When Fiction Becomes Reality

Tyler Durden says a prisoner should know the shape of their cell.

Well now we know. We are living in the multi-fictional work called Brave Green Clockwork Animal Run. And the noose is being drawn tighter every day, every year.

A good friend of mine has always asserted that epic fictional works somehow tap into the Truth, the Logos, on some level and tell a parallel story to Gods plan and mans destiny. A God-born cosmic consciousness that helps to guide and inform the masses that aren’t tuned in to God’s word.

Several years ago I thought that we might be witnessing the beginning of the end. With what we are seeing world-wide regarding the suppression of personal freedom and liberty, I now have no doubt. Whether this is simply the first foray into global repression, or it sticks and grows and we begin to see a massive scale of depopulation and wealth redistribution all remains to be seen. Though it won’t take long for us to know now. TEOTWAWKI.

My only real concern is to understand exactly where we are, and how the Lord would respond, and what I need to do for my loved ones. I know how my lower nature wants to respond. Which is… very low.

I don’t really know enough about economics, politics, military tactics, to draw succinct comparisons in history. All that to say that my whiskers are tingling, I know the times we are in, and about where we are in God’s timing.

Look up for your Redemption draws nigh.

Mountains Are Calling And I Must Go

This overused quote from John Muir does sum up how many folks feel about the American West.

I’ve been to Colorado four times now, and never can really get enough.

The first time was in my 20’s, skiing around Loveland Pass. It was a great trip on-the-cheap with a buddy. All I remember now is that the mountains were high, packed with snow, and the skiing was fantastic at elevation. My pal, sister and husband tricked me into eating a Rocky Mountain oyster somewhere close to Estes Park. Nasty.

The second trip was to a Wild At Heart boot camp in Granby Colorado. It was a life changing event for me, which I believe I’ve written about here elsewhere.

The third was a trip to visit my good friend Skip in Pagosa Springs. We saw wind turbines west of Amarillo, stopped and spray painted the cars at the Cadillac Ranch, saw Mule Deer, took the train from Durango to Silverton, saw a hot air balloon race, caught Rainbows on the East Fork of the San Juan River, and saw Quaking Aspens in full color. We packed a lot into that trip, but the time was short, and the things to see more numerous than 1000 trips could do justice.

The last trip, completed only a week ago, was also to visit my friend Skip. He’s aged well, and at 79 can still out hike most folks 30 years younger than he. He is an unparalleled nature photographer, with a keen sense of wonder and delight in the natural world. He’s also a spiritual mentor of sorts, a kindred spirit a few steps ahead of me on the path.

The first day we hiked 3 miles in Palmer Park, Colorado Springs. It’s a very popular hiking destination within the city limits. This hike was more to make sure that I could still get around on the rocks, my left foot giving me some trouble now. I passed that test, had a great time, and we went back to the hootch.

Several other buddies arrived later that afternoon, and Skip had a treat in store for us. He made his famous Crawfish Etoufee, with home made peach cobbler for desert. It was spectacular, as always. Later on, we all piled into the hot tub to soak our aches and pains away, sharing our stories along with a few sniffs of Scotch. You never really know the burdens others carry, how rough the journey they’ve endured so far. But these guys dropped their guards, honestly shared their stories, challenges, failures, fears and Gods victories. And I was awed and humbled. Good men, with good hearts. Honest, God-seeking hearts. I needed to see and hear that again. The echoes of the past, winds of the future all swirling around together in some good mix.

I hung around for a few more days, making a trip to Skips cabin in Guffey to birdwatch, take photos, etc. We followed that up with the drive, and lung-busting final climb, to the top of Mount Evans. I’d been above 12,000 feet before, but never above 14,000 feet. It was a rare treat to see all of the incredible alpine wildflowers, Pikas, Bighorn Sheep, many species of birds, all with a friend that had an even more developed sense of wonder than myself.

Once again, the trip was too short, the list of things unseen and undone longer than one life could accomplish. But I felt a spark inside again, I needed this.

