What Comes Around . . .

OK . . .

Skipping over comments about the delay in writing. And going on . . .

Yesterday I had an experience for the second time of my life. I sat in a room with someone dieing of cancer.

If you refer to my archive of about a year ago you will see the blog of my mom's passing. It was almost a year ago. Around 10am Christmas day. My mom gave up the earthly fight to the same formidable foe. It was a time that change my life forever as well as my relationship with my dad and my role as a son. That is a blog for another day.

Her name is Wendy. I think she is a bit younger than my mom. She has cancer that I think originated in the lungs and just recently they have found it in her hip. Right now she is living with her mom (of 80 years) because she owns a one floor condo type apartment. Wendy can't traverse stairs. She is confined to a walker and sitting on a couch that is up on blocks so she doesn't have to bend so far down.

She spoke of patches for the pain. Mom had the same ones that were changed every 2-3 days. She would beg for a new one as the time period would expire. Then when she got a new dose she would collapse and sleep for a while. Then she would have a day in a half of feeling good. Then it was a downward spiral until the next dose.

The there were meds for "break-through" pain. That usually made her stomach quite sick just to add to struggle.

There were other things that were similar between mom and Wendy. The side table covered with the prescription bottles of this and that.

The occasional phone call that has to be taken in the other room and spoken in whispers . . . giving the daily report with family or friend in a way that doesn't upset the patient. Then returning wiping tears and blowing the nose. I remember we would take turns answering the phone so as to lightly the emotional load of giving the report yet again.

But the biggest thing that was similar was that feeling that we were all in the same room and looking at death. That sounded like it was meant to be scary. But in that room, and like the room with mom, it wasn't as scary as it was sacred.

Sitting in the room with my mom to me was a holy place. I felt at peace. Perhaps it was because I was helping and being a good son. But mostly I think it was the fact that I was sitting with my mom at the front door of heaven. We didn't know when the door was going to open and she was going to be ushered in. We were excited. We were impatient. We were nervous. We were scared. But it was a sacred place. As weird as it may sound . . . I found myself not wanting to be in any other place. I wanted to live in that shelter. I knew God was there. The place was thick with his presence. There were messes to clean, meds to prepare, there was pressure to get it done, there were even times of stress when the pain got too much and when the emotions got tightly strung. But it was peaceful. My faith was confined and grew in that room. God was at work. And he was using me.

Yesterday we sat in that second floor apt with Wendy and we gazed at death. Heaven's door probably wouldn't open for a few months yet. But that peace was there. All the other feelings were too. But peace at the fore-front. God was in that place. Questions, frustration, confusion all were lurking. Like Peter walking on the water. As long as we kept our eyes on the one who has called us out of the boat our surroundings seemed to stay at a peaceful bay.

I left there with tons of things to ponder. But I was struck by at home I felt. God is good. He prepared me for that moment. I was able to add and encourage. I am suited to pray. What comes around . . .

FWIW

Take it . . .

Another Try . . .

I have been reading some of my old stuff. Entries of months even years past and I realized something.

I really enjoy writing. Not that I want to try and make money at it. But I like remembering what I was feeling and thinking at the moment I "penned" (typed) certain things.

But it's always the case where we never have time for what we love to do. Or to spend time with those we love to spend time with.

Why is that?

Oh, I come up with great excuses and there are some things that do need to be accomplished. But that fact remains. We never have enough time to do the things we love to do.

I use to write songs . . . I even toured a bit with my own stuff. I have gotten many compliments, many unsolicited, about the songs I wrote. I never take time to write any more. Why? Well there is always work. And then family time. And the rest that needs to happen because of all the work and family time. Etc.

But as I read that paragraph it becomes clear. I never take time because . . . well . . . I never take time.

My dad once told me that he has no regrets in life. He has done everything he's dreamt to do. He is only 62. But he told me that about 8 years ago. How in the world did he do that? I guess the short answer is . . . he found time to do it.

Time is what you make it. My dad also says the phrase "shoulda, coulda, woulda . . . built a lot of bridges". I am not sure he's saying that right but whenever I hear the words "I should of . . ." or "I could of . . ." I think of that concept.

Well, here goes another try. And new leaf. I am taking a new job in a new city in a new country. I have a chance to wipe the slate clean and try again. Will I do it? Perhaps. Will I fail? Most certainly. I pray that I find that important things and keep them important.

