Living Hazzardously

Little pieces of our journey with Jesus

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Two Faced Jerk

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Two Faced Jerk. 

One evening while trolling the neighborhood, he met up with a beautiful woman. He figured out she was married to a dear friend of his, but they didn’t care. They figured out a plan to sleep with each other, and she got pregnant. Then things went south!

In the Old Testament there lies a story of Nathan the profit, a profit of God. In this book is a story of a King, in particular, a story of the great king David (A man after God’s own heart). When Nathan the prophet confronted king David, he told a parable, and in doing so, the king felt convicted of his crimes. The King was rich, had multiple wives, lacking nothing in life and yet he lusted after just one more woman. The great king David set up the sneaky situation to have an affair with the poor man’s wife. In his attempt to cover his tracks, he killed that man and lived happily ever after. Well, Not exactly, he did take another man’s wife, this poor man’s only wife. This man who trusted and believed in the KING… This loyal man was great in character and more loyal than most men, (by a long shot). A true loyalist! A dedicated commander of the king’s troops! This poor man was actually rich beyond measure, he found a woman to love, a wife to protect and had a purpose in his life, service to his king. This man was murdered by the King. His wife and his king took advantage of his dedication and loyalty.

Can you relate to this man? Because I can relate to both this man and the king. I too have sinned against this man and I have been sinned against by the king. 

I know of a few people I should probably offer an apology. Yet far too often I only think about those “metaphorical Kings” that violated my trust to achieve personal gain at my loss. But as I continue to accumulate the years that temper my personality and mold me into the “Two Faced Jerk” I am inside, I need to do a couple things that are so very hard and sometimes so overwhelming that I can barely breath. First is to seek forgiveness from those I have wronged, because after all, I deserve forgiveness! Right? I’m a good person and I am not the same person I was, so I should be forgiven!! I was watching a video of a man receiving a sentence by a judge today, he plead his case and told how he is “A CHANGED MAN” just moments before he leaped over the judge’s bench and tried his best to perhaps kill the judge but for sure to at least cause great bodily harm… because he is “changed” … I am that man, I plead my case to the judge and demand the judge see my good intentions rather than the crimes I have committed. As my trial continues, I declare how unforgiving it would be to not show mercy to me, because I deserve mercy.  I am on trial for what I did, not for my intentions. 

Alex and Miranda were “record shopping” the other day with Jess and I. I thought of this great term that’s been used for decades “The Flip Side” Yes, the flip side is just that, “flip over the record”. And of course, the flip side in this post is me forgiving rather than demanding unmerited mercy and forgiveness. Do I forgive as easily as I demand to be forgiven? I THINK NOT! I mean, after all, I deserve forgiveness way more than that rotten jerk that “intentionally” did me wrong should be forgiven. I can clearly see the “intentions” of the person that hurt me! Or can I? And really, does it even matter? It’s like “drinking poison” to punish a person for doing me wrong. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating to overlook the good and true judgment of a crime and the consequences that should surely follow. But do I continue to punish myself for what another person did to me? Certainly, this is a consideration I should bring to the attention of the self-appointed jury… The self-appointed judge… and the self-appointed EXECUTIONER!! Just drink that poison to punish that person!! Just drink, drink, DRINK!!!! Or maybe, I can release my anger, hatred and well deserved right to retribution? Giving myself freedom from the prison I built around myself, learning from the past and moving on, because the past is exactly what it is, the past, and the past cannot be undone! Set down that poison, it’s time to forgive!

I am finally FREE! I have forgiven and I have been forgiven! GOOD! All done. But yet here I am, feeling guilt, having nightmares of being caught in my crimes. And that feeling!! That feeling that can only be described as “yuk” … What is this? Why? Could it be that I won’t even forgive myself? Heck no! How can I forgive myself for all the wrongs I have done? I mean, so what if God forgave me from an eternity past! How can I forgive myself? I KNOW HOW GUILTY I REALLY AM!!! And yet, the creator of the universe has set apart a corner of the “universe of forgiveness”, just for me. Carved out just for me, he can, he did, and I won’t?

I’ve found in life it’s easier to be given forgiveness, difficult to give forgiveness and the hardest thing is to forgive myself or to accept my own forgiveness. And so, I stop smiling, I rob myself of joy and feel sorry for myself, perhaps I medicate myself with pity, drugs, beer or with self-loathing and other self-destructive behaviors. 