I had driven the way there non-stop, 13 1/2 hours thru some of the most beautiful West Texas/Eastern New Mexico and Colorado country side. The trip back was beautiful, but it was the beginning of the test. Several hours into the drive I learned that my wife has breast cancer that would require a double mastectomy. She had kept that to herself, unselfishly wanting my trip to be all it could be. She knew if she had told me before I left, the trip would never have come off. I was humbled and shamed at the same time, what a selfless gift from her. I am so convicted.

So the time of sharing, hearing how other men had navigated incredibly tough and challenging times with Gods help was more timely than I knew.

I don’t really know what this all means, the last several years have given some friendships a hard pruning. Some of that could be my fault, some having seen themselves here in what I’ve written, or at least thought they did. Some of it may be no ones fault, time, distance and age doing what they do. But others have come into focus, have become more important during that same time. It’s obvious that things are changing, times are changing, and I need to get back to my roots.

So. Mountains are calling. And I must go.

Father Like Son

I remember roughly 25 years ago, talking with my Dad on the drive home from some remote place I had been working in the forest all day by myself.

He asked what it was that I did now, was it still mostly Forestry and if I enjoyed it. And what part of my job did I enjoy most of all?

I told him that at that time I was buying timber as a raw material for the forest products company I worked for. I enjoyed the rugged solitude and challenge of the work, the opportunity to be creative and work with interesting characters.

Several years later he told me that other than the fact that I worked in the forest, it sounded so much like what he did, and he saw great parallels between us. He also said that he didn’t say so at the time because he knew I didn’t want to be like him.

Fast forward to today. My son has always told me how different he is from me, and that he was not me. Well, I know that. He’s 6’5″ and 280. I am 6’2 and 225. He has strawberry blond hair, mine was brown, and is now gray.

Our political and religious views were different, though they are converging now the older he becomes.

Now when I returned to school to study Forest Management, I had decided to get a Masters degree. I already had a Bachelors in Physical Anthropology with a concentration in Biblical Archaeology. But as things happened, I finished my undergrad core Forestry courses and decided I would get a second Bachelors while I was at it. Then get the Masters.

My Advisor counseled against it, because “you will be offered a job and never get the degree”. My practical nature asked him if getting a job in my chosen field wasn’t the point after all. His face turned red, and I discovered the next day that he had moved me over to another advisor. He took his ball and went home.

I got the Bachelors, was offered several jobs, took the best one and didn’t get my Masters. I haven’t looked back, and have never felt short changed.

Fast forward, and my son is going back to college. I was under the impression that he was getting his Masters in Journalism, after earning his Bachelors in Political Science. He learned a lot, but did not find the job market a friendly place with his degree.

I am a passable writer, my son has taken that gift to new heights. He is a much better writer, at least very different, more political/strategic than myself.

So I find it interesting that I did not want to be like my father, but in very distinct ways I am as much or more (?) like him than he was.

And now I’m beginning to see things in my son that I recognized in my father, and then later in myself. This tapestry has several common threads running through it. My father was far more intelligent than I initially acknowledged. My son likewise is far more intelligent than I first thought. My father had a gentle but stubborn independent streak running though him. I may be even more that than he. My son at first appeared to be a follower, but is now emerging as more of an independent thinker than any of us had expected. My father was conservative in much of his thought and practice, though he also had some libertarian leanings, sprinkled throughout with grace. I have been described as very conservative, though I see myself becoming more libertarian in thought. Deep down, I think my worldview and practice are based on biblical understanding, and experience of Jesus.

How much is nature, that darned Y chromosome, and how much is nurture?

Another peculiar aspect of this. As a young child I looked very much like my mother, facial features, etc. As I grew older, I began to look more and more like my father.

My son began life looking very much like his mother, body type, composition and all. As he grew and matured, he began to look more like me. He still has red hair like his mother, and has a tendency to put on weight easily like she does, but more and more he looks like his Dad.

So looking at pictures of my great grandfather, grandfather, and my dad all between 50-70, they could be brothers. They all have a very similar look, body types somewhat different, but they all looked so very similar.

Now, looking in the mirror, I see that same Y chromosome coming out of hiding. No disguising whose son, grandson, great grandson, and even great-great grandson I am.

And in a strange way, I’m glad that I carry that, and have passed that on to MY son.

In this case, the son IS the express image of the father, Y chromosome and all.

