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The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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I guess like every other writer, you experience the uncertainty of who will read it. So here I am, sharing my experiences, that have come to the forefront of my mind as I struggle to find the answer to the question, “What now?” It’s been a year and almost 7 months since I had a stroke that left me blind on the left side and unable to drive, with several seizures that occurred after being placed on anti-depressants. I am now anti-depressant free but on seizure medicine – it’s a twisted circle and I don’t like any of it.

I am sharing stories that I find myself re-living through texts to various people in my life. I feel that right now the only thing that I can do is have a text message ministry with people in my life, and every so often have been told to ‘write a book’. My psychologist has told me to start a blog, so that is where I find myself, with the help of my trusty sidekick, also known as my wife. If you join me on this journey, I hope you find comfort, peace, and every once in a while, a chuckle.

Christmas Blues

To a varying degree, those suffering with depression get the Christmas blues.  We have expectations that it will be a time of checking off the list of gifts requested that we dutifully buy.  It makes the whole thing thoughtless and redundant, and we just give up and just give the recipient cash TO GET WHATEVER THE HELL THEY want, sit around a table to eat a feast many go to church, and as the “family” gathers there is talk of the world the way it is and maybe we even remember what the day is really for. 

Christmas is a celebration of the most unique event in human history that is remembered by the wonderful Christmas’s of yore.  I asked a pastor what the meaning of the “mas” on Christmas meant.  He is very learned on such things and said it meant “gathering”, hence a gathering for Christ.  Thus Christmas is a gathering of families and humanity to celebrate Jesus Christ’s birth as a human baby.  The gathering part may be the reason we are depressed.  Some of us have the blues because of non-Christmas, dysfunctional families, bad experiences, mundane repetition of traditions and can’t wait for it to be over.  I had wonderful parents and a great Christmas past so wonderful memories fill my melancholy mind. 

Growing up on a farm where my dad would take one of our sleds and make slay tracks in the driveway leading to the barn and my brother ringing jingle bells and stomped his feet on the roof and us kids really thought Santa had just paid us a visit and when the milking was done we would go back the house that Christmas eve and low and behold under the tree were our presents some we expected and some surprises (the surprises were always the best).  My uncles and their families came over on Christmas day and we opened more presents and listened to our Grandma bitch because we didn’t eat all of her bakery load of pies.

When I was a worship leader at our little church (a while back) one Christmas Eve service,  I had a snow machine installed and at the service when the traditional lighting of the candles at the end of the service, without letting the pastor know, we made it snow much to her surprise.   All these things were surprises and anticipation of the wonderful things that we were going to experience.

2000 years ago the uneducated poor shepherds just doing the usual mundane tasks of tending their sheep got a surprise as angles showed up.  They probably didn’t what was up with that and told them to come to see a baby who was going to change the world.  Joseph was surprised 9 months earlier when he found out his betrothed Mary was pregnant with a child that he knew wasn’t his.  Later he knew why the baby was not his but God’s.  She knew because the angels told her.  Then as she gave birth (after having birth pains on a donkey on the way to a barn to bring this baby into the world. I believe the surprise gifts are the best requiring thought and discernment to find out what someone would really like but not expect even if it’s just a card telling them how much they mean to you, and you love and care for. The gifts are all year long, the surprise might be that you remember them.

Jesus was the gift the world sorely needed, was rejected, and most wanted to return Him to the store to find something they really could use.   Little do most of us know how much we need peace and not-self.  Maybe that is why the world is such a Chinese-made cheap place that doesn’t come with a warranty or lasts very long.

Oh, how is miss my mom and Dad and my brother (who committed suicide because of depression) and me and my sister are the only ones left to remember those Wonderful Christmas’s past. It is good to remember those good moments and bury the bad in a big snowdrift do a good deed and surprise someone who expects nothing but apathy.

One of my favorite things in this season is while stopping at a sit-down restaurant or somewhere to grab a bite and the waitress serving me is working on this night probably because she has to, or is depressed as well. I put the customary tip on my card and leave a $100 bill just sticking out from under a napkin and write on the napkin “God loves you”.   I pause a moment outside and look through the window from a concealed distance and maybe see a tear roll down their face and for a brief moment, one depressed person healed another. Surprise, Surprise.
May I wish you a Merry Christmas – wishing that you see Christ in your gatherings this year?

