worth

granted, i know the free online dictionary is a relatively inauspicious place to start.  one of the definitions of “worth” is given as “the quality that renders something desirable, useful, or valuable.”  why start with “worth”?

the word “valor” has roots in the middle english-valur meaning “ Worthiness in terms of the chivalric virtues, nobility of character or breeding; also, spiritual worth” etc.  when i think of “valor” i think of bravery/courage but history suggests that it has it has a deeper meaning, one that relates to the source of valor, character.  ”valor” is characterized as something of value, something wanted, not always attained.  value is placed on limited resources. perhaps this is why we notice true valor.

when a flag is presented to the next of kin at a military funeral service the accompanying statement will vary by differing branches of the military, however, predominantly the following words are said: “on behalf of a grateful nation.”

i am writing this today to say that there is a grateful nation out here.

perhaps we don’t think about it enough.  the exclusivity and mysteriousness of military life edges us off a bit.  in these difficult economic times it’s hard to consider the sacrifices being made by the members of our armed forces and their families when many people are struggling to provide for their own families.  the conflicts in iraq and afghanistan have dragged on for so long now that i think many of us have set them somewhere in the back of our minds, with an automatic “replay” button for our sadness when we happen across the news.  the sometimes-public repercussions of ptsd are frightening, leaving us questioning our fellow americans.  i think we have created pedastals even as we edge away from the wounded, unsure what to say or how to act, our pity overflowing in our uncertainty, creating an even wider gulf.

but i think we recognize true valor. because we see the lack in ourselves. it is simultaneously humbling and startling to realize that there are still those among us who hold the qualities of “nobility of character” and will actually follow their mission through to the end. of course we aren’t all created or meant to rush into dangerous places, to risk our lives for the ones we love to that extreme.  but its still incredible when we see those qualities in others.  when we watch others willing to step up and take our place…

so, yes, even when we dont realize it..or when we dont show it…we are a grateful nation.

ask dad

“ask dad. he knows!”

my mom loves to quote that sign (from “it’s a wonderful life” if anyone else has paid close attention to the film) and its quite true.  dad’s know everything, right?  and if they don’t know they’ll usually figure it out.  or try to.  and then pound it through your thick head. ha.

not everyone has a loving father.  not everyone even knows their father.  and i, honestly, cannot even imagine.  i admire those people who grow beyond their own father’s abandonment or cruelty or absence-resolving to be better parents themselves despite their own personal loss.  its not about being a “better” person than your parent, its about making different choices, taking a different path. its a quiet triumph of overcoming “the odds”.  overcoming the person you might have become.

from the little i know from my adoption papers my birthfather was very unsupportive during my birthmother’s pregnancy.  he was at least the 2nd man she had children with.  i am sure he never intended to play a role in creating me.  that lack of interest, lack of support, lack of…well, any emotion that i am aware of is sad (on his part).  but he is not my dad-never has been, never will be.  so i am simply amused at the simplicity of which the person who helped create me could easily discard me as well.  his loss.

but not mine.  i got the better end of the deal.  i got my dad.  i dont think anything i could possibly say could even begin to scratch the surface of what an incredible person my father has been, still is and, I’m sure, will become.  even when he hasnt been able to understand me, he has always supported me.  he made a valiant attempt to teach me algebra (trust me, “attempt” is probably about the best word for it!), which makes him the bravest man i know.  he opened his heart and his home to 5 children, which makes him the most loving man i know.  he has been faithful and dedicated to his wife, my mother, for almost 30 years, which makes him the best example of a husband that i have ever known.  he has wholeheartedly given his children the best of everything, which makes him the most generous man i know.  he has worked hard at the same company for about 25 years, which makes him the best employee i know.  he has been a quiet, Godly, humble example to his family and friends, which makes him one of the strongest Christians I have known (my Mom being one of the others).  he has been willing to admit his mistakes and apologize when he was wrong, which makes him one of the most genuine people i have known.  he will laugh at Don Knotts movies, which makes him one of the people with the best humor that I have known.  he has never been ashamed to waltz my mom around the kitchen or bring home flowers for her, which makes him one of the most romantic men i know.  he has handled his finances wisely and taught his children to do the same, which makes him one of the most practical persons i  know.  he has gone over and aboveboard for the church, which makes him one of the most dedicated people i know.

i am sure there are so many other qualities i have left out.  so many other things to say.  so many memories come back when i write this of the things my dad has done for his family, the sacrifices he has made, the dreams he put on hold for us and the example he has been to everyone who knows him.  when i find the right person to spend my life with, i can only begin to hope that he has qualities even close to my dad.

