Behave!

  I feel kind of bad about my last post. I was pretty harsh on my dad. Sorry Pops. Let me set out a couple more things and lighten the mood.

  I want to dive further into the issue of misbehavior. (Way to lighten it up right away!)

  What to do with misbehaving kids has plagued humanity since the beginning. We see plenty of examples of every philosophy working. Some say just simply love/accept and the kid comes out just fine (and sometimes they do). Others say discipline is needed to promote good behavior.

  I am not advocating either. I think both are true. What I want to expose is motive. Often what motivates discipline or gentleness is annoyance. To the disciplinarian, bad behavior is annoying and must be punished. To the more pascifist, punishment seems mean (ie annoying) and should be avoided.

  So, my dad did what he could do with what he was taught. And I think he tried to do it with love. 

  The point I am struggling to drive across is the desperate need for a child to never fear being left or forsaken. Those fears plagued me. I could pretend to do well, but then I would stumble again. My stumbling always drove a wedge between my dad and I.

  Here is one practical idea that may have helped. Let's paint a simple picture.

  I wanted to do things my way and was extremely lazy. Dad figured that I shouldn't be allowed to freeload and invited me to leave home. This seems very logical to me.

  However, why not meet up once in a while and go out for coffee? That cheeseburger and chocolate shake sounds good. How about a movie? Maybe a hike somewhere?

  My performance as a son should not affect our relationship. The motivation behind spending time together is not about rewards, its about love. Its simply about spending time together and not dwelling on the gunk.

  With all that being said, dad and I are forging a new relationship. We routinely get together for breakfast and visit. We have lively debates about all sorts of things. Honestly, it hardly matters what we talk about, we are slowly becoming close.

  I have a dear friend in Wisconsin whom we will call John. John will like that very much seeing as that is his name. (Dead pan humor....love it!). John and his son are also working out their relationship. His son is very close to my age. When I talk about my past relationship with my dad I can hear the heartache in John. He understands what I am saying, but he also understands my dad. There is so much pain.

  John and I allow each other to share our stories without the need to edit or censor. By giving each other that liberty we are helping heal each other. Its a strange process and I never would have imagined such a powerful friendship.

  There is no way of doing anything perfectly. My buddy John wants to do everything just right, my dad never wants to make mistakes, I never want to fail....but we all will mess it up. Will we still go hangout? Or will our failures dictate our relationship?

Gone fishing

  Growing up I believed there was nothing I could do to help my dad love me more. Regardless of how I behaved, good or bad, I never once thought my dads love for me would change. The problem is, I didn't know my dad loved me at all. Whether I behaved or not didn't seem to matter.

  My dad grew up in a dark household where love wasn't on the table. My dad desperately wanted things to be different for my sister and I. But the dye had been cast, kids who behave well have daddies approval.

  Early on I got stuck in performance mode. Doing good didn't cause wonderful things to happen between my dad and I, it just caused him to yell......a little less. He had a terrific set of pipes. He was a yelling ninja!

  I am not trying to paint a complete scenario of utter horror. There were things my dad would do that were cool. But often those things were done with an expectation that I would somehow behave better now. "Here son, enjoy this motorbike." "Didn't do well in school, remind me why I would bother buying you gas for the motorbike."

  The motorcycle was my favorite thing. Such freedom and fun. I had to steal gas from his truck in order to ride.

  He had this quirky thing where every couple of months he would offer me a "clean slate". I never knew what the hell a slate was or why it needed cleaning. I figured I was being offered a new beginning and we could just forget the junk I had done. Then a few days later I would repeat a prior failure only to have those past failures brought up again. You can't wipe smooth engraved marble.

  My failures were always before me. Behind me. To the side. Below, above....damn. I really had no clue how to escape.

  There was a rewards system that was tried. I learned quickly that I didn't get any better with rewards. I didn't have the kind of patience to get the rewards or the rewards were stupid.

  We tried punishment. Dad would blow up then sulk, punishments never had any rhyme or reason. I could count on a huge speech about choices and how we lose opportunities by making wrong choices. If I chose well I could become anything, but every poor choice means one less thing I could be.

  Once my step-mom told me I was killing my dad. He had terrible indigestion and coughed up colorful things in the morning. When he quit smoking that went away. I still smoke......I blame her ;)

  Ok Josh, why bring this up now?

  Good question!

  I just had breakfast with my dad who tried to convince me that how I behave directly affects my relationship to God. If I behave well God draws me in a little closer. Bad behavior pushes God away.

  Fuck off dad. Fuck you and your earning favor trip. If you want me to be good in order to love me......whatever. But to say that I can earn favor with God is insane. He is so utterly pure and I am so fatally flawed. I can't do it.

  I believe in absolute grace today. I believe God has done everything necessary for me to have a right relationship with him. By offering himself on the cross I have nothing else I can offer.

  OK, enough preaching. Who begins preaching with a curse word anyways?!!!

  I just want to go fishing. Let's go get a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake. I want to be free from performance. Worrying about performance is narcissistic.

  The truth is, I do behave better today. I am a more honorable son. You can rely on me to keep my word. But those things are what happened because I was loved without condition. I am not responsible for those things happening. Those things happened inspite of myself.

  God is not my boss. I am not his employee. How I perform my work has no correlation to how he regards me. He paid a huge ransom to call me his son. Today I am free to fail!

  And fail I do! I probably failed God a dozen times just writing this blog, more if you count my thoughts!

  Martin Luther said that we should sin boldly so we would understand grace. Hey Martin, I get it!

  "When I rightly deserved my dad’s disappointment, he assured me of his delight." - Tullian Tchividjian

......please read my next posting......
 