Is there any hope? Is there anything to smile about? Where is my joy? In first Peter it says “Though you have not seen him, you love him, and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy” and in Romans it says “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit”

 JOY? How do I find joy? Joy comes from the hope we have in God, the peace that comes from God. You can and You will overflow with joy by faith through the power of the Holy Spirit. Joy comes from God, not man!

Charlie Hazzard

I lost track of time and time lost track of me!

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The Christmas that never came

I sat down a year ago and started typing out the 2022 Hazzard family Christmas letter. It started with all the good intentions, the right words, the emotions and the good thoughts. I was on track to send it out with all the fun and exciting updates of our year. I always start writing by first asking the kids and Jess for a few highlights of the year, then I pull them together in a framework of joy, success and fun, wrapping everything with a big red bow, sprinkle them with Christmas colors and top them off with a twinkle in my eye! Finally, I print the well formed letter and fill our outgoing mailbox with envelopes, adorned with the latest holiday stamp and my bride’s finishing touches.

I love sending the annual Hazzardous Christmas letter! With a joy filled anticipation of sharinging our lives with friends and family, some of whom may only hear from us in this once a year lightspeed glimpse of our lives. I hand deliver the stack to our post office and make some corny joke to the person behind the counter about how they won’t fit into our mailbox. I give great consideration to writing this letter each year and many of the readers may not realize who the writer is, well surprise!! It’s me, Charlie!!

So what happened to the 2022 Hazzardous Christmas letter?? Did we forget to send it out to just you? Did we have a corrupted computer and lose a few of the addresses? Did we decide it wasn’t important to stay connected?… The answer is simply no, we didn’t make a mistake or fall victim to some computer trickery. In fact, I sat down more times last year and clacked away more hours than probably any year in the past. I typed out beautiful recollections, heartwarming tales, fascinating adventures and inspiring quotes for all to read and feel a sense of love and connection. I want you to feel loved and remembered. I spent more time last year writing than I would write in three years. So, what happened? I never completely wrote that letter, in fact I felt less desire to finish as the time went on and we got closer to Christmas….

I wrote about Chris and Tiffain, Alex and Mir, Al, Sam and Jacob. I wrote about our new puppy GROOT, and the sad days of Jack as he got old and passed away, and of Cash who went blind, stopped eating and walking, and eventually he too passed on… a sad summer here for sure. I wrote about pigs and chickens and the progress on the farm. I talked about fishing and hunting in the great white northwoods. We had such a great year with so many things to be grateful for, even amid the heartfelt loss of our dear pups.

I had such a hard time determining what to leave in and what to leave out…. What to leave out…. How to leave what out? Or better, should I leave anything out? Should I include everything? Jess? Can you help me decide what to leave out and what to include? Jess? But in the end, I could not sort out my thoughts and come to a clear decision that I felt no direction would be a good direction. So, it’s not that I skipped the letter. I just could not finish, edit or send the letter. Three, four or maybe five pages? Single space? #10 font? Times New Roman? No header? No title? No footer? No signature?… just delete it… sit down… steady breath… try to keep the happy thoughts.

This year was no different, but then Jess and I went on a retreat in Arkansas. When we got back home, we met with another couple that share our same emptiness and pain… I heard the approach I needed to accomplish this year’s letter. Rather than attempting to write all our Hazzardous Adventures and the year’s highlights, I would attempt to put on paper the difficulties we have had and in particular what made writing last year impossible to complete.

Sam took the spotlight in 2022, without even knowing it. August 15, 2022 will be the date forever engraved on his headstone. Ohh Sam, we miss you so much. It’s almost your birthday again, and Al does not exactly know how to properly express his feelings. Jess and I need to remain in control for Al’s sake. The stone was ordered. The plot was chosen, and we laid Sam in his forever resting spot a year to the date of his passing. A year after the midnight scream no parent can imagine or forget. Sam ran ahead of us and is now waiting for us to catch up.

