Rambling paths

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler.

Long I stood and looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear, but as for that

The passing there had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

in leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day, but knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted that I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

I was with some friends over the last few days. The husband was from New York. He teaches in Odessa, Texas. His story takes him from the city to upstate New York to Florida to Texas on two different occasions. He hasn't always been a teacher. He's only done that for 13 years. He used to run a water park, an RV park, a hotel, and many more jobs. His wife grew up in New Jersey. Her story to get to Texas is equally as fascinating. She's from Italian stock, so has a colorful upbringing. They're moving to Austin in the fall.

My own story covers just as much ground. I have lived in Denton, Texas; Grand Prairie, Texas; Riverton, Wyoming; Olympia, Washington; Abilene, Texas; DeSoto, Texas; Arlington, Texas; Dallas, Texas; and Midland, Texas. The upbringing and jobs are just as colorful as my friends.

Whenever I talk of trusting the Maker with the big picture, I'm talking about just what Robert Frost's poem is about—way leading to way. How my friends and I ever met is just an example of how He juggles everyone's paths, not just the paths of the three of us. How can paths intersect at just the right moments or just the wrong moments? But, I'm not in the control tower of watching people's lives. I can't even see the flight path of the one I'm on except in retrospect. And, I'm not sure that looking back is with 20/20 vision anymore. We forget too many details.

So, I'm with Frost. "Way leads on to way, I doubt that I should ever come back." So, here's to the future path. I'm along for the ride. It's really navigated by the Maker.

We're more transparent than we think

Often I watch the Science channel and learn a great deal about the geology of the Earth. I find it fascinating to watch what the world looked like at different stages in its history. Frequently the channel will show that times of the Earth are based on the fossil record within the rocks of an area. It was just such a show that I found out that there was another ocean that predated the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Maine. The Atlantic is the second ocean to have touched Maine's shores. In fact, the first ocean predated the established timeline for the rocks along much of the coast of Maine, so the geologist proposing the second ocean idea had a great deal to prove. But, he did, and he did it with the fossil record.

Human language operates much like the geologic record. One can tell, for instance where in the world a person is from by his language. If the language is the same, then one tells by the dialect spoken. And, if the area is the same, then one can tell by other tonal features such as presence of drawl or by position of a vowel sound in the mouth. All of that is to say people have traces in their speech to identify them.

Even in the way people use language to interact with each other, traces of meaning are found everywhere in the language environment. It is not a mystery to know what others have meant with a statement made. Many statements are straightforward so that meaning is apparent automatically. But, many more times people use context of environment to show their meanings. For example, the word "forms" during the early spring months so many times is used to mean IRS forms since it is due April 15th. But, "forms" in early January and in late August spoken by a young adult probably means college forms. Of course, forms doesn't have to mean paper at all there are forms (shapes) in geometry and forms (shadows) in the dark. There are forms (molds) that plastic bottles come from and there are forms (condition) that people strive to be the best for. What is meant depends wholly on context. Many, many words are like "form," but contraintuitively, confusion does not result but traces are left that give meaning - time of year traces, age of speaker traces, level of education traces, native knowledge of language traces, and geographic location traces. Traces allow one to know meaning even if not present, but especially if present.

That's whay the filler expression, "You know what I mean," used on a recurring basis is so annoying to me. The answer is yes. Why would you speak to me in a way that you have to explain yourself further. That goes against conversational principles. But, mainly, listening for the cues or traces enables most native speakers of a language to know what is being meant. It's rare that a person could hide so much in an utterance that the other parties engaged with him or her would say, "I don't know what you mean."

Buried under layers of time

The Texas Education Agency has really destroyed education in the traditional sense of learning from a teacher what that teacher has to offer. It has instead focused on a very narrow set of learnings through a test that it makes every student in the state take. The target of every classroom in the state, then, teaches the material that will appear on the test rather than a wider scope of material that makes a student a well-rounded citizen in our country. What a travesty!

I was sitting in a church service the other day contemplating Easter and the Passover and the timing of Easter this year during the communion part of the service. I was thinking of what the Passover meal must have been like for Jews who celebrated it for hundreds of years. I thought of the Last Supper as a Passover Meal and the trappings and preparations it took to have that meal. I thought of the first century church's descriptions of the Feast of Love, or the new Passover meal, and what must have taken place in those ancient settings.

