Living Hazzardously

Little pieces of our journey with Jesus

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The Father Puzzle

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The Father Puzzle

The cool thing about a puzzle is when it’s all done! Raising boys is definitely a challenging puzzle, 955,152,000 pieces to be exact. That’s how many seconds of intentional fatherhood I have had before the final piece was put on the table with a good meal and a long goodbye yesterday. After we said goodbye to Alex, Miranda, Sophia and the soon coming next baby, I held her hand and heard the tears drip from her face.  I sat next to Jess, and we realized its completeness. Jacob is in Wyoming and has set in roots that will likely keep him there, Chris flew the coop many years ago to Hawaii and Germany, never to return. Alex and Mir are now driving into a new chapter of life out west. And of course, Sam flew to his final resting place only a couple years ago. Although the puzzle is never truly complete, there is a time when we don’t have the puzzle at our house anymore and they start building it at their house, with their own pieces. I guess this is called “empty nesting”, I call it “I’m not ready yet”.

Even though Alex flew the coop many years ago and started his own life, Alex moved “close” before Jacob spread his wings and landed in Cheyanne. I’ve always had a son close at hand to help me. A son to teach my trade and new skills. Now it’s a phone call, text message or a zoom meeting to say hello. No more daily hugs for this old coot. No more sitting and watching my son driving down my driveway for our daily job. No more escorting me while I drive a massive crane truck home. No more “Good morning kid”.

955,152,000 Seconds

15919200 minutes

265320 hours

11,055 days

363 months

30.25 years

Only 44,848 ,000 seconds short of one billion. That’s less than 1.5 years. That is how long I have been performing “dad” duty. Today was my last day teaching my sons face-to-face, don’t get me wrong, I still have Al. But Al will never run a saw, install ductwork, braze a line-set, run a truck weighing in over 50k pounds or pull a trailer. How does a father transition from the one thing he has done every day for over 30 years to being a distant father, teaching over a phone or a text? It’s all I really was good at for my entire life, or maybe I should say “It is the only thing I took so seriously that I never wanted to retire” (aside from my marriage to Jess). I love teaching trades to my boys more than pretty much anything, including ice cream.

I have been choking back my ever-increasing emotions for days and weeks. I have been physically sick and lacking sleep. Is this NORMAL? I mean, do all fathers feel like this when the last son moves away? When you realize that not even one wants to live nearby? My sons have learned these lessons of independence well! They have become dedicated husbands, leaders and critical thinkers. Each one has struck out on a path and has no plans of returning to my basement for the video game console and pizza rolls. I wanted to do the same thing. When I was their age, I wasn’t able to move nearly as far as I wanted to. I was held in a town where my life was torture (aside from my boys), I was stuck doing what I thought I was supposed to do, “Make a happy life” and shut up! I was never encouraged to provide what the Lord put on my heart for my family. Jess has emboldened me to strive and become successful as the Lord leads us. This was the final piece of being a father, teaching my sons to lead with a faithful wife.

So why do I feel this way? Isn’t this exactly what I did? … Absolutely!! And it is exactly what I taught my boys to do… I am so proud of all the boys, striking out, flexing independence and living the dreams I had for them, starting over 30 years ago. 

But don’t you still have one son? Living at home? Well, that’s a great question, and the answer is definitely a resounding yes. But I can’t teach Al to build a family, provide for his wife, lead his children in the paths of righteousness… I can teach Al to water the dogs and not make a mess, I can teach Al to clear the table before he wipes the table. I can even teach him the finer things in life like a quiet campfire (but not lighting it) and a cool evening… but I can’t expect Al to write a killer resume for a pastoral position or how to sacrifice oneself for the family he is responsible to provide for. It’s not that I can’t help Al to become, as he puts it, “more independent” by making a good choice to not get mad when someone else gets a larger french-fry than he did. 

God gave me a unique perspective in life. Here is a little history for you to help see this generational journey. I don’t know much about my father’s father aside from he was a very cruel drunkard. There is a story about how my grandfather brought my father and his brother into the BWCA (a wilderness area in northern Minnesota) when they were pre-teens. He dropped them off on the shore and told them he would be back because he needed to run into town for a few more supplies…after a week (actually I was told it may have been two weeks) he returned, broke, hungover and in a complete loss of time. My father was very abusive as well. I remember a day that I was “disobedient” while I was skiing, and I went into a puddle. My punishment was to stand outside in my white briefs and ski boots that night until I learned to respect him. Or the day I was preschool aged, and I was “afraid of the dark basement” so my father locked me into the basement (no lights) until I stopped screaming (to this day I still have a fear of the dark). I remember screaming until I was horse, and it was no longer a choice to be quiet or scream.

