Living Hazzardously

Little pieces of our journey with Jesus

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Monsters under my bed

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Do you remember that book “monsters under my bed” I can like it was yesterday, but I’m not talking about imaginary monsters, these monsters are real!

I was watching some reels today and the theme of monsters kept coming up. One monster was explained from the book “Dante’s Inferno” where hell has “levels” and one level above Satan is betrayal… betrayal is the opposite of established trust. 

I am hard pressed to think of a monster more destructive than betrayal. 

The man who loses a son to a kidnapper, never seeing him again, recalling the night 40 years later. 

A botched abortion where the child is left to die on a cold winter’s day in the open window of a hospital. 

The woman groped as she served her customers in the restaurant.

The grown man discovers he was put up for adoption because it was “inconvenient” to his parents. 

Trust, betrayal… What makes a person betray the trust of another? I’m not perfect, and I too have a story of great betrayal of a friend’s trust. I am guilty of the worst type of betrayal, I know that side, it comes so naturally. I also know the other side of betrayal. I know the feeling of a friend stealing $20.00… I trusted this friend to buy me some “dope”, he simply took that money and avoided me… sounds petty? Well, betrayal comes in every form, and every time it hurts. Every time it sears our conscience, regardless of the roles we are in at the time. 

I stop, I pause and I think, what’s the worst form of betrayal? A friend over money? A co-worker telling lies or “twisting the truth” to advance his own status at work?  A law enforcement officer that doesn’t pursue ticketing of a pretty girl driving too fast but not letting that girl’s husband go as he is trying to get to work on time after the baby puked on him as he was headed out the door? 

Each of us have our own story, each of us have our own journey, each of us have our own “monsters under the bed”. How do we move past betrayal? How do we rebuild trust? How can we be trusted again? Should we….?

After nearly 19 years of a hard marriage, the man found underwear under his bed, they were not his, he knew what that meant, he was no fool. But he decided go on, believing the story that it was her brother’s underwear that got mixed in from the hunting season… . This man I will call Joe, knew in his heart what this meant, he decided “one more chance”… is he a fool? Over two years of cheating, it caught them both in the act, how many more lovers had there been. Joe counted at least 6 others, starting in the first of nineteen years.

 

As I learned of “Joe’s” story, I felt my heart break. Joe was not a perfect husband, he made many mistakes, he knew those mistakes all too well, but one thing Joe held on to after all those years, he said “I never gave up hope! I lost trust, I was betrayed by my closest friend, I did some stupid and hurtful things, but I never quit, I never gave up!”

I still talk to this man I call Joe, I still see him from time to time, but he is a new man now, he has learned to trust again, he has learned there is more than the past that makes a man, he has learned the value of serving others without restraint.

Monsters try to eat us, they lie and tell us “there is no reason to go on living”. Monsters don’t care about you, monsters devour everything. If you looked under your bed and find a monster, know there is hope.

Monsters might hide in the closet, running out the door when nobody is looking or they may blend in under the bed. The point is, monsters only have power when we give them that power, take that power back, give that power to Jesus, start living for the one that never betrays us. 

Jesus said  “Everything is possible for one who believes”.

Monsters, only you can feed a monster, but Jesus can feed you.

With great love from our father in heaven, Charlie

Fairytales, unkept promises, like Disneyland.

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The other day Jess and I were chatting and reminiscing about our previous lives. I wonder if other couples talk about “Before we met”. Do other blended family couples pretend the past has simply vanished? Or are we different, I don’t know. In our conversation I mentioned I never got to take the boys on a “fairytale vacation”, like Disneyland or a cruise or some far off land where every families dreams come true… I glanced at Jess, just in time, to see her face turn down and she looked so sad… I will divulge why in a few paragraphs, but first, I will dig into my fairytale vacation. 