but, somehow, im pretty sure that my dad will always be the best.  at everything.

going down

so i wonder what it felt like.  probably everything happened too fast to consider much.  i assume there was a rush of adrenaline and panic and fear and then….it was all over.  maybe you died then.  or later.  regardless, that was the end.  of everything you had known and hoped for and dreamed of.

so you went down in history as one out of 58,000.  in a war that divided the country you fought for.  if you had come home you faced a strong possibility of being spit upon or called a “baby killer” in the airport. for what? did you join or were your drafted?  regardless, you didnt run away. i dont know how you felt when you went.  but i know how it feels that you never came home. empty.

i am older than you were when you died.  by four years. if you had lived you would be just a little younger than my grandpa. i can vaguely imagine your face, wrinkled and smiling. i wonder what your life would have been like. i assume you would have married, had children, grandchildren by now.  somewhere, someone loved you. and you ended some of their dreams when you went down.

i dont think you had been there for long.  it was probably hot and sticky and nasty.  maybe a little like texas but i doubt anyone shot at you there too often.  i wonder what it was like, flying above everything.  im sure your view was a little different than the average ground soldier.  maybe everyone looked a little like ants.  or maybe you couldnt see much at all due to thick foliage.  i wish i had your memories at least.  or maybe i dont. i am sure you saw some horrible things.

but when you went down….i wonder what you thought.  i wonder if the faces of the ones waiting for you back home flashed in front of you.  or if you prayed desperately.  if you looked at your buddies and you read the terror in their eyes. or if you just said “shit”.  if you wondered for those seconds why….why you were there, why you had come to that place.  and as you fell towards the ground…where you were going?

i miss someone i never knew.  i wish you had come home safely. i wish the people who loved you never had to find someone standing on their doorstep to turn their world upside down. i wish your life hadnt ended so casually and cruelly thousands of miles from home.  i wish that, 41 years yesterday, you had kept flying.

i wish you hadnt gone down.

r.i.p derek wilkerson patrick. 05/14/1970.

(the picture is a random solider, i am not sure of his identity)

forever

hey buddy,

so, i think you quite possibly might be one of the sweetest people i ever met.

i wont ever forget you.  every step of my life.  every major move that i make, that you never got, you’ll be there.  in the back of my mind.  a constant reminder that i got a chance.  to think twice before i mess it up.  and, even if i do, to be glad that i lived to do it.

some people touch our lives because of the memories we share.  the conversations we have. the time we spend together. but if 7 hours can mean anything….well….those hours changed my life.  i miss you already.  part of me always will.

i am a better person for having known you.

i’ll see you on the other side, buddy.  sooner or later.

then it will be perfect.  whole.  and sound.

forever.

-Over death, over dread, over doom lifted
Out of loss, out of life, unto long glory- rotk

i miss you so much.

secret

in exhaustion and confusion

my caffeine saturated mind

struggles through muddles and mud puddles

blocking my synapses. or so it seems.

emotion melds with feelings

until the two are one, interlinking dna.

i am not sure if i am breathing correctly

or that my heartbeat is not too fast

or too slow.

all i know is that my secrets are too close

and drip down the walls of my heart

sickening me with their fear

and venturing into the unknown.

a shell of what has been

passing away within my view

but yet beyond those around me

and a dull awareness rises up

and clouds my vision.

when i sense myself, the shores of indonesia,i turn

and turn.

seeking the best comfort i know

and the solace of whispered words.

and then all that changed

i haven’t written here in quite some time.  it’s harder to get online beyond summary checks to my gmail and facebook now that i don’t have internet at home.   contemplating my last few blog posts i am astounded, as i have been often, at how quickly life can change. how circumstances go from bad to worse or good to better.  i am surprised that i didn’t lose my mind, have a complete nervous breakdown, return to bad habits or auction off my cat over the past two months.  they were long, scary, desperate, breaking months.  my moods were usually either “oh well, let’s ignore this until it’s absolutely necessary to notice” and “good lord in heaven, i’m going to be homeless!”  but i realized that, in crisis, you absolutely cannot think too far ahead. you take one day at a time. you take one breath at a time.  and keep going.  one of my posts i quoted death cab’s lyrics, “i’ll follow you into the dark.” and i considered that, thinking “yes, i’m following you into the dark, right over the edge of a cliff.”  but then one of the psalms came back to me. “ For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;  they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.” and i had a mental image of falling over the edge of a cliff but angels catching you mid-air.  it was beautiful.  yes, i questioned why i was in the situation i was in.  i wondered if i had done something wrong.  i wondered if God was wrong. but, at the heart of it all, there was a lot of peace.  that is still something i can’t quite wrap my mind around.