Boiling Freedom One Degree At A Time

We’ve all heard this phrase, “boiling a frog one degree at a time”, which is an anecdotal story as far as I understand. True or not about frogs, I’m very sure it’s true about higher order beings such as humans. We’ll sit and stay comfortable well past the point of action.

The larger, wider application is really about the death of Freedom and Democracy. The syncretism that has taken place world wide since the 70’s (pick any point really, it’s a continuum), has made us comfortable and accepting of enemies domestic and foreign, has fostered a growing lack of national pride, and an apathy that is giving away our children’s futures at an unprecedented rate.

There is still a fierce sense of freedom and pride here in the part of East Texas where I live. People seem to genuinely care for their neighbors, and have a healthy balance between respect and disdain for government.

That said, my fears about government invading our daily lives have grown. And it is the Employer who has emerged as the enforcer of all things generally “in the name of safety”. If you attach safety to anything, you’ve held us hostage with whatever our deepest darkest fear may be.

My paycheck, your paycheck, is now in jeopardy and under the administration of your employers Microsoft TEAMS COVID Trawnikimänner.

When anything starts, it usually begins slowly, and under the radar. So as not to draw attention and cause a mass uprising that would stop the “thing” from being successful.

That’s Boiling 101.

The Zombie Apocalypse

Well now. So far I’ve not heard of Coronavirus victims coming back to life, and eating someones face. Yet.

But if it happens, we are ready. It’s more likely that people would lose their minds, and break in looking for food, medicine, etc.

If you look under our stair case, you will find the Three B’s

Beer, beans, and bullets. Almost in equal quantities.

I am joking, really. Maybe. If someone would break in, I believe that I would pray for them, unless they were acting menacing toward my family. Then they might get exposed to some heavy metal.

But honestly, it’s hard to know how concerned we should be about this COVID-19 thing. If half of what you read is true, then you better get your affairs in order, it could be a rough ride. Or it could be more like the political prognostications of November 2016.

Full of sound and fury, but signifying NOTHING.

There have been a whole host of bad diseases that have changed history, shaped modern man, and fueled the rise of modern science and medicine.

Bubonic Plague, Cholera, Small Pox, Measles, Spanish Flu, just to name a few. The death toll from each of these probably outweighs anything that Coronavirus could ever muster..

Or this could be the beginning of the Apocalypse, possibly the beginning of Sorrows that signifies His soon return?

Time will tell, but it appears that things are changing, the world is changing.

Whether Coronavirus turns out to be real or a media hyper-fabrication.

Go West

That phrase always evoked images of adventure, romance, and a certain anonymity that was attractive to me. People who went West recreated themselves in a sense. They left past failures behind, and risked everything on a fresh start, perhaps lived a more simple and direct life, wild and free.

I think that’s what we all crave. A simple life, fresh and clean, stripped of nonessential things. And as soon as we reach for the door knob leading into that, something takes place. We find the fellowship, and as we settle in we begin to understand their special brand of dysfunction. The colors become muted, the music slightly off key, and we hear a voice telling us to move on because “this is no different from that”, whatever “that” was.

We begin the fantastic new job, and some bad actor takes a special interest in trying to destroy our career. Or the company announces some new initiative to down size and you quickly find yourself back in a similar situation to the one you were anxious to leave.

What is this? What is going on? In a sense, it’s warfare. There is a measure of struggle that we all must go through in order to reach out and up, into the life of God, into the life of Jesus.

I can see this all around me now, in several facets of my life and those of my loved ones. There are situations and difficulties that I thought had been left miles behind, abandoned, but which have somehow trailed me across the divide and into the Golden West.

Someone far wiser than I said that they are there to drive us to the cross. To point us to the end of ourselves, so that the only help we receive truly comes from the Lord.

I see things in myself, selfishness, disillusionment, inflexibility, a degree of loneliness that truly can only be overcome by the Blood of The Lamb. I can’t combat these in myself, they are there to show my need. And in a way I am glad for that need, it drives me to a source higher than myself.

So I remain glad to share in this broken mystery we call Life.

What Is Said In Jest

I had a conversation the other day with my wife about my former marriage. She periodically asks me questions about how things were, how they went sour, etc. And what I felt, what I knew and when.