What was my “Fairytale” trip with my three sons? I had so many trips planned, some big, some small but all were amazing (in my minds eye). Do you have a fairytale trip? Or maybe life beat you down like it did to me and you never fully recovered from that beating? Probably my biggest fairytale trip was driving and camping to the east coast and west coast… East to Washington DC and Maine for National history then drop down to Tennessee, the Blue ridges, Kentucky and back up to good old Minnesota… West through Montana to Washington to see the ocean and swing south to see the Redwoods, Grand Canyon, Devils Tower, Mount Rushmore and back up to the cities.  

My Trips were always the “natural” wonders and places of historical relevance. I never wanted to see Disneyland (and to be honest, it’s repulsive to think about going there now). Jess however had a different set of dreams… The one thing in common was a desire to share the world with our children, being with them and growing together. Jess had grandparents that took the 3 sisters on trips all over… These trips are still invoking fond memories for Jess. These trips are more than just a vacation, they took Jess on a childhood wonderland that nurtured her innocence, satisfied her adventurous side and filled her with years of joy filled memories.

I too have “fond” memories of trips my father took us on… I never had trips with the Grands. My trips involved a hot car, laying on the floor of the back seat right above the exhaust discharge and being shoved into the back window deck of a 1969 Ford Fairlane 2-door… 5 kids, mom and dad and my smelly dog named Tobias Winslow. Coat hangers were “professionally” installed and held up the exhaust that contained more soup cans that obviously exceeded the original equipment specs. I would say it hardly leaked much exhaust into the passenger compartment, never making us sick. The gas tank fell out rounding the corner of Broadway and Penn Ave on our way back from the Salvation Army Store (collecting more of my fathers hoarder stuff) and more “MacGyver creativity” with wire coat hangers to make the perfect long term repair. But that is yet another story.

Back to Jess… you see, Jess had made a promise to Sam, a mothers promise to her son that when he could use the “potty” like a big boy, they would take a trip to the most magical place in all the world. A place that held mystery, magic and hope… The dream of all dreams where fantasy comes true… As Walt himself once said “I think most of all what I want Disneyland to be is a happy place… where parents and children can have fun, together”

This “Fairytale” was about to start slipping away, a journey of around 20 years… A dream that was murdered by the heartless folds of life. Year after year, Jess held on to this promise, never intending to “skip out”. Never intending to make a promise that she would never keep. As Al grew, his behaviors became a daily management task, a full time job! So big was the job of being Als mom, that she soon fell into a serious depression. So deep that it kept her locked into the room marked “SURVIVAL ONLY” for many years. The hard decision was made, she had to separate Sam from Al, to keep Sam safe.

Doing the only thing she could, she moved blocks away from her baby boy, keeping in mind the promise of Disneyland, putting Sam’s safety ahead of herself and providing everything Al needed. Jess had now laid down her life for her two little boys, putting them first in everything. Torn in half, broken, beaten and collapsing under the weight, but holding onto the Hope of Jesus… As she watched her dream of Disneyland slipping further away, she settled into a reality that hurt and could not be avoided. Disneyland was slipping further away from reality. 

Jess and I don’t plan on giving up our dreams of travel across the USA, but it gets complicated. We have our shared dreams, our “places to go” lists. Our question is “HOW”. We have tried so many different ideas on how to make our trips a reality, but there is so much we still need to iron out… It may be hard for many to imagine, but traveling with Al is way more complicated than traveling with a baby in a car seat. Or as my father did, having us laying on the floor or on the ledge of the back window. Travel with Al is actually always “traveling for Al”. I can see how Disneyland was never a viable option, I have learned so much about the stress families have with a special needs child… I never would have guessed it could be this hard. Don’t get me wrong, Al is a blessing and we love him, I don’t regret for a minute being his provider, parent and teacher… But, to be completely transparent, he is not easy to take care of.

I bet you thought this was about Disneyland… It is actually about the broken heart of a mother?

