Living Hazzardously

Little pieces of our journey with Jesus

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 “Un-Expected”

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As we gathered together in Cheyenne Hills Church to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, I stood but had NO JOY! I was robbed!! It was all I could do to just present myself to others with a half-painted smile. It’s the most joy-filled day of the year… or at least it should have been. But instead, I am emotionless yet again, I feel no pain, no connection and certainly no joy. This is my “Auto response”. It has engulfed me today. Swallowed me up like a small fish in front of a whale. I have no escape route. It closes in around me. I get sifted and sorted, my emotions are separated from my intellect, I can see the despair devouring my last stronghold… emotion is dried up, joy is no more… I become like an empty bag of flesh, I watch this thing swallow me, I pass into the darkness. I am slipping into the stomach, this hungry digestive organ… only to be come as fodder.  

Coping: When I was a small child, I learned how to create a coping mechanism. My “beast” is a coping mechanism to “hide from the real monsters” and not be physically absent from a situation. This same beast has haunted me for years. I don’t think anyone truly can understand what it is and how it erupts aside from me… My bride has seen it, it can literally take only seconds for my beast to devour me. The only other person that may come close to understanding is my younger brother, he was with me as I developed this “Great Beast”. It is My Hell, and it followed me to church today, snarling, snapping, biting, scratching and turning even the smallest act of kindness into a hungry devouring beast. This beast knows me all too well and this beast knows perfectly how to “push my buttons” … he is in Church, with me, on this Easter Sunday, he won’t leave me alone. 

 Our families have gathered for Good Friday service, the Church is much larger than what we are accustomed to, and nearly every seat is taken aside from the front row. We found our seats in row 2 and 3, a block of chairs on the far left of the Church. My loving bride gently held my Right hand. My oldest son Chris standing behind me with his loving bride Tiffain. Alex and Miranda carefully tending to their little bundle of “joy filled energy” named Sophia. At the other end of my row, Jacob stands with a worshipful face praising the Lord as Abigail stands filled with that same joy that energizes her special man. Between them and I stands Al, today he is nervously laughing throughout the entire service, people stop, turn, look and they don’t understand, I don’t understand. Why is he audibly laughing at what seems to be a very deep, meaningful sermon about salvation…. Is he laughing at the pastor? The pastor talks about the greatest sacrifice, is it funny? Is he laughing at the way the pastor looks on stage? Is he laughing at the fact that there is no one in front of us? I’m frustrated! It is hard for me to relax and take in the message. Why is he laughing? At what? Why so loud? Why at a serene time? As my body continues to ach from merely sitting still, the music is about to start, Al grabs his headphones and turns them on, why did he just turn them on? Now his music is playing through his headphones, and its incredibly loud in the near silent time of self-reflection, I can’t get it to stop… My phone alarm chimes in, it reminds me to check on Drax’s mealtime… but alarms don’t go silent, do they?… I’m stressed… 

My internal monologue reminds me: I’M THE ADULT! KEEP IT TOGETHER MISTER TOUGH GUY!!!

 We saw three great speakers telling a portion of the Good Friday story with a bit of perspective on the situation of good Friday. The first one spoke clearly and directly to the heart of the days leading up to Good Friday. Power and mighty words, I was glad to hear this man speak about this with reverence. The second speaker was a young man that talked about the burden of sin, and how even good people are deceived. He was captivating. This young man challenged us that there are many sitting in church that don’t know God but do know religion. They are “good” moral people, but they don’t serve God. This young preacher was caught up in passion for Jesus and delivered a message for all people about how and why we need salvation, and we need the one and only true God. Can I add this? This young preacher is my youngest son, Jacob, I am proud to know he delivered this message. 

As this service started to conclude, I was thinking that maybe Al was on track and calmed down…  I sat in my numbed heart and listened as the lead Pastor told a story of a man that asked a question, this story cut me to the very soul… I will paraphrase the story: 

A man walked into church one day and another “wiser man” asked in passing “So, how are you today?” to which the man replied, “I’m doing ok, considering the circumstances I am under” The wiser man stopped and asked “Well, why are you under there? Why are you under your circumstances?” 

Say what? Why am I under there? Why am I under there?… Did he just say “Why”? I couldn’t believe what I just heard…. It’s Simple, I am under here because I have no choice. No place safe to go. There is nowhere else to be… It’s where I belong… Devoured by the beast… Under my circumstances… 

The beast followed me all weekend, reminding me how worthless I am, how I am a failure as Als stepfather, reminding me how I have no purpose, reminding me how I am outdated, unneeded and in the way… every turn, the beast was there, every step was like walking in wet concrete, every physical pain was a stabbing reminder that I am nothing good… poor me!! Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I will go eat worms.

Today is Tuesday, I am back home after the 15 plus hour drive, I am exhausted. I sat and reflected on what happened, how it happened and why it happened. I know the physical pain of Fibromyalgia is a direct response to childhood trauma and the pain was overwhelming. I know how it’s hard to be joyful when you feel so much deep pain in the body, I think this maybe my “thorn”. I know the stress of being called names by Al… This had previously been a trigger for anger but now it is a stress trigger which in turn triggers a Fibro flare. I know that when I have a Fibro flare, I get some really bad “brain fog” which also adds to the stress because I can’t react quickly or precisely when Al starts telling me he was being stared at by a bunch of people and they were making faces at him… I need to make sure Al is safe, I need to manage Al so he doesn’t start screaming at people he thought were making faces at him while we drive down the street. I need to watch Al and move him outside at a moment’s notice… There he is, the beast is back, I was starting to think he got lost, but nope, he was just waiting for the right opportunity to ATTACK!

I need to apologize to my family today. The kids try but they really cannot understand why the patriarch of the family does this crazy disappearing act. “HEY MISTER…  Remember, you are the big tough guy, no pain is too much pain, no situation is more than you can handle, the beast is in your control at all times.” Then he gets out, THE BEAST IS IN MY HEAD!

So, back to Joy, I have every reason to be filled to overflowing with the joy of the resurrected Christ, the family that loves me, the challenges of being a stepfather and the assurance of salvation. Finding Joy is easy for me, keeping my joy is always a challenge and I don’t want to hide behind cheap excuses. I have no reason to let this beast steal my joy, yet I know if things go poorly for even a day, the beast will always be ready to take over and run wild. 

Maybe this trip was too much for Al, maybe I can handle this situation better, maybe, maybe, maybe this trip was too much for me? How do we know unless we keep trying?  We have taken Al on a few road trips, he is learning how to manage himself better but let’s be honest, it’s way harder to bring Al on a road trip than it is to leave him behind. It’s way easier to take a vacation with just my beautiful bride. Its way easier to shove Al into a home and pay some stranger to watch him… but if I took the easy route, would I be giving Al the best life? Would my sons see the man they have come to respect for never quitting? Would my wife respect me more for shrinking back away from our son because it’s easier? Would I be looking at myself in the mirror and say: “I’m so proud I was able to be selfish and do what I wanted without all the troubles?” Would I please God? Didn’t Jesus give his all for me? Don’t I owe it all to him anyway? Doesn’t he deserve my best? The song spins in my head “Jesus paid it all, all to him I owe.”

So why am I writing this Blog? It’s simple, I believe this blog will help someone one day to not give in to the beast that is stalking them, and it helps me process my troubles in life as well. 

I Hope this blog has found you well today but if it has found you looking down the throat of your very own pet beast, I hope this blog gives you hope, perspective and direction to persevere on your travels to find that joy I lost, that joy that God gives daily, that joy that is worth living for. 

God bless you this day and may he fill your cup with the joy found in the resurrected Savior. 

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.