My first wife would periodically joke that she only married me because I would make pretty babies. Then she’d laugh, and I’d laugh, and we’d go about whatever it was that we were doing.

Until once years later in marriage counseling she made the same statement, but this time no one was laughing. I think the marriage counselor did for a brief moment, then realized she was serious and looked very somber and troubled.

My wife had one session with the counselor lasting less than an hour, and he emerged looking very disturbed.  Later on he told me that he couldn’t divulge details of my wife’s session due to doctor-patient confidentiality. But that the Lord allowed for divorce in cases like this, and aside from a miracle she wouldn’t change. I was floored because it sounded very bad, I understood what he was saying and tried hard to get him to say more. My Ex wouldn’t discuss it with us in counseling or alone, and he was bound by his oath.  And so we lived in this fugue state for several years.

It took me a while to work through that, and then some things began to come clear. Like the time when we first began to date and I met her room-mate, a rather masculine looking woman with a very short haircut, broad shoulders, no makeup. I caught the woman glaring at me several times, she could barely bring herself to even say “hello” when I picked my then-date up to go to a movie. I thought that was weird.

Later, when we married, how that same woman who had been a very close friend of my ex-wife for a number of years didn’t even show up at the wedding, though she had been invited. Something came up.  Hmmm.

And how some years into the marriage my Ex began to gradually weave homosexual themes and situations into conversations, and why did I feel about it the way that did? And what if my son, or a friend, were gay?

And finally my father-in-law told me a story of when my Ex was about to be confirmed, and had a private counseling session with the Pastor in the kitchen of their home. The conversation ended abruptly, and the Pastor left in a huff, telling my in-laws as he rushed out the door that he couldn’t confirm their daughter, and that if she didn’t repent she would be going to Hell. Once again, things that could have been brought to my attention YESTERDAY!

The most telling thing was how after having two beautiful children, my Ex suddenly pronounced that marital intimacy was no longer a necessary part of our marriage. We had our children, and so that was that.

It took a couple of years for all of these fragments, swirling around in my head, to coalesce into a recognizable picture. One that had been hiding right there in plain view.

All that to say that it’s clear that my Ex is a bisexual/lesbian, who had only married me so that she could have pretty babies. She had been telling the truth all along.

Other things have happened since that has made this even more clear. But that truth doesn’t make any of the rest of it easier, less painful, or confusing. Or redeem those lost years, make them suddenly turn to gold. For any who were involved.

But at last I realized that no matter what I tried to do, how I tried to fix what I thought was broken, the fundamental problem wasn’t with me. Sure, I could have been a better husband, better man, prayed more, listened more closely to God. But even all of that would not have changed this one dark fact.

Your sexual identity is one of the most fundamental things about you. When you are born, the doctor or midwife comes out to the father and other family members and announces two things. “It’s a boy/girl and it’s healthy” (Lord willing.) The first thing ever spoken about you is your God-given sexual orientation. And for some that foundational God-truth about you is where the onslaught begins.

Back to the story, I firmly believe that I am better for this and that the Lord will bless the brokenness of the past, and bring joy and healing to others.

It’s been a long journey, and thankfully I have found the love of my life, my tall Texan.  And we will hold one another dearly through the rest of it all.

Having Itching Ears

“For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths.”

What exactly does this mean? This speaks specifically to us, Christians, the Church, in the last days. We increasingly cannot submit to authority, bear sound doctrine, remain calm in the face of adversity, or accept being the minority. We are loud, demand attention, and have disputes among ourselves regarding the meaning of difficult passages instead of trusting God with it all.

2Ti 2:14 Remind people of these things and solemnly charge them before the Lord not to wrangle over words. This is of no benefit; it just brings ruin on those who listen.

We want the easy fix, and exhilarating, mind-tickling doctrines, so we have jumped on the rapture wagon, the sign – gift wagon, all in search of our own “personal private church”. Because we CAN fall asleep in the Light, the Truth, all too easily. This is as much about boredom with God as anything else.
Eph 4:14 So we are no longer to be children, tossed back and forth by waves and carried about by every wind of teaching by the trickery of people who craftily carry out their deceitful schemes.