Let’s talk about the Christmas letter. Do I write everything? Missing nothing about Sam and making it all about Sam? Do I labor for months to get every jot and tiddle? MISSING NOTHING? Or do I tiptoe over this event and focus only on those things that bring joy to the Christmas letter readers’ faces? Is it a balance somewhere in between? How much do I say? Do I give all the details? The who, when, how, why and what??? Do I paint the ugly picture with pastel colors? Do I soften the lines with an eraser? Do I use charcoal pencil to turn the edges gray? Do I use ink so it can never be rubbed out? Maybe a black and white photo? Or maybe an artistic rendering with interpretive and symbolic illustrations?

How does a person write about the death of a child? The death of their child? How do I write about this? Not too much! Somebody will feel uncomfortable? Not too little! Somebody will feel I didn’t say enough? After all, there was so much more I could say?

It is a “no-win” situation. There will never be enough written to fully remember and honor Sam. Too little and it would not keep his memory alive. Do I focus on the living as to honor the loved ones that are waiting here to see him again? How do you summarize his life with mere words? Be careful to not become obsessed and write with endless amounts of words and say too much! You see, we had 5 sons, two daughters-in-law, none are more important than the next. So do we try to be fair and write the same amount about each one? Do we try to highlight only one thing each? Do we just move on and write about the sons that are still alive? Should we ???? Do we????? What???? Why???? How???? I haven’t found the instruction manual on this topic yet. I think it’s found in the card catalog under the heading “Humanly impossible to understand” “Navigational beacons in a black hole” and “Situations that are beyond overwhelming” please see cross references: “Living with pain course number 505”

Addiction is no stranger in our family and the pain of addiction crosses every realm, into every crack of humanity. Sam battled so very hard, please do not think for a second that Sam just simply woke up and decided “This is a good thing to do today”. He fought hard and wanted so badly to overcome this stronghold in his life. He wanted to be “clean”. His addiction started so small, so tiny, it grew out of control very quickly. Even with the best tools to battle this demon, he still lost. But the hope we have is that someday, someone, somewhere will say, “I saw Sam struggle. I saw how he lost his battle, and I am alive today because Sam is not here.” But even if we never see this blessing, we give thanks to the Lord for the time we did have. We are blessed to have had this time on earth with Sam.

OFF SCRIPT: Please do not play this game with addiction. If you need help, it’s ok to ask, 24/7/365, there is hope! Addiction starts with a beer, a joint, a pain pill or even a thought, but always ends with consuming your will, your happiness and even your life.

So with that being said, I will recap just a few items in a feeble attempt at bringing some glad tidings after this somber glimpse into our tragic year 2022.

Chris and Tiffain are now stationed at Scott AFB in Illinois. We have had a couple visits and we are so happy to have them so close.

Alex and Miranda brought Baby Sophia into our world last January. We have been welcomed into the grand-club and are overjoyed!

Al has had a successful year at work, and we are so happy that the Special Olympics program is back in full swing after Covid.

We have Sam only a mile from us and visit often. We got his headstone installed, as well as a bench in his honor. We know he is jamming in heaven, beating someone at chess and doing all the math equations he could dream of with that Sam smile on his face.

Jacob completed his tour with the Air Force and for the time being will stay in Cheyenne,. He was offered and accepted a job at his church. He is also seeing a great young lady but I don’t want to jinx this by talking too much (keeping our fingers crossed).

Jess and I are really focusing on growing the farm (hoping the ground doesn’t freeze before I get the donkey corral and fencing up), running Spring Lake Heating and Air. Jesus is our true hope, joy and strength. Our adventure is coming together slowly but surely.

I hope that our letter next year will be less weighty and more upbeat. I want to take this opportunity to say thank you for taking this journey with us, and we appreciate your prayers, friendship and love.

I close with his verse:

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

Charlie and Jess
Hazzardous Adventures

Dark places, triggers and time

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“YOU G$&@$? KIDS ARE THE WORST $@!:;)$&@ THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ME”

This statement was one of my fathers favorites. Colorful expletives, horrible names and physical beatings were a daily occurrence for my siblings and I growing up.

My first traumatic memory was in the big house in South Minneapolis, I’m not sure what year it was, we moved in my kindergarten year, so it was before that. I had done some “horrible deed” that my father determined was nearly a capital offense. The punishment was banishment.

The big house was a duplex with “druggies” upstairs. I got the bed in the bay window, basically a foam pad shoved into a window opening. I don’t remember much of that house now. Between my fathers cigarette smoke and the constant inflow of marijuana smoke from upstairs, I was either being made strong or it was a sure thing what my future held.