Sam is buried only a couple miles down the road, Jess likes to stop in from time to time to sit, remember and pretend to have a conversation with Sam. I am sure she likes to imagine Sam running around Disneyland, smiling, eating too much junk food and just being her baby boy that learned how to “Potty like a big boy”…

The dream is never going to become reality now. The stress of losing a son when he is only 22. Breaking a life long promise. Somedays, this would be more than enough to put the strongest of men into bed, weeping for days… Jess is amazing, strong, resilient and capable. Although the “fantasy” trip to Disneyland has been retired, she has found a new hope, a new dream and a new reason to pursue life.

Grandbabies! Sophia, Sadie and the one due in April… Sam’s place. The Redwood forest, the Gulf stream waters. The dreams are different now. The Lord always has and will continue to sustain us, comfort us and give us HOPE, hope comes from God. 

I was told only babies cry, so I guess I am the biggest baby of all. One day I want to write about why I always joke when emotions are high. If you have ADHD, you may very well be very empathetic, you can feel the pain of others, sometimes more than the person who is feeling the emotions… I think that’s me.

May Gods presence be with you today and always, Charlie.

The reward of a Feral child 

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Is it possible to give rewards too often? I was often told by may father “YOU F%^&$#@ KIDS ARE THE WORST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME!!!!!!” My father had a way with words. It was always so uplifting, rewarding and positive whenever he opened up and shared how he felt about us… 

 I was never allowed to have friends and the friends I had, I kept a secret from my father. My friends never met his approval, some because they were “indians” some because they were “N#*&^%#” and others because, well I guess I never really knew why, but they all had to be gone before he got home or all hell would break loose.  What I did know is nothing should distract me from my work. 

I was raised on the streets of Minneapolis, My father wanted very little to do with me unless he had work for me to do. I remember the day like yesterday, I dropped a granite block on my foot in order to attempt to break my foot just so I could have time off of working for my father…. 

  • Building and staining a fence with a toxic mixture of boiled linseed oil, creosote and a brush. 
  • A hammer and bent nails, bent so badly that they would take forever to actually straighten enough to reuse.
  • A disk sander and old painted scrap lumber, sanding it down so I could recoat with the toxic concoction. 
  • Hundreds of granite paving blocks, harvested from the streets of Minneapolis by hand, hauled home from miles away cleaned of concrete and then dissolving the asphalt with gasoline, finally cleaning with muriatic acid to achieve a perfect completion.
  • Limestone as big as my little arms could span, set and adjusted, backfilled and leveled.
  • Digging and turning the sod by hand for a vegetable garden. 

These are merely a few outdoor chores that I was required to complete before he got home, before he started screaming and beating us for never meeting his stringent requirements. He was always gracious, he often reminded us how benevolent he was for tolerating us children, because after all we ruined his life. This may seem “made up” to many folks and it is certainly unbelievable to the “participation trophy” generation… but to me, this was life, life on the north side.

It was a hot summer’s day. I remember that my little brother broke his leg at some point and got a free pass from work. I never got a free pass. Somehow I remember it was a saturday, probably because that was the day we went to the salvation army store in downtown to buy more broken bikes, stereo turntables that would be stacked with the thousands of others, or maybe the hundreds of picture frames that my father planned to use to frame his collection of mass produced “one of a kind” renditions. But the hoarding and abuse can be for a day in the future, today I want to write about that RED GRANITE BLOCK, and how it met my foot.

It was hot, I was shirtless and I had been shuffling granite blocks back and forth for dad for hours already, he had to find just the right shape, color and size, it was a never ending task. I’m not sure when my little brother had his broken leg, in the past or present, I just remember he got to sit, and I had to work… always working… never enough, never good enough, never an end! And I was tired, as a preteen boy, I wanted to play trucks in the dirt, build tunnels and cities and hang out with the only friend I really had, my younger brother. But that would not be my fate on this hot summer day, and I devised a plan to have a break, a break in my foot that would afford me a break from work. I didn’t want to hurt myself, I just wanted a break. I saw what happened to fingers that were caught between blocks, as I personally had many injuries and they all healed as I continued to haul these blocks… 

Here is the set up, I knew my foot would need to be on the concrete driveway, for a viable break, and I knew it would hurt. I decided to grab the biggest blocks, show how I was struggling to haul these massive loads back and forth. Just a few blocks ahead to really set the scene, make sure it was around the corner so dad wouldn’t actually see but would be close enough to hear and react… ONE… TWO… DROP!!!!

