of us.

“Arise, shine, for your light has come,

and the glory of the LORD rises upon you."

Isaiah 60:1 (TNIV)

The Advent Writings, Day 1: Introit

2011-11-29T10:31:00.005-05:00

Introit - enter, go in or into; invade

(Source: William Whittaker's Words)

Advent - preparing, getting ready, anticipation, expectation...

(Source: Cal's Questionable Randomness)

Last Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent. Now, for those from traditions where the Church Year isn't followed or celebrated, you might not know what that is. Feel free to Google that baby, and come right back.

(insert theme from "Jeopardy")

(repeat theme from "Jeopardy")

(insert sound of crickets)

(add sound of foot tapping)

(and a heavy sigh or two)

Alright, welcome back. Although I must ask, did you really HAVE to check your Facebook and Twitter on the way back? Really? Ok...

The thing I love about Advent, and the thing that made me miss it when we were at a church that didn't celebrate it, is that sense of preparation - taking time in the days leading up to Christmas to prepare for the celebration, to mindfully approach the reason we celebrate, rather than having the holidays rush up and flatten us like a steamroller.

Last year, I was steamrollered.

Now, this was a gestalt thing. Huh? You don't know "gestalt?" Well, go Googl... no. I barely got you back last time. I'll handle this...

Gestalt = "the whole is greater than the sum of the parts"

That'll be enough to carry on with - feel free to explore further. Gestalt is one of those things that help me understand how my world works (or doesn't work sometimes). Anyway, last year I was in my first year post-surgery, still in the middle of the mental chaos and not really recognizing myself yet. Still not working, still learning all the things that go with my new life, still wondering what hit me, what was still kicking my butt, and where it would all lead.

Now, top that with a large dose of holiday madness, seasonal overcommitment, and much, much shorter days for someone who has SAD (look it up - on your own time), and you've got a happy season but not a happy camper. Any part of this is bearable - put it all together, and gestalt makes it a stone around your neck. The relief came in the form of a white-knuckle drive to Missouri, a truly amazing Christmas spent with dear family, and taking January off to think, to write, and to let the dust settle.

So I'm a little anxious about Advent this year. And am determined to NOT have a replay of the previous year. (Except for the Missouri thing. I SO wish we could go back, but that's not the plan this year. It'll be nice to have Christmas at home, in our church with our friends and family, but Missouri was AMAZING!) So here begins the writings of Advent. I'm going to try and write each day of Advent, starting now, and use my blog to keep myself grounded. I want to get to Christmas day with a joyful, thankful heart, overwhelmed with the reality of God's son, not only as the babe in the manger, but the living, loving Lord of my life today and every day.

I have two, possibly three extra things on my calendar for this month, and that's it. (Hopefully, anyway - if someone named DeVos or VanAndel happened to call and say "we need some whistle background for a gala event," yeah, I'd take that call... Come to think of it, if someone named [insert any name here, including yours] happened to call and say "we're having a Sunday School / Small Group / Senior Saints / Church Banquet / YouGetTheIdea gathering and want some background music," yeah, I'd take that call. I love to play, especially Christmas music, and I only have one gig on the books to play at this year. I might take my windsynth along to Christmas dinner this year, just to get to play my faves... we'll see. :-D)

Other than that, I'm keeping things out of the schedule. Work projects, they continue. Voice work for WCSG, check. Editing work, yes. But extra parties, activities, etc? Not so much. A few mindful things with friends, time to watch some of my favorite Christmas movies (The Polar Express! A Christmas Carol - the Patrick Stewart version, which rocks the world!), but most importantly, time to listen, to think, to read and to write. In this way, I hope to prepare, to heal, to get ready, and to mindfully celebrate the joy of our Savior's birth.

The Advent Writings will give me a place to express wonder and joy, a place to shed some sadness from the past, to ask some questions of the present, and to look to the future, when our Christmas joy is made real and our faith is made sight. Thanks to all 1.394217 of you (we've lost a few since I last counted, but hey - it's the holidays) for joining me for this ride. Hopefully God will use these random babblings to get our eyes on Advent, on Jesus, and on being ready for the coming of the King - then AND now and to come.

"Oh come to my heart, Lord Jesus - there is room in my heart for Thee."

Many, Many Questions

2011-11-17T15:09:00.027-05:00

In this blog, there are number of categories, or "tags." And, one that I've mentioned a number of times is the tag called "The Stones" - the signposts and reminders I leave myself as I continue this journey into my new life. Those things I need to look back on to see where I've come from, where I am going, and the goodness of God who walks with me through it all.

Along the way, especially in the last six months or so, I've been acquiring a number of questions - things that aren't going as I expected, or areas that don't seem to be falling into line with the rest of this new life. Things that seem to be resisting the new and holding on (with a death grip of steel) to the old. And some things that just seem to be confusing the stuffing out of me.

(Like, for example, why oh WHY did my hair decide to not only start to fall out, but to turn rebelliously curly in the process, thus leaving me with a bad case of Chia Pet? I liked short straight hair - I knew what to do with it. This shaggy mop? Not so much.)

(For the record, the mop got cut. Chia Pet gone, short hair back. Ahhhh....)

So, here I raise a stone of questions, so that when I look back, perhaps I can see that the answer finally came, or the question became meaningless. Perhaps by the act of bringing these questions out into the physical world, they'll rattle around a little less loudly in the ol' noodle, and make room for other stuff that might actually be more important.

So, to all 1.927582 of you who regularly read this poopy, here be the questions. If you decide to bail at this point, no one would blame you. If you read these, and the answers jump out at you with the full brilliance of a summer day, let me know. Gently. With great compassion, 'k?

Here's the windup... the pitch...

Why do I find it so difficult to work at home? What is lingering there that causes me to want to just sit down, numb up, and lose a day? Is it just me being stubborn or spoiled? Are there habit patterns from my old life that are so imprinted on my life at home that I can't rewire around them? Is it the clutter and chaos that keeps me from forming new habits?

How can I move from seeing all of the clutter around the house to actually getting rid of it, and to actually selling a whole ton of it? I have books, ebooks, ideas, inspiration - enough to make a band across Kent County, and yet I do nothing with it. I don't take a step, even a faltering one or a wrong one. Or I try one thing (like listing a bass amp on Craigslist), it fails, so I give up.

Why do I waste so much time? Why am I perfectly content to allow everything to run in slow motion?

How is it that I manage to make a commitment to play a gig, practice, show up early with all my needed gear, do the gig well, tear down in an efficient fashion, and execute the whole thing with total focus, but can't manage to bring the same focus and determination to a list of things to do in a single day?

Why does an external structure always make me respond, but any internal structure I try to create gets ignored? What part of me thinks so little of myself that I feel free to take my goals, ideas and dreams and flush them down the biffy?

How can I justify taking things that Vicki depends on me to do, and just letting them slide? Or things I've committed to do, but that don't have a firm, in stone, do-or-die deadline? How can I just let those shuffle off and not feel shame at disappointing friends?

What am I supposed to do when I grow up? When am I going to grow up?

How do I narrow down my many, many interests into the few that I actually should do? Who decides what I should be doing and what I should let go? If I'm the one that decides that, how do I decide it?

Why do I almost never have a simple answer to the question "what do you want to do?"

Why, even though I've tried to shift this around in my thinking, do I always find myself asking "what am I supposed to do?" Not "what do I want to do?" or "what do I get to do?", but "what do I have to do?" Why do I not see joy and freedom in those choices, but just numbing indecision when I have to make those decisions instead of having them made for me? Am I afraid of screwing it up?

How can I consistently shift my worldview around to begin and end with God's abundant grace? How do I frame each day with the same view that I see my journey with? Why don't I see every day as a gift - as great of a gift as when God brought me into this new life? Why don't I view everything in this and each day as another outpouring of that same boundless grace?

Why is it so hard for me to make a plan for the day, write down the plan, and then actually DO the plan? Why do I so easily take the plan, use it to wipe crud off of my shoes, and then do whatever I jolly well please with the day, which usually ends up being nothing?

Will I ever be able to work by myself, either at home or in an office or studio? Or will I always need to work somewhere where there are other people around, in "public?"

How are we ever going to survive financially? Will I ever have a job that brings in regular, dependable income, or will my dear wife have to rely on her income alone, not knowing when or if her free spirit muffinhead of a husband will bring home some bacon... or turkey... or beef... or beans for that matter?

How do we dig out of a hole that's so deep that it swallows any chance of seeing our dreams? Can someone ever recover from that kind of darkness?

How does one go about selling all their crap? Actually selling it, not caring what kind of income it brings in, just wanting the freedom of no longer having it around? And the blessing of no longer paying to store the mountain of crap from my Mom's house that we simply don't give a wet slap about?

Why do I have all these amazing ideas - things to get done today, ideas to develop in music, things I could do as a magician or storyteller, stuff I could make and sell on Etsy, things that might actually help justify my existence on this planet, stuff that would make Vicki smile because she's been waiting so long for me to get my crap in gear and get it done - and when it comes time to actually get started on them, I go blank? Numb? Shut down and do nothing? Where's the disconnect that happens between walking in the door with all these great ideas and intentions, and having them all collapse into oblivion by the time I hang up my coat? How do I heal that fracture, make the connection whole?

Why do I feel like the light gets sucked out of me daily?

How is it that I listen to the Bible every day, but most days it seems to have so little impact my life, or how I walk? Yes, it keeps me mindful of how I must start my day with God, how I should walk with Him all through the day, and end the day in Him, but I'm so quick to drop that and just go off into numbville that I get lost in the shuffle.

Why do I spend so much time asking questions, and so little time actually doing things?

Why am I just sitting here now asking questions, instead of doing something to find the answers?

(Ok - I know that one. Writing / working through stuff is an important part of my journey. Without the journaling, I wouldn't be anywhere near as far along the path as I am today. The time I spend writing is time well spent, and essential to my future.)

Again, and again, and again, I ask "what am I supposed to DO?" This is such a huge issue, such a major lynchpin, that I'll be wading through it in another post. Soon. Like, very soon.

Is it time to ask my doctor if Cimbalta is right for me?