Then I fast-forwarded to the present. I saw grape juice and unleavened crackers being passed from one person to another in total silence without interaction, just pensive meditation on some people's parts. There were no meal trappings or meal preparations, no "feast" at all much less one of "love." I had a flash of a thought that the new Passover meal had become a state exam which was very targeted in what it wanted to elicit from people. Nothing more, nothing less.

I know that one can look back through the ages and draw the conclusion that precious little ever survives in its original form for very long. Ceremonies in particular last a decade or two before they are changed in our modern age. If one goes back tracking some ceremony or another, one can see the changes. The tendency is to not only change a ceremony, but to abbreviate what does survivie from the past.

In one way I understand what happened to the new Passover meal. It changed and became abbreviated. But, in another way, I wish that some of the remnants that dropped, the meal part for instance, had survived. It's not a travesty like what the state is doing to its students. It's just sad to me that the ravages of the passage of time have reduced something of meaning to a ceremony with few vestiges of the original setting.

A bit on the melancholic side. But, happy Easter ahead of time!

Not "what" but "how"

What happened to those ambitions conjured up during the college years of a grandiose, idyllic life? Well, they were merely desires that could have taken root had there not been the competition of 500,000 people vying for the same jobs. I was just too naive to understand or too idealistic in faith to know that it would take many cracked backs to stand on in order to climb to the top.

What happened to the "blissful" years of marriage? Well, that's just a case of too much Hollywood and myopia of youth to look long term or heed the advice of people who have been down the road—a lot like telling a 12-year old why something works the way it does.

What happened to the step-by-step outline one makes in his head, on paper, or both, to get to the lifestyle that sets one above the plane of worry? Well, one finds that it all depends on what he's willing to sacrifice or compromise on or let go altogether or doggedly fight for. And those matters are all what is in one's world view or religious faith or both.

What happened? Life. No one's prepared, some more than others, but no one fully. And arriving at a full understanding of life never happens either. So, it's tempting to be like the Old Testament character of Job, questioning, demanding an answer from a deity. But it's better to take the Great Teacher's advice:

25 This is why I tell you: do not be worried about the food and drink you need in order to stay alive, or about clothes for your body. After all, isn't life worth more than food? And isn't the body worth more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds: they do not plant seeds, gather a harvest and put it in barns; yet your Father in heaven takes care of them! Aren't you worth much more than birds?

27 Can any of you live a bit longer by worrying about it? 28 And why worry about clothes? Look how the wild flowers grow: they do not work or make clothes for themselves. 29 But I tell you that not even King Solomon with all his wealth had clothes as beautiful as one of these flowers. 30 It is God who clothes the wild grass---grass that is here today and gone tomorrow, burned up in the oven. Won't he be all the more sure to clothe you? What little faith you have!

31 So do not start worrying: Where will my food come from? or my drink? or my clothes? 32 (These are the things the pagans are always concerned about.) Your Father in heaven knows that you need all these things. 33 Instead, be concerned above everything else with the Kingdom of God and with what he requires of you, and he will provide you with all these other things. 34 So do not worry about tomorrow; it will have enough worries of its own. There is no need to add to the troubles each day brings.

Matthew 6.25-34

So, it seems that a day-at-a-tme attitude is a better way of looking at life than to muse over the track of the past. It would be better to change the question from "What happened?" to "How can I show forgiveness, compassion, friendship, honesty, integrity, and deep love?" (Kingdom of God matters). It's the best advice.

A perpetual source of living

It's time to revisit the idea I started on January 1st of this year. In that blog I set forth the teaching that the Master Teacher gave to a Samaritan woman. Part of that teaching was the following:

Those who drink this water will get thirsty again, but those who drink the water that I will give them will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give them will become in them a spring which will provide them with life-giving water and give them eternal life.

A closer look at "life-giving water" might lead in a second direction than the one I took on the 1st of the year. This water will become a perpetual source of living here and in the hereafter. So, I have to try to find something that is in both dimensions. A little later in John Jesus promises the 12 that he is leaving behind with them someone who will stand beside them even though he is leaving them and they cannot go where he is going. This "someone" will lead them to the next world and reveal truth to them in this world.

So, my musing today is that this perpetual source of living is the one who stands beside us revealing truth to us and showing us the path home. We certainly need that help in navigating the path home. It is a treacherous path filled with illusions, pain, drifting, uncertainty, bludgeoning of the sprirt, and triumph on occasion. If we have the Teacher's surrogate living in us and helping us navigate life's journey, then certainly the teacher would say that we would never be thristy again.

