Saint

November, it was May not too long ago.
A lot of hours, but not enough to complain.
Participated. Present. Involved.
Full of myself, but I think I've done good.
Work and play and rest seem to blend.

haiku-ish

I got cold, I put on a hat. Turning up the heat wasn't an option.

It was my turn to merge. He let me in, but honked once, D minor.

It's going to rain. The night sky is still, twinged with the hue of snow's coming.

Devotion

So Much Blind Faith
I would state my case before him and fill my mouth with arguments.
There an upright man could present his case before him, and I would be delivered forever from my judge. – Job 23: 4, 7

To be delivered is for the asking. The unconditional faith and hope offered by God are for the taking.

Dear Lord, when we are in this place of worship we are most like you, blindly offering our love, faith and hope up to you and to each other. We live like your Son in this place. Lord, steel our hearts with the story of your son Job, for he is an example of the way. We seek your guidance in these things to take beyond these walls. In your name, Amen.

In the Face of Doubt
God has made my heart faint; the Almighty has terrified me. Yet I am not silenced by the darkness, by the thick darkness that covers my face. – Job 16-17

A solitary journey as steadfast as the stars, like the tides that wash, you are there.

Dear Lord, this darkness it is desire. Desire to do what’s right every time. Even though I should falter and fail so many times, I ask forgiveness, because I only want to do the good and faithful thing. Be with me in this darkness. In the name of your son, Jesus, you showed us your imperfection, you allowed us like Adam and Eve to seek like Job and be forgiven. Amen.

So I wrote these two devotionals this week. First writing exercise beyond the 9-5 gig in a number of years. Have you written one? Any thoughts?

I'm not comfortable sharing this. Folks, people, you tend to consider this type of sharing for Sunday morning or like talking sex or finances. I decided that when I started this blog, I would tell all my crazy, and keep none of it for me. Its not crazy. Its me. I'm crazy if you think so, not the other way around. It'll be some time before the other two concepts will be shared.  God may be my co-pilot, but my wife is too, she'll need to approve those messages.

Disability

I've played golf for the last three years in the Annual Friendship Home Golf Tournament. Monday the 21st of September was like the last two, perfect. I can not begin to express how moving and satisfying the day is for me.

Friendship Home is an organization seeking to create opportunities for adults with developmental disorders. In their words, "Our dream is that each individual with disabilities that we serve has a job or meaningful daytime activity, friendships that nurture them and activities that provide for educational, recreational and artistic experiences." Ultimately the organization is building a sustained organization that will have a physical space in the community where activities and respite may be provided for years to come. On Sunday September 27th at UCC Norwell from 12-2PM they will hold their ground breaking. That's the commercial, here's the content.

Three years ago, my dad asked me to play golf with him. I didn't understand what would happen. Playing in a scramble is straight forward stuff. Then he told me I would be playing with a Friendship Club member Jay N. with Downs Syndrome. I have known him for nearly 30 years, I went to Sunday school with him and was a swim instructor to him later. I hadn't seen him for 15 years.

As I waited for Jay to arrive, I got nervous. Jay has a youthful look, but thirty years ago he seemed older. He was happy to see me. Jay remembered me. I was happy. I soon met Scott M. another Friendship Club member. There we were, Dad and Scott rode together, as Jay and I did. Scott has the sweetest golf swing, effortless and reliable. Jay is a physical golfer, which is a polite way of saying if he connects it could go and go, but muscling the ball provides for an unpredictable outcome.

The day was special because it was effortless to play, even though something happened during the day that shook me. We laughed and joked all day. Then Jay told me he had a driver's license. At another point Jay bought a beer. I thought this wasn't right. I didn't think he should be allowed to do this. I did what I do best and forgot about it, concentrating on the fun we were having. I enjoyed myself and I asked how I could get more involved.