(I know the answer to that one too... besides, I'm already on enough happy pills as it is.)

How is it that we've had a new garage door, paid for and waiting at the store, sitting there since April, and here it is, November, snowing, and the thing still isn't even at our house, much less put up? And yes, we've had friends offer to help us haul the puppy home, and others offer to give us guidance on putting the thing up. We (and I mostly mean me) just haven't done anything about it.

*** You really need to take a moment to pray for Vicki. And give her a hug if you see her today. This is the kind of stuff she lives with on a daily basis, patiently waiting as her husband is being rebuilt before her eyes. She rides through the triumph and the confusion, the delights and the disappointments, the joys and the hardships, and yet remains so delighted at the progress so far. And remains patient as I then write down all the stuff that I probably should keep away from the light of day, trotting the ups and downs of our lives out there for all to look upon.

I can't say enough about her that adequately expresses how much she means to me. As I said, give a hug if you see her. ***

---------------------------------------------------

(the following imagery brought to you by the "Cal really wants to learn how to weave and is getting a little obsessed by it" foundation...)

The Master Weaver makes the tapestry. Sometimes, He has to unravel many, many threads to correct the weaving and produce the design He has in mind. Most often, he takes the dark places, the threads that we consider repulsive or ugly, and uses them to strengthen the design in ways we couldn't possibly expect or imagine.

It's been said before that we only see the underside, where the threads cross and get knotted, where there is no design, only chaos. And someday, only someday will we see the design that He was producing all along.

I don't buy it.

If we only saw the chaos, without a glimpse of the beautiful, the order, the wonder, the final magnificent design, we'd never have the heart to carry on.

Yes, we trust the Weaver, sometimes in blind faith, trusting that He who holds the shuttle and the threads in His hands knows exactly where each thread goes. But I think that He also knows that if we never have a glimpse of the design, the purpose, that we'd never learn to endure the chaos. So every once in a while, He lets us peek at the other side. He shows us the beautiful, the order, the plan, the wonder of His weaving. He gives us a glimpse of His hand at work.

He gives us hope.

So, Father, Master, Weaver, Keeper, Sustainer, I lay my questions at Your feet. They are a burden I can't carry alone. I see the knots, I see the twisted fibers, I see the dark places where the threads bring me shame. I see the places where You've cut away and remade the tapestry. And I see those glimpses of hope when the skill of Your hands reveals wonder and beauty I could never dream of. Thank You that my questions never offend You, they never make You cross or impatient, and that the answers to these and many others are all in Your keeping and in Your time.

Thank You for hope. Thank You for grace. Thank You for mercy and patience. Thank You for abundant love. Thanks for knowing all the answers, and sharing some of them at the exact right time. Remind me that the weight of them is something I don't have to bear, but instead to ask them and then hand them over to Your keeping, just as I am in Your keeping, woven into something beautiful in Your time.

Amen.

The Face of My Father

2011-11-01T13:02:00.002-04:00

"You have forgotten the face of your father!"

This is a very serious rebuke from the world of Stephen King's The Dark Tower, which I do not, and I mean DO NOT recommend. OK, as with most, if not all of his writing, the story is compelling and draws you in, so that by the time you realize just how deep, dark, graphic, and disturbing the landscape is, you can't pull the handle on the ejector seat - you have to hang on for the ride, to see how things come out. But it's a tough ride. Well written? Yes. Hard, disturbing, dark? Mega yes.

So, in Mid-World, in the reality of the Gunslinger, when you have done something shameful, you hear this stern rebuke - "you have forgotten the face of your father!" If you have done something with honor, the inverse is true - "you have not forgotten the face of your father."

A day ago, I forgot the face of my father. As with just about everything in our lives, there are multiple layers and reasons for this, so we're allowed to pursue some measure of balance between "I'm a boneheaded dufus of titanic proportions" and "hey man, give me a break - I'm only human." The balance between extending ourselves grace and holding ourselves accountable.

BUT... I had forgotten the face of my father.

What does that mean? Well, I can't speak for Mr. King (or for the legions of Dark Tower fans, most of whom would threaten me with vile retribution at an incorrect interpretation of the "sacred" writings - which is to say, "any interpretation but theirs." Help me...), but I can speak to my own view of these words, poor and unlearned as I am (thus trying to deflect a few of the fiery darts of the raving fanpersons and their swift and terrible e-responses).

When I have forgotten the face of my father, I'm not talking about Oscar. Truth be told, if I want to see his face, I only need look in a mirror - when the dust settled on the majority of my weight loss, I turned into his doppelganger. I wear the face of my dad - my father.

When "I've forgotten the face of my father," I've forgotten my history. I've forgotten what brought me here - what has taught me, forged me, what makes me who I am. I've forgotten the path, the struggles, the triumphs, the lessons learned and the grace and mercy of my Father. When I have forgotten the face of my Father, I've disconnected from my center, my purpose, my call, my hope, and my heart.

A serious rebuke indeed.

In this sense, you could hear Nathan saying to David, "you have forgotten the face of your Father!" The Hebrews gathered around the gold cow - "you have forgotten the face of your Father!" Peter hearing the rooster crow - "you have forgotten the face of your Father!"

David replies, "I have sinned."

The Hebrews wail and cry. Moses tosses the tablets.

Peter weeps.

To realize that you've forgotten the face of your Father, is to know deep, deep shame. To feel the weight of responsibility for your wrong actions or attitudes. No dodging, no guilt shifting, no blame game - you are face to face with the absolute knowledge of your wrongness.

"I cry pardon, sai." That would be the response of the broken one in the world of the Gunslinger.

I realized that I had gone through my day being snitty, lazy and impatient. I was trying to use food to self-medicate, as I had done so many times in my past, making myself not only ashamed but sick as well.

(I can force my new system to do something like this, but it will let me know, in NO uncertain terms, that I have not only forgotten the face of my father, but his innards as well.)

I numbed up and shut down in my chair, instead of going to Tai Chi class, which I had planned on doing, and was actually looking forward to (it was Halloween and I was planning to show up in clown face. Would have been funny - doing Tai Chi in my big blue and yellow shoes. Don't know how my teacher would have felt about it, but I'd have laughed a lot...).

I forgot the face of my Father. I turned away from my history, what has brought me to this place. The things that have made me the new creature I am today. The grace and mercy that has so illuminated my life that it shines out from me, blinding at times. I stepped off the path, I turned back toward the bondage of my past, and I embraced the things set aside instead of holding to the new life God has set before me.

I cry pardon, sai.

Now, it's time to begin to restore the balance. Not to wallow in the failure, but to learn from it and step away from it. And not to just shrug it off as a "bad hair day," (since I have those most every day in my new Chia Pet life) but to accept accountability for my choices. To neither punish myself or to just ignore it. To see what really happened, why I responded the way I did, and to make mindful plans to help correct this in the future.

To remember the face of my Father.

Will I forget again? Absolutely. Will I have to revisit and relearn? Yup. Will I ever get it down perfectly?...

Someday - when I see the face of my Father.

Longing For Home

2011-10-25T12:08:00.004-04:00

I've become aware of something lingering in the back of my addled brain. It's good that as I work through this process of learning and growing into my new life, that things get sorted out along the way, but it's irritating as heck to have something ambush me when I'm not expecting it. Thus it is with the following:

Somewhere in the back of my head, I'm longing to return "home." Not bad, you think... except that when I say "home," I mean my former life. Without the extra 200+ pounds, granted, but to my former life at WCSG / CU Radio. At my day job. With the steady income therein. Where I showed up at the set time, did the stuff that was laid out before me, with the externally applied expectations, out the door at the set time, lay it down, head home, and do it all again the next day. And the next. And so on. World without end, alleluia, amen.

When the Lord swept everything away in 2006, when I lost my mind for a few months and lost some things that I've never recovered, when He started the process that would result in where I am today, apparently some part of my head held on to the hope/desire/dream that someday God would relent and allow me to go home. To the life I had known for ALMOST 20 years. (Yup, still a little bitter that I was just a few months short of the 20 year mark.) That He would do what He needed to do, change what needed to be changed, make me into what He had in mind, then He'd be done and I could go home.

I've seen friends that were long away from CU Radio return, coming back into the family. I've seen friends allowed to move "sideways" into new places, instead of moving down the biffy, like me. (And, in a sense, I'm already there - I'm the overnight voice on WCSG, happily putting in my 8 or so hours over a two week period. Which is making that sweet Traverse City condo a stunning reality.)

(Yeah, right.)

And the voice inside says, "See? If you were worth something, they would have found a way to keep you, or to bring you back. Obviously, you were useless, so you were launched. Deal with it, oh thou who has no worth and makes no contribution to the welfare of your household."

(It does us all well to remember at this point that these ramblings are where I trot out the stuff going on in the ol' noodle, look at them in the physical world and sort the truth from the lies, that I might recognize them the next time they come around. Hang on - we'll work through this.)

There's a part of me that keeps hoping that, like Job, God will relent and restore what's been taken from me. That He will let me go home, to the familiar - where the expectations aren't self-generated, where I don't have to struggle to find a reason to get moving each day, where I actually make income and can hang some of my self-worth on dollar signs. To let me slap it into auto-pilot, and not have to wrestle with my identity and purpose.

And then, maybe I'll find peace and comfort, back where I belong.

Do I belong there? Really? Was Egypt so magnificent that I want to catch the first bus back? Was slavery so lovely that where I am now pales in comparison? Was it ever really that good?

DISCLAIMER - To my friends and colleagues at CU Radio / Cornerstone University: In no way are the statements above meant to reflect on the institution, the organizations therein, or any part of that reality. Y'all aren't Egyptian slave drivers, there are no pyramids out back, and no one (I know of) has been asked to make bricks without straw. In short, pardon my metaphor.

The answer, for me, is no. It wasn't that magnificent. It was alright, at times wonderful (especially hearing the stories of listeners drawing closer to God through what they heard on the airwaves), and at times it frustrated the sanctification out of me. At times I did well, at times I was excellent, and at times I wasn't worth the oxygen I was taking up. I was trying, I was challenging, and for all the good stuff I brought to the table, there was a ton of crap under my chair (not literally... just to be clear).