So the stories that attract us, like a hummingbird to a feeder, are put out there by the trickery of the people that have crafted them. They are traps for the unwary.
3 As I urged you when I was leaving for Macedonia, stay on in Ephesus to instruct certain people not to spread false teachings, 4 nor to occupy themselves with myths and interminable genealogies. Such things promote useless speculations rather than God’s redemptive plan that operates by faith. 5 But the aim of our instruction is love that comes from a pure heart, a good conscience, and a sincere faith. 6 Some have strayed from these and turned away to empty discussion.
1 Tim 6:3 If someone spreads false teachings and does not agree with sound words (that is, those of ourLord Jesus Christ) and with the teaching that accords with godliness, 4 he is conceited and understands nothing, but has an unhealthy interest incontroversies and verbal disputes. This gives rise to envy, dissension,slanders, evil suspicions, 5 and constant bickering by people corrupted in their minds and deprived of the truth, who suppose that godliness is a way of making a profit.

Wandering off into myths…

An Unintended Hero

In 1903, my Great Grandfather and Great Grandmother came to the United States from Hungary (what is present day Serbia). Hearing my Grandfather tell of his early years there, following shepherds, milking cows, hunting European marmots with his dog, life prior to WWI and II in the Batschka region was idyllic, reminiscent of the Shire.

My Great Grandfather Karl was a big guy, a 6 footer, and had dreams of making his money in the US, raising his family, and retiring back in the Old Country on his big farm. He’d been sending money back to his Uncle in his hometown for 9 years, and Uncle was buying choice pieces of land as he found them for Karl.

My Great Grandmother Margaret bore two children, a girl and a boy, before she died at a young age in Cleveland Ohio, circa 1912.  The circumstances of her death have led some family members to suspect that she died from a self induced abortion.

However it came about, her death nearly brought the American experiment to an end.  Karl regrouped, spent what money he had, packed up his kids, and sailed back home across the Atlantic. I’m sure he entered town with mixed emotions, excited to be back among his people, but grief struck wishing his young wife was there with him. He probably went straight to his parents home, then quickly on to see his Uncle and inspect all of the land that he’d been buying these 9 long years with Karl’s hard earned money.

I imagine his Uncle was quite surprised to see him, and a little nervous as he explained to Karl that the relatives there had fallen on hard times, and that the money had gone to feeding the old people and children. At least that was his story and he was sticking to it.

Now Karl was in a real situation. He was broke, the mother of his children buried on the other side of the ocean, no farm and no place to live. And he still had two young children to raise. So he went to see his Uncle (same/different?) who had three daughters, and set about making a deal. He would earn his families passage back to America, and take one hungry mouth back with him as his wife, and make a new life there for them all.

So his Uncle trotted out all three daughters, two who were beautiful by all reports, and a third who was too skinny, had a pointy nose with a scar, and had already been married and divorced by age 18. You can guess which one became my Great Step-Grandmother (a sweet godly woman).

The story goes that she was married off at a young age to an older man. He was extremely cruel, beating and abusing her terribly. One day Great Granny’s father and brother came to the door and mixed it up with the guy, taking her back with them to the family home.  She told me that her Father solemnly told her she would never go back there, but would live with him from now on instead.

She also told me how disgraced she was in the town because of her divorce, the source of town gossip. And because of this she was shunned, had no marriage prospects, and had generally lost hope and lived as an outcast. Then one day a tall, dark and handsome cousin arrived from America, married her, and carried her back to the New World.

I wrote most of this down long ago as a 13 year old boy interested in where he came from, and only recently began putting it down into something more organized which could be retold and passed down.

In my further studies of the matter I discovered that nearly 100% of my family that remained behind in Europe perished in Tito’s concentration camps, most in a camp named Lager Jarek.  Accounts say that 6,429 people, 955 of those children, perished there. Nearly all were from nearby towns where my family has its roots.  The sobering thing is to see the ledger of those who died, and the names of many family members that I recall from my Great Aunts stories.