The second year was much less trying from my racist point of view. I did learn that some of Jay and Scott's friends were getting married, which got me going again, but I suppressed my bigoted and naive thoughts again. It drove me mad. I knew I didn't have these thoughts. I knew I was being bigoted and naive. I've always felt a strength of mine was knowing my weaknesses, and this I did not expect, even as we had fun playing golf.

We're now to this past Monday. I'd been thinking about myself and my issues for sometime trying to wash my insecurities away. Here came Jay and Scott. They remembered me again and gave me great big smiles. Then three things happened. My dad unintentionally made joke. I was having trouble understanding Jay. And then I watched Scott and Jay razz each other while dad and I were talking.

Jay got the joke before me. Jay took the time to slow down and speak clearer. And Jay and Scott were acting like two genuine friends that have great comfort with and love for one another. I got over myself quick. While the analogy really applies to me, I saw the gears click in Jay. He got it, he helped me understand him, and he was more normal than me.

Urge

Eternal life is now on my trail. Why are all these ugly gentlemen playing this foolish game? Racist everyman what have you done? Blow your kiss alone. The river slows by rolling heavy. Knee deep in the grass, a chaff in his mouth lazy.

Would like to get something off my chest. I want to get something down, anything in writing. Black and white on the page. One word after the other and one with perhaps more meaning than the previous. Two then three then four words that make a sentence. Several sentences that make a paragraph.

I have been moved by this album for weeks now. Listening and listening. Over and over. Provocative words, simple words, and words that contradict one another. These are all intertwined in melodious, harmonious and cacophonous sounds sometimes and others. Falsetto, alto, up and down, vocal gymnastics without effort and intent.

My heart is frozen still as I try to find the will to forget her. She is somewhere out there now. Never knowing, knowing what it is to be his children. Dream brother. There is the sun red hot and blowing west. Feeling raindrops and the smack and pull of the wind. The slow interminable descent glistens held up now.

Joyful Surrender

The bookends were magnificent. Joe Kennedy for Senate. Caroline was sublime in her celebration. John Culver's mastery of the story, Orrin Hatch's nervous love, Duval Patrick's eloquent manner, Joe Biden's admiration and need of love from such a man that knows loss, and the emotional John McCain.

The boys and the youngest generation were so much more powerful than the moving eulogy by President Obama. What would he have said if he wasn't cloaked in the formality of his position? The homily by the (I can't remember the Father's name.) Priest was magnificent. Most moving to me was the responsorial, Psalm 72, by Kara.

As the evening closed, Teddy's letter to Pope Benedictine was, again, sublime, oh to be able to command such potency. And his dictated response of "joyful surrender." His grandchildren wept at his casket in the light from the cars in the procession.

I went to Ted Kennedy's wake. I walked from the Expo to the Library. These places I've been to many, many times, except this time I was hoping they would move me differently. My mind was blank as I walked by the fields I played soccer and underneath the buildings in which I took classes. Without intention, I waited for the wake to begin with a woman I go to church with but don't know well. We discussed each other and what Ted meant to us. The morning wasn't unusual or usual for that matter.

As we waited in line, people walked by, small discussions were overheard, cameras both still and motion, but I couldn't muster a sense of death. The moment wasn't big, even as it was a big moment. I wanted more, however, even as I and many others that morning met Ted's daughter Kara and her children Max and Grace, it didn't register. I met Jesse Jackson and surely he would elicit something, but he didn't.

I continued on to the office, reflecting on how nice it was to spend time with someone I wouldn't except to sit next to in church on occasion. I learned good things and nice things about her as she did about me. We walked by the casket and all I could think was the Honor Guard is so stoic. Teddy was stoic, but didn't carry himself in such ways. Teddy brought his ideals to America and Massachusetts, and it is in that way that he is different. The Senator sought to make your life better too, not just mine.

As an individual, Teddy and I don't see the same glass of water. Although I have voted for him more than once, its because his efforts further causes that mean something to me: education and mental illness. I will find the quote from Caroline on Friday, but its the future and while Teddy isn't there to attain that future he fought so hard for, it is within our grasp. Keep up the good fight. Give to those who are struggling and are fighting to make it.