The next life is a great mystery. It is behind a door in a place we cannot see until we are freed from the trappings of this dimension. I have family who have preceded me in reaching this destination. They have not revealed the secrets of this mysterious next world. But, I want to rejoin them. I think that means that the inner help in navigating the path home that the Teacher promised is something that I can depend on. This perpetual source of living makes me more confident that I can see the path home clearly or that at least by following the truth revealed along this path can be a trusted and true compass to the destination in which many dwellings have been built in a compound—one with my name on it. I do not waver in taking the right position in life. I have a source of living within me, a trusted and true compass to my destination.

Year 2 - and you probably missed year 1

In a holographic memory device, a laser beam is split in two, and the two resulting beams interact in a crystal medium to store a holographic recreation of a page of data.

It won't be much longer now. The first year of the war finally ended. Just 9 more to go. The real slugging will start in 2010. This year was just a shot over the bow compared to what rhetoric and tactics will surface between 2010 and 2013. I've been looking forward to and forecasting this war since the year 2000.

The death of reading and writing is the fallout of the war. That's why people will go out fighting to the death. They want to defend the honor of reading and writing. I will say it has served us well over the last 3 millenia. But, it is in its death throes. Civilization made some quantum leaps in technology in the last 50 years that will make reading and writing so cumbersome and slow that they will become useless. Who wants to take the long route to do things in this modern world?

So, to those who would retain the traditions of the past, I salute your determination. But, like dionsaurs dying in a bog from which they cannot extricate themselves, I also say, "Sorry you have chosen to stay on the ground that will kill you." It's time to move on. The next stage in civilization is here already. If I want to join it, I just need to turn on the computer. It will take me anywhere in the world I want to go. Its language is numbers and letters, but mainly pictures. It's presentation is not in chapters, but in web pages. Right now there is a mix of numbers, letters, and pictures. But, over the course of the next 9 years of this 10 year war (2007-2017), the mix will include fewer and fewer letters, more numbers, more pictures. And the pictures will evolve to the next stage too. Holographs will at some point near 2017 begin to have a growing significance.

There's plenty of evidence of what is happening, but I'll save that for the subject of future blogs. I'll leave on the note of some friendly advice. If you start feeling stuck around your feet, you feel the world is moving on without you, move away from the bog or get someone to throw you a rope to drag you out. Otherwise you will be found in a few 100 years and your bones will be gathered as relics for a museum.

The beauty of faded stripes

Very recently I have had time to reflect on just what kind of activity sparks my interest. It's the same activity that has driven me since I was in my 30s. Over two decades and the spark comes from the same place. That proves up the saying, "You can't change the stripes on a zebra." My stripes appear the same. The last blog, in fact, points up the same thing. Why would I be in the same position 16 years later that would require the same response as indicated in the poem?

Some things change with maturity, but the activities are the same. In my 20s, for example, I sat and spoke in a Bible circle with friends and felt free to voice my opinion whether or not it was the better part of discretion. 3 decades later, I still sit in a Bible circle with friends, but this time I speak only when I think that I have something of value to add and mostly if it is discretionary. The stripes are there, just faded with age.

It's the faded stripes that lend themselves to wisdom. Long live stripes, and may they all turn to faded.

Freedom arrows

I received two bits of news over the last two days, one per day. I was disappointed in the first news and really, really disappointed with the last news. I am going to have to wait to write about the second piece of information until I can plan around it more fully, but I have had time to think about the fist tidbit.

Someone said to me that she had penciled my name in on her prayer list. I don't mind that. Prayers on my behalf are good. The conversation went on. Then, the implication was made that I knew the Bible, but not the savior of the Bible. I probably do know the Bible fairly well, but I'm pretty sure that I have responded to Jesus' words, "You have trusted God, now trust me" (John 14). The conversation went on. I was told I needed a Damascus experience. There is a lot of action in Paul's Damascus experience, but I took it that I needed to have a more direct experience with God in order to see him more clearly. The conversation went on.

The thought did occur to me that I needed to listen in the same way that David allowed the man on the side of the road after a battle to call him names like Baldy, and worse. I probably need reminders along the way to heaven that my dependency on God is not always evident to others.

Then I had a flash-thought. I had given this person a little of myself, a translation I had made and put in a power point. Was that not evidence that I had a purpose in life beyond what my job provided?