And live life with no regrets.

FWIW

Take it . . .

Check Out Our New Blog . . .

We are in the mist of moving. We want you to join us. I have started a new blog that will keep you up to date with our progress. The whole family will be submitting entries.

More news to come.

falkelog.blogspot.com

FWIW

Take it . . .

Q: How many . . .

. . . bass players does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None. The piano player can do it with his left hand.
FWIW

Take it . . .

Reconciled

I have just witnessed a miracle.

There were a handful of people present and I think I was the only one to see it . . . or at least the only one to acknowledge it at the time.

The miracle of reconciliation.

I got to see my aunt in a adult home just a couple of days ago. That isn't the miracle that I am referring too. But it is the jumping off point to an amazing story that I will never be able to do justice.

Helen has just moved here from Florida. She has just turned 80. She has white hair. She is very thin though they tell me she is putting on some weight. My uncle (Helen's brother) says now she is almost casting a shadow. She is missing many of her teeth and she doesn't always make sense of what is going on around her. But for the most part she seems well aware and even stills carries a quick sense of humor.

My father lives about 10 minutes from Helen. He checks in on her on occasion and makes sure her caregivers have what they need to tend to her. He is the one that brought me to see her on Tuesday of this week. He warned me that when I saw her I needed to keep in mind that she was tons better than when she first came in from Florida.

The place she is staying is a little farm that only has chickens and ducks. There is a pond and a lot of wide-open spaces. Helen stays with a couple other women who have their own set of needs. All in all it is very peaceful and Helen is doing really well. A great family. A great place to regroup.

When we pulled up and got out of the van everyone one was sitting in lawn chairs enjoying the cool early evening after a long hot summer day. Before dad could tell Helen who I was, she saw me, ran toward me with arms open wide shouting, "Why, that's my nephew!" and she gave me a great big hug. Dad and I were quite impressed . . . I hadn't seen Helen in almost 30 years.

Thirty years. That is a long time. But here is where that miracle comes in. My dad and his sister, Helen, hardly spoke to each other that whole time. A family rift. Deeper and wider than any other I have ever seen or experienced.

Dad stepped in to help a bad situation. He did a hard thing. He did the right thing. But the result was a broken relationship. Harsh words spoken . . . then no words at all . . . just an occasional "he said, she said" story from other family members.

Life went on and time passed by. Helen moved to Florida and news was sparse. But right around the end of last year we received word that things weren't going well for Helen. She was in a bad place and helpless. My dad's other sister went down to bring her north to be close to the family again. It was then we realized how bad it had gotten.

There is too much detail about what they found and it isn't the point of this entry. Suffice it to say, Helen's siblings literally saved her life on the eve of her 80th birthday. And she eventually ended up in this adult home.

The miracle?

I stood there and watched as my dad and his once estranged sister laughed together, picked on each other, hugged and even kissed each other. My dad would be talking to others there and Helen would slide up next to him and lay her head on his shoulder and chest . . . just to snuggle into a side hug.

At one point she turned to me and said that every time she looks at my father she just cries. I asked her why. As she pushed the tears way and wiped her nose she said, "When I look at him I realize how lonely I am . . . (pause) . . . and how much I love him."

She hated my dad for what he did. She was very bitter.

But now, she seems like one who has come to her senses. Peaceful, loving, caring, needy, open, compassionate.

I never thought I would see the day. But I did.

We said our goodbyes . . . a few times (that is where the kisses came in). As we were leaving and well into our dinnertime dad and I talked about the events of that late afternoon. His whole attitude was this . . . you always stand by family. There was a lot of water that went under that bridge. He is grateful for that bridge and for being on this side of it all. God is Good! Miracles never cease.

I will never forget that day. I thank God for being allowed to see my family mended is such an amazing way.

Wow!

For What It's Worth

Take it . . .

Hang On!

I finally found some time to sit and type.

And I have been dieing to do so.

I have had some moments of real awaking in the last few days. And they have been happening hard and fast. If you have ever tried to transcribe the events in one hockey game in real time . . . that is what it feel like for me to relay here what is been going on in my head, heart soul.

So hang on . . .

ForWhatIt'sWorth

I myself . . .

. . . am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.
- Augusten Burroughs

FWIW

Take it . . .

