Living Hazzardously

Little pieces of our journey with Jesus

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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

Caution! Doors and wind and cussing ahead.

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As we round the corner of this journey, we see a bit of light… is it the light at the end of the tunnel or is it the headlamp of a locomotive? Jess and I have no doubt this work is manifesting in the culmination of God’s good calling on our life. Even when we get hit, we rebound and things work out just fine. 

Last week we pulled the old door out and found a hole where we needed some bagged concrete in the threshold, so we cleaned it out, formed it up and poured it full. NO PROBLEM! Then a fast moving weather front came into town and we needed to cover the masterpiece of bagged concrete that my puppies decided was the only place to “plant the paws” as they blew past the yellow ribbon blocking any reasonable person from crossing… dogs are not human, they don’t even read… “Caution” 

As the weather front started to roll into town I made the quick decision to cover the concrete with plastic to protect it from the impending rain that would surely transition the fresh concrete into a slurry of gravel. 

BUT! The wind hit with no warning and hit so hard and so unpredictably.. I heard the crash, felt the floor shake and turned quickly to see the brand new door that we had leaned into the corner of the entry, laying in a manner that was so unnatural… I instantly recognized the structure surrounding now looked like a bone protruding from a compound fracture… I proclaimed “SHOOT” but it wasn’t the word shoot that flew out of my mouth… The next day I spent a few hours putting humpty back together… you can still see the scar, but it’s fixed, and perhaps it is stronger than the original? 

We waited another day before moving the new door into position, just to give the repair time to cure. The installation went well the next day and I was so grateful for the help I had as we guided the door into its final resting place. 

As I reflected on how quickly my colorful expletive slipped out of my mouth, I remembered where I came from and how my father would have screamed and cussed for hours after something like that. I remembered how he would have thrown tools, smashed anything in his reach, “spanked me” for not preventing this tragedy… Stuff would fly and cussing was normal. The wake of terror I experienced whenever my father was around created more havoc and destruction in my life than I could have imagined and it haunts me still to this day… I remembered I learning how my grandfather would have likely beat my father in this same situation… Looking back and realizing I may have thrown out a cuss word, without restraint, but my legacy, like my father before me, was coming from a long line of abuse. I should just thank God we have come so far from where my grand-father was to where my sons are… Legacy is all I can leave behind for my future family.!  I know I will never even meet many of my future family members but as My father never met my sons and I never met my grandfather, I can still honor them with my legacy… I Pray this trend upwards will continue for many generations. 

I am hoping to start painting no later than Wednesday. God willing, I will have help. But early this coming week, I have to focus on a few items for work. I wish I could just go and paint, but I do have other obligations. So like Nehemiah, we will continue to work on the things I am called to do and praise God for all the help we are getting.  

All the toils under the sun

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So, it’s Sunday again and I have missed writing so much. I hope you too have missed reading my words, you truly are appreciated. We have been traveling and I don’t have my laptop working right now.

Jess and I took a needed trip out to Wyoming to visit our sweet grand, she is doing great and Miranda is glowing with the new baby due this fall… We never saw Alex as he was in Portugal. Sorry son, but we got to see Sophia, so we are happy now. Jacob and Abigail stopped in as they were home hunting in the Denver area but that too was a short visit as they buzzed back and forth, they are busy planning for July 20, marriage day… Wait, MARRIAGE? But he is our baby boy dressed up in the costumes of lions and sitting on carnival rides, is he too young? Nope, I blinked and now he is a man… sadness starts to drift across my aging face, as our youngest abandons Jess and I for his new “adulting” life. 

I had the honor of filling in for a pastor in Bigfork while he took the day off, I presented Sam’s Place to the congregation and I talked about the “Good Samaritan”, I think it went great and it felt so wonderful to preach again, it’s been so many years since my last opportunity. Then another missed blog post was when Jess and I presented Sam’s Place to another Bigfork congregation, together we did eight minutes but alone I did 25 minutes. We are always looking for more opportunities to present our mission in churches. Thank you Lord for the opportunity so far. If you know a church that would allow me to deliver this message, I would be honored to visit (even if its across country, I love road trips).