The one that moved away

As usual, my topic is always one I could write volumes on (and it usually ends up that way, much to the chagrin of my small band of readers who endure my lengthy prose.  This one is personal. Maybe personal to you all as well. The other night I pulled up my “fishin” chair in the front lawn and took in the full moon as it uncloaked itself through the passing the pre-storm clouds and just stared.  This was/is a habit I have had over the last 52 years. Why “52”? Because that’s when I started growing up with an old/eternal soul mate of mine.   Her name is Kathy, and we met in school and were in band together. We were sort of boyfriend/girlfriend thing, but much more than that, we were soul mates. We could talk about anything and everything and enjoyed our friendship way beyond our friendship and smooching (btw intimacy by mutual consent ended there) with a soulmate parting hug and a small kiss which sometimes lasted a little longer than we intended. This friendship lasted through 3 subsequent marriages, and she moved to West Virginia, where she returned to her childhood home because her dad opened a restaurant there, and she hated it.  We later (after I mastered E-mail) would infrequently write back forth.  A few years back, I’d catch up with her in West Virginia on my way through to upstate NY to celebrate my daughter’s birthday, spend the night either at the Stonewall resort or at her mom’s house. The night would break up the long trip back to Florida, and old deep-thinking soulmates could spend some time together talking about everything and anything. We’d share a room but always in separate beds so that the conversation ended with one or both of us falling asleep. I’d get up early to get on the road, we’d part with a hug and one of those kisses that lasted a bit too long, and I would go back to Florida and home to my incredibly loving and understanding wife.
She understood and trusted me that this was one thing that was personal and treasured by me and allowed me that special solitude. On the other hand, Kathy went through heroin during her college years, got married, and had a daughter and a beautiful grandchild but a failed marriage. 

She embraced Jesus, and I had recently returned to Christ after a sabbatical of not being of the world but in it.  We would commonly look up at the full moon when together and use that to keep us together over the miles and times of separate places. She became very sick and, on the way back from a trip west to Arizona, I stopped in Dallas, where she was being treated for some ailment that I don’t remember.  We talked as I watched her frail body on a bed.  We hugged and prayed together for her recovery and gave thanks for each other.  She asked if I could stay the night with her, but I declined and headed back to Florida after one final kiss and hug that didn’t last long enough.  Even though I reached out to her with E-mails and a phone call or two, I never heard from her again. I thought maybe the closeness was too much for her, or she just got remarried and found someone and moved on.  Through a chance encounter on Facebook about 3 months ago, her cousin let me know that she had passed years earlier.  I grieved under the full moon but had closure.  I look up at the moon periodically, and she moved away again but not to West Virginia but a way better place.

Maybe I’ll see you again someday, my soulmate.

A final thing for you all to ponder.  Have you ever had a soulmate move away or “way away”?  Maybe this message will comfort you in having that experience, whether it be now in whatever station in life you have, be it in marriage or beyond.  Treasure it.  Give thanks to the Lord for truly this is a gift that never “moves away.”

Thanksgiving 2021

On this Thanksgiving Day, I started by texting everyone I could to tell them how much I am thankful for them being in my life, especially my wife and sons. My daughter is not speaking to me, so I’ll just that percolate, and soon all will become new, but like that good Turkey, it needs time to cook.

I went fishing in my favorite spot in my front yard. You see, it is not the best spot in our pond to fish, but the view is best and less interruption from a pesky biting fish to distract my deep thoughts, LOL.  I’m a lazy fisherman. I put on a worm and a bobber, throw it out there and wait for it to go under (not too interested in working too hard at this).

Ladies, this is essentially a man’s thing; after all, even Jesus went to fisherMEN to be fishers of men. I know this is a metaphor for mankind, so as I feel the rush of ladies to slap me with sounds of sexist pig, other ladies just blow it off as an ignorant man’s rambling, not knowing who is the truly superior gender. I’m playing it safe here because my editor is my wife, and she controls my medications. Without them, I’d surely die.

Anyway, here are my thoughts on Thanksgiving, a product of my fishing solitude and only one fish to interrupt it, measuring a colossal 4 inches long.