The situation reminded me of a poem I had written about 16 years ago when someone had challenged whether or not I was a Christian.

Pointed Words

My mind is troubled. A semi-friend spoke pointed words.
She aimed an arrow my direction.
And it stuck right in my heart.




Now my mind is troubled.
The words were not a blunt arrow.
She said she was surprised.
And I didn't fit her idea.
The words pierced my heart.

My mind dwelled on this trouble.
Her words kept begging for reply.
She knew me as a Christian first.
She matched me to her idea second.
This sharp arrow still stuck in my heart.

My mind wrestled this trouble.
Her words served as a reminder.
"John came: you considered him a madman.
I'm here: You call me a drunkard, a glutton."
Jesus' words freed the arrow from my heart.

My mind resolved this trouble.
Her words show her confusion.
She said, "My background won't allow me."
She said, "Christians can't enjoy life."
May my arrow's heartblood change her heart.

My mind is troubled again.
What if these words are a warning?
She is merely relaying Your message.
Is she coaxing me back on the path?
A heartwound causes hard thinking.

My mind is freed from trouble.
Words can change, like ideas.
She needs to see Christ's enjoyment.
She needs to hear Christ's laughter,
Thank you, Daddy, for heart healing.

For the person who caused me to again reconsider, I offer a return prayer.
"In my father's compound are many, many houses... and I am going to prepare that house for you." I'll check on you in your house in the compound when we both get there.

Trigger happy

I see that it is a part of our culture to disagree. But, I think part of the culture of disagreement is to offer either evidence for the point being argued or a show of attitude that it is according to one's own experience. So, I was taken off-guard yesterday after making a statement that I thought was non-argumentative and contained nominal evidence on behalf of the observation. One party around me was not on the same wave length and uttered vehement opposition. Opposition is good, so I listened and pondered a great deal afterward of all the counter-evidence to the opposition's side of matters.

So it goes in America. I'm still wondering what triggered the vehemence, but there seems to be an abundance of people who are full of anger and willing to let it overflow in their attitudes toward others. I think what the son of man wanted second most behind a trust in his deity was a unity among those who do trust him. A show of unity would be nice sometimes, but it almost appears to be anti-American to let something trivial slide. We would rather be IN YOUR FACE than to let something trivial go. No wonder that the Master said, "Will there be faith on the earth when I return in my glory?"

Unexpected Presence

The poetry is good. The rhyme and meter are predictable, which is good if you don't want people to think about something off-focus from the main message of the song. The music has special effects. The music crescendoes when moving from verse to chorus. Repetition keeps the listener from having to guess so much as to what the next words might be. The theme of deliverance, or presence when absence is expected, is reiterated 3 different ways, succinctly stated. The simile comparing freeing ourselves and singing about our Maker to weight placed on straining hinges shows very well how we could injure ourselves (metaphorically) if we don't sing of the presence of God. The song includes very consistent contrast since the three reiterated points of the verses suggest any idea except for God to be with us. And, of course the whole point of any work dealing with humans and God is to show that what we have to offer is miniscule compared to what He has offered us already. Only chains of looking in the wrong places would keep us humans from recognizing right away that God's presence with us is such a priceless gift. Finally, the instrumental part following the words allow us to ruminate the unexpected anomoly of God's being with us. It concludes with the same rising tone as a question does in the tones of our language as if to ask, "Shouldn't you drop your chains?"

Of course, I'm talking about the song "God with Us" from Mercy Me's CD All that Is Within Me.

Who are we that you would be mindful of us?
What do you see that's worth a look in our way?

We are free in ways that we never should be—
Sweet release from the grip of these chains.
Like hinges straining from the weight
My heart can't keep from singing,

All that is within me cries,
For you alone be glorified
Emanuel—God with us.

My heart sings a brand new song.
The debt is paid These chains are gone.
Emanuel—God with us.

Don't you know our hearts don't deserve your glory.
Still you show a love we cannot afford.
Like hinges straining from the weight
My heart no longer can keep from singing,

All that is within me cries
For you alone be glorified.
Emanuel—God with us.

My heart sings a brand new song.
The debt is paid these chains are gone.
Emanuel—God with us.

Such a tiny offering compared to Calvary;
Nevertheless we lay it at your feet.
Such a tiny offering compared to Calvary;
Nevertheless we lay this at your feet,

All that is within me cries
For you alone be glorified.
Emanuel—God with us.