This is where I started in the “Jonny jump-up” and grew up until my “all day kindergarten” class at Greely elementary a couple blocks away. We lived on 24th and 12th, on the Southside of Minneapolis, the house we lived in was torn down many years ago. It was a horrible place in a horrible neighborhood.

Our basement was right out of a horror movie, big stone walls, musty and dark, junk filled every turn and every damp corner. IT WAS A SCARY PLACE.

My punishment must fit the crime, and at less than 6yo, banishment into the basement was the only solution to my rehabilitation. As the lights were turned off at the switch located above me, I watched the trap door being lowered over my head until the last flicker of light was extinguished and the horror of every noise, every imagination and every nightmare played out in my young mind at full intensity. I remember screaming, crying and begging for help. My mind began to play out how I would be devoured in this dark hole. I curled up on the steps and literally screamed until I was horse, until I could scream no longer…. this was my father’s cue that I was fully reformed and my banishment was fulfilled.

We moved to 35th and Sheridan on the north side, a big, nice home. Two fireplaces, finished basement, two stories, separate bedrooms for boys and girls. We had a play area upstairs and the big bedroom was just for us three boys. My two sisters had the pretty bedroom next to us. I got my own bed, the upper bunk, my little brother got the lower and my older brother was in a single bed by the window. Life was “good” and I was finishing k-grade in Penn elementary. I was making friends when I could but usually I was at home “working” on my fathers projects. Going the the store to buys smokes and Pepsi for dad was my most common job in the evening. Two packs of smokes for the next day and an 8-pack of returnable bottles that my father would share with us on occasion. He didn’t mind sharing the Pepsi after it went flat, but to me it was liquid heaven.

The year was 1976, I was now 9 years old. My siblings and I had worked all day cleaning the house, top to bottom! We had expectations of our efforts to be rewarded by letting us invite our friends over for a “BICENTENNIAL PARTY”…. this would be a rare experience, to have friends over? It was unheard of, at least not in the house…. that’s not allowed! Maybe outside but never in the house. As I hid under the dining room table to covertly capture the surprise and delight that would surely flow from my father as the obvious labors over the coarse of our day were to be revealed as the man I called dad traversed the interior of our home.

Yes this was it! Here he comes! The door swung open, the footsteps approached, the hacking cough…. “clomp, clomp, clomp”…. he couldn’t see me, I was hidden well, table over the top, between the wall and the radiator. I heard the plastic wrap from the new pack of smokes… “crackle, pop” watching with joy and pride… The plastic cigarette wrapper and the foil top hit the floor…. moments apart…. landing like cluster bombs in my mind. Smashing into pieces the days labor…. the dusting of pictures, the cleaning of windows, the scrubbing of floors all became ashes of a war zone. The clean floor, dashed into pieces with the plastic wrapper of a cigarette pack.

Something changed for me that day, never to return, I no longer wanted to clean the house, I no longer wanted to invite friends into my home, my fathers actions had “triggered” a new perspective, and even today, it brings back memory’s of deep sadness, 43 years later!

I really enjoyed growing up in that house, but like most things in life, time changes…. in 6th grade, things really got bad, but that’s another day, a different blog post.

The balance of marriage, family, extended family and friends is delicate at best and can be destroyed in seconds. It’s not one that comes easy for me. In the great words of the country song “life’s a dance, you learn as you go….”

I think back to my childhood and I remember the trauma of my youth….. But I can’t stay there…. I’m a dad, a stepdad, a husband, a friend, a business owner, a man! I need to find a way to rise above my past, to step into the rolls of my life. My boys deserve more than the sum of my past. My bride deserves more than my brokenness. But how? How can I be this man that God has called me to be? “I” can not! But with Jesus, I can do God’s will, I can be more than the sum of my past, I can be a man! A man after God’s own heart, I’m not perfect and my wife has an abundance of forgiveness, she was blessed with being able to see beyond my hard exterior and keeps forgiving me every day, sometimes more… but she never quits on me.

Life gives lumps, hard trials but Jesus gave more than we can ever imagine and that’s the hope I’m living in. That’s how I get up and do what he has for me. Greater are His plans and blessings than anything I can do alone. His grace is sufficient.