Tradition says that the first Thanksgiving occurred on November 1621 between the friendship of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag to give thanks to each other and God to give them provision for the winter. (this was after the voyage of the Mayflower who left Plymouth, England, in September 1620). Anyhow, I find it interesting to know that man came together just to be thankful for the provision and each other before man destroyed it, and then the here and now generation wants to blame each other for each other.

Thanksgiving is in addition to a time of family and good food to share and just be together, with maybe a little prayer thrown in to be thankful for our bounty and each other. But I also thought about another bit of a play on words. Forgiving goes quite well with Thanksgiving. Giving forgiveness to those have who hurt us and accepting and giving of that forgiveness feast over the weight of guilt and hurt replaced by reconciliation and a boatload OF TURKEY AND STUFFING AND EXPLOSIVE BAKED BEANS prepared by selfless hands.

Thank you, crafty fish, for eluding my catch for occasionally trusting me to reel you in and hold you just long enough to behold your magnificent God-made creation just long enough to flop around a few times on the grass and be thrown back to swim freely. And besides, you’re too small to eat, I’m too lazy to clean fish, and I don’t want you to feed my family today.  

I Give thanks for a can of worms, fishing rod, a chair, and patient fish the simple things of life. I’m content today.

Fisher of fish or Fisher of men?

Some of you may have noticed once again I’ve been blog AWOL lately. A couple of reasons I’m depressed because I have such a small following and I’m thinking why am I doing this? Then I have to remind myself that it’s my therapy for not going on a one trip to crazy town.

Since my wife is my editor, I don’t want to burden her with dealing with my drivel as she works two jobs takes care of her elderly parents who live in apartment in our house. We have our business failing with my older son trying to keep it together through a rough divorce.  Oh, and we just took in an 18-year-old kid from a household with an alcoholic dad and a mother barely keeping it together, they showed him door.  The kid has a big heart, is hard worker with anger issues.  My youngest is struggling with his faith and wrestling with being 18 where dad is stupid, and mom is a clear and present danger to his freedom.

Both my wife and I went through COVID aftereffects for me it includes balance problems (she got through it better). I’m still dealing with post stroke physical and mental depression issues.  I found out that I have a jellybean sized kidney stone and that I need a pacemaker and a Watchman. 

This is not a pity party, for I give thanks to God every day for my provision, my children my house and my little piece of paradise.  My home, my wife and my spirit that somehow still survives the onslaught of life.  What does one do when the multi-tasking of life becomes too much? 

For me, I seized the moment and got a good medication.  My wife went to the sporting goods dept at Walmart and got me an ample supply of live worms dug out my Tiger rod and reel and at 7:00 am on Sunday morning went fishing on our artesian pond and I got well needed relief. 

Fishing for bass and bluegill is an easier gig then what Jesus told them to be more than fishermen but be fishers of men.  As I fished alone, I also went trolling for souls and got my youngest son asking my wife to go to church for the first time in over a year and our quasi-adopted son to nibble on a little Jesus.  


The bottom line is just go fishing.  Fish don’t ask tough questions, don’t judge and just want to be thrown back to swim with their buddies.  They got a free meal of worm de jute..  Stress and depression is arrested for another brief period of time.

Until next time May God carry you all through another day/week. To top it off I’m going to order chicken wings delivered and watch the Green Bay Packers play and go off to sleep.

God cover you all and try to cheer up and when you can’t just take time to go fishing or on a clear night go outside sit and look up at the stars you and your problems and despair are not the center of the universe its infinity is centered in your heart guard it and share it agape.

Back from Being AWOL

I’ve been AWOL for quiet sometime. Firstly because (an over statement and hypocrisy of my blog title) I’ve been too depressed to do so. I’ve been discouraged to a degree that I have so much to say and unload and forget my mission of writing for my own mental health and yearning to connect with a bigger audience. I get depressed that I don’t seem to connect and received coaching on how to write a blog.  So, I took some advice, but my story telling bent dominates my writing.  So be it. I cannot be dishonest in the name of conformance.

What makes me depressed right now is the perfect storm of regular battle of depression and the effects of the physical. Not being able to drive legally to go anywhere without being carted around and recently I am recovering from Covid. This bout leaves me not able to walk without help and sometimes results in me falling and my youngest son has to pick me up off the floor.