My heart sings a brand new song.
My debt is paid these chains are gone.
Emanuel—God with us.

Over the last week and a half I have tried hard to ponder the thoughts of the song as I go to sleep. I usually hear it three times before sleep sets in. Now my morning walks in the park in conversation with God are not so limited in time and space. God is with me the night before.

A new year, a new understanding

New year's day nearly always represent new beginnings for people in some aspect of life or another. It's important for people to get new starts. We live in compartments and experience life in phases. We live from one holiday to the next, from one vacation time to another, from one season of the year to the next. We practice our understandings better at seasons of recall than in the long haul.

So, I am going to try this coming year to understand a particular set of Jesus' words better than the last year. The words come from John 4 when Jesus meets a Samaritan woman at a well and asks for a drink of water. Although the woman does not refuse a drink outright, she finds a way of putting off Jesus' request.

Jesus answered, "If you only knew what God gives and who it is that is asking you for a drink, you would ask him, and he would give you life-giving water."
"Sir," the woman said, "you don't have a bucket, and the well is deep. Where would you get that life-giving water? It was our ancestor Jacob who gave us this well; he and his children and his flocks all drank from it. You don't claim to be greater than Jacob, do you?"
Jesus answered, "Those who drink this water will get thirsty again, but those who drink the water that I will give them will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give them will become in them a spring which will provide them with life-giving water and give them eternal life."
"Sir," the woman said, "give me that water! Then I will never be thirsty again, nor will I have to come here to draw water."

Like the Samaritan woman, I am intrigued with having water that gives me life now and eternity later. So, I ask for this kind of water. The comparison of concrete water to an abstract water has much to offer in the way of understanding. It's the obvious—following Jesus' teachings lead to eternal life. But, it may be the less obvious. Once Jesus' teachings are ingested, they are the spring within us that keeps us from having to go back again and again. We don't need to keep reviewing, we need to enjoy the perpetual spring, our conscience, that considers what we already know to be true.

Forgiveness and slander come to mind as two teachings we have ingested but really don't enjoy our consciences considering. We don't have to review the teachings on forgiveness and slander over and over. Our consciences remind us each time an occasion arises to continue on a higher path or ignore the right behavior and take the lower road. The teaching has been ingested so we really do know which behavior leads to life.

There are many more nuggets here. I want to revisit them at regular intervals during the year and check my understanding.

Happy new year, happy new beginnings in whatever way you are starting new.

Bringing the "holi" to "holiday"

Today I got to have family day. It's what you would want—gift giving, card exchanges, beautiful words said, emotions of delight on everyone's face. It's good for the soul to have those once in a while. Too many times those occasions arise infrequently so the refreshment does not carry into the next occasion. Therefore, it's refreshing to hear from the hearts of those we love and see happiness on their faces.

Tomorrow brings a whole new dynamic. Work routines return for some of us. Duties split us in different directions. But today was cozy. It was a recharge to a person's battery. I'll internalize this one for the dry spells up ahead.

Replicating Jesus Moments

It's amazing how people change their thinking about you if they see conflicting information to their perceived notion about you. I saw such a transformation earlier last week. A woman I work around saw me going and coming over a period of about 4 months. This last month she and I engaged in several conversations. I am guilty of toying with people's minds, but the point of such toying is to try to encourage growth.

So, the toying began. Language is my game, so we had a number of conversations about words. I tried to get her to see some of the theories about language and society, including taboo language, but also including language behavior in general. Occasionally, when this happens, the person's notion about me is that I have too liberal of leanings to be a Christian. I could tell this was the case in this instance.

So, I fenced this woman into a conversation in which she raised the question about how much I might know about the Bible. She was going to elaborate, of course, on how the Good Book might mitigate some of the statements I had made. After we talked further, I could tell she changed her mind about where I stood on Christianity and the Good Book. We actually both advanced our understanding of and respect for the other's beliefs. Thus, a bond was formed.

Growth for both of us took place. I love it when those moments are so manifest that it is unmistakable that God has been in the place, the work place in this instance. The Great Teacher was like this—toying with people until he fenced them into a better understanding of and respect for the unmistakable presence of the Maker. The ending refrain of the Delirious song I Take Off My Shoes comes to mind for just these moments in time. "I take off my crown, and fall at Your feet—so holy!"