Circle of Firsts

Today was one of those eventful, non-eventful days.

Nothing big in the grand scheme of things. But there were big things for me.

Today, I decided to run a short errand on my motorcycle. Only it's not mine . . . just one I've borrowed for the week. From here on out I may refer to it as mine even though its not . . . yet. And for the record it is a 81' Honda Silverwing 500. It is in great shape and I have grown to love it.

Anyway . . . I decided to run a short errand on my motorcycle. As you may know, I have just recently gotten my licence (Check out Born to be Wild?!?) So, I guess that means I will be looking to find myself experiencing many firsts. Much like the ones to follow.

I had to go to the FedEx store which in our town is by the airport. The directions I was given were to take the freeway just one exit. Living in little towns I rarely get up above 45mph and have only been as fast as 60. The freeway is a full 65 which means you had better be going over 70 to keep up with traffic. This was the second full day that I had the bike and my confidence has been growing every day. So I decided . . . there is no better time then the present.

So off I went.

I came off the on ramp and there it was . . . in my review mirror. A, larger than life, orange 18 wheeler. He was in the right hand lane and was unable to cross into the left because there was car there. So, in a not so confidant thought, I said to myself "Gulp, there's no better time than the present."

So I gunned it.

I looked down at my speedometer and I was at 70 and climbing. I decided to let off and try and enjoy the ride. This is where I will note that my bike has no wind shield of any kind. And for some reason I prefer an opened faced helmet with goggle type glasses. There I was, hanging on for dear life waiting for the wind to take me flying back into that gigantic truck that "let" me out. I was grateful for the exit and couldn't get down to more manageable speeds.


I got to the FedEx place, I looked up and saw a very large, ominous cloud. There was also that eerie feeling in the air that you get right before a storm.


Let me back up. The online weather site that I go to said that there was a 30 percent chance of rain. I checked so that something like this wouldn't happen. I should have known better . . . but I guess it was a learning experience.

The woman in at the desk was very nice and rushed my transaction so that I could beat the storm. I almost did. As I got to the bike it was beginning to rain. And these were the huge rain drops.


I got on the bike and start back to town. I decided that I would ride home (which was closer at this point), change my clothes and return to work using the car.

The rain was sharp on my face. I drove really slowly. The wind was amazing.

As I came back into town I thought I would pull under a car port on a hotel and wait for a break. But also . . . as I came into town I found it to be less windy and I could get away with driving slower. I decided to continue homeward.

After going through the heart of the city I headed for the bridge brings us to our side of town. Just before I hit the bridge I was hit sideways with a big gust of wind. I regain control of the bike and questioned my decision. I crept along praying the whole way.

The bridge in town is long and has a curve to it. As I rounded the curve I watched the trees on the other side dancing in the wind. There was construction on the road below and all the dust and dirt that they were kicking up was being carried off and looked like smoke from a huge fire. I made it across the bridge and decided to take the first exit. I found myself in the middle of the off ramp waiting for cars held up by the construction with the storm just howling. I was starting to wonder if we were going to get hammered by falling branches from the trees above.

Finally, I made it home. I got dressed. I tried to shake off the events. And I headed back to work. Just as suddenly as the storm came . . . it left again. The sun was up the sky was blue. And I was kicking myself because the weather was great for riding again.

I heard later that night that the airport (and the FedEx store) was hit with hail . . . it pile up almost like snow . . . that was another bike riding first for me.

For What it's Worth

Take it . . .

Perspective

This past week I went to a funeral. It was for a father-in-law of someone I work with. It was the first funeral I've been to that I had a connection with (though it was slight) since my mom's passing (See entry on December 25, 2006.)

It was great service as funerals go. There were lots of folks there to pay their last respects and to support the family. But the point in the service that really struck me was at the end.

The pipe organ play very stately and they wheeled the casket out of the sanctuary. It was followed by the pole bearers and then the family. From my seat in the back row I saw the look on their faces.

Sad, lost, unsure . . . not wanting to be on display during their time of grief.

I was then transported to another moment. To that time I followed my mom out of the sanctuary in front of over 300 friends and family after a moving funeral celebration. My dad, my brother and I worked hard for this moment. Finding flowers, picking out a casket, calling relatives and friends, collecting pictures, make a video, planning other aspects of the service. But in that moment it was over. The momentum of the events prior culminated to this moment. A momentum that couldn't be stopped, pondered, cherished. A short time later they would place my mom's body in the ground on a dark rainy day . . . where all I was left with were the memories.