I think I am recovering, but my walking issue may last months or a longer. Our business that my oldest son is struggling with managing and bringing in profit is on life support, and he is going through a nasty divorce. Thankful but deflated that we have moved my in-laws in with us and while we can take care of them, they are providing income enough by pooling our resources to live modestly. The deflation comes from my inability to provide for them and my household by my own labors not relying on other income. Another depression multiplier.

How does the self-healing depression doctor handle this?  Not very well.  Well, I give thanks every day for His provision, a roof and enough to pay the bills, enough to eat. My faithful and loving rock (also known as my amazing wife), my children (even with how infrequent they remember I exist), except my youngest who picks me up off the floor and brings me and my dog breakfast from McDonald’s.  And how much so many others suffer far worse. 

Being a guy watching SEC football with my alma mater UF Gators that graduation from 46 years ago. It is an escape to hear the fight song when a touch down is scored playing at Florida field (the Swamp) Even hearing the fans sing (Florida started in 1856 as a boy’s school) “We are the boys of ole Florida” song at the end of the 3rd quarter (is this gender friendly song by alumni regardless of gender?  I try to get some sort of comfort of hobbling my way to sit on my back porch to get absorbed in His wooded creation, play fetch with my dog (while I sit) but to bring back depression because I don’t get an answer to My ways are not your ways, My thoughts are not your thoughts. I’d just like to know Something! I do know one thing. Last weekend was my wife and I’s 23rd anniversary and she is loyal, puts together all my pills, takes care of me, carts me, chides me and still loves me. That takes the edge off depression. I pray that you all have a someone like this if not seek carefully and with God in the center someone you can talk to trust and understands.

Sometimes the most depressing thing after you recover from Covid or have a “up” day mentally is, you get the feeling that you are just being dumped back into a world full of credit cards, or fix a broken business. Everyone immediately wants you to pick up right where you left off and be “normal”.  That piles on more pressure and maybe “normal” isn’t where you want to be any more. You want to be something.  But that old world, with its high points and excitement just doesn’t cut it anymore and God, as of yet, hasn’t given me something that lights me up. 

What are we depressants to do? I sit out on the porch and play fetch with my dog, walk a little and ponder. I guess that’s as good as it gets right now but God provides and that will just have to do for now.

Counterfeit Christian?

I have undoubtedly upset or am getting ready to upset fellow Christians. I’m using this term mainly because the alliteration writing tool seems to work here, and most faiths have their counterfeits. Briefly, I’ll list them and a brief reason I include them.

I believe every faith has them to one degree or another. They have the self-righteous bullies to raise to leadership financially comfortable or power through the perversion of the original message to humanity and is barely visible as time and memory moves and fades from the original message intended to be conveyed or lived by.

Perhaps my Jewish Rabbi friend put it best in his definition of Truth – “Fidelity to the original.” I know very little of the world religions (I’ve read The World’s Religions by Huston Smith to get more understanding.) I barely comprehend my faith that is Christianity. I have a Hindu temple next door to me that espouses humbleness and respect for others. Still, I have to dodge rich kids driving their BMWs at 50 miles an hour out a very lavish temple, nearly running over anyone in their path after they feint worshiping a platoon of various gods to appease their wealthy parents.  Muslims who say they are in the name of peace while being founded by a very militant prophet and many refusing to condemn modern terrorists who do things in the name of their faith and allow them to defame the principles of tolerance they once had as a young religion. Taoists who lost control of the Chinese culture and peaceful faith of meditation in favor of brutal atheistic communism and persecution of others etc. Shinto by the Japanese to worship a human emperor instead of the higher calling. Allowed WW2 to happen German Christians to let the Nazis redirect their Martin Luther values into hate for the Jews and other “inferior” humankind. And the list could go on and on.

It is primarily counterfeiting noble and true values from a misconstrued concept of who God is.   My faith puts strong and exclusive reliance on trust and belief that God controls the universe.  That He loves his creation and came to earth much later to illustrate his love.  He let himself suffer an unimaginable death by human hands that refused to believe that Jesus (His human self) came to redeem all the hatred and suffering and show us all a better way.