 

 

Being needed

  Last week Grandma Margie went into the hospital for pneumonia. She is old, frail, and onry. She has the spirit and spunk of a two year old, but her body and mind can't keep pace.

  On Sunday her heart started beating erratic. One side was dubbing and the other wasn't lubbing. The lub side was basically quivering. No lub-dub. Death seemed to be knocking on her door.

  They put a cocktail of drugs in her to stabilize her heartbeat and dissolve the clot that was found on her lung. She was tired from the morphine and seemed ready to check out. She has an order to not resuscitate her, so things were getting tense.

  But let me rewind a bit.

  On Sunday I was on my way back into town and was going to spend the afternoon helping a friend move and then stop by the hospital to say hi to Gram. My mom called me and said, "Grandma is dying". Then my mom broke into tears and said, "I need you here". I told her that it would be another hour before I got there, but I would hurry.

  That's when time slowed down and reality warped on me.

  You see, I'm not that guy. Unreliable, insensitive, uncaring, hardass, all around jerk face......that's who I am. I am not the guy you call in a time of crisis. I cried out to God, "Please help me be of comfort to Grandma and Mom. I don't know what I am doing. I am gonna walk into that hospital, please just show me what I can do".

  That may not be the exact wording I used. Probably more of a panicked "oh crap" kinda prayer was offered. But those were my thoughts.

  Grandma took a few hours to start improving, but she did improve! Last night she even moved into a place that has the facilities to help her. I was able to be there for my mom and grandma.

  I am not used to being relied upon. I hurt people. Don't pass that last sentence up. I hurt people......deeply. I am so amazed that my life has brought me to a place of usefulness. Gratitude is an inadequate word to describe the feeling.

  I really am available to help. I truly can express my own fears and frustrations. I can even be counted on to say inappropriate jokes at all the wrong times! I am Josh, and I think I am comfortable with that.

  It was a great blessing to be called upon to help.

 

 

Helping out

  Had a dude ask me for money yesterday. At first I thought it would be the standard story. I see a fair amount of homeless people and this one seemed no different.
 
  He started by offering to shine up the wheels on my truck (if I had the stuff to do it). He mentioned washing the windows. He asked if there was anything he could do to earn a couple bucks.

  I smiled and didn't say anything. What could I say? Hey dude, I see people like you once or twice a week....go to a shelter. I am not that blunt.

  The guy proceeded to tell me his story. He was an armed robber who just got out of prison. He was left in Tacoma with no money and a waiting list to get in the shelter. He pulled out his wallet and showed me his offender identification.

  Whoa! Wait now!! I was reluctant to help this dude to begin with, now he is a ex-con who was busted for armed robbery! Oh my.

  Instantly I got the thought, "Who would make THAT their story when asking for help?" I could think of many stories to tell, but a felon with a violent past, that's complete nutso!

  My heart melted. I am also guilty of many regrettable things. I also want people to look beyond the past and love me into the future. I desire mercy, so did he.

  In a moment of compassion I saw him as a fellow human in need. He may have needed a beer, some weed, a pack of smokes, or even something to eat. So I helped him. I reached in my wallet and gave him a twenty. It blew his mind.

  I don't tell this in order to try and elevate my feelings about myself. I am a cynical and doubting dude. I have a tough exterior and I like that. But I also like mercy. I like giving others a much needed break.

  On the spiritual side of things.....last night, at my second place of delivery, I found a twenty dollar bill on the ground. I am a spiritual giant!

 

Box of memories

  Recently I asked my wife to set aside things for me that have memories attached to them. She and I are knocking on the door of divorce and I would like to retain those items. What do I want them for?

  I get daily emails from Divorce Care and I got one a couple of days ago that really nailed this subject. It spoke of looking memories squarely in the eye and grieving them. Let the full power of pain wash over you. Hell no!!!! Right?! That's like going to a doctor for a broken leg and having them kick you in the avocados!

  OK, I get it. I must embrace the loss. I must process and not bury. I gotta go to Big 5 and buy a cup.

  Right now I picture having a box full of memories; Memories of our marriage, memories of birthdays and anniversaries, vacations.....you get the idea. I dread looking into that box. How can I do that and not weep? Maybe that's the point. When I am healed I can. It seems so impossible.

  What will happen when I process the pain and I can look back fondly at those memories without being sad?

  Impossible

Fog!

  Encountered the first foggy night of the fall season last night. I know it's not technically fall yet, but tell that to the fog!

  The fog is almost mesmerizing as I drive. I particularly enjoy the fog that is just above the roadway so you kind of do scudding in reverse. The fog softens the oncoming headlights and gives everything a nice halo. When you step out of the truck the fog produces an eerie quite. Its awesome!

  I suppose most people find the fall/winter time treacherous on the roadways. I am not one of those. I really enjoy the fog, ice, and snow. It is of little concern to me that I hurdle down the road riding 40 tons thru inclimate weather. In fact, I prefer it.

  See, the summertime is wonderful in many ways, but the wintertime has its own attractions. The fall and Christmas decorations are beautiful, the roads are less crowded (except on holiday weekends), no bugs, and I get to dress in ways that hide my fat......yeah I know.

  Someday soon I will slide off the road while driving in ice and fog, dying in a massive fireball, and somebody will read this post thinking I am a fool for liking the bad weather. This blog is morbidly prophetic if that did happen. Read this at my wake OK?

   If I did die in a fireball I bet there would be a discount on cremation! 50% off for mostly charred bodies! Now that's a deal. I mean, who would pay full price to burn up a dude that is mostly burned up? Is there a sliding scale for these things? I gotta Google that.

  Fog, then cremation savings, now that's writing!