The scene is over

Impotence is the word that comes to mind. Even after a year. The event is so unbelievable that you just find yourself shaking your head, replaying parts of the trauma as if to savor it and dismiss it at the same time. You wish you could just get control of the movie and end it before it got so bad. But, there is no control—absolutely no control. The scene is over. It cannot be reperformed. It is final. There is no control—absolutely no control.

For 2 years after the event, I still listened to songs to heal the deeply cut wound in my heart. The songs were salve to the wound. I felt better after listening to them. But I wanted what could not be granted. I wanted to have no death in the family. I wanted it so badly, I felt that my desire alone could control going back in time and changing the matter. What if I had been able to take him to the doctor earlier. What if I had gotten stronger medicine earlier or investigated the experimental or homeopathic options earlier. What if... What if... But there was no control—absolutely no control over the past.

The Creator had visited my life, and it was a Jacob's ladder experience. I had wrestled for a year and two months side by side with my son. I was tired, yet optimistic that He would heal. The very last day was still a day of hope when it began. But the Creator visited. His word was that I had no control. That was the most impotent moment in life.

I have not really railed against the Creator of life asking, "Why?" I don't get answers from Him that way. So, I lean on the evidence of what can't be seen. I attach the greatest importance to the words of the Creator's words through the Son of Man.

You have trusted God. Now trust me. In my father's compound are many, many dwellings. IF IT WERE NOT SO, I WOULDN'T HAVE TOLD YOU... I will come again and take you to be with me so that you, too, can be where I am.

I also found the basic "location" in which the greatest faith trees are planted. It was in the words of the song by Matthew West, "My Finest Hour."

The king of contradictions strikes again.
You said the last to cross the finish line will win.
The beggars will be millionaires someday.
And the humble ones are going to have their say.
Well, all my friends are gone now,
And all my money's gone now,
And all my pride is gone now,
And if what you say is true now—
This will be my finest hour.
This will be my finest hour!

Well, everything is opposite down here.
The strong survive and the rest just disappear.
Ah, but your philosophy is more unique.
You say I'll be stronger when I'm weak.
And this will be my finest hour.
This will be my finest hour!

It's 2 AM and sleepless,
How wide awake and restless.
I don't know what my deal is.
I've never felt so helpless.
O-h-h-h-h... I need you more than ever.

No, I don't understand it,
I don't think I'll ever comprehend it.
It's so hard to conceive it.
So, I guess I'll just believe it.
This will be my finest hour.
This will be my finest hour!

So, I live life now in one hour increments—the "finest hour" increment because I have no control—absolutely no control.

Alterations

Somehow I knew that resuming "normal" life would not happen. Some events cause change. Some events turn the direction of the path so that one can't see ahead or behind on the path. Some events serve a person notice that he can never return to the way affairs had been. Instinctively, I knew that the future would be charted differently. The balance of relationships with immediate family had been totally altered. The future of those relationships would definitely be different. How holidays would be celebrated would be different. How proceeding at work would be different just because the zest, purpose, and energy for working had changed. And, of course, the set of questions one asks the Maker become different. So, one would expect religious behavior and theological understanding to take an expected twist.

All of the above did happen. It was truly hard to muddle through the first Christmas with only one child instead of two. The intense examination of one's actions and intentions leading up to and away from my son's departure from this world, led to a new eyes and more resolve to live according to personal principles rather than to live without saying what is on the mind or compromising to keep the peace. So, of course marital relations changed. Work was a total burn-out. I knew I would have to do something different very soon. And, yes, I felt that I needed to make a correction toward spirituality and away from religiosity, toward a theological understanding of not having regrets from one moment to the next and away from participating in the charade that God had waved a magic wand and that everything was all right or the same.

What is this world about if what one works hard to instill in posterity is uprooted, yanked away? I wanted that answer but knew that it would be an endless odyssey if I embarked on that journey. I turned to the only thing I knew that would put me back on the path of finding sense in the midst of great questioning. It had worked before. I trusted that it would work again. I began translating some of the New Testament from Greek -1st Peter, 1st and 2nd Thessalonians, various texts from the gospels. It helped me focus on the Creator, the one who still cared for me, who would stand by me till the end. Hopefully, not the bitter end either.

Finally, the darkness in the woods began to lift. It was gradual. Triggers around town still set off strong memories. But, I was able to let the Creator begin pumping life back into me. Songs such as Casting Crown's "Voice of Truth" and "Praise Him in the Storm" helped in allowing life to creep back in. Delerious' songs "Obsession" and "Jesus" helped in rekindling feeling where nerves had been numbed.