The balance of rest and work has become a larger part of my life as I continue to struggle with the never ceasing pain riddling this broken and aging body. Too much work? I shut down with pain… Too much rest? I shut down with pain. This is what it is like in my lonely struggle with this fibro? When Jess and I cuddle on the couch and she leans against my ribs, it is like laying on rocks, large rocks that press in on every point, causing so much pain that you literally can not relax, the pain increases on every point of pressure, and it’s not even a hard pressure, sometimes it’s the light touch of her hand that can cause me pain… I take it as long as I can but eventually, I do need to move. Sometimes just crossing my legs at the calf is pain invoking and I can only sit still for about ten minutes before reposition. Sitting in church on a cushioned seat takes about 15 minutes before the pain exceeds the threshold. Too much walking is better than too much standing. Every part of my body hurts most of the time, a balance of movement and rest is all I can do to manage this situation.

I remember back when it all started, it was mostly in my back, I knew so little and had no idea why I was in severe pain and the pain always increased with less movement. I was taking 8-12 200mg tablets of Ibuprofen a day and eventually even that stopped helping. So I started looking deeper, looking at diet, exercise, rest, reading, reading and more reading. As I started honing in on the symptoms, I discovered a thing called “Fibromyalgia” and reading about this, I started to understand, started to determine the reason for my pain and found I am a classical case of Fibro. 

Summer hits and I start to sweat, profusely! I don’t like summer, I don’t like the heat, I like cold and people “hate on me” for that. But I can promise you this, If you live with my condition, 50 degrees outside would start sounding perfect…. And direct sunlight would become your enemy and the least desired location for eating dinner would be that patio she loves so much…  patios with no roofs make me cringe. 

My research has pointed to “childhood trauma” and seems to be the number one contributor. My story of childhood is a sad and long tale. I still have a hard time traveling down the annals of history to revisit. A childhood of physical abuse, sexual abuse, paternal rejection, maternal substance abuse and so much more. My younger brother and I lived a life no child should have been exposed to… I don’t want a pity party, But this is a hell of a way to live. My younger brother and I pretty much got the shaft, and we never even realized it. Products of GEN-X means we were told to get out of the house at practically day break and not show up again until the street lights came on. Snowball fights that left ice chuck divots on our heads, pine cone fights that knocked out my tooth, and bike jumps on banana seat bikes that were never tall enough until you could clear the grand canyon with a 5’ approach ramp. This was all normal stuff and we never questioned where we could get lunch… There was always a friend’s house that had no parents home during lunch hour, water was always readily available out of any neighborhood garden hose, except for the old lady Gladys, She didn’t appreciate our front porch gifts and ding-dong-ditch-it.

Back to fibro, PTSD is a real thing for me and manifests as fibro today. There is no cure as it seems to be an autoimmune response to the developmental years creating a self defense response to trauma… Trauma? It’s such a long list that folks start to doubt the validity of my historical claims. I may share in this blog one day, but probably just in a memoir someday. It’s taken so many years to heal that I still have a hard time reliving all my “Mr Jones events” to get me to this point in my life. A scared little boy, frozen in time, that’s how I feel.  

Fibro today dictates my daily activity, most days it looks like this: I can work hard but need to take a break mid day or I will be shot by 2pm, a situation that can take up to two days of recovery, but If I take a break, I am usually good for at least 5-6 pm. It’s no secret I like to work, God has given me the unique skill set that lets me accomplish a lot of tasks, If I don’t stay active every day, I will become riddled with even more pain, that pain from not staying active is far worse than overworking, so it’s a balance everyday, even on vacations, I need to work somehow… Beach vacations are an absolute nightmare for me… sun, warmth and sitting… I would rather do anything else than sit in the sun, including mucking the cow barn alone on my hands and knees. . but there is a road of hope ahead

The book of Eccleseastes saved my life years ago with the wisdom written on those pages, yes, I mean it literally saved my life.  Today that amazing book guides my thoughts and actions so much.. All a man’s labor under the sun is futility without GOD… but the balance of work and rest is so vital “a single hand filled with rest is better than all the accomplishments of two hands put together”

So the important thing here is to respect work and not forsake rest, to love creation and reflect on God all day. I would encourage you to read through this book of wisdom and truly ask God to reveal his goodness to your heart.