Regardless of what my inner demons would tell me, I really don't need to prove anything to anyone. By going back, I won't show everyone that I'm better, that I'm worth something now, that I am now worthy of being part of the "family." Going back to my familiar world isn't necessary to either close old wounds or show those people that I should never have been flushed.

And it probably would be the worst thing for me.

I would become numb to the new, buried in the rut of ALMOST 20 years of habit. (I have issues - I know that.) Doing my month or so of part-time stuff at WaY FM reminded me of how quickly my eyes can close to grace and fix on the mundane. How fast I can become blind to grace and ignorant of God's hand.

Going home would probably stop my growth, and learning my new life, right in its tracks. There would be no need to struggle and come to terms with who I am now, or who God is making me into. I would forget lessons learned, close my ears to lessons to be learned, and take my eyes off of the new path.

If going home was the best thing for me, my Father would lead me there. But He hasn't. And, He hasn't mentioned it to my beloved either. She, being wiser than me in so many ways, sees clearly that going back would mean going backward.

Could God relent? (He can, but that would mean that He was punishing me, and He isn't.) Could God have a path in mind that leads me back there? (He could, but it would be in His time, in His way, and would mean that He has prepared me to be there.) Will I go home?

No idea.

Ok - some idea... He could, He might, but at this point He isn't. He doesn't want easy for me, He doesn't want comfortable for me, and He doesn't want me to slap it into auto-pilot. He wants me mindful, watching, listening, waiting, trusting, looking, believing, and walking. I'm the one who adds the words struggling, striving, wrestling, searching, wandering...

I am already heading home. In Him, not in things or places or situations. I am His, and He doesn't want to share me with a job. He wants my whole heart, no distractions, no obstructions. He wants me to LIVE this new life, not to return to the place He brought me from. To feast on what He provides today, and not be longing for leeks & onions (or turnips, for that matter...).

He didn't take me away from home; He's bringing me home - to Him.

"Loved with everlasting love, Led by grace that love to know.

Gracious Spirit from above, Thou has taught me it is so.

Oh this full and perfect peace, Oh this transport all Divine.

In a love that cannot cease, I am His and He is mine.

In a love that cannot cease, I am His and He is mine." **

Welcome home, wandering pilgrim.

** "I Am His And He Is Mine" - words, George W. Robinson

Chip Away Everything...

2011-10-21T19:16:00.003-04:00

Depending on which variation of the story you know, it kind of goes like this... a sculptor was asked how he created such a lifelike sculpture of a lion out of a block of marble, and he replied, "it's simple - you just take away everything that doesn't look like a lion."

(Don't bother correcting me - I know that there are variations on that story. Just roll with it, 'k? Thanks. :-D)

And, only one paragraph into it, it's already obvious where Cal is going with this one... being remade over 18 months, chipping away everything that doesn't look like me, yada yada yada, blap blap blap.

Sorry. Didn't realize I said that last bit out loud.

But no, that's not where this goes. Which, by the way, surprises me as much as it does you. What? You think I actually plan this stuff out before I start writing? No, as I tell my beloved frequently, you're giving me credit for more intelligence than I actually possess. (And yes, I did hear a few of you muttering, "no, as random as this poopy is, there's no WAY he actually plans it in advance." Thank you. You know me well.)

To chip everything away that doesn't look like a lion, you have to first have a good grasp on what a lion really looks like. Over the last 18 months, I've become Captain Clueless with regard to who and what I am. Yeah, there have been times when I didn't recognize my own face in the mirror, when I have no idea what I like or don't like, or when I have no clue as to where I'm going and why. Take my hair for example - I never imagined it would go Chia Pet all on its own. Still don't know if I like it or not.

Isn't it supposed to be Former Fat Man loses weight, angels sing glory, joy and love radiates all around, and everything is beautiful in the happy kingdom? Not in my zip code, sunshine.

Quick disclaimer: What has happened to me is amazing beyond words. The abundance of grace directly from God's hand staggers me and humbles me. For Him to be re-writing my story in such a huge way leaves me breathless.

I smile and laugh. A lot. And so does my beloved. A lot.

So in no way am I tearing down or taking away from this great gift that God has given us - far from it. But just as the Word tells us to work out our own salvation, this is not a plug and play sort of accessory. There's some work involved.

Actually, a lot of work involved.

Actually, a mind-numbing, back-breaking, hiney-kicking load of...

*ahem* Sorry. Got a little intense there. I'll back it down a few thousand degrees.

I am anxious to make my world reflect me now.

- To have our home work with my new life, not cluttered with garbage left over from when I sat in the living room 6-8 hours a day, not able or willing to move.

- To have my life balance match the balance my body has found with this new gift, so that I get things done, and can actually feel a small sense of accomplishment, instead of guilt that my wife has a "real job" while I mess around with piddly stuff that doesn't really matter.

- To have everything that I do, everything that I believe, everything that I care about reflect this new life, showing God's grace.

Anybody see the red flag yet? See the problem? No? I know I didn't, until just now...

I can't cut away everything that doesn't look like Cal, because I don't KNOW what Cal looks like! I get so frustrated, because everything is NEW, right? It's all amazing, right? So I can just jump in, throw stuff out, switch other stuff around, and bada boom, bada bing! New life, baby! And when I go to take the first step...

I stop. I freeze. I stall.

Oh yeah, I can see dozens and dozens of things that can and should be thrown/fixed/changed/dusted/banished, but when it's time to move, I don't.

I don't know what Cal looks like, so I don't know what pieces to take away to make it look like him. Sure, there are basics that apply regardless of what the end product is going to be. But I've been thinking that I just jump up, dive in, blast through it all, and there ya go. Perhaps not...

Just as this process has required (and continues to require) a slow, deliberate movement, making all of the new requirements into habits that stay with me, the process of making my world look like me will also require slow, deliberate movement, as I learn through these changes what I really look like. As we've said just about every step of the way, the process will take as long as it takes. It can't be rushed, I can't skip a step here and there, and it will be done when it's done. In the end, I'll recognize the face in the mirror, because my Father is making it the way He wants it to be.

What about you, friend? Are you in a season where you're waiting? When the process seems to be dragging on forever? Has your world been so shaken and turned and smashed that you have no clue which end is up?

Do you recognize your own face in the mirror?

Our Father, gracious, loving and faithful, remains. No amount of chaos, shifting or turmoil can ever take us from Him. And everything He promises in His word remains true - it endures. I'm particularly mindful of a certain promise that tells us He who began this work in you and me is faithful - He will complete it. You and I, we look for the express lane, we count the items in our cart to see if we can squeeze in and go faster, to get through it faster, to be done faster.

But the process will take as long as it takes. It will be done when it's done, and we can't skip a step in the process. He will be faithful to complete it - all of it, every step, regardless how long that takes. Because, when you get down to it, we have the time He has given us, so the processes and changes will take exactly the time He's already provided for them. Not a moment sooner, and never late.

So I'll continue to refine and chip away at my world, but give myself a break when I don't know what to do. Little by little, I'll learn what the next step is. I'll recognize what fits and what doesn't. I'll learn what Cal looks like, and take away the bits and pieces that don't belong. And I'll be reminded all over again of the Faithful One, who began the work and will complete the work and who has made me new in Jesus.

Now, where'd I put that chisel?...

Circus, Celebration, Check-Up

2011-10-05T09:18:00.002-04:00

I try to keep a bit of a balance when I all-too-infrequently write here. A bit of whimsy (or a whole ton of it), a little weird humor, some insights (which come from wisdom not self-generated), and updates on my strange and wonderful journey this past 18 months.

But, this one tips the "happenings in our lives" boat a little hard. Sorry 'bout that, but the truth is there have been many, many "firsts" in the past few weeks, and for my future's sake, they need to be documented. Some are funny, some are surprising, some defy description. All need to be placed as stones, so that in the long cold winter ahead, I can look back and see where God has brought us, and remember where we are headed.

So, saddle up your hip waders, and let's dive in...

1) The Greatest Show On Earth

On Sept 18th, we went to the circus. It had been quite a few years since we made it, although it used to be a yearly tradition. Traditions go out the window when income goes out first. :-D

So, in no particular order, here's some of the things that happened for the first time:

a) Parking way in the back lot at the Van Andel arena, and walking in. No cane, no wheelchair, and no gasping for air after a dozen steps.

b) Going through a turnstile without having to go sideways, or worse, going around it.

c) Climbing the steps to the second floor. No elevator, or long line waiting therein.

d) Walking all the way around the 2nd floor, pausing to look at all the interesting souvenir booths and such.

e) Walking down to our seats, finding out where they were, but not sitting down immediately.

f) Going down on the floor for the All-Access Pre-Circus Show!

This is a big one - each year, Ringling allows folks to come an hour early, go down on the floor, and check out the circus up close. There are clowns performing, stilt walkers, costumes that you can try on, an elephant painting (and then the art gets given away) - it's a great sample of the circus from up close.

I've NEVER been able to go down and check it out. Ever. This year, oh yeah baby! We walked around, we took our time, we saw lots of stuff. I even walked over to where the band plays from, got to check out the bass player's rig and basses (just looked - no touching!), and even got a picture with a real Ringling clown!

I know - that would freak some of you out right down to the ground. Keep in mind that I used to perform as a clown, and a part of me still remembers dreaming of running away and clowning in the circus. *sigh*

g) Then we went back up to the 2nd floor, walked around, selected our mementos from the circus (including an amazing picture in front of a green screen that put us in the ring with elephants!), got some munchies, and carried it all back to our seats.

WE carried. Vicki and I. She didn't have to set me in my seat, find out what I wanted, go get it, making multiple trips, carry it all back, and then tuck me all in. We went, we carried, we came back. That's a huge first!

h) I fit in the seat. With room to spare. Wow.

None of this seems like a biggie to "normal" people, but to someone who was around 480 and pushing a monster wheelchair the last time I was in the Van Andel, it was beyond huge and amazing. Thanks, Lord, for such grace. Thanks, Vicki, for waiting so long for me to catch up to you.