It's different now. But how meaningful each waking moment has become. Maybe I found the definition of "precious" in places where before I had taken them for granted.

Associations everywhere-but healing too

There were triggers all around. I would hear a song. It would put me right back in the hospital room or the funeral. I would see friends of my son. They would bring back all the not-so-old memories. I would pass a college. That's the spot in life my son was supposed to be occupying. I would see a televeision program with a loved one who had a life-threatening program. The parallel sent my mind spinning again into the world of just 6 months ago when my son had his life in this world.

But there was no song that would bring me to my knees more quickly than the Mercy Me song, I Can Only Imagine. I would stop whatever I was doing if I heard it and reflect on the events of the recent past. The same happened with Trane's song, Calling All Angels. Time would halt, immediately. When the song was over, time could start again. The two songs I had dedicated to my son's healing while he was alive I had to listen to every so often and ask why healing had not been in the cards for my son.

But, songs were the healing method for the raw pain to become soothed. Michael W. Smith's song, Healing Rain came out about 9 months after this traumatic event in my life. I couldn't get enough of it. I would turn on the radio and be disappointed if I didn't hear it. When I bought the CD of it, I could play it at will, which I did so many times.

Healing rain is coming down,
is coming nearer to this old town
Rich and poor, weak and strong,
It's bringing mercy; it won't be long.

Healing rain is coming down
It's coming closer to the lost and found.
Tears of joy and tears of shame
Are washed forever in Jesus' name.

Healing rain, it comes with fire
So let it fall and take us higher.
Healing rain, I'm not afraid
to be washed in Heaven's rain.

Lift your heads, let us return
To the mercy seat where time began
In your eyes, I see the pain.
Come soak this dry heart with healing rain.

Only you, the Son of Man
Can take a leper and let him stand.
So, lift your hands; they can be held
by someone greater, the Great I am.

Healing rain is coming down
It's coming closer to the lost and found.
Tears of joy and tears of shame
Are washed forever in Jesus' name.

Healing rain, it comes with fire
So let it fall and take us higher,
Healing rain, I'm not afraid
to be washed in Heaven's rain.

Healing is falling down, healing rain is falling down

I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid.

Healing rain is falling down.

Let it rain, let it rain.

How in the world?

The number one thought on my mind was, "How in the world am I going to make it to the end of life after having my heart r-i-p-p-e-d o-u-t? It's horrendous beyond belief, but it just happened. It did happen. It's real. And it is so, so final—and so, so irreversible. I don't know if I can really live."

After returning to work, I remember going through the motions, but with not much zest for life. Ever so slowly, I learned the lesson of parallel worlds. Two worlds do exist with life in them. I continued to walk in the park, continued to pray, "My father who is in heaven," continued to realize that "in my father's compound are many houses," continued to say "I'll catch up to you soon," and added a new utterance, "Thank you, father, for the safekeeping of my precious son."

Talking to the dead is not something that I have ever done before. I did find it necessary to do, however, because there were some matters left untended. I had to try to make sure that a message was heard. I had to apologize for all my wrong moves. I had to relate all the plans that I had wanted to see him complete. The next life is such "an undiscovered territory," as Shakespeare put it, that it leads you to do things that might not be right or accurate, but on the outside chance that they are, you do it. I don't know if my son heard a single word, but I had to tell him.

And dreams... oh, I wanted to have a dream of communication from the next life. I had one all right, but it was not one that I could say was not the machinations of my own my mind. It wasn't clear that it was communication from that other world. But I heard so much from others about seeing angels at the time of death, or seeing a bright light as the spirit departed. I wanted that experience too. I received silence. I wanted to hear a voice. I received soundless space.

So, I worked... and tried to care about my work. But, I had to work at caring about work. How in the world was I going to make it after my heart had been R-I-P-P-E-D O-U-T?

Where to place my stakes

I had taken 2 weeks off from work. I have no idea how most of those days went. I do remember walking in the park that is close to the house every morning and evening. I would walk within 15 minutes of getting up and within 30 minutes of closing down for the night. I know it was my salvation, however.