The thing is . . . the journey didn't start when mom took her last breath. Mom was sick for about 3 years before she passed. There were meds, trips to the hospital, good news, bad news, tears, holy moments. There the late nights and early mornings. Feeding tubes, crushing tablets, measuring morphine, slow walks to the bathroom, last words, pain, sweat, tears, hugs, "I love you's", "I'm proud of you's", more tears, more last words, waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

So the moment of walking out of the church following my mom was very poignant . . . it will continue to stick with me . . . will still bring the tears.

The ride is moving and there is no way to stop it. The clock still ticks . . . we continue moving into the future.

The idea of a airplane ride came to mind as I watched our friend and her family follow their loved one out to the waiting processional of flagged-marked cars.

When you are in mid-flight, when you are tens of thousands of feet in the air at cruising altitude and even if you are going hundreds of miles per hour . . . the trip goes by fairly slowly. Hills, lakes, other landscape features, clouds . . . they all go by at a crawl. And, if you are excited for your destination, that slowness makes the trip seem like it will never end.

But then you come closer to the ground. As you approach the runway you start to realize how fast you are going for real. The houses, trees, cars, highways all seem to grow right before your eyes. The landscape flies by the window at break-neck speeds.

In everyday life we often focus on the not yet. The if only, the better future. We can't grow up fast enough, get out of school soon enough, get to vacation, get to drive, get out of the house, etc.

But then . . .

That final walk down the isle changes our perspective. We painfully realize that our momentum from our striving days is carrying us farther into the future. We wake up to the things we are leaving behind . . . things that are oh too easily forgotten. We get the idea of how fast we are really going . . . and how short our time is here on this earth. There are no brakes, no pause buttons, no way to get off the plane.

So how can we keep that perspective in the normal days, in the striving days. I guess I am grateful for the times that remind me to cherish what I have while I have it. But how do I remember to do that . . . well, always. I guess I have a life-time to figure that out . . . however long that will be.

For What It's Worth

Take it . . .

Born to be Wild!?!

It is official. I am now a officially licensed to drive a motorcycle in the state of New York. Well, I guess I am licensed for all the states and Canada as well. But today was the day and it just proves that miracles never cease!

Here's the story . . .

I asked a friend, Howard, if I could use his bike for the driving part of the test test. He was going to be out of town so I asked another friend, Ron, to come with me during the test itself. (NY bike tests are done with the test giver sitting in a car that is driven by a driver who also has a motorcycle license. They give you instructions and they follow you to see how you do.) I had Ron meet me at Howard's at 9 this morning and the plan was to practice a bit and then go to the testing place in town.

Let me rewind.

I have always wanted my cycling license but never considered myself a biker. I am a piano playing, church kid who is more into music than sports or motorbikes. I have gotten many strange looks from my friends when I told them I wanted a bike who never thought I would be the type. After many years of thinking and dreaming, I walked in the Dept. of Motor Vehicles and asked to take a permit test. I passed and I was on my way.

I decided to sign up for a testing time immediately just so I would have a deadline and so I could get signed up for a test (I guess testing slots can fill up rather quickly). But I had a problem. I didn't (and still don't) own a bike to practice on. Finally, two weeks ago I asked yet another friend for some practice time on his wife's bike. We took a couple nights and rode around town together. I was shaky but had had some experience on dirt bikes as a kid so I wasn't a total novice. So, take it or leave it, I came to this week with a little practice time and the ability to do the required circles and figure 8s.

Fast forward to this morning.

Here is the scenario. The day was cold, windy and rainy off and on. I was told that the test giver sits in a warm car to watch you ride so if you are willing to ride in the rain he is willing to give the test. I met Ron at Howard's as planned and I practiced a few turns, starts and stops, etc. I was so frustrated because I couldn't get my circles or figure 8s. I practiced on the same size bike but it wasn't happening for me. After a while I got it . . . it was shaky but I got it. I told Ron we could go to the testing site. I didn't think my nerves would let me get it any better.

We arrived at the site and we waited for our turn. It finally came and I got on the bike. The test giver got in the car with Ron. I put my helmet on and went to start the bike . . . but it wouldn't start. It turned over but it would catch. I smelled gas and knew it was flooded. I then heard the car doors behind me and Ron said, "He is going to give the next test and said if it starts, leave it running and he will give me another try."