2) An ArtPrize Celebration!

I LOVE it when my friend Marge calls / emails me ('cause, as all the world knows, Cal is phobic about talking on the phone, so those who "talk" to me are usually referring to text or email... It's apparently lodged deeper in me than any of the weight that's gone away so far). It usually means an opportunity to use my musical abilities to serve one of my favorite ministries, Dégagé. When Marge contacts me, if I'm even remotely available, the answer is an enthusiastic "YES!"

And this one was especially enthusiastic...

She asked me to play for an ArtPrize artist reception at Dégagé, and I was pumped indeed. So, on Sunday, Sept. 25th, we trundled all my bits and bobs downtown and I got to play at ArtPrize...

And boy howdy, was it FUN!

I haven't played a lot since Frenz closed. Here and there, a gig at church or the Father/Daughter banquet, but nowhere near the amount of playing I did when Frenz was around. And I think a little piece of my heart stayed behind when the doors closed. There are folks I saw there that I don't know if I'll ever connect with again, since that was our common link.

But I discovered that I still love to play this sort of gig. It was a blast. Add to that the dimension of standing to play for most of the two hours, and it's even more amazing. Vicki took a few pictures of me standing, playing the wind controller, and it kind of shocks me to see how far I've come. Some firsts from ArtPrize:

a) Not being overwhelmed at the logistics of taking a whopping car load of equipment downtown, unloading it at the corner of Division and Cherry, getting it all inside and set up, playing for a couple of hours, tearing it all down, and gettting it all back into the car and home. We went, we gigged, we returned, I thrived. Or as I usually say to Vicki in the car on the way home, "We've seen a million faces, and we ROCKED them all!!" (Did I mention that The Deadliest Catch is one of my favorite shows, watched in mondo-delay on DVD since we don't do television in real time?)

(I'll admit, Vicki did a lot of the hauling at home, up and down the basement stairs. It still gives me a few problems, carrying some heavy stuff up and down stairs. It also makes me remember how hard it was to move around when I weighed 480, and how much Vicki had to do for me in those days. I took down the heaviest stuff, but she did most of it, being the amazing and wonderful lady she is. Total props to my baby!)

b) I was wearing a very lovely shirt, short sleeve button down and totally something I'd NEVER wear. Vicki found it at Goodwill, brought it home, discovered it's a men's shirt that was hiding in the woman's stuff, said "just for fun, try this on," saw that it fit, and said, "it's yours."

And I have to admit, I dig it. :-D

c) At no time was I embarrassed, imagining that folks coming in the door were thinking, "who's the fat dude playing the weird little flutey thingies?" I played, offering up my best, and folks enjoyed. I know - I watched them.

d) I was honored, thrilled, and delighted to do what little I can do to support the work of Dégagé. They are a ministry worthy of your interest and support, and my little efforts seem so small in their great work, but I offer what I can and am blessed to help.

3) Ya Load 18 Months, Wha'daya Get?

(Does anybody even remember the song that was misquoted from? Think Tennessee Ernie Ford. Does anybody even remember Tennessee Ernie Ford? I'm so stinkin' old...)

September 26 was my 18 month checkup. Official pre-surgery weight: 414. "Official" 18 month weight: 219. Now, that was with shoes... I've been weighing all along sans shoes, so my progress reports have been based on that. When I was on the scale getting my height measured (I'm shrinking a LOT - I used to be over 5'9", now I'm 5'7". Crud.), the number was 216.9 without my shoes.

In 18 months.

Wowzers.

All is pretty much on target as far as my health. We've got a few things to check or keep on top of, but nothing that we didn't expect going in. No surprises, no setbacks, no complications, just adjustments. And lots of grace. And a thankful heart.

Today is October 5th. Before me today is a counseling appointment, then heading to my North Office (Biggby on the Beltline) for an afternoon of music editing and some time catching up with my bro, J-Billy. Then home for the pot roast that we put into the crock at 7:30 this morning - and I do mean WE. Vicki washed potatoes, I chopped and loaded, we seasoned the roast, packed everything in, and put on the lid.

And at the end of the day, I won't collapse. I won't fade. I'll just head off to sleepy land having had a full day. And I'll wake up tomorrow, not having to recover from a busy day, but ready to tackle another one.

And that is sweet indeed, so far removed from my life 18 months ago that I can't even remember how I lived before this.

The moral of the story? Celebrate today, my dear friends. Celebrate the small graces, the little gifts that God puts in your path today and every day. There are amazing things going on all around you every day, if you (and I) will just take the time to ask God to open our eyes and let us see His hand at work.

Look for grace today, and celebrate the gift.

PS - (added by Vicki) - "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift -- that is why it is called the 'present'!"

His Word, My Sword

2011-09-28T13:01:00.001-04:00

Spending time with the Daily Audio Bible is an essential part of my day. Actually, it takes place as early in my day as possible, since I've found that the later it comes, the easier it is to skip it, and the less I get out of it, as it settles in my head and my subconscious chews away on it through the day.

(not that it's all about what I get out of the Word - it's much more complex than that - but you get the idea...)

So today, the reading from the OT was in Isaiah, which has been rich and amazing to be working through. Specifically, Isaiah 55:10-11:

"As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it."

The NT reading was Ephesians chapter 6, very familiar territory. And yet, something that probably everybody else has noticed, but not me - Ephesians 6:17:

"Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

Ok, so as I bounce out the door, first thing would be how often do I run out half-naked?

(apologies to those of you who now feel the overwhelming need to wash your eyes out with bleach...)

(Note - DON'T do that. Ever. No bleach. Ixnay on the leachbay. Just an expression - let's move along.)

(And yes, I did specifically choose the word 'bounce' back there. Hope you enjoyed it. *shudder*)

How much of the armor, what God says I need to survive the day, do I leave behind?

But that's not the biggie - the one that caught my ear, so to speak... When I (in my totally uninformed, non-theologian, Sunday School attending but not comprehending, basic pew pusher way) take these two passages together, here's what occurs to me:

Take the sword, which is the Word of God, part of your equipment for the day, and take it with you. And know this - My word always accomplishes what I send it out to do.

*wha?*

God gives me His word, to take up as my sword, and then tells me that His word always accomplishes what He sends it out to do. God trusts a dufus like me to take His sword and use it, even though I go out there swinging it around like a kid with a tree branch slaying imaginary dragons in epic battles only He can see. And by the way, "wherever you use that sword, it always accomplishes what I send it out to do."

It doesn't say that it only accomplishes it in the hands of a competent professional. No 9th level masters of the Word Sword only, please. The word goes where He sends it, and it accomplishes what He sends it to do. Through me, in spite of my juvenile flailings, my misunderstanding of how to wield it, and sometimes not knowing which end is the handle and which end is the blade, He sends the word out, and it does what He sends it to do.

Ooh boy.

I got some study and training to do. If you were told that you had to carry around, say, Anduril, Flame Of The West, forged from the shards of Narsil, the Blade that was Broken, able to command an army of the dead that can't be defeated, is a longer sword than I've ever seen, and makes me wonder how Aragorn whipped it out in the Return Of The King without lopping off Elrond's nose, you'd take the time to learn how to carry the thing without maiming somebody, wouldn't you? (not to mention the potential for stabbing yourself in the foot, or other significant soft tissue...)

And yet, I wander off into the day, carrying this both wonderful and terrible weapon, able to cut to the heart of things, to illumine the darkest corners, to lay bare the deepest darkness, to restore hearts and lives...

And I treat it like a wooden sword from Never-Never land. Lost boy indeed.

We memorize our favorite verses, post them on bulletin boards, mouse pads, screen savers, and bumper stickers, whip them out at appropriate (and not appropriate) times, sometimes with the delicate touch of a surgeon, sometimes with the blunt force of a cave troll, but all too often I do so without knowledge and wisdom.

As swordmasters go, I'm a fine sewer worker.

(Not to malign sewer workers - I've seen Dirty Jobs. You have my abiding respect and thanks.)

And yet, He uses His word. Even in the hands of a dufus like me. He sends His word through us, and it always accomplishes what He sends it out to do. That fills me with both awe and shame.

Father, keep me from going out half-dressed. Remind me to take ALL my equipment - the electronics that we all seem to have attached to us, the little bits and bobs that we take along for our needs, but also the most important equipment that you provide for my survival. So that at the end of the day, I'll still be standing. There will be attacks, assaults, temptations, distractions, and paths I should never go down today. Without all You have provided, I'm a sitting duck. Remind me to grab my gear, and go in Your strength.

And guide me to learn about my sword. Teach me Your ways, help me to wield Your word in a way that is worthy of my Father, and keep me from using it to harm or destroy the innocent. Impress on me both the wonder and the terror of how I carry Your word - make me see the weight of responsibility to be a warrior who knows how to use his sword.

And thank You that even when I swing it badly, Your word accomplishes what You send it to do. Thanks for my small part in Your purpose. Give me the things I need today for this day, and lead me as I follow You, sometimes with stumbling steps, sometimes falling, and sometimes making my Daddy grin as I finally "get it." Thanks, Father - for everything.

Amen

Harvest Home

2011-09-16T09:15:00.006-04:00

Nothing profound today, my friends... just some thoughts rolling around as we turn the corner and head into the fall. And the winter. And the buttload of snow we northerners will shortly be shoveling...

I will admit - I am becoming a polyseasonal kind of person. Oh - I used to be faithful to one season alone... perhaps two at the most, flirting at the edges, but mainly true to my one and only season...

Winter.

Yeah, winter. My favorite season. The cold, the starkness, the joy of snuggling under several blankets and their comforting weight banishing the frost. And the only season I didn’t sweat like a pig just walking across the room.

Second was fall - especially late fall when the temperatures really start to crash and things get comfy. Pumpkin spiced donuts and cider. Soup and chili. Sweaters and jackets. And a lot less sweating.

But now? My love of a particular season is no longer bound to the amount of sweat or discomfort I associate with it. Spring is wondrous, especially when the snow and water are finally off the bike trails and one can get out after a long frozen season for a nice ride in the new spring sun. Summer is amazing with a couple hundred pounds less insulation - the whole sweating thing isn’t an issue any more. Winter is nice, with its quiet solitude, although winter with NO snow on the bike trails would be heavenly. Guess I got to move south for that.