Both sides, liberal and conservative, republican and democrat, gay and straight, black and white, are looking for the same sustaining ideals set before us even as they don't take the same road. The efficacy of Teddy is the ability to find compromise without sacrificing his principles.

I want to finish strong, but I spent three days with Teddy, his family, and, in particular, my wife discussing stuff that means something. I am spent, a selfish statement in the wake of the vigil an Irish family gives their dead. I have prayed, cried, laughed, joked, and reflected upon a wide range of topics. I look forward to the quiet reflection in the coming days. I gave myself to this moment and I hope I take something from it.

Being

“Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak is sublime. It requires little imagination to fill in the blanks and offers lessons in forgiveness. Perhaps the hardest element to imagine is what leads to Max’s mother to send him to his room. Max did state he would eat her up, but a child in a wolf suit is play acting. However, she loves Max and fixes his dinner for him in his room. Now there is a movie and book of the same title coming out (and Maurice Sendak is on board).

Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers wrote the screenplay and Dave Eggers is writing the book. A new version of something great is always tricky. Do you stay within the framework of the original or blow it up or some combination? Jonze directs music videos and directed the Oscar winning movie “Adaptation.” Beyond that his writing credits amount to the TV show/movie “Jackass” which I liked. I’ll see the movie before I give Jonze a hard time.

I don’t like Dave Eggers. He left it all on the table when he wrote “A Staggering Work….” I read the book with enthusiasm. I devoured it, but at three-quarters I realized there was never going to be an ending suitable to my tastes, and it starts over again in subsequent works. Eggers is a cynic that was dealt a pretty tough blow early in life. His parents died of cancer within months of one another. He raised a younger brother with out too much help from two other siblings. I empathize with him, but his inability to move on is what leaves me sour. The New Yorker’s posted some commentary by Eggers about the new book, movie and other stuff, as well as a portion of the new book. Eggers assumes that because his life is a trial, so must Max’s.

Eggers has created a contrived website and/or product(s) that have provided me with positive stimulation, but I find it too convoluted to get through. However, he’s done something awesome by creating the 826 Writing and Tutoring Centers. So while I no longer enjoy what he’s got to say in most forms, I do commend him for doing a great service to provide a creative outlet to those that may not have the chance/opportunity to explore this side of themselves. The program is well conceived, and he does have clout/money. Enough background/justification.

Max’s mother has a name!?!? He has a stepfather!?!? Max has an older sister!?!? The Wild Things have names, too, and personal issues that a group hug and therapy will help in everyone’s recovery. If Eggers is writing, and he is, then this is what I have to expect. His piling on ruins my simple exploration into a child’s imagination and understanding that he can trust his mother and be reassured of her love and forgiveness through the gesture of a meal and it was still warm. Max forgives her as well, because I assume he eats the meal based upon the inflection of and it was still warm.

The story Sendak wrote does lend itself to exploration/expansion. It’s compressed. The Wild Things may represent me as a parent. Previously mentioned, it doesn’t explain why Max is really sent to his room. It doesn’t explain in any specific manner what happens as Max sails to and from Where through night and day, in and out of weeks, and almost over a year. It doesn’t give any back story to the Wild Things. "Where the Wild Things Are" is a story as simple as the words on the page or a spiraling journey into new worlds to understand and manage consequence, love and forgiveness.

The effort to make it a coping device for Eggers saddens me. I can relate to Sendak’s version, it is bare and forthright. Its brilliance is in its broad, but complete storyline. There are discussions to have and imaginings to create. I don’t suffer the same life Eggers suffers. As it boils down, I would write it differently or would prefer another author. I would prefer a freshness that Eggers is not capable of providing me, perhaps by Cormac McCarthy. “The Road,” while dark, was a progressive, positive journey to lightness.