We still don’t listen even when he gives us one way to quit making the world be our religion and counterfeiting them when we humans can’t lift ourselves to heaven by our thought and spirit but let God come to us.    We continue to counterfeit, like our government, printing fake spiritual currency and using it as the real thing, expecting long-term salvation or prosperity. When the original is not backed by genuine faith value of our founders, and for us Christians, not printed sometimes compromised, TV or financially protected, wealthy pastors that preach the Word of God from a worldly safe place.  That is a lot more comfortable than the early apostles who died and sacrificed for their preaching and teaching.   Leadership, sometimes in the church, is measured by statistics on how many souls got saved this week, how big our programs and buildings are, or how big our TV or social media platform is. 

I’d rather listen to the Word from a local pastor in a little country church who lived among the regular folks, who fixed cars on the side to feed his family. Then a high-powered, overpaid mega-church or TV evangelist.  It’s authentic rather than one of these guys that live in a comfortable, sometimes multimillion-dollar house.  As an illustration, our company did sitework for a considerable extension of a church in a growing town made up of local movers and shakers mixed with common agricultural folks and local contractors.  I had chats with the pastor in the afternoon under a shade tree.  We just talked, maybe because I was just a contractor from out of town.  He needed to talk; he mentioned that he was taking medication for his stress and clinical depression.  I went to one of his services and was impressed by his delivery of message and production, including a large choir, praise band, and liturgical dancing.  He told me in that candid moment, “you know Rick, I yearn to go back to that 18 member congregation that we started.  I could preach the Word, know everyone by first and last name. Grab a chain saw and help one of my parishioners’ clear brush for a garden he wanted to plant.  Or go over on a Saturday afternoon to help pick up and hold a new starter for a guy tighten the bolts because he couldn’t afford to have someone else fix it.” He closed and said, “oh, I miss being broke in that little church and doing that kind of “mission” work.” He has since retired from that large church, probably on a nice pension, and probably still finds happiness in chopping some wood and showing what Jesus meant when he said the last shall be first shall be last. 

Just as aside, if your church is asking for more tithes or thinks the pastor should get a raise, remember that their salary (except for FICA tax) is tax-free along with the income the church brings in. The tithers, in large part, don’t have that luxury).  Don’t get me wrong here that being a pastor has to be one of the most challenging jobs in the world. They spend countless hours meditating on the Word to touch hearts and souls every Sunday and presiding over funerals and weddings and knowing that many of them will fail or started without Jesus in the middle (no matter how the pastor counsels).   Sometimes, having people come to Christ on multiple occasions, only to fail in that commitment, counseling countless people going through soul-wrenching times feeling all that pain. There is not enough money anywhere to compensate for that, my friend. Also, don’t get me wrong, I have been counterfeit in my life in two out of three marriages.  The last one is far from always genuine, but a three-way deal with Christ is in the middle.
I was a worship leader, and the authentic part was the basic music (when I wasn’t counterfeiting it with showmanship) and prayer that was genuine and personal touched the congregation. I built the two large concrete crosses to last and last (it’s hard to counterfeit three mixer loads of concrete).

To close, I remember when I was a kid.  The US Government was and is just printing counterfeit money to fake productivity.  There was still circulating currency that looked and spent just like regular currency, except it was printed as a Silver Certificate.  The certificate was redeemable by the US Treasury in hard silver.  They were pulled from circulation and no longer redeemable in silver, and not that long ago.  So that we only have “the full faith of the US Government to back our currency. So I can’t help but wonder, my fellow Christians, are the old apostles and smaller growing congregations over the years still redeemable by the real treasures in heaven? Or are we just trading in counterfeit currency?”

Cut and paste and edited and electronically enhanced gospel to fast forward us into worldly pseudo-Christianity controlled by artful intelligence (I don’t mean the quantum computer kind, but human as well)  or faith-full simple followers of the original. My dear old Rabi friend and I rest our case.

Tired of the Routine

All

I guess this will be quick,  which will relieve my wife as she is my editor and poster.  I am a techno Neanderthal, and my eyesight since the stroke makes me a bit dyslectic.

Sometimes we all get a bit tired of the routine, and for me, I get into a Solomon’s “Meaningless, meaningless its all Meaningless” (Ecclesiastes 1:2) rut.  He meant that, of course, that without God in the center, whatever you do is meaningless. So I’m of the bent here lately that even with all my prayers and effort, especially with my prisoner status at my small estate.  No matter what I do or not do, or how hard I try to convince myself that there is meaning to my existence or effort, contrary to my earlier posts, ALL is meaningless. My words ring useless to my blogging friends and followers, especially my three kids and, yes, my faithful wife.