With this being told, I remember a conversation with my father. My father was telling of some stories of about his father, he told me he was trying to do better than his father did. That day, my father passed on his legacy to me… My father’s legacy that I have passed on to my sons is simple, “Do better than I did with your children”. I have tried, I have failed many times, but I have also succeeded, by God’s grace. 

In conclusion of this blog post, I admit I am falling short in many areas of life, I also think I am doing pretty darned good in others. When my life is complete, I want one thing at my funeral to be read… “His father’s legacy was to do better with my children, and I did!”

My story will now continue with a new challenge in life, to help Al become as independent as he can be. To help Al achieve in his life all that I can teach him so he may become the best man he can become. You see, the legacy will continue, it’s just a different type of puzzle with Al, it’s a puzzle Jess and I will always work on, one piece at a time, together. But we will never actually complete this puzzle or pass this puzzle on to Al to build by himself.

May Gods amazing Grace fill your heart today in whatever the struggle.

How can a day change the lives of so many? Or Vertigo, party of one?

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How can a day change the lives of so many? Or Vertigo, party of one?

The early morning is by far my favorite time of day, everything is waking up, stretching and yawning as the sun starts its daily pilgrimage across our late winters sky. This was just another normal Sunday morning, the cool temperatures of our bedroom calling to me as the sky was still and quiet, even Drax was calm last night. I woke at my normal time, it’s Sunday, 4:15 am. The stars seem to be just a few inches outside my window, so close I could smell the spinning colors of the night sky. Wizz… zipppp… buzzzz….. Ohh goodness, I’m going to PUKE!!!! That was how my morning started yesterday, spinning colors of stars and moon, twirling like a demented ballerina twisting on her brain piercing toes and portraying the most horrific sequence of blurring, twirling, spinning visuals, the most detestable sights imagined.

Yes, I lay in bed wishing the world were not tormenting my every thought and making my every move a sequence of gut-wrenching experiences and vivid examples of torture. It’s Sunday, I blog on Sunday mornings, but this morning was having none of that. Instead, I lay in bed… counting the time…. 4:20…4:30… 4:45… 5:15, it is now time to wake up Jess. “Hunny?” I called from the pillow “Jess? I can’t get out of bed, it’s time for you to get up” with her deepest concern as she tried to wake up. “Are you ok” all I can muster is one more word “vertigo”. My day was pretty rough, but we did make it to church and back home. 

I had planned to blog about the days that led to Jess and I making the final decision to move away from everything we knew and land on this little 40 we now call home, but today I was not able to do much more than not fall over. 

I remember the day very clearly, we were having a normal day, or so we thought. Al was outside doing what he does best, looking for stuff. We had seen a few frustrating situations in the past but today we discovered we could not keep Al safe, safe from himself. As Jess watched today unfold like a nightmare, I stood by trying to understand the un-understandable situation, she started to get weak in the knees and I tried to hold her up, and Al was thinking this was a most excellent adventure, it was so fun for him. 

Let me set the scene: We lived about 800 feet from a busy commuter highway in Chanhassen, this highway carried thousands of commuters to the cities and back every day, but the buffer of elevation and trees made our home almost invisible and certainly not effectively bothered by the busy road. It was a perfect balance of convenience and sheltered quiet from the road. Next to us was an old gravel pit that seemed more like a miniature forest, a place where Al could explore and look and find all sorts of things like melted plastic mower housings, melted aluminum window frames, piles of wood, trees and rocks scattered around the winding path that lay just below the abandoned railway, but now was actually an abandoned bike trail. It was surprisingly quiet, and solitude was never begging but rather it was easily found with a comfortable spot in the backyard. 

This particular day, Al had the great adventure planned out and was implementing this marvel of fantastical fantasy. As he snuck into Jacob’s room and poked around in Jacobs’ surprisingly well-organized trunk, Al found exactly what he needed. He quickly snatched it up, tucked it into his clothing and slipped unsuspectedly out the door and down to the highway where he would make his great mission a completed quest for this adventure of great delusion. After he was done, or perhaps because he had a sense that he should stop, he slipped back into Jacob’s room and returned this great prop that was so well suited to his wondrous fantasy, now being complete in this quest, Al was back outside, and we would never know what he had been up to… or so he thought.