My Grandfather Peter (Karl’s son) told a story of his Uncle Peter, who he was named for.  Uncle Pete had no sons, but did have three lovely blond daughters. When Karl decided to return to America, Uncle Peter hatched a plan to carry on his name. He carried young Peter around his large and successful farm, pointing to the barn that held his white Arabian horses, and to a stone high in the gable of the roof of his fine home that had his name carved in it. “Peter, stay here with me and be my son, marry whichever of my daughters you like, and the farm and horses, all I have will be yours. Look, the house already carries your name!” It was a temptation that no 11 year old boy could be expected to turn his back on. As it happened, Karl got wind of the plan and put his foot down, told Uncle Pete off, took his son and they all sailed across the Atlantic to America.

Years later my grandfather told me that he had been very upset with his father for taking such a wonderful opportunity away from him. But as he grew older, he learned that Uncle Pete’s wife and daughters had all perished in Lager Jarek. And that Uncle Pete himself had barely made it back to the town only to live as a pauper a few years longer before he too died. And that he, my Grandfather, would have surely died along with them had he stayed. “The Lord used my fathers stubborn determination to save me and our family”.  Tears welled up in his eyes as he said that, for he had a wonderful wife and family, friends and a good life, and knew he owed it all to his fathers foresight.

So Karl thought he was a failure, and returned to America because at least there was work and food. He spent his days as a common laborer, sweating in foundries, walking home at the end of the day with his metal lunch pail.

He’d stop at a local tavern and fill it up with beer for he and his wife to enjoy. It may have made life a little more bearable. He never bought a farm, was never an important man, but he did help countless others escape the ravages of Europe and start a new life in the States.

Karl heeded a voice somewhere inside, and landed a second time on Ellis Island around 1921. Because of that his family is alive and well today.

I’m sure he didn’t fully understand the complexities of the day, couldn’t see the forces aligning around the globe which would cause the death and destruction of what is now estimated to be 90+ million people. Maybe he had some idea of how narrowly he had threaded the needle, and what a miraculous escape he had engineered. The heart ache and disappointments that had made life bitter and difficult forced him to keep moving and reinvent life for his family, saving those he loved from certain death in the process.

I remember him vaguely, he was an imposing man, somewhat gruff, who doted on his great grandchildren. My clearest memory is of him sitting in a chair outside, calling me over to him and giving me a couple of silver dollars as he stroked my hair and repeated my name. Much later in my teens my father told me that he was so proud that the family name would live on, and that the promise of a new life here in America was still alive. He died shortly after.

Godspeed Karl, thank you for your courage and for Life.

Hope of The Hopeless

In his recent post “Can The Middle Class Be Saved“, Stephen Freeman says

” This is the eye of the needle: our competency and excellence. We are doing fairly well, on the whole, managing our lives in a responsible manner. If we are not worthy of the Kingdom of God, at least we are worthy of something, perhaps the American Dream.

The disciplines of the Christian life are not meant to make us “better persons.” The better persons will barely enter the Kingdom. A truly good discipline will reveal us as failures and without hope. In the Liturgy, Jesus is addressed as the “Hope of the hopeless.” But only the hopeless would know that.

And this is why our salvation is so truly difficult.”

Mathew 13:44-46;  “The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure, hidden in a field, that a person found and hid. Then because of joy he went and sold all that he had and bought that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls.  When he found a pearl of great value, he went out and sold everything he had and bought it.”

Doesn’t sound very middle class, does it? Indeed. What is impossible with man is possible with God. I stand convicted. We have to get to the place where we hold all that is dear loosely in the light of Eternity. And recognize our great need, our poverty.

Bilbo knows..

life at the intersection

Just got home after watching “The Hobbit”. The movie is excellent, positively fantastic.

And wow, Bilbo has one big hairy pair of troglodyte feet. Real caveman specials.

But tonight was a chance to unplug, sit back, and take it all in.

But I soon began to hear something, familiar.

Here sits Bilbo, comfortable in his nicely decorated home. His pantry is full, his garden thriving, and his bookshelves are full of safe arm-chair adventures to be taken in between smoke rings and slices of cheese.

Bilbo is content, and happy with his existence.

But then here comes Gandalph, like a long sharp needle ready to pop the cheery, comfortable balloon that Bilbo has fashioned and calls life.

Gandalph talks of adventure, and danger in a way that makes Bilbo uncomfortable. As if he knows, expects, that this is what Bilbo has been waiting for.