 I am trying now to shut up and say little as not to expend the energy. Or, more appropriately, take James’s advice about curtailing my tongue (James 3) and try my best to listen even though my selective hearing screens out a lot of self-regulated nonsense and, at worst, impairs my hearing of the ever small voice of God.  I’m expecting James Earl Jones or a clap of thunder thing, not that almost imagined thing speaking to me from a whisper of wind through the trees.  “Word Of God Speak” at 90 dB because I can’t hear you.

My head is thick and cluttered with thoughts of everything BUT God. Tap me on the shoulder, God, or with a 2 by 4 to the top of the head. Just get my attention and let me know after all the good stuff I have done and strive to do why I am here and what I do next. I’m surrounded as we all are by chaos and stupid (I’m included in the stupid stuff often and probably make someone else’s life a living hell). Let me hear you or at least send me someone like Jesus to understand and me many times.  I need an Apostle or a minister (that I can trust) to have a chance at understanding.  Just give me the truth (fidelity to the original), not the counterfeit dogma of man.  Maybe “I can’t handle the Truth.” LOL,  but I want to give it a shot because what I and the world is doing ain’t working.

Rag-Tag Prayer Warriors

I’ve decided to return to posting after weeks of not.  Mainly because I’ve been too depressed. LOL.  So much for carrying my blog title as a renaissance of light. LOL.  I have relatively few followers or visitors and have been told I write to long and not often enough.  I’m sure they’re right but I’m me and I guess if writing a short story in rambling disjunct wordsmithing and structure is the product of my mind so be it.  I would like to reach many. I’m selling no product, so you don’t have to skip the ads.   In the end I only write really for my own self-understanding to keep my sanity (whatever that is) and write my cry outs to the ultimate reader of One.

I have another valid reason for not writing, it is that I ventured out of myself and found myself for a lack of a better word press secretary for a dear friend of mine fighting a unknown brain ailment. He has seizures that the guys with the big brains can’t figure out and are life threatening.  I understand his struggle with seizures as well as a complicated personal life.   We were state presidents of the then 10,000 member Florida Junior Chamber of Commerce (Jaycees). I have seizures that are controlled with meds, he is not so fortunate yet. This 30 years later has brought us back together as comrades in arms and as dear friends.   Now understand, this group was a powerful community service organization in the day and is now almost extinct today. However, the past members (because it was for young people under 40) keep in touch as they have gone on to other careers. I found myself in the strange position of running liaison between his close family and friends to the larger group of friends and yes prayer warriors.

He may not recover, but another amazing thing is happening. You see, as much good as this organization did; the members were sometimes naughty and sometimes debaucherous in their actions.  The bad along with the good and the opening lines in the Jaycee creed even says that “Faith in God Gives Meaning and Purpose to Human Life” well in the name of having fun and way to much beer we mostly blew that line off. 

 But an amazing thing is happening now with for some unexplained reason I find myself three wives late (the last one took at 23 years) leading an incredible prayer revival of prayer warriors from these thousands to pray for our common friend who might have been any of us. As I pray, I am going into basic training mode like offering the difference between offering sympathy, compassion, “our hearts and prayers go out to you” and wielding prayers like a sword that is in combat to fight for people and situations and righteous causes.  Using the power of an un-understandable, at times, God to fight to the death if it requires, to prevail. Because in the end no matter if we or my friend live or die this fight is to prepare us for life eternal and you really have to believe that that is real victory.  If not than what the hell are we trying to do here. My friend will live on and all those praying in my ragtag army of veterans some new recruits will win the day one way or another. My dear friend you will be more than a conqueror.

