Learning and Unlearning

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

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?

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

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

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.