And the fall. Ah, the fall.

The leaves, the changes. No sadness - just completion of the growing seasons, before a well-deserved rest in the snow. Lots to finish before then, though - things to store, things to can or freeze and preserve, things to close up, things to prepare before winter locks the doors up tight. Pictures to be taken in the golden autumn light, to keep and look at and hold through the cold dark months.

So, it’s no surprise that one of my favorite hymns is usually considered a “fall” hymn. Which is a real shame, because in re-reading the words, I discover that it’s a great song for many times, especially a funeral...

Come, ye thankful people, come, raise the song of harvest home;
all is safely gathered in, ere the winter storms begin.
God our Maker doth provide for our wants to be supplied;
come to God's own temple, come, raise the song of harvest home.

All the world is God's own field, fruit as praise to God we yield;
wheat and tares together sown are to joy or sorrow grown;
first the blade and then the ear, then the full corn shall appear;
Lord of harvest, grant that we wholesome grain and pure may be.

For the Lord our God shall come, and shall take the harvest home;
from the field shall in that day all offenses purge away,
giving angels charge at last in the fire the tares to cast;
but the fruitful ears to store in the garner evermore.

Even so, Lord, quickly come, bring thy final harvest home;
gather thou thy people in, free from sorrow, free from sin,
there, forever purified, in thy presence to abide;
come, with all thine angels, come, raise the glorious harvest home.

Text: Henry Alford, 1810-1871; Music: George J. Elvey, 1816-1893

I’ve decided that this song is going to be sung at my funeral / memorial / thingie. When I’m part of that final harvest home, taken into God’s house to dwell forever, I want those I leave behind to long for the golden days of autumn, when all is gathered in, when all is made ready for the long days ahead, in His presence forever. But there, no darkness and cold of winter - forever light, forever golden, forever new, forever green and growing, forever warm and beautiful...

Forever and ever.

Even so, Lord, quickly come - bring Thy final harvest home!

As I said, friends, nothing profound today. Just enjoying watching the seasons roll by, from the seat of a trike.

Learning and Unlearning

2011-09-14T13:39:00.001-04:00

It is, fortunately, possible to teach an old dog new tricks. It's not easy, it takes patience and grace, it takes understanding of the dog's personality and nature, and it takes a lot of love, but it is possible.

Ezri is 12 now, and in the past couple of months she's beginning to show her "senior status." She still wants to play catch, she still carries her toys around, and her tail still does the helicopter thing when we come home. But the game of catch doesn't last quite as long, the many, many toys are down to a few favorite choices, and after the initial greeting, she'll lay down.

And it's now possible to sneak up on her. If she doesn't feel a vibration in the floor, she doesn't usually hear you.

Seems like you just get to know them, and then they are getting ready to leave. *sigh* So we are learning to work with her where she is at, to help her along as she slows down. To navigate the changes with her and help her.

So it is with me.

While my hearing is slightly diminished, it's still alright. My legs are a little stiff, but nowhere near what they were 18 months ago. And though the clock has been rolled back in many things physically, let's face it - I'm 52. No amount of weight lost changes that.

But my head is still a puppy brain. I look, I see, I explore, I play, I discover, I test the boundaries, I learn the limits - sometimes. But I do so with the weight and momentum of 52 years of experience. Old dog, new tricks.

I learn... I move differently, have different needs, have new essentials I must maintain, take up a lot less space. I am becoming more comfortable with who I am, and how God has gifted me.

I smile. A lot.

But, in equal measure, I also need to unlearn... I don't have to sit down after standing for two minutes. I don't have to do the dishes sitting down or cook sitting down or do most tasks sitting down. People aren't staring at me saying "look at the fat guy." Sitting in my chair in the living room doesn't mean I'm staying there for the next 8 hours. I don't need to worry about the stairs. I can sit in a booth...

I'm not worth more at this weight, nor was I worthless at 480 pounds. God loves His kiddo, whatever size I am.

The unlearning comes hard. 52 years of experience and momentum, being obese all my life. 29 years of having to be cared for by my beloved, with the expectation of not living many more. Years of being a spectator instead of a participant.

Learning to relate to people, unlearning the need to be introverted for protection. Learning that acceptance was there all along, unlearning the things I "thought" people were saying when I walked into the room. Learning how to use my new abilities and mental state to change my home, to control the clutter, to wrangle the finances, to live minimally and happily. Unlearning the habits of home as a "safe place," where I go to numb out, veg, and shut down for hours and hours. Unlearning the desire to sit in my chair and remain immobile for entire days.

These habits and behaviors sometimes kick in before I even realize it. I lose a day, right before my eyes, and never see why. I could blame depression, I could claim lingering illness, I could come up with all manner of creative excuses...

Or I can unlearn that behavior, and learn a new one - taking responsibility (not guilt) for where I am at, honestly assessing (not drowning in hopelessness) where I need to go, and moving forward (not becoming overwhelmed and hiding in a corner) in God's grace and His strength.

It's not easy, it takes patience and grace, it takes understanding of the dog's (my) personality and nature, and it takes a lot of love, but it is possible. Old dog, new tricks.

The ones who are cheering me on through this - my beloved, my family & my friends - ARE patient, they extend grace, they know me, and they have a lot of love.

And the One who knows me best, is infinitely patient, has limitless grace, understands my personality and nature better than I understand it myself, and loves me more than I can imagine. He walks this path ahead of me, with me, and behind me, supporting me when I stumble. He promises that just as He began this work, He will continue it.

So, I look at Him with bright eyes and twitching ears, tail doing the helicopter spinning thing, eager to play, to go where He leads, and to learn whatever He wants to teach me.

Father, help me to have the same trust in you that Ezri has in me. Thanks for using her to show me just a tiny glimpse of how You continue to teach me, at any age. Thanks for patience, grace, love and acceptance. Help me to learn, to unlearn, and to walk with my eyes on You. Give me this day what I need for this day, and help me trust You for all the days to come.

Amen.

Randomness and Happenings

2011-09-14T09:15:00.003-04:00

It's been a long, l-o-n-g time since I did a general update as to how things are. So if you're one of the folks who look forward to some deep spiritual insight whene'er ye read these pages, well...

a) you're on the wrong page - the deepest we get around here is not quite deep enough to wet our toes.

b) this might not be your day. Perhaps tomorrow.

For the others who haven't run away, muttering as they shake the dust off their feet, we have these little gems, in absolutely no particular order, thus insuring lack of coherence and comprehension. This is how I serve mankind.

1) Homeboy played the organ on August 7th

Some of you didn't even know that I played the organ. My feet had forgotten, too. Seriously (yeah, right), it was amazing to play again - something I hadn't done seriously in at least two or three years.

And I realized that I've NEVER played at my present size. I started playing the organ in college, when I was already over 300 pounds. So sitting pretty on the bench at 224 was a new experience. My right foot, normally anchored on the swell pedal (volume pedal, for those who don't use nomenclature...) to help me keep my balance and to keep my enormous tummy from playing its own unique stylings on the lower manual (keyboard, see above), decided that my left foot was having so much fun down there on the pedals that it wanted in on the action. My hiney (rear end, south pole), greatly reduced in its scope and girth, said that it could handle the balance issues, and since my tummy (spare tire, gut, thing that used to proceed me where'er I would go) has made its way from enormous to saggy, it was happy to cooperate. So "Righty" kept jumping down to the pedals, saying, "Lemme help! I can help! PLEASE???" And "Lefty" replied, "do you mind? All these years of me carrying the load, and NOW you want to help?"

"PLEASE???"

"No!"

"P-L-E-A-S-E??"

"NO!"

"I'll take my shoe off..."

"Step right in."

Yes, my various limbs do have conversations like this. Thanks for noticing.

Anyway, organ was played and Cal smiled. So did Vicki. And various others did too.

2) Miles and miles of miles and miles...

(quoting one of my favorite authors there - David Eddings)

Trike riding has been ongoing, usually a minimum of 10 miles in a ride - more usually 15 or so. In fact, we did 19 hair-raising miles yesterday [end of June], including one hill that actually forced my feet backwards. Ouchies. But we made it, and would do that route again. Truly amazing. I'm still faster than Vicki on three wheels, and can usually hold my own when she's on two wheels. But I always climb hills faster than her. (insert fist pump here) I'm living out our motto, adapted from "Avatar"...

I am a stone-cold trike rider, death from beside (and slightly below).

I really want to get part or all of that painted (or decaled) onto my next Nutcase helmet. The one with the blue argyle I've been oggling over.

(and, because sometimes months pass between first draft and these puppies seeing the light of day, we did 24 miles on Monday, September 12th. Belmont to Cedar Springs and back on the White Pine Trail. Sweet!)

3) Every day in the Word

For the first time in my life, I've been in the Word (via the Daily Audio Bible) every day since June 1st. Now, there have been a couple of times when I had to catch up from a busy weekend, but God allows some grace and doesn't grade us on such things... I think. But the routine of meeting Him in this place every day is becoming more and more rooted in my life, and I love it.

(And, after writing that in June, I had a total fallout in August and got out of the habit. Grrr... So I'm catching up slowly - wanted to finish the book of Job - then I might jump forward to the current podcast, rather than trying to catch up and falling further behind. This isn't a race, and there's no award for neatness. Just a reward for faithfulness.)

4) It was 29 years ago today... ok, over a week ago today... Ok, last month

On the same day that I blew the dust out of the pipes at church, Vicki and I celebrated our 29th anniversary. What a difference from last year. What a huge gaping chasm of difference from two years ago. What an immeasurable outpouring of grace from God's hand, both in my present health and in my spouse. She is my heart, my life, and my best friend. God is good, and I know that because He brought Vicki into my life.

5) Standing on the promises

On July 24th, it was great to be a part of leading worship with my dear friend John Mulder out in Ferrysburg, something that we have the honor of doing once a year or so. It's become one of the highlights of my summer.

This year, there was no seat or stool in sight.