over the past two months i have been continually amazed by the generosity and kindness of both strangers, friends and family.  there are several close friends-K, L, A, J-who were really there for me to call or text when i felt like i wouldn’t be able to keep moving, that my situation was too overwhelming.  i wouldn’t have gotten through it without them.  there were several people who offered financial support. i got a gift card to buy groceries from a friend’s mom.  multiple people, even my cousin in Afghanistan, told me to come to them if i needed anything at all.  friends who were not in the position to offer financial support gave me food, offers of food, a place to sleep if my heat was turned off . . . above and beyond what i could ever have expected.  i am so deeply touched and grateful for their support, even in small ways.  it meant so much to me.

i am not convinced that the world is “good”.  i am not convinced that “people are good at heart”.  we aren’t.  i have spent a lot of my time reading about the horrors of our past, what we are capable of inflicting on one another and the violence that encompasses all of us.  i have spent hours and hours talking to friends and mere acquaintances who have lived through abuse and depression and horrific circumstances, barely making it out alive, rarely undamaged.  i have been convinced that the world is a mad, cruel, cold place.  that humans are black, vicious and filled with self-centered motivations.

but sometimes, as within the past two months, i see the beauty, the brightness, the wonder, the compassion and the best that we have to offer one another.  i see the impression God has left.

and it’s pretty incredible.  in the end, it changes me.

blue and white

Dear HC,

I think I am finally ready to write this post.  To tell you exactly what I think of you and where I am, three years later.  I am slowly able to extract your good from all the bad.  Not many people understand that.  Then again, there are more of us that lived through your halls and under your ivory tower who can relate.  You and I probably were not a good fit, to be an entirely honest.  But I don’t regret our relationship.  I learned a lot during those few years.  The most important thing I learned was how to think for myself.  Strangely enough, that enabled me to disagree with you on many points.  I like to think that even if you as a whole would disagree, that certain among you would be proud of that fact alone. That you taught me to become my own person.

I was not puzzled by you in the least.  Not in the beginning.  You fit into everything I knew and had been brought up to perceive and believe.  Like I read later, my parents and I were a “good fit intellectually.”  You were right on in that diagnosis.  I was prepared for your morals and conservative ways.  More than prepared, I expected such.  Like any first time participant I craved your orderly ways and ideals.  They belonged to me in a way I never understood.  They had been knit into my heart and soul and I fit right into your cookie cutter.  I belonged to you immediately.  That was probably the first, and last, time I was yours entirely.  Slowly we grew apart.  I tore myself free in confused anger when I realized our differences.

Naïve.  I admit it.  I really was.  I suppose I expected you to be perfect.  And you held up a standard I had tried to achieve for years.  Like I said, it was familiar.  Both of us fell short of one another.  You, impenetrable bastion, could have cared less and moved on, oblivious to wind and rain.  But I, resenting your perfect walls and glossy surface, turned against you.  I began to look only for your faults.  They were not hard to find.  Your blatant hypocrisy, claiming a standard of freedom and yet de-humanizing and de-constructing those who questioned you.  Your blind eye to inequality, yet your swift sword of “justice” was quick to strike those who may risk a blemish on your smooth skin.  I watched you tear apart those I loved because you were afraid of them.  Your past experiences had traumatized you to the extent that you acted first, questioned later.  It’s safer that way, yes?

Tragedy often deepens our questions and shakes our foundations.  I’m sure you asked yourself what went wrong with AE but, regardless, you moved on as hastily as possible, desperate to get out of the danger zone.  I never forgave you for that.  Nor for S or for A.  I watched you steamroll over them as well. They were not worth the price of your reputation.  I guess I can’t say that I blame you.  Most of us lived up to your ideals or were really good at pretending to toe the line.  It was easy to ignore the actors. I think we all learned some theatre skills with you.  But when we stumbled with our lines or came in on the wrong cue you didn’t know quite what to do.  Like a director whose star performer falls off the stage and breaks a leg, who could replace us or fix us?  Not you.  Nor did you feel called upon to do so.  Your only ability was to sweep us out of view as quickly as possible.  In retrospect I pity you.  Your fear distorted your good intentions and you only caused deeper harm than intended.  I can forgive you for that.  Fear makes us lose our perspective.  I think you lost yours.