My foot absorbed the impact with excellent resilience and I knew instantly, I SCREWED UP… no break, not really as much pain as I was expecting and no blood… And in full predictability, after all this careful planning, I still finished the day working. My dad couldn’t bring my day to a soft close and give me play time. This was year after miserable year, I dreaded summers because it was just work, my friends in the neighborhood would bike past and the first few years I could see them out on the streets, in the alley and on the sidewalks, but soon this massive fence project had enclosed the yard, encapsulating his hoarding of junk to keep the city inspector at bay. The inspector can’t write tickets for violations unless it can be seen without stepping foot on the property… Dad had this figured out… every ticket he paid for his junk was taken out of the backs of his children, either in hard labor or a good old fashioned beating for not keeping his junk hidden behind the barricades, unseen from the alley during the drive by. 

So, no broken foot… I know now the foot is a difficult part to break because there are so many small bones, I should have crushed a toe I guess. And so my summers continued, year after year, rewards for nothing, left alone to raise ourselves, beaten and survived, feral child… by age ten, I had started forming my own protective avatar… 

When I was a bit younger I smiled constantly, I was called “Cheary Charlie” because I had a great outlook on life and I was always a happy child, bringing joy to every set of eyes that landed on my face or gave me the time of day. My grandmother, grandfather, mom, uncles, aunts, neighbors… Everyone confirmed this joy in my heart, everyone but my father. 

My avatar was angry and took away my smiling, my avatar stole my outward appearance and replaced it with a cold, unchangeable, calloused facade. Showing everyone what they wanted to see. I was now invisible and safe. I no longer needed to be honest with my true self, I just let my avatar run my face and I got to hide and be safe. By age 12,  I had gone feral…on the northside, in Minneapolis. A feral boy, beaten and whipped. I no longer had joy, smiles or concern, even for my little brother… 

I talked to my brother the other day. He shared some from his perspective, it helped me remember I was not the only person suffocated by the hell of living in that house. This hell was lurking around every doorway, in the stairs and every sacred inch of hoarder madness.   

There it is, a man with no good father figure to raise him, raising three men, doing the best he can as a feral child turned father… Rewards? What is that? I simply did the best I could to teach them how to be Godly,  loving, kind, honest and motivated. I never rewarded them for “trying”. I rewarded them for putting others first and doing their best, I rewarded them for good attitudes and honesty, I rewarded them for caring and not quitting… I was never a “friend”, I was only a father. Although my methods are perhaps highly frowned upon now by all the experts, I will let the court of public opinion declare my success. My boys turned out exceptionally well and are fully prepared for whatever the world has coming their way. Never given a participation trophy, only reward for meritorious attempts that lead to success. 

If I were writing to my younger self, I guess I would say: “life will be hard, are you kidding me? Your life is going to be pretty horrible! You will lose your joy, for a time. You will suffer long and hard. Your days will be difficult but in time, the years will be easy. Do not give into despair. You will survive to face even more later on. Remember, your reward is the joy, the joy that comes in the morning!”

You see, God gave me more than I can handle, at least for a time when I was rebellious and walked this earth in my own strength, before I surrendered to God. I was strong, I was talented, I was perhaps even somewhat invincible… but I was incomplete and I, EVEN I, was in need of a savior. I thank God for a second lease on life. I truly hope you find your second chance in life, but if you are still wandering around the world with a lack of joy, you can find rest, you can have that break I was looking for as a young child, you can fall on the one name above all others. You can call out to have Him save you from the hell on earth and the hell to come, that name is JESUS. 

God bless, Charlie