Bilbo retreats, hides, cowering in his…

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Road Less Traveled

So… this is hard to write, and I express honest, and possibly less than truly spiritual sentiments. And it has caused me to walk alone more than once over the last 30 years.  I am not a good example, not a great spiritual man. I struggle, I lose my temper. And salty words often pass the lips meant to bless and invoke His Name. I am a puzzle to myself.

But the Lord has given me a sense of intuition that I have not always given free reign, not always heeded. I have come to realize that I am a sheepdog of sorts.

34 years ago, a baby boy was born to my sister. He was a cute little thing, and looked a lot like my brother-in-law. Imagine that 🙂

It quickly became apparent that this was no ordinary child, and not in a good sense. As an infant, he screamed and clenched his fists, holding his breath until he turned purple. Not normal behavior for a 9 month old. Who knows what causes these things.

As he grew older, he came to visit with my parents. We were living on the Georgia coast, and I took him seashell hunting on the beach, we caught blue crab in tidal pools, and fished for Sheepshead. And he was the bossiest, most manipulative 8 year old I’d ever known. He began talking to my father in ways that I would never have thought about at that age or any other. After several very insulting barrages from him toward my father, I’d had it. I clipped his butt right there before my Dad could even say or do one thing about it, and told him how he WOULD behave. He straightened up and behaved the rest of the trip.

Later, he got into trouble in Junior High. He was caught making very inappropriate comments to several neighbor ladies by anonymous cell phone. And later was kicked out for calling in a fake bomb threat. And in recent years I learned he had molested a friends very young daughter when he was about 10.

The remainder of his High School years were spent in a high security “children’s village” type place. He went to counseling every day, and later my sister told me that the counselor had said that “nephew” was a sociopath. All I know is that I had a very unsettled feeling when talking with him, something about his eyes, and lack of genuine emotion.

My Dad passed away 11 years ago next month. I spent the last two weeks of his life caring for him, talking with him, comforting him, by his side round the clock. The last week of his life was difficult, and he spent most of it in hospice. I was there with him thru it all. The last day of his life, a Friday, my mother, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew came in to say good by to Dad.

We all went on a quick lunch, and came back to spend the rest of the day there as he transitioned. I had stepped down the hall to the mens room or something, and my nephew came up to me and told me that he had something very important to tell me. But he walked down a long hall way, motioning to me as he went. I followed, curious as to what he was about to tell me. After we had walked a long way, he turned and told me my father was about to breath his last, and that he “nephew” could say that he was the last one to see him alive.

I turned and sprinted down the long hallway just in time to find the nurses around his bed, my mom still asleep in a recliner. He had just passed. There were several other sick instances surrounding the funeral, his threatening language and behavior to my mother, sister and brother-in-law. But when the Pastor arrived to go over funeral plans with the family, he presented the most beautiful eulogy that he intended to read at the graveside service. I told the Pastor not only no, but hell no. I would not allow it, and would interrupt it if he attempted it. His behavior was disturbing, and I’d not allow the last memory of my father to be tainted by this sick individuals self-aggrandizing eulogy.

The Pastor delivered her standard funeral service, but took some time to directly address me regarding forgiveness, and “allowing family members to grieve in their own way”.  My Aunt came up to me after the service and said “that was directed at you, you know”. Yeah, I knew but didn’t care because there was something terribly wrong here, but I just didn’t have all of the facts at that time.

A year or two later we visited my Mom, and spent about a week there. “Nephew” arrived uninvited, and hung around too closely. He was especially weird, trying to hug us all, and seemed too interested in my daughter.  My daughter was sleeping on an air mattress in the living room, and nephew decided to sleep on the sofa since there was no room. My mother thought it was a great idea. Something didn’t feel right, and I just packed my kids up and we spent the night at a friends, and left a day early.  My mother verbally raged at me for “hurting his feelings”. I told her that they were all blind, she was nuts, and that he was a danger to everyone around him. I would not expose my kids to him.

There were many dead end jobs, a marriage, baby lost because he kicked his wife in the stomach, stealing thousands from my mom, and unavoidably divorce.

Years later I discovered that he had done something to my daughter when she was about 5 years old. She hasn’t completely faced it yet, but I know that he “hurt her bad”.  I sobbed, I hadn’t protected her well enough. My intuitions were right all along.