But I lost mine as well.  I allowed my resentment and bitterness to grow into a full-fledged grudge.  I could not look past that to the best of what you gave me.  Myself.  You gave me the opportunity to pursue the best that God, life, the world has to offer.  You wanted me to find out for myself, to discover and learn from the greatest minds throughout history.  I was lucky enough to tap into some of your more diverse views that caused me to examine my own cloned thoughts a little more closely.  You shook me to my very core and I came out bruised but not broken.  You gave me two years with one of the most incredible individuals I was lucky enough to meet and learn from.  I had opportunities to listen and learn and consider from some of the brightest minds of our lifetime.  Incredibly enough, I sat next to, ate with and lived with some of the most unique individuals I have and probably ever will meet.  You pushed me harder than I ever thought possible and, when we parted ways, I was a better person for having known you.  Our relationship was by no means honest and open.  However, the superficiality that you showed me was cracked open quickly enough for those of us who were perceptive.  And despite your faults we could all see that, at your heart, you had the very best intentions and offered us your goodness and truth.  For that I am very grateful.

So, here’s to you, HC.  To our memories together. To some of the most miserable years of my life.  To the lessons that I learned.  To the people that I met.  To the late nights and early mornings.  To the grey, cloudy days.  To the apple fritters and Postal Service.  To the twisting sidewalks. To the empty days. To car rides in the moonlight.  To your busy hallways and familiar faces.  To the ridiculous amounts of work we all did. To the lack of sleep.  To the love that I gave. To the dark days.  Ultimately, to the person you made me.  To your blue and white, I salute you.

 

i’ll follow you into the dark

I feel tired again.  I think I’m always tired.  Of so many things.  I’m afraid that if I let myself think too much the sick feeling in my stomach will tumble over the edge into insanity.  I think I need help.  But I’m getting all that I can.  I’m afraid that God isn’t listening, even though everyone says that he is. I think they tell me in whispers to believe or maybe he won’t act.  Maybe God hates the unbelievers.  If that’s true, well I’m fucked, yeah?  If God’s power depends on my faith then I don’t think he is God.  The God I believe in exists regardless of what my mind says.  Or even my heart.  The heart is deceitful, right?  I can’t trust my heart to tell me that God is real or even my mind.  I trust that God is real and, you know, if he isn’t, well, I didn’t live my life in vain.  Everyone has to believe in something, even if they claim it’s “nothing”.   I believe despite myself.  I believe despite what everyone has fed me recently.  All the “easy” things to say about praying and believing my situation is for the best.  Or even the people who leave me to God alone.   I’m not sure if we pray to the same God.  I don’t know why this is happening.  I don’t understand why I don’t have an answer.  I am afraid of the dark.  But, I suppose that’s what I’m doing.  Following you into the dark.

it is well

ive always loved that hymn.  i think most people know the story behind its creation.  horatio spafford penned the now famous hymn after several tragic events in his life, namely the deaths of all his children.  focus on the family did an adventures in odyssey episode about the history behind the song and it always makes me cry when i listen to it.  its startling to me that anyone could be so . . . confident . . . after losing so much.   i dont think its a healthy habit to compare our troubles to others. everyone knows the feeling.  the “oh it could be worse” line.  when you are fretting and worrying about your own life you’ll hear about a great calamity that has come upon a friend or thousands killed in a natural disaster on the other side of the world and, naturally, you feel somewhat ashamed of your own problems.  i suppose it is important to keep things in perspective.  but its also not healthy to constantly minimize and not deal with your own struggles and troubles.  its easy for me to read the story of horatio spafford and think “geez, what am i complaining about, i didnt have four children die tragically and suddenly.”  but i suppose that for him to say “it is well with my soul” is not to say that he wasnt devastated, depressed and horribly saddened.  i assume that he and his wife, anna, mourned those losses the rest of their lives. nothing could have replaced their children.  but i think that the point of the message is that nothing could touch his salvation, his soul.

i think loss and grief and depression and crisis can trouble our souls deeply.  i think they can allow us to question God, to question his goodness and power.  i think we can become angry with God.  i think we can feel like we’re wading through a deep pit of mud, that we’re going under.  i would guess that horatio and anna spafford felt similarly upon the deaths of their children.  but despite all of that.  despite our anger or bitterness or grief or lonliness or desperation .  . . that does not change the work of the Holy Spirit.  it does not change our salvation.  it does not change the work of Jesus Christ.

the spafford daughters were all killed in a shipwreck.  anna spafford was the sole survivor of her family on the ship.  she sent a now famous telegram to her husband to inform him of her survival.  ”saved alone”.  i guess, that, good or bad, that is what it comes down to.  regardless of what we have.  how much money we have.  how many material possessions. how good we are. how stable and well behaved our children end up. how great our marriages are. how accomplished we are in the world.  that is how our salvation rests. “saved alone”.  we are saved with nothing we can bring.  not because of anything we have done or can give.   our salvation is Jesus pulling us out of the shipwreck of life.  pulling us out of a disaster that we cannot possibly fathom or even contribute to our own rescue.   we are pulled out of that wreck, sometimes without even the clothes on our backs.  because, again, nothing can touch our souls.

