I haven't been very happy with me lately. Sure, it's a little bit of the depression that comes with this big life, but it's also been a good long look in the mirror. I tend not to give my best effort at ANYTHING. Weigh too much? I deserve to eat good things, and lots of them. You want me to play/sing for an event? Sure, I'll look at the music the day of. Housework? Rarely. My job? Flying by the seat of my pants. Friendships? Me-focused, validation-hungry.
I am wholly undisciplined. No more. I've agreed to run the Flatrock 25K in September! Training began today with a 4K run, and I look forward to becoming much more disciplined in every part of my life. Here comes an intense effort to marry fun with adulthood! Wish me luck!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
I should have said weeks ago...
...how excited I am; how proud I am; how humbled I am.
Megan will be joining that faculty at Bethel College, in the role of director of theatre. I am so proud of what she has built for herself. Good on ya, mate!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Fathers' Day
I have a difficult, complicated, un-deep relationship with my father, so Fathers' Day can be weird for me. In addition, Megan lost her dad three years ago this year on Fathers' Day; it's a heavy day at my house, what can I say. But the recognition and passing of another holiday to honor dads reminds me of a story I've been thinking I'd like to post, but I'm not sure I can relate the poignancy that existed in my mind. Here goes:
Recently, my mother-in-law needed some work done on the house. It seemed that some little birdies had made their way in through a water-damaged corner of the eaves and were none-too-quiet at night, interrupting Mary's sleep. Standing on a ladder, examining the damage, it became clear that the gutter in that corner had been overflowing for quite some time. After a trip to the lumberyard proved fruitless (they were out of the material I needed) I decided to patch it up with some boards until I could get the correct material.
I searched through the garage for the items I needed--wood, a hammer, nails. I have discovered before that going through the belongings of someone who has moved on, readily transitions into nostalgia and memory hallucination. This time around proved no different. Over here is where he used to sit with his chiminea, feeding it hickory chips for that distinctive smell. Over there is the corner that he always seemed to be organizing, never making any headway. Here is a perfect stack of lumber, exactly what I need for a temporary patch. Perhaps he had set it aside, four, maybe five years ago, saying to himself "that corner by the bedroom is starting to rot--I'm going to need to patch it soon." And as I gathered his things and began the job, I wondered what he would think, to see me acting as an adult, serving. As an Episcopal Deacon, his call was to serve, much as our decision to become Mennonites was in answer to a need to make the world a better place. And here I was, serving in his place.
On a summer day fourteen years earlier--to the day for all I know--I walked out of my new girlfriend's house, where we'd been spending the afternoon. As she pulled away from the house, I turned the key in my ignition, only to be greeted by the sick sound of a dead battery. I walked nervously back up the house, where I had to ask this girl's dad (who I wanted to impress!) for a jumpstart. Of course he was more than happy to help, brought around his car and jumper cables and handed me one side. I stared blankly at the cables, realizing I'd never jumped a vehicle before. I asked him what to do, he showed me, with neither hesitation nor judgment, and we got the car running. As he collected the cables from me he turned back, his blue eyes shining with that sparkle I would come to love, and told me: You know, this is really one of those things that girls expect all-American boys to know how to do.
And now here I was, fourteen years later, working on his house, and I wondered what he would think--how does it look to see the gawky teenager at the door asking for your daughter grow into a man, a father, a friend? To be sure, it was painful, and poignant, to be doing the work that I wished he had been there to do. But it was also a source of pride, and a bit of a nod to his belief in me.
The hole is patched, Jim. The birds have not made their way back in. I still need to get over to the lumberyard and pick up that proper material. I won't wait much longer.
I hope I turned into something like what you hoped your daughter's husband would be. I'm still trying. You told me you knew I would. Your grandkids are beautiful. I wish you were here. Happy Fathers' Day.
Recently, my mother-in-law needed some work done on the house. It seemed that some little birdies had made their way in through a water-damaged corner of the eaves and were none-too-quiet at night, interrupting Mary's sleep. Standing on a ladder, examining the damage, it became clear that the gutter in that corner had been overflowing for quite some time. After a trip to the lumberyard proved fruitless (they were out of the material I needed) I decided to patch it up with some boards until I could get the correct material.
I searched through the garage for the items I needed--wood, a hammer, nails. I have discovered before that going through the belongings of someone who has moved on, readily transitions into nostalgia and memory hallucination. This time around proved no different. Over here is where he used to sit with his chiminea, feeding it hickory chips for that distinctive smell. Over there is the corner that he always seemed to be organizing, never making any headway. Here is a perfect stack of lumber, exactly what I need for a temporary patch. Perhaps he had set it aside, four, maybe five years ago, saying to himself "that corner by the bedroom is starting to rot--I'm going to need to patch it soon." And as I gathered his things and began the job, I wondered what he would think, to see me acting as an adult, serving. As an Episcopal Deacon, his call was to serve, much as our decision to become Mennonites was in answer to a need to make the world a better place. And here I was, serving in his place.
On a summer day fourteen years earlier--to the day for all I know--I walked out of my new girlfriend's house, where we'd been spending the afternoon. As she pulled away from the house, I turned the key in my ignition, only to be greeted by the sick sound of a dead battery. I walked nervously back up the house, where I had to ask this girl's dad (who I wanted to impress!) for a jumpstart. Of course he was more than happy to help, brought around his car and jumper cables and handed me one side. I stared blankly at the cables, realizing I'd never jumped a vehicle before. I asked him what to do, he showed me, with neither hesitation nor judgment, and we got the car running. As he collected the cables from me he turned back, his blue eyes shining with that sparkle I would come to love, and told me: You know, this is really one of those things that girls expect all-American boys to know how to do.
And now here I was, fourteen years later, working on his house, and I wondered what he would think--how does it look to see the gawky teenager at the door asking for your daughter grow into a man, a father, a friend? To be sure, it was painful, and poignant, to be doing the work that I wished he had been there to do. But it was also a source of pride, and a bit of a nod to his belief in me.
The hole is patched, Jim. The birds have not made their way back in. I still need to get over to the lumberyard and pick up that proper material. I won't wait much longer.
I hope I turned into something like what you hoped your daughter's husband would be. I'm still trying. You told me you knew I would. Your grandkids are beautiful. I wish you were here. Happy Fathers' Day.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
For Megan, the one true thing I know
You could say I lost my faith in science and progress
You could say I lost my belief in the holy church
You could say I lost my sense of direction
You could say all of this and worse but
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world
You could say I lost my faith in the people on TV
You could say I'd lost my belief in our politicians
They all seemed like game show hosts to me
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
I could be lost inside their lies without a trace
But every time I close my eyes I see your face
I never saw no miracle of science
That didn't go from a blessing to a curse
I never saw no military solution
That didn't always end up as something worse but
Let me say this first
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
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