Three years ago he was caught by Police as he was attempting to set up a meeting with a man so he could have sex with his underage daughter. He’s been in prison most of the past three years, and only got out last week.

And the insanity has begun all over again. My mother has been in assisted living. “N” showed up there last weekend, trying to get money off of her, food, and then I found out spent two nights sleeping on her sofa. So I have intervened, called the Retirement Home and brought them up to speed, called the State Police, State Sex Offenders Registry, local Police, and even tried to find a shelter for him. He called the number I gave him, they tried to help, but he had excuses for why they just didn’t “fit him”, and why staying with my mom for a few days “was better”.

I was shopping for a few grocery items tonight when I received a call from my mom. I answered, only to be talking with “N” instead. He asked me to pray for him, he was “reading his bible”, told me he didn’t have much money, needed to move to a warmer climate, etc. I told him I did love him, but that he needed to take advantage of local resources, changed the subject and ended the call. I am not having him anywhere within 500 miles.

Immediately upon hanging up I exercised POA, called and demanded the Retirement Home kick him out for the safety of their residents. And that if he returns, they call the Police and have him picked up. No one is safe when he is around, especially a defenseless old person. Yeah, it’s cold up North, but he had a chance to go to a shelter, do the right thing, make a fresh start. Stalking Senior Citizens is not the way to go about it.

It’s taken a long time to fully trust my instincts, to learn to read between the lines. To not make excuses for someone, and to realize that sometimes you must get comfortable with being an a-hole to some for the safety of others.

The story is not over. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to prevent him from hurting another soul.  In this case, blood is not thicker than water.

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Dog-Prayers

Here’s a very sweet memory- I remember “saying my prayers” out loud every night as a child, with my Mom and Dad right there beside me. I’d pray for my Grandma and Grandpa, Aunts and Uncles, cousins, people in trouble and even my little sister. And I’d usually end by giving thanks for my dog. Yeah, childish stuff I know. Of all the important things that you need to give thanks for, a dog surely isn’t one of them. Well, I can now definitively say that this is NOT true. I give thanks to God for my dog. There were some very long lonely days, and God sent this dog to me at just the right time. I didn’t want her, but I did need her.

I’d forgotten about “dog-prayers” over the years, and certainly hadn’t repeated them, per se. But my wife and I were talking recently about God’s care of everything, how he cares for even the Sparrow, and has even numbered the hairs of our head. And she asked if I thought we would see our beloved pets in Heaven. I reflexively said “Of course”, while I made a note to refresh myself on why I believed that to be so.

So some scripture to ground us in Truth;

Psalm 36:6 (ESV) Your righteousness is like the mountains of God;
your judgments are like the great deep;
man and beast you save, O Lord.

Romans 8 (ESV) 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. 22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.

Psalm 84:3 (ESV) Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.

Proverbs 3:10 (ESV) Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast,
but the mercy of the wicked is cruel.

Ecc 3:19 (ESV) For what happens to the children of man and what happens to the beasts is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and man has no advantage over the beasts, for all is vanity. 20 All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return. 21 Who knows whether the spirit of man goes upward and the spirit of the beast goes down into the earth?

Isa 11:6 (ESV) The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them.  7 The cow and the bear shall graze; their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. 8 The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den. 9 They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.

So what does this all say?

In Psalm 36, the Spirit is saying that the judgments and righteousness of God save man and beast alike. Similarly, Ecclesiastes 3 speaks to our shared journey, that we both share the same breath, and asks the rhetorical question whether man’s spirit goes up and that of the beast goes down. The sense is that as we both return to dust, our spirits return to Him as well.

Psalm 84 tells us that the sparrow and swallow find a home at the altar of God.  And Proverbs 3 defines a righteous man as having regard for the life of his animals. For we elevate them in our sight as we have been elevated in Christ’s. We are, in a sense, Lord to them.

Romans 8 is most telling to me, in that the creation itself eagerly awaits redemption, and will be set free and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God. When Satan fell and tempted Eve, it was not just mankind that became his target. Everything in the Universe became corrupt. He not only wanted to destroy mankind, but the entire Creation. Salvation was wrought to save and redeem ALL that which was