Well, I tried a few more times. Then Ron got on the bike and tried. And tried, and tried. Then it started to rain. I was at a loss as to what was going to happen. How was I going to take the test? When could I re-schedule? How were we going to get the bike back to Howard's?

Just as the last test was finishing we both realized that the kill switch was set to the "kill" position. We both felt dumb . . . Ron flipped the switch and "vroom", it started right up.

I said to Ron, "Don't tell him." And he, feeling as silly as I was said, "Don't worry . . . I won't say a word."

The test giver said to me "3 rights and then 2 lefts." It had stopped raining. I tried to focus on the maneuvering of the bike as calmly as I could. I took off . . . and lost count on how many turns I made. So as I went to make my 4th right I heard Ron honk his horn. I turned (not knowing what was happening at the time and thinking I had failed too badly to go on) only to see Ron was pointing to the left. I let a car go by, turned my left turn signal on and made my turn. And then the next.

Then I was told to make 2 right circles and 2 left circles. They were more like figure 8s (but the road was wider and I was much more comfortable with them . . . must have counted for something). Then I was told to return to the testing sight (1 right and a straight.) To my surprise and delight, he passed me. As I was signing the paperwork he looked up at the bike and said, "Ooh, you shouldn't have shut it off." I smirked to myself, kept writing and decided I wasn't going to tell him after all.

Why is it that most driving test givers are stern and seem like they don't have much of a sense of humor. Must be in the job description.

I asked myself as I drove the bike back to Howard's, "Am I born to be wild?"

I don't think I was . . . but I just might get the hang of it yet.

(My secret goal is to own a Harley Davidson by my 40th birthday. My wife thinks I am planning my mid-life crisis. I've got 3 more years to plan:).)

For what its worth.

Take it . . .

Times Like These . . .

Well it is 11pm on the eve of my 37th birthday. The family is asleep and all of the friends that came over tonight have gone home about an hour ago. And I am thoughtful. Retro and Introspective.

Next week I am taking my riding test for my motorcycle license. I stop working at my current place of employ in about 23 days. There is a for sale sign on the front lawn. I am just thoughtful.

A lot to think about really. This the first birthday I've had since mom died. Dad didn't call but that's OK because he gets home from Russia on Monday.

I work tomorrow . . . it is just a normal Saturday. Getting ready for the Sunday services. There are 4 left for me to get ready for.

I am a bundle of sadness and tiredness. Excitement and being afraid.

I must be driving the people around be absolutely crazy. I don't know.

What am I doing?

Where am I going?

Lost.

Little.

Strange.

Helpless.

Can't be.

But I am.

Funny how the little things can mount up. The can rise up and become overwhelm you. Then the next day . . . they can be gone. As little as you felt the day before.

Feelings . . .

ForWhatItsWorth

Take it . . .

Blog About Blogging

OK

I am just going to vent and repent (just made to up).

I am a very scattered individual. I am simple. I am easily distracted. Blame it on my learning disabilities during my school days. Blame it on the fact I am an artist/musician type. Perhaps it is because I am wired this way. Or maybe I am just plain lazy.

I blog when the muse is upon me . . . and I am in front of the computer . . . with nothing else pressing needing to get done . . . and . . . well, the excuses do mount up. I do intent to write more and have best intentions. We will see.

Then, inevitably, I get asked if I have read other's blogs. I feel like a total heal because all of the above has to be true in order for me to get around to it.

I am not a reader. Amazing isn't it. I am a skimmer. I get the gist . . . and move on. I type like there is no tomorrow but I would hate to read all those words. You would think that I wouldn't write as much. I am a bit of an enigma that way.

Let me make something very, very clear. To all those who read this blog and write your own . . . my lack of keeping up to date isn't that I care/love you any less. I would rather spend the afternoon chatting over coffee or some other equally enjoyed hot or cold beverage. To have time to discuss views on life, stories of the past, hopes for the future and events in the present. That is what I would rather. Face to face communication.

I know that can't always happen . . . or in some case it can never happen. But that is what I would rather. Time, life, location, and other factors hinder that type of interaction. It is what it is. My hope is that heaven will be one big chat session. Fire place, beverage, all the time in the world . . . well sort of . . . all the time out of this world.