our feelings, our “performance” does not affect how Jesus loves us. it does not affect his work on the cross and his resurrection from the dead.  it does not give us a better “spot” in heaven or leave us just hanging around the very gates of heaven.  coming from someone who struggles horribly with depression and despair and dark feelings, that is an unbelievable comfort to me.  to know that no matter what life throws at me, no matter where i am at, no matter how bad i am feeling that my salvation rests at the foot of the cross, in the hands of Christ, in the merit of Jesus Christ.  not in what i have done or have failed to do.

that my soul is untouchable.

No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,/Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

unto the victors

goes the glory, honor and praise forevermore. amen.

i am not attempting to mock the Lord’s prayer here.  just trying to make a point.  a very serious one.  that if you don’t know by now you ought to learn. history is shaped by those who win the wars.  unless you live under an extremely oppressive government that controls the input/output of information.

war. a subject i have been considering lately. to quote a brilliant piece of wwii american propaganda, why (do) we fight?  before anyone gets fired up by the use of that term, let me clarify.  the merriam webster dictionary defines propaganda as:  : ideas, facts, or allegations spread deliberately to further one’s cause or to damage an opposing cause.  and, let’s face it, we did just that during wwii (as it relates to “why we fight”).  you won’t hear any complaints from yours truly.  all’s fair in love and war, right?

or is it?  before anyone thinks i am rushing madly down the path of pacifism, i don’t think we’ll ever cross that bridge.  i believe too strongly in concepts of justice and the pursuit of peace.  and sometimes peace is only accomplished through conflict.  ideally, war is a means to an end.  may the best man win and, hopefully at the end of the day, the overall situation is better and some justice has been served.  as a Christian, i also believe that war will always exist in an imperfect world. the most i can say is a heartfelt “come quickly Lord Jesus”.

but the story does go to the victors.  anyone who knows me well is well aware that i have always been an avid little history bug, particularly wwii history.  i have immersed myself in battles, ration cards, german military terms, resistance groups, political ideology, sunken battleships, barbed wire and horrific violence, murder and death.  the cruelty and depravity that we are capable of was impressed upon me at a young age.  as was the heroism and commitment to human life exhibited by a great many people.  i was convicted of our depravity yet not assured of our lack of humanity.  i still cling to that image in the broken mirror, i believe in the law of God being written on our hearts.  history shows clear violations of those laws and also a willingness to die before breaking those laws.

just as that image in the mirror, the dr jekyll and mr hyde of ourselves, so goes the story of war.  the stories of history.  there is never any clear “white” and “black”.  the wars are never against a complete blackness struggling with a shining white.  and in our haste to consolidate our victories and abscond ourselves of the blackness within . . . we have often painted over the enemy with one big bottle of “midnight ebony” nail polish.  just coated over that picture.  we have forgotten that we do fight against flesh and blood, we fight against our brothers and sisters.  again, i truly believe war is a necessary evil, i do.  however, i hesitate at the history i have been taught.  of the black picture that i, and many others, have been handed. of an all consuming evil that has swept aside fellow members of the human race.  i believe in justice.  that when crime has been committed that recompense should be made and/or justice served.  i support the death penalty (another entire post right there).  i am not trying to take a bleeding heart approach to this subject.

my argument is that, at the end of the day, perhaps we should know why we fight.  and, yes, of course the facts will be skewed sometimes and the picture deeply colored.  but it is our responsibility to come to the most logical and best understanding of the situation that we can.  and that we ought to take another look at history.  to forgive is not to forget.  we must never forget some of the truly great evil that has been done, both by ourselves and by our enemies in multiple wars, particularly within the past 130 years or so.  but in taking another look at our history we can do our former enemies the honor of acknowledging their humanity.  to restore the reputations of the innocent.  God judges to the third and fourth generations of those who hate him, that is not our job.

history is a little studied subject by the average person nowadays.  it is deemed not as important because it involves old, mouldy topics and people who have since come and gone.  but, particularly as we have so often been the “victors” over the past 130+ years, i believe we owe it to those who fought and often died for us and to those who fought against us to truly understand and appreciate what genuinely happened.  to not simply accept old propaganda or messages handed down to us.  we have accepted the honor, glory and power.  maybe it’s time for us to accept the truth as well.

and what is the truth?  read. listen. watch. talk. find out.