I stood throughout the music, without falling over or having my knees give out on me. The good news is that it's AMAZING to be able to stand and play. The bad news is that it enables me to move and groove as I play, which totally proves, as Weird Al would say, that "I'm whiter than sour cream." Homie can't dance. But, as the folks who put up with me every week at First Cov will testify to, lack of movement ability doesn't stop me. Really. *sigh*

And, as a result of some amazing happenings in August, I was part of a recording session a week or so ago (9/10), playing some bass on a bunch of good ol' Gospel songs, and I stood for most of the day. My tootsies were tuckered by the end of it all, but we made it!

6) The dog as a senior citizen

Ezri is beginning to show her age. At times, that is. When she's in "play mode," she still has her puppy heart. But she doesn't play quite as long, she lays down a little faster these days, and when she gets up, there's a little more stiffness in her booty. Once in a while, one of the back legs gets pulled up and she does the tripod thing until the leg relaxes and she can walk again.

And it's now possible to sneak up on her, which seems to indicate that her hearing isn't quite as sharp as it was. Unless it's the rattle of food, of course - she can still hear that from three miles off.

7) ResponsibleCal...

I'm approaching my 18 month anniversary, and starting ever so slowly to get a tiny grasp on how my world works now. To the point where I'm starting to ask questions like, "What's next?"

Now, before you become concerned, rest assured that my journey is not becoming routine or mundane - it receives my attention each and every day. If it doesn't, I can become very, very sick, so maintaining my new life is still job #1.

But I'm now starting to look at the rest of life, my walk with my Lord and with Vicki, the gifts He has given and how I should be using them, and asking the question, "Where shall we walk today?"

There'll be a whole other discourse on this process but, for now, know that a new character - ResponsibleCal - has stepped on stage. He joins SpoiledBratCal, StoneColdTrikeRiderCal, FreeSpiritCal, BusyButProvidingNoIncomeCal, ArtsyAndVERYFartsyCal, AstonishedHusbandOfVickiCal (more commonly known as "Mr. Vicki"), and others who shall be revealed in the future. We'll see how his ascent to power shakes out.

-------------------------

So here I am, on September 14th, reading words originally written at the end of June, and it continues to amaze me just how much God can bring through our lives in just a month. How much things can change. How much the mundane of life can blind us, hog-tie us, deafen us with its screaming, and smother us with useless things.

And so, Lord of All, I ask for what You already provide freely - grace. Grace for this day, as You provide what I need for this day. Thankfulness for all Your hand provides. Passion to share Your light with everyone, so they too can see Your hand at work in their lives, every day. Guidance on the road ahead, lest I try and make my own path. Patience to wait for what You provide, one day at a time. And wisdom, so I can hear and follow Your voice, and shut out all the distractions of the mundane.

Thanks for reminding me that even though these past 18 months have been a wild roller coaster, you've been right there in the front seat with me. You've even encouraged me to put my arms in the air on some of the big hills. :-D

Thank you, Father. So, where are we headed today?...

What Have I Created?

2011-07-26T12:00:00.000-04:00

It is a true statement that husbands and wives shape each other. Actively or covertly, the nature of living together with the same person for decades makes its imprint and changes us.

It's either the process of an artist, gently coaxing the vision in their head out of their selected medium (ok, there's nothing gentle about someone going to work on a pile of marble with a hammer and chisel, but you get the idea...), or the process of water running down a rock face, doing the slow work of changing the shape of the hard surface below, taking little bits of the original away in the constant flow.

One way or another, stuff changes.

Now, people who know me and my beloved have often thought that she was probably a normal, sane, practical person before she hooked up with me, and that somehow I warped her into the normal, sane, practical, and slightly crazy person that she is today. May I just point out that the roaring bonfire of craziness can be fanned from a very small spark. Let those who have ears hear what I am saying...

But yes, I have been molded and shaped by her gentle spirit, her servant's heart, and her love for God's creatures, great and small. It's been more of the water eroding the rock sort of thing, since I'm a mighty big boulder, made of the Adamantium of stone, hard and resistant. But it has happened, and continues to happen.

To my shame, the inverse is true as well. Ok - I'm not ashamed about the crazy part. She is my match in every way, and to be otherwise would make for a stressful existence. She shares my sense of humor, my joy, my curiosity, my eclectic musical taste, and my belief that God alone is worthy of my praise, my devotion, and my whole heart.

So why do I mention shame? Because of the things I've forced her to become.

She's had to become a caretaker, doing everything (and I do mean everything) for a husband who, at his heaviest, weighed 486 pounds.

She's lugged immensely heavy equipment to any number of gigs, gotten everything set up, waited patiently while I did my thing, packed everything up and loaded the car, drove me home, unloaded the heavy things and carried them to the basement, and tucked me into bed when I had no strength left after performing for an hour or two.

She's lived in a closed world, having the burden of all household things, physical and mental, on her back. The taxes, the bills, the dishes, the filthy floors and walls, the clutter everywhere.

She's endured all kinds of medical issues - huge sturdy recliners, adjustable beds, CPAP, tons of pillows and mattresses to make it possible for us to spend a night or two away from our nest, shower chairs, wheelchairs, hoping to not have another toilet seat break, leg braces, canes, walking staffs, compression stockings, trying to find some sort of shoes that will let me walk and will last more than six months.

She's gotten used to not being able to go someplace without having to plan the kind of logistics that would baffle engineers. Finding someplace for me to sit, wandering through exhibits alone while I sit and wheeze, doing all the grocery shopping while I sit in the car, carrying the dog food so that I'd have a friend to keep me company in my depression and loneliness.

Those are just some of the physical issues...

She has endured a mate who has been a spoiled brat, who never learned to grow because his weight gave him an easy excuse. A mate who was an emotional roller coaster, showing moments of love and tenderness, followed by hours of rage or weeping. Someone who had such a low self-esteem that his only worth came from her love, always needy, always wanting, always afraid of losing her.

So, she learned. She learned to bend to my wishes, since I'd be sulky and stupid when I didn't get my way. She learned to put up with the roller coaster, to duck when necessary, to stand quiet, and to ride the storm. She learned how to deal with being needed. All the time. Non-stop. She learned to put her hopes and dreams aside, to squash and silence them, and to surrender to the eroding force of the needy spouse.

You thought I was the unyielding boulder, huh? Indeed, I was in some ways, but more often I was the running water, constantly irritating, constantly tearing and wearing, chipping away and carrying off pieces of the original, leaving it worn and marked in my path.

Hence my shame.

And yet, she loves to hear me play. She loves it when I tell a story. She hugs me, gives me smoochies, laughs with me, and brings a light to my eyes when she smiles.

She never once saw me as an immensely obese person. She looked past the weight and saw ME. And loves what she found there. She's the only person to ever do that, totally and completely. She sees me like my Father sees me, and I see His love reflected in her lovely green eyes.

I promised the Lord a while back to be transparent in this journey - to put the good and the bad out there, for others to see. It's one of the reasons He poured this grace into my life. But this is hard to write, and harder still to know others might see and read. But on we go...

I'm not the person I was a year ago. That's not just an advertising blurb for the surgery - it's the truth. Through the surgery, the weight loss, the counseling, the health interventions (mental and physical), and through God's abundant grace, the guy sitting here typing away is not the guy who rolled into the operating room a year ago. And while some of the changes have come fast as a landslide, others are slower in revealing themselves...

I now need to change how I've molded my wife. Somehow, I need to repair the erosion, rebuild the damage, and restore the pieces I've washed away.

When I ask her what she'd like to do, I need to help her see that I really want to know her preference, and won't get sulky if she picks the one I don't want to do. If I have a preference, I'll express it, but I'd much rather know what she's interested in.

When I ask her what she thinks about something - a dream, a thought, an idea, I really want to know. And I won't go off on some "but mom, I want it NOW" tirade if she seems to like something I am interested in. My dreams aren't worth much without her in them.

She needs to know that I'm determined to dig us out of the hole my wants and desires have put us in, both financially and in launching all the clutter we are surrounded with as a result of those wants and desires.

She needs a safe place to flourish, so that there is time and space for her hopes and dreams - not just space for all of my needs.

Her needs have a place, and they should be met.

The weight needs to be lifted from her shoulders, so that much of it can be placed on mine. My shoulders are smaller than they were, and really bony, but are still strong.

She should be loved as Christ loved the church, and gave Himself for her.

I'm ashamed that it took so long to get here. But in God's mercy and grace, I see that it couldn't have happened any earlier - it happened exactly at the time it should. Regret is a powerful tool of the enemy, but God's grace can shatter it.

One thing I know - I'm incapable of doing any of these things myself. It's impossible for me to undo the damage of 28 years. What I can do is walk in step with the One who CAN undo the damage and heal our hearts. All I can do is live as a new creature, follow Him with a whole heart, and love my beloved like He loves her. He doesn't ask me to undo the past, but walk in the present with Him as together we love and care for my sweetie.

Now that I can do.

Father, forgive my mistakes. Thank you for waking me up, healing my body, and clearing my mind. Help me to be worthy of my beloved's trust, not because I deserve it, but because I place my trust in You. I take Your hand, then take her hand as You lead us both. Restore what has been broken, keep regret from shattering our spirits, and lead us on this amazing path You've laid before us. Thank you for my beloved, and for the opportunity to show her Your love. Keep my eyes on You, so that I can love her as Christ loved the church and gave Himself for her.

Amen.

Water Grave

2011-07-26T10:00:00.001-04:00

Anybody remember Water Grave by the Imperials? That rockin', illegal song that ALL the kids at Grand Rapids Baptist College knew, loved, and jammed out to?

Yeah, I thought you might.

Of course now, it's Cornerstone University, the kids wear jeans to class, and Water Grave is an oldie that their parents listened to (or grandparents, actually).

*sigh* I'm old.

I'll admit that my favorite version of Water Grave came out some years back, from a truly unexpected source: Steve & Annie Chapman. It kicks out in a Charlie Daniels Devil Went Down to Georgia kind of way that I really love. Makes me forget all about Circle of Two (the Flat Oval song, for those who remember the complaints at WCSG...) or some of their other really decent songs that I was too immature to appreciate.