Failing that I will do my best to keep up. I have no course of action. I am secretly hoping that intention counts for something. You are all important to me . . . enough to read . . . enough to write. But realities keep that from happening.

Hear my heart and thanks for understanding.

FWIW

Take it . . .

Rehabilitating Friends

Yesterday I had the opportunity to play piano for a friend's wedding. I haven't played a wedding in a while. Needless to say, I was a little nervous. In my current position, no one has thought of me as a possibility to play. And, frankly, I am fine with that. Weddings usually turn out to be those bitter sweet gigs. You are glad you had a part (if people getting married are friends) but a lot of times they can be a hassle.

A few weeks ago I got a call from my long-time friend, Kyle. They, he and his new bride, Jenny, had all the details nailed for the wedding but something fell through with the ceremony music. He asked if there was any possibility that I was going to attend and if I could play. I was able to switch some work stuff around and I made it happen. The ceremony was elegant yet simple. It was a great wedding (and I didn't play half bad either . . . if I say so myself. But that isn't the reason for this blog.)

Let me back up a bit. Kyle is a long time friend. He was, back in the good old days, a teenager in the youth group I was in charge of so many moons ago. (Boy, was I feeling old yesterday.) For some reason, Kyle and I connected and our friendship continued beyond those youth group years. In fact, it seems I have a connection with his whole family. Which brings me to my point of this blog.

The wedding was at my former place of employment/church. I worked there for about 11 years not counting an 18 month stint in Queensland, Australia. So going to this wedding was almost like going to a family reunion. Many of the guests and those in the wedding are my very good friends. We had a very long history together.

Many moments of laughter as well as tears.

Happy times.

Angry times.

Indifferent times.

Time taken for granted.

That is until a time like this. It was uncanny how we all wanted to make sure we were all going to the reception to hang out together. None of us wanted to lose that moment. And when I decided it was time for me to take the 3 hour drive back home it took me another hour to say good-bye.

Hugs.

Tears.

Laughter.

More hugs.

"Hopefully we will see you soon."

I drove into the night with a strange warm feeling in my heart. It wasn't strange to have the feeling . . . it was one I had before. It was just strange to feel it right then. I kept thinking to myself . . . I had a great time.

I was at peace.

It is like seeing a good movie.

An unexpected day off.

An email from a long lost friend.

It is a time like that you remember all the things you forgot that you . . . well forgot. You remember the treasure of a friend (or many of them). Your self-worth gets refocused. But most importantly, you realize a little more how fast time flies and how precious a life is.

Why does absence make the heart grow fonder. Why can't we learn to love people when we are with them. Or, to be more accurate, why can't we remember how much we love people when we are with them.

As I read over this entry I keep thinking of a computer. Well, more accurately, a Windows PC. Sometimes my computer starts acting really strangely, doing things it never has done before. Those of us with any experience with PCs know that the first rule of thumb . . . the first step to any tech support call . . . reboot the machine. When you do that it clears out all the "junk". All the pieces of program code that are floating around in there that are messing with normal operations.

I see absence as a way of rebooting the friendship processors. You forget the bad, angry, not happy times that muck up the proper operations of how we relate to our friends. It gives us a fresh start. And it is a good thing.

A very good thing.

I am sure there is more I could dissect out of this. No sense in over analyzing.

To all my friends at Crosswinds . . . I love you dearly . . . I miss you immensely. Thank you for such a refreshing time! Until we meet again. (Hopefully soon.)

And congratz to Kyle and Jenny. Have fun in Disney World!

God Bless

Anything too stupid . . .

. . . to be said is sung.

- Voltaire

F.W.I.W.

Take it . . .

In the beginning there was nothing . . .

. . . God said, 'Let there be light!' And there was light. There was still nothing, but you could see it a whole lot better.

- Ellen DeGeneres

FWIW

Take it . . .

There are two kinds of light . . .

. . . the glow that illuminates, and the glare that obscures.

- James Thurber

F.W.I.W.

Take it . . .

I gotta work out.

I keep saying it all the time. I keep saying I gotta start working out. It's been about two months since I've worked out. And I just don't have the time. Which uh..is odd. Because I have the time to go out to dinner. And uh..and watch tv. And get a bone density test. And uh.. try to figure out what my phone number spells in words.