There's a cement pathway near the primeter of the park. It's ringed by willows and pecans. When the day's first rays filter through the trees, something celestial dawns on the conscious awareness. I simply put one foot in front of the other and walk a mile. And that's the phrase I still remember most of that 2-week time period—one foot in front of the other. I didn't have a whole lot to think about except why I was in the condition I was in. It was not supposed to be the way it was. So, around the park I would go uttering the Lord's prayer. If anyone did watch me making the rounds of the park, they had to be wondering why or what I was constantly muttering under my breath. It was the only thing I could say. I knew better than to lash out to God. But, I still knew that I had to find my way in a forest of different thoughts. So, I staked my 2 weeks' recovery period before reporting back to work on 2 recitations. They flowed from my lips morning and evening. Beyond those 2 recitations, I knew nothing. So, my lips moved:

My father in heaven, your name is sacred.

I wish for the coming of your kingdom.

I wish for your will to be done on earth just like it is in heaven.

Give us today the bread we need,

and forgive us our wrongdoing as we have forgiven wrongdoings against us.

Do not lead us into temptation but deliver us from the evil one

because to you belongs the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever. So it is.

Many times I would go line by line thinking through every word and how it applied to my new world without the flesh and blood member I had grown so used to seeing everyday and who represented my future. The 4th line I concentrated on. The 4th line the Maker delivered on. My days went by without a lapse into deep, dark depression.

In my father's compound are many, many houses. If it were not so, I wouldn't have told you it was. I am going to prepare a place for you. And if I go to prepare you a place, I will come again and take you to be with me so that you can be where I am.

The second sentence I repeated time and time again. I had to bank on either the reality of what I see is what I get or that life after death was both truth and reality. It helped me to address the one I loved and lost. It helped me adopt the phrase for my future, "I'll catch up to you soon." I can now actually look forward to the life after this one. If it were not true, the Son of Man would not have lied. He even said, "I wouldn't have told you it was true if it wasn't."

Even today I look upward and whisper, "I'll catch up to you soon."

The cold ground

Finally, the day arrives. It's been in the back of the mind since the afternoon that fate took its fatal twist. The day that finalizes the separation of body from planet. The day that inevitably rips what little root has been left in the heart completely from its dirt. The day in which the long last gaze upon the spiritless frame that represents the memories of years. The day finally arrives.

Yeah, there's a tribute ceremony, but it's not the same as a send-off or a time for bon voyage. The ceremony helps serves as the lock and key barring the ones who stay on this earth from the ones who are granted safe passage to the life after this one. The ceremony is a time to share with those outside the family's circle a circumstance or two that characterized the life of the one who left. The send-off happened days before.

The night immediately following the tributes given starts the really l-o-o-o-n-g journey without the person who so long has been a part of your essence. What does one do now? Life seems unimaginable any more. One of the reasons for living has been removed. Why must one go on without his presence? How does one move beyond this point that no one can believed just happened? Putting one foot in front of the other seems a little trite, but it is the only truth to the questions above.

Ah, there's a subject—truth! Bah humbug! Reality is the only game in town, not truth. Truth is lying in the cold ground.

A broken law

The morning broke without my attention to it. Somewhere in the light hours of morning I awoke to the breaking realization that something irreversible had happened the day before. I couldn't control it and disliked it with such great animostiy that to say I had an issue with its irreversibility would be a gross understatement.

The day's duties were clear cut. What happens at a funeral home is pretty standard around the states. Probably, so is what happens in one's mind, but a person's background governs his experience so that the thoughts become intensely personal. At first the disbelief is great. Each morning of 5 mornings the sun rose with the hope that matters would be different. But, they were not different. With strict uniformity the hope vanished because there would never be another conversation with the person I intensely loved. Visual communication had halted completely. It was a world with no picture.

Besides the normal dawning of this nether world of separation was the overwhelming thought that what happened was so, so wrong. Surely the Creator of life would never require that children precede their parents on the journey to the next life. Parents go first. It's written in stone. That is also irreversible. How could it be that that law has been overturned! It came into my conscious mind as voice so reverberatingly loud that I just shook my head over and over and over. The voice didn't leave nor did the thunder of its sound diminish.

All 5 days were as one. The routines were to eat and sleep mainly, and visit with family who had arrived for comfort. But the voice and its accompanying thunder were routine as well. All the intense care for a year suddenly and screechingly came to an immediate stop. And it was wrong, just plain wrong. The Healer had been implored a hundred times by many people. But His answer was that he would heal in His way, not ours-in His place, not ours. Did he not care that one of the inviolable rules had been broken. Parents take the journey home before their children. Always. It's written in stone! No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!