Trees

I promised in an earlier post to write about trees; however, I’m known to get distracted quite easily.   A few suggest that I may have the makings of a good writer. However, I feel that I’m too illiterate and undisciplined in controlling my thoughts in a finite straight line with an end to the ball of twine to do that.  I occasionally try to abscond a bit of genius wordsmithing from the great classics like Theroux, Cooper, and Steinbeck but fail miserably, as you can see.  Yes, when I was in High School in the late 60’s early 70’s, we were forced to read all of these, and only 50 years later did I appreciate the genius and sometimes eccentricity of the great writers. During that period, I was more focused on Paula’s breast line when she stood up to give a short treatise on a description by Cooper on a chapter-long description of a rose petal than the subject material. However, I and my fellow illiterate hooligans, for a rare moment, were focused on the front of the room instead of special ops aiming a well-placed spit wad in Allen’s ear two desks over. We trudged through the classics with a respectable C-minus average and were promoted to the 11th grade.  And I also moved on to the University of Florida and barely got through my Business letter writing class. Not exactly a resume of a fine writer. My redeeming quality (if there is one) is that I write bluntly and with total honesty, well most of the time, and from the heart.

 Well, at last I return to the subject of my writing today, “trees.” As I sit out on my front porch pondering the beautiful Oaks, I am amazed at how beautiful and majestic they are. They seek the sun and grow steadfastly higher and fuller over the years. These were plucked from the ground and “saved” from destruction due to the construction of humanity’s much-needed Walgreens.  We pulled them out of the ground and not too gently loaded them up in a dump truck and not gracefully dumped them in my front yard 15 years ago, dug some holes and stuck them in the ground, watered them. God grew them into 40-foot tall, beautiful trees home to squirrels, the 23 types of birds enjoying the branches and providing much-appreciated shade for picnickers at our 4th of July celebration.

The small forest of pines behind our house along the pond started from saplings to 50-foot sentinels guarding our backyard against the street noises of the neighborhood and distant interstate. I saw them grow after they survived a forest fire—a now huge Ear Tree (considered a nuisance tree by purist landscapers). The trunk is 6 feet across shades a 50-foot area and is nearly 60 feet tall. It, too, was saved 40 years ago (a fast grower) by my son while mowing the lawn either by divine intervention or his compassion (I suspect both). You can marvel at the power of nature’s resilience, or you can metaphorically think deeper like I did this morning and relate those trees to all of us seeking and growing toward the sun for sustenance. I guess if you are a Christian, you may want to substitute the spelling of the sun to The “Son,” for we like the trees seek the heavens like those trees and then get uprooted by a storm, die from disease wood borers, or just uprooted by man. Their roots upend roads and slabs, but because of their tenacity to overpower the puny things of man. And through it all, we keep overcoming and grow ever closer to the sun/son. God plants children. I planted seedlings 50 years ago obtained free from the forestry service to reclaim the banks on one of our mining projects that are now 50feet tall. The trees, like all of us, die. They/we leave behind memories/God plants more seeds that somehow grow again. Maybe our trees will finally grow tall enough where God lets us touch the heavens, and we won’t get destroyed by disease or storms and return to the Garden of Eden from whence we came. Many times, without the pruning and fertilizer, especially the organic kind from not so pleasant origins that some pastors and self-proclaimed philosophers feed us when all we need is that simple, pure warmth of the sun/son beckoning us to grow ever closer to HIM. Well, that’s about all the depth I can muster right now.  Next time, if I don’t get sidetracked, I want to revert to my sometimes earthy and true-life experiences in the sometimes-comical treatise of biological birth and animal farm life and at least one human birth.  God be with you all and keep growing.  Maybe I’ll rag on the religion in between.

Trauma

This is about trauma I recently experienced. Mostly selfishly self-induced because similar a few posts ago, I wanted to feel relevant and productive.  Warning don’t try this at home.

As I may have mentioned earlier, my background is construction and among a myriad
of other equipment, I am a very competent 50-year veteran dozer operator. I own a 15-acre ex mining site I operated and finished in the late 80’s. So, in order to rehab my mental health, I thought what the hell, I’ll go and hop on one of our dozers and dress up the banks and get it ready to sell hopefully to the county for a water treatment system. Just like riding a bike you never forget even if it has been 3 years since I’ve been on one.  As the video shows it took me about 5 minutes to regain my proficiency to top notch and was doing this for about half a day and I was having a ball and building my self confidence that I at least could do SOMETHING besides sit on my porch and think about the next drivel I was going to bore my blog readers with.  The lake is about 25 feet deep, and I was very careful as to work cautiously and professionally as I worked the banks. I kept one of my employees with me in case I got stuck or something.