- Ellen DeGeneres

FWIW

Take it . . .

Try as hard as we may . . .

. . . for perfection, the net result of our labors is an amazing variety of imperfectness. We are surprised at our own versatility in being able to fail in so many different ways.

- Samuel McChord Crothers

FWIW

Take it . . .

It takes hundreds of nuts . . .

. . . to hold a car together, but it takes only one of them to scatter it all over the highway.

- Evan Esar

FWIW

Take it or . . .

If you don't say anything at all. . .

. . . then you can't say something nice.

Sheila Neff
Worship Arts Assistant

FWIW

Take it . . .

You can't wait . . .

. . . for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.

- Jack London

FWIW

Take it . . .

We know what happens . . .

. . . to people who stay in the middle of the road.

They get run over.

-Aneurin Bevan

F.W.I.W.

Take it . . .

When we remember . . .

. . . we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.
-Mark Twain

F.W.I.W.

Take it . . .

Brain Ramblings & Dumpings

The following is a mental dump. A form of puke on a page (sorry . . . a bit graphic.) I thumbing through a note book I had and I found some pencil scratches I wrote while flying on a plane to West Bank, British Columbia to lead a worship conference last month. Not sure why I'm sharing it. It is not where I am today. But it is how my mind works in general . . . in fits and spurts. The English language forces me to craft my thoughts in to fluid sentences. So here they are in raw form. Like always, for what it's worth . . . Here it goes.

I don't like it.
Hate!
But what . . .
What is it that I hate?
What forces the bad, the cynicism to bubble up?

I'm tired
I'm sleepy
Hollow, really
Not dead
Just . . . no living?

Why?

I was just recently alive
Happy
Warm
But all is gone . . . far away

Too tired . . .
. . . to love
. . . to care
. . . to continue

Would sleep fix the empty?
Rest to fill the gap?
All the sleep in the world won't take away the hate!

Weakness
Grief?
Darkness

Well . . . grief of course

Death is good . . .
. . . no more pain
. . . race well run
. . . no regrets . . . for her

Will that be true for me?
. . . well no pain of course
. . . but what of the race . . . the regrets

I have lists . . .
. . . expectations
. . . goals
. . . quality

ME?!?

Turn it around

Change the focus

Pan to the right

Zoom on You

How easy 'tis to skew the focus

OBEY

PEACE

PATIENCE

LOVE

REST

Help . . .

I cry . . .
. . . tears don't come
I die . . .
. . . but still live on
I wince in pain . . .
. . . no one sees
I search for new
. . . the old still breathes

Other Writings . . .

Just for an FYI.

I have been adding some writings onto another blog. If you are interested check out levantonline.org/blog/

F.W.I.W.

Take it . . .

Wisdom . . .

. . . is what's left after we've run out of personal opinions.
- Cullen Hightower

FWIW
Take it . . .

I like nonsense . . .

. . . it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities.
- Dr. Seuss

FWIW (For what it's worth.)

Take it . . .

Dealing with the now . . .

Today I have finally made it into my office and am slowly wading thru the waters of the "after-holiday-stuff".

I sit here in disbelief. I can't believe my mom is gone (see next post). I literally watched her die and I can't believe it. I am in disbelief that God brought me through (us as a family through) the calling hours and the funeral. I feel like I was in shock the whole time and now, looking back, I can see how big and how grave it all was. Oh we celebrated. But it was huge in the saddness department.

I am in disbelief the I watched as my mom was slowly lowered into the ground with ten other men . . . on that peaceful hillside . . . in the rain. I watched as they covered her casket with the lid to the vault. I was numb. I was sad. I was proud of my mom. I was happy there was no more pain. I was lonely. I was lost. I was at peace. I was confused. I was tired.

I was in disbelief with the number of people that came to celebrate and grieve. They said there about 300 and that it was one of the biggest gatherings they have had for a furneral in a long time. My father couldn't believe the number of pastors that were there. From where I sat I felt like the room was full . . . not just with people. But with the quality of people and the depth of their love. Love for my mom and for the family that was close to my mom. We loved her well. We honored her well. I am so proud to be her son.

I guess that is the way of it. Short pangs of memories. And then release. The quick sharp realization that she is gone and then nothing. One tear drop. Then clear eyes. A thought then one to the next. Short entries . . . poignant but short.

FWIW