I was thinking of that song (Water Grave, that is - not some of the other ones...) on a particular weekend, as I always do, when we had a baptism service. Out comes our baptistry - the Holy Hot Tub, as our worship leader puts it. No, he's not kidding - it really is a portable hot tub, placed in the Family Life Center, heated (usually), and set for the service.

We hear the stories of lives changed by the risen Christ and we see new life made manifest as our brothers and sisters pass through the water reminding all of us of our own journeys to redemption. It never fails to move me down to my toes.

Not that anybody needs to know that, of course.

I was baptized when I was 9 years old, newly saved and just figuring out what that meant. I really don't remember the event, just the memory that it happened, where it happened, and that the robe they made me wear got really heavy when it was wet.

Needless to say, no toe moving memories there.

An idea, an image has been rolling around in my noodle, and I'm not sure if it is planted there for me to act on, or just a picture that our Father is having me keep in front of my eyes. Perhaps writing it down will be enough, instead of actually going through it. Just for the record, I'm totally fine with the whole "image in front of my eyes" thing. That's good with me. Just dandy, thanks.

I envision myself entering the Holy Hot Tub (most definitely heated on this particular day), either wearing or carrying one of my lovely 6XL flowered shirts, thinking about my new life. How God, in a very real, physical way, has taken me from death to life. How He rewrote my history and my future, and changed everything.

I'm also glad to note that Craig wouldn't have to call extra help in to the HHT to do the deed. Yes, extremely heavy folks think a lot about logistics.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I pass under the water...

And when I come up, the flowered shirt is gone. Left behind in the water grave. Everything that I was, passing away. Everything that I am becoming, passing through.

Here's the cool thing - our family at church has been walking along with us and watching the journey. They've been cheering me along, encouraging Vicki, and are totally geeked at seeing me vanish before their eyes, so to speak. They've been watching me pass through the water grave all along. Instead of taking a moment, washed in the water, it began March 30th, 2010 and continues now. The process is happening right before our eyes. My old life is falling away, my new life continues to make itself real.

So, really, I guess the image has already happened and is happening. It's come to pass. Steve and Annie are singing away, the band is kickin' it, and this old dog is waggin' his tail. Toe moving is optional, but mine definitely are.

"I'm goin' down to the river,

And I'm gonna be buried alive.

I want to show my Heavenly Father,

The man I used to be has finally died."

The Horrible Mercy

2011-07-06T09:10:00.001-04:00

She hates this. Ok - hate might be a little strong.

She barely tolerates this. That's better.

She's pinned down, while having a metal blade scraped over her back and legs. She has no reference to understand what is being done or why. There is no language that can explain to her what this is, why it has to happen, or how it will make things better. Her head is being held down at one end, and any attempt to get up or move is put down quickly. At the other end, the relentless digging and scraping of the blade.

Ezri hates the stripper blade. And shedding season.

Overdramatic? Maybe a little. But accurate from her point of view? Pretty much. She's on her side, I'm by her head trying to comfort her, but really my job is to keep her on her side. So I gently put down any attempt to get up or get away. Vicki is wielding the stripper - the metal blade that pulls away all the loose fur from the undercoat that is matted and all clumped up.

And Ezzie is not into it.

So why put her through all this? If it was just to make her "purty," we'd find another way. But she's one of those breeds that have a double coat - the "hard" coat on the top, and a downy coat underneath for insulation. Our husky, Kira, also had this. When the weather turns warm, they "blow their coat" - the downy layer comes loose, it clumps to the top, and our black dog turns grey. And way ugly.

The efficient way to get rid of it is using a stripper of some sort - to rake through the hard coat, grab the clumps and pull them out. The end result? Enough extra fur to make three or four dogs. And a throw pillow.

So, the point?

I've been listening to the Daily Audio Bible every morning - establishing for the first time in my life a routine of being in God's word every day. And we've been going through 1 & 2 Kings - long, long lists of names and deeds. And yet they've been teaching me a lot.

Near the end of 2 Kings, a phrase came up a number of times that caught me off guard - "they even sacrificed their own children, giving their sons and daughters to the fire." Another note in the list of ways the Kings did evil in God's sight, but it made me think...

What would bring a parent to the point where offering their beloved child as a sacrifice seemed to be a reasonable act? What desperation, what obligation, what influence is sufficient to make a parent take that step?

Now, while I let that thought roll around your noodle for a bit, allow me to execute a very sharp left turn into this...

The Bible talks about the process God uses to remake us into the image of Christ, with one of those pictures being the refiner's fire. Metal being placed in the furnace, the waste and impurities being burned away, the pure metal remaining. Having watched some episodes of "Dirty Jobs" with Mike Rowe, I've seen metal in a furnace being heated to thousands of degrees. I've seen glass being melted and shaped into new forms.

And none of it looked like a lot of fun. Except where Mike holds something hot or gets his face shield melted. That's pretty funny, right there.

What would bring a parent to the point where putting their beloved child into the fire would seem a reasonable act?

God's horrible mercy.

When we're in the fire, when the wrecking ball has shattered everything we hold dear, when we seem to be so lost and alone, when everything we love or even recognize is swept away, all we seem to see is loss and pain. We see the agony of everything that has been torn away.

I know I did. When the wrecking ball swung in 2006, I went insane for a few months. The loss, the pain, the confusion - that was all I could see.

But what I've never once considered is what my Father went through. He threw his son into the fire. He swung the wrecking ball. He held me down on the floor while the stripper blade dug into my body, taking away the clumps, the matted dirt, the things I didn't need anymore.

We sometimes think of God as this impersonal all-knowing being, executing His will because He knows what is needed and He works all things together for good for those who love Him, as it says in Romans 8:28. What we don't think of, or at least I didn't, is God our FATHER. A Father who daily makes the choice to throw His children into the flames. Yeah, He knows it's needed - He wouldn't do this if it wasn't. And He knows what will result, the good that comes from this terrible act.

But He's still a daddy. He watches as His kids writhe and cry and scream and hurt and burn. Could any parent just stand back, arms crossed, wrapped in the knowledge that this is for the best so it's just got to go this way, and not hurt for their child? Could you or I just watch and not want to intervene, to take it away, or to take their place?

I turn into a puddle just having to hold Ezri down while we're stripping her coat. I can't even imagine what a parent goes through.

This Father considered it a reasonable act to offer His Son as a sacrifice for all of us. This Father watched His one and only beloved Son cry and suffer and scream and hurt and die that horrible death. He knew that it would result in life, for His beloved One and for the whole world, but His daddy's heart must have ached with the pain.

And this Father has to endure the suffering of His children over and over again, to allow it to happen, to cause it to be.

The horrible mercy.

Father, when the fire burns, allow me to see some of Your tears. When the wrecking ball leaves all wasted, allow me to see some of Your heart. When I am ruined and alone and screaming and confused, allow me to see that I am not alone - my Daddy weeps with me.

Help me to trust, just like Ezri trusts me when I hold her down. It doesn't make it easier, it doesn't make it hurt less, but it does help. I'm not suffering alone, I'm going through what is necessary, and my Father is standing near, hearing my cries and longing to make it all better at just the right time - not a moment before, but not a second longer than necessary.

Keep my eyes on the joy we'll both feel when the fire is past and I'm closer to what You have in mind for me. Thank you, Daddy.

Amen.

Big Ball O' Confusion

2011-06-28T14:06:00.002-04:00

Along this path of being reborn, I'm finally seeing the pattern. I take a few steps, God holds my hand until my legs grow steady on the new ground, He smiles at His little toddler son, points to a new place on the path and we start again.

At this point, just starting to see this pattern, I say to myself, "duh." Yeah, I should have recognized this a while ago, since it's pretty much the pattern of life, of growth and of change. Like I never heard the phrase "two steps forward, one step back" before. A phrase I have heard a time or two before comes to mind here: "Not the sharpest knife in the drawer."

I could add a few more - "not the brightest color in the box"; "three fries short of a Happy Meal"; "dumber than a box of rocks" (or a bag of hammers, according to my friend Donnie); and one that I believe I myself was the first to add on to - "not only doesn't have both oars in the water, but lives 5 miles away from the lake."

If I wasn't the first one to add that, don't tell me. I've got enough to sort through today. Thanks.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah - the pattern, or as it's becoming known around here (at least for the next 5 minutes or so), Cal's DUH moment or three.

Here's where the pattern differs a little bit from the usual... I am a toddler with the mind and life experiences of a 52 year old. That's one HECK of a big baby... So the acceptance of one lesson at a time, one new thing to learn, one thing to get down before taking the next wobbling step? It's a little hard when your adult mind not only sees the baby steps, but the next 15 or so that have to follow this one in order to make any sort of progress.

The child mind takes delight in the one little step. (granted, those little steps are often mixed in with hyperactivity and come at the speed of light, but there is delight, on some level, for however brief a moment it is...) One thing done, one thing learned, one lesson that will have to be repeated to make it stick, but one more step on the path. And sometimes, if you're very fortunate, you get a cookie.

The adult mind tends to have the progress meter engaged at all times - Where have I come from, and where am I going? How am I getting there, and does this next step move me toward or away from that goal? And at the end, you don't get a cookie - just more butt kicking.

And the child mind, in a rare show of unity with the adult mind, cries out, "Why can't I have a cookie? Oh, the injustice of it all!"

Sorry - that just slipped out.

So, are you seein' the conflict here? 'lemmie 'splain...

To understand this, realize what a total, devastating, wonderful, amazing, horrifying, beautiful, overwhelming ride this past year has been for my body and mind. I've been saying all along that I think this journey has been 95% mental, and I'm sticking with that number.

(truth be told, to change that number now would only confuse me. I don't get along well with numbers)

So you have 52 years of life experience buried in a body that bears very little resemblance to what it was a year and a half ago, and a mind that sometimes doesn't recognize myself in the mirror. Some confusion is allowed here, I should think.

The biggest result of this seems to be that I get overwhelmed with multiple choices. And by multiple choices, I of course mean, "more than one."