A few minutes later, this fantasy played out to Jess and me, she was almost ready to collapse. You see, this item that Al took was a plastic airsoft pistol (not supper real looking) and the way we found out was a swarm of 9 police cars screaming up the driveway and chasing Al down and cuffing him. All the time, Al thought he was the “Head of the Bloods and the Crips.” (Rival gangs in Las Angeles Ca.) For some unknown reason, Al thought that he was the leader of these two rival gangs. The Cops were chasing him down because he was waving a gun around at cars on the highway during rush hour.

I remember the look on Als face as he sat in the back of the car, admitting to this and so much more, like his gang colors (a sweatshirt covered in marker) his bandana that was part of his “attire of ganging stuff” and his communication with this gangs by means of microscopic messages written on tree bark by the highway. 

I remember holding Jess that night and I remember these words… “I can’t keep him safe here!”

We bought a 13-foot fiber-glass camper and started driving, looking for a new home, a safe home, a quiet 40 where Al could finally be away from the people’s stares, the hustle of the cities and be safe when life gets out of control and starts to control what we think. I had bought that little house in Chanhassen to live out my days as a bachelor, as a grumpy old man working on my motorcycle in my living room and sleeping whenever I pleased, but now, I am a stepdad and moving into the middle of nowhere to keep our Al safe, with no regrets, we moved.

I am pretty sure there is at least one gray hair with Als name on it, somewhere up there, as few as there are nowadays. My hope is to offer someone encouragement that God is in control, and If you dont feel like therre is his presence in your life, ask him today for his comfort.

May God’s love for you guide your footsteps and fill your heart as much as mine is filled tonight as I sit and finally scribble out this post.

Enlightened? Party of one!

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Cash! Like the man in black, Johnny Cash.

That is my best guess at how he got his name, the “best doggone dog in the north”

When Jess and I first started dating I got a dog named Cash, he was a German Shepherd Dog and he had a few training issues, some of which I was never fully able to resolve, he was over two years old when I got him. Cash was bold, he was not the type of Dog you could just walk up to, he needed time to calm down, but after that he was so sweet and so trustworthy…. The problem was it was on his timetable. I have a very dear friend, a big “tough guy” that loves dogs as well, but he never fully trusted old Cash, even years later.

Al met Cash and immediately cash liked Al. I never had to worry about Cash and Al. They were best buds almost instantly. So this big GSD liked Al? Well, kinda not really actually. Als mannerisms were a language to a Dog that is hard for us humans to understand. The way Al moved and held his hands in relation to his body made Cash lay down and pee every time we went to visit. That’s right, Cash would lay down and pee all over Jess carpet whenever he was around Al… It took me a bit of watching to understand just why my “BIG GSD CASH” would cower and pee with Al but with my “BIG DOG LOVING FRIEND”, Cash would nip and show some level of dominance and aggression. 

There I am, learning about Al and Cash. I have had many dogs and I am pretty good about reading body language, aggression and submission. Al on the other hand did everything “wrong” in showing control, dominance and hierarchy. Al would stand over cash, arms raised and “lunge” back and forth (at least that’s what Cash thought). For Al, this was just his mannerism and Als normal daily stims, but to Cash? Al was the boss, the “alpha”, I watched closely at every interaction, making sure to read the body language of Cash and prepared to jump in and “save” Al from what seems to me to be a very risky behavior. But never once did we see aggression displayed towards Al. Others? OHH YES! Other dogs? DEFINITELY!! (I worked on this for Cashes entire life, and we did resolve nearly all his issues)

As I learned and watched I also discovered a lot about Al and how to interact with Al myself. Al does not react the same as he did back then, I have worked with Al to not approach an unknown dog with hands in the air and lunge back and forth, never put your hands on top of a dogs head you don’t know and NEVER HUG a dog that you don’t know. All the things you are not supposed to do is what Al did with Cash… I think that GSD had a special sense with Al to know he should submit rather than attack. In my opinion, it’s nothing short of watching a miracle.

In my “black and white” world of simple right and wrongs, Al has blurred that defining line and helped me see from a blurry set of glasses that things are so often not what you may have determined to be as they really are…. Enlightened? Party of one!

Our Creator built a way in the minds of dogs to just “know” somethings, well, I suppose I am still learning every day. May God richly bless your day.