Well, the “something” resulted in having a bank give way that even the best of operators could not have seen coming and I slid off the edge flipping the machine upside down in the deep lake. As the water poured into cab (fortunately it was an open ROPS cab so as not to trap me inside) as I was in the water upside down things happened quickly.  My thoughts raced through my mind. I thought should I ride it down or just jump and let it crush me and be done with it.  Well, much earlier in life I loved running a dozer because at the end of the day at a construction site I would, after hours and finish grade and look back at the earth god has let me to play with and create sculptured land art. I could think about anything and everything (because when you are really good at running a machine it is so rudimentary that you could do the two at the same time and the purr of the dozer and its finished product was the therapy one needed after dealing with the pressures of running a business and dealing with bureaucratic inspectors that never built anything from the ground up in their lives not to mention figuring out how to make payroll while actually building something.  My oldest son, who now runs the business, is the same way. Even your own family has to allow for this time of mental decompression.  It is this moment that I entered the world of trauma. 

While I was going down into the water you might think that I had one of those flash backs of your whole life things, I did not. Perhaps seeing God and the great white tunnel thing as I was on the verge of drowning, I did not. But I was told, by someone, to swim out of the trap and paddle like a bat out of hell and head for the floating turbidity boom nearby and came up from the water and yelled for help. My wife and my guy drove over when they saw me go in and as he got out of the car, he heard me yell and quickly ran over to help me crawl out the steep bank.  He has COPD so after the runover he was nearly winded.  My wife got back in the car and went for help.  Finally, the two of us, my employee and me, dragged me out, my legs were weak because of all the sitting, I do on the porch contemplating.  My wife came with one of my agile friends who was working on our house at time. By that time, my guy and I were sitting on a pipe nearby and resting.

Then round two happened, with my wife and my two friends there, I suddenly had one of my devil- Jesus come rescue me – attacks full on with the bad taste and smell deal.

As I sat going through the chills and the whole thing, I rebuked Satan in the name of Jesus, as my wife prayed with me and my agile friend Paul put his hand on my shoulder and prayed, my other guy just sat nonplused at what he was witnessing.   It all went away we got up we all went home to shower and relax, and I went to bed. The dozer slept with the fishes until my oldest son and Paul did a Lazarus rescue with a lot of help from our giant Volvo 330 excavator and drug it out of the lake to dry out and fight another day maybe with me at the helm and to stay away from deep lakes LOL.

The Devil attack I believe only hit because as I said before only strikes when I’m weak physically. Going into the lake never happened to me before and I was sort of shaken up and relive it in dreams.   I made light of it in jokes about the John Deere and I went for a swim or maybe a full immersion baptism to help me laugh off or to hide my trauma.

My youngest son flipped our all-terrain John Deere a few years back and he was pinned under one side, my wife and nearby neighbors righted it, and pulled him out with really bad scrape that is still healing to this day and it still is a nasty scar, healing still today.   I told him to check the oil and get back on and drive it home.  At the time I was being a good dad and was teaching him to get back in the saddle and ride again. And until this moment, did I realize that I forgot the compassionate and understanding part. He carried that for years.  After this little event and years later, we sat down, and I apologized and we both learned a lot me at 68 and him at 18. As he hops on the Gator to take trash down to the gate and I maybe hop on that dozer two men, one young and one old, work to overcome their fears and let God give us the nerve to try again. 

Maybe those around us will understand. Most of us have never been in combat and anyone says they understand will never get it until they’ve been there. My little brush with near death is nothing compared to that and the friends I saw come back from Vietnam.  It changed My uncle who served with Patton’s Army during WW2 and witnessed the liberation of the concentration camps and Nuremberg trials. He just sat looking out the window and, years later the TV for hours. Only to regain his dry humorous self to hide the horrendous trauma he went through.

I got a tiny taste of that mentally toxic experience the other day and with the stroke and all that goes with it that have written about. I now know and that we try to forget but you can’t, you just can’t forget just overcoming it no matter what the outcome be it from the wars, sexual abuses, self-punishment from self-inflicted failure or undeserved guilt. Give this a try,  Jesus went through all there is to go through, and He took all your hurt pain and guilt and for lack of some more theological statement about the cross, took the ultimate one for the band of brother and sisters enough said.