If you see my beloved Vicki today, give her an extra hug. She needs it.

She'll ask me, "what would you like to do today - this or this?" Two choices. One, two. And in response, she gets Bambi in the headlights. *uh....*

So, say that I actually man up and make a choice? A couple minutes later, I'll still be making the decision that I already made, doubting the outcome AND throwing in a few other possibilities that weren't mentioned before, just in case those sound more appealing to Vicki, who doesn't really care one way or the other, and just wants me to MAKE UP MY MIND!

But she does that last with sweetness and patience, just to be clear.

(and yes, I know the use of the phrase "man up" previously could imply a) bad self image; b) lack of confidence in my masculine person; c) impatience with my own lack of steely-eyed will and determination; or d) acknowledgement of my permanent GirlyMan status. See what I mean by confusion?)

This, by the way, is why I do so much better with externally-applied structure, instead of internally-applied structure. Knowing that I have to show up at a certain place at a certain time because I am expected to be there, with consequences if I am not, makes me actually move along. If I'm the one cracking the whip, I'll tell myself where to put the whip and go do some knitting. I'm a lousy manager.

Now, back to our original program, already in progress...

I need to remember what my journey is these days - one step, a little new ground underfoot. Hold my Father's hand until my legs get steady on this different surface. Repeat the lesson a few hundred times until I can do it on my own. Repeat ad infinitum. Ad nauseum. World without end, amen.

The current lesson, for those who are interested: Take variables out of the equation. Make a plan the night before, get up the next day, do the morning routine (those things that must happen first thing upon starting my day), then get the plan going and executed. That night, sit down, look at the plan for today, move over stuff that didn't happen, make tomorrow's plan... Repeat and serve. Cold. With a little umbrella.

When I write it out like that, it makes such perfect sense. Simple, nice, easy. (sort of, depending on what the plan for that day is...) But my wobbly legs aren't quite steady on this piece of ground. My head isn't in sync with these uncertain steps. I've got a few barks on my shins, some rough patches on my knees where I've hit them hard, and although I keep asking, Vicki doesn't buy me the cool bandages with pretty things on them, so I all I get are the plain fleshie colored thingies.

Alright, that last bit was just a little humor. If I really wanted the cool bandages, Vicki would probably let me buy them. She's kind like that. And if not, our doctor certainly would. In fact, she's given me a Barney bandage before. She's also kind like that.

My Father is teaching me that all I need for today is what He will give me today. My adult mind and experiences have to get set aside on the shelf. Not gotten rid of - the wisdom gained and the lessons learned have and will continue to serve me well. To paraphrase and shamelessly rip off a thought from Cars 2, "the dents remind me of things I don't want to forget." My adult mind brings the patience and perspective that my child mind needs, lest the wide-eyed toddler turn into the defiant demon-child.

I've got to go through this - I simply have no choice. The more I try to speed up the process or work around it, the further behind I get. The process has to move at God's pace, since He's the one doing the rebuilding. He is the contractor, the architect, the owner of the building, and the keeper and sustainer of it all.

Father, when confusion would blind my eyes and shackle my mind, remind me of what You've told me all along... "my chains are gone, I've been set free." Grant patience for the process, help my wobbly legs to find their place, give me a little more solid footing each day and teach me how to navigate in my new life. Help me to eliminate the variables, make the plan, execute the plan, but also to recognize that the plan is Yours, not mine. Keep me in step with You, as we walk the path together.

Oh, and give Vicki some extra hugs today. As I said, she really needs 'em. Thanks.

Amen.

The Serious Sadness

2011-06-21T13:45:00.001-04:00

My nephew sold his trike.

Now, my nephew is a man of good discernment. He is learning wisdom. He has a wise Proverbs 31 wife, and has learned the true blessings of listening to her. He's used the trike for the last year as his commuting vehicle, but discovered that it didn't work as they had hoped. So to make room for a second car, the trike had to go. If they felt it necessary to sell his trike, then it was indeed necessary. They take counsel together and move together.

So why did it make me so sad?

I think I was saddened because I thought about what losing my trike would do to me. My trike is a replacement behavior for food addiction. Riding is good for my mental state, as well as good for my body - but the mental benefits have been the biggest factor. My morning trike rides are where I listen to the Daily Audio Bible, I open up to things God would say, and I learn to listen intently and intentionally. Things that I hear during that time come back during the day to be reenforced and illuminated.

So what if that was gone? What if it was necessary to lose the trike? I have trouble imagining how I would deal with that. Which brings up a whole issue to think through...

How much do I trust God?

Yup - it's the Abraham and Isaac lesson. Are there things that I hold so tightly, that if God needed to take them away for me to grow, I'd be clinging to them, my feet dragging on the floor and screaming like a toddler who's way, WAY overdue for a nap?

Is my sanity wrapped up in my three-wheeled chariot, or is it resting in the One who gave me the chariot?

When I was laid off from His Kids Radio, after ALMOST 20 years (Yes, that does still frustrate me - I was SO close to 20 years of service. Stupid, I know, but I'm being honest here.), I went quietly insane for a few months. Apparently my sanity was indeed wrapped up in my job, or at least in my "stable" life. My reason to get up in the morning, stumble through the day, and justify my existence.

I had no idea what a weak foundation I had built everything on. One swipe of God's horrible mercy, one swing of the wrecking ball, and nothing was left standing. Which is exactly where He needed to put me to begin the process that brings me here today, from 486 to 223, from destructive behavior onto the path of wholeness, from self-loathing to being filled with such mercy and grace that it leaves me speechless.

So why the sadness?

He continues to shine the light on the corners, on the shadows. It was all blasted away, it's all being rebuilt, and He is making all things new, but I still clench and hold and grab and scream and cry...

And don't trust.

As He has taught me, it's time to raise some stones...

He brought me from death to life, spiritually through His dear Son, my Lord Jesus.

He brought me from death to life, physically through His boundless grace and love.

With a surgeon's skill, He brings me from death to life, remaking my body and rewriting both my history and my future.

With a Creator's skill, He brings me from death to life, renewing my mind, helping me to rewire and rethink my new path, wherever He leads.

He gives it all, He took it all away, He restores it all, so why do I need to hold on to any of it?

And the big one...

He is my Father. He knows exactly what I need for each day. He knows what my trike means to me, so if He finds it necessary to take it away, He will fill that void with something else. He already knows what is needed, before I'm even aware of a change coming.

In the end, there is no void. There's only God, and it all comes from Him.

Father, give me what I need for today. Thank You for the gifts You give - help me to remember that they come from You, and though they are in my hands for a brief time, they remain Yours. You bring in what I need, You take away what I don't. Keep my eyes on today - what I need for this day, not what I need for tomorrow or forever. All I need forever is You.

Amen.

The Forgetful Mirror

2011-06-17T13:56:00.003-04:00

"Those who hear and don't act are like those who glance in the mirror, walk away, and two minutes later have no idea who they are, what they look like."

James 1:23-24 - The Message

There are a few podcasts that are part of my routine - I check them out regularly, load 'em to my iPod ('cause it's a little tough taking an iPad on my trike), and listen to them either during the day or at night before bed.

One in particular usually starts my day, and sometimes ends it: the Daily Audio Bible. I usually listen as soon in the morning as my schedule allows - on my morning trike ride, while knitting in the living room, or at a coffee shop or bookstore preparing to write.

At first, I thought "well, this is just for those who want to take the 'easy' way - being spoon-fed scripture instead of reading it for themselves. Not really studying - not 'real' devotions, just an electronic fix that doesn't really change a life."

And I was wrong. At least for me. For others, your mileage may vary.

What this has done is help me establish a morning routine - a regular path that I follow. Beginning my day focusing on God and His word, and that starts to penetrate the rest of the day. A particular verse, or a section of the story coming back to mind, giving me time to reflect and apply.

Which brings us to Solomon and James. (wouldn't that be a great name for a folk singing duo?)

We're in First Kings, watching the reign pass from David to Solomon. We approach the apex of glory for Israel - the building of the Temple and the rule of the wisest king ever... and then we watch it all fall downhill from there. From David, with a whole heart for God, to Solomon, half-hearted.

And it makes me wonder, which one am I?

I (like so many other kids raised in Sunday School) do a bit of sneering at the Hebrew children - watching the Red Sea part, then hang out with the gold cow. God provides bread, and they whine. God delivers, they turn to idols. "What, are they idiots?" I hear myself ask.

Solomon - given wisdom from God, along with long life and riches. And after an amazing start, down he goes. Just like the rest of his people's history.

Or mine.

For I'm the guy who has received such abundant grace from God's hand that it staggers the mind. I've seen my entire life and history re-written in just over a year. Chains have been shattered, my story made new, and God's goodness shown so hugely that I have no words to describe it.

And 5 minutes after hearing His word, I get irritated with the person who just cut me off on the highway. I get peeved when the piece of bread I just buttered falls on the floor. (buttered side down, of course) I sit in front of the TV or the computer and allow my brain to turn to mush. I wander through my world and wonder why I feel so alone. Through conscious or unconscious choice, I turn away.

Half-hearted.

I look in the mirror, walk away and forget what I look like. Probably there's a little dot in my Bible next to James 1:23 and an arrow that says, "you are here." I cry for God's word to illumine my path, then I tie a blindfold over my eyes. I plead for His voice to sing over me, and then I plug my ears. (no matter that they're Bose earbuds - they're still earplugs at times)

I'm Solomon, without the wisdom or the riches. Only one wife, but she is a hottie, so we've got that in common.

What listening to the Word each day is doing is keeping the mirror in front of me. In fact, when I'm being a boogerhead, you'll sometimes hear me mutter, "mirror" or "Solomon." The mental health professionals call that self-talk. I call it giving myself a private butt whooping. Or semi-public - I have no shame. Usually. Sometimes.

Father, give me this day what I need for this day. Keep the mirror in front of me Lord - don't let me turn away and forget who I am in You. Remind me when I turn away, catch me when I close my eyes or plug my ears, and lead me in Your way. What I need today, for today. Each step, each hour, each minute. Thanks for the gift of Your word - help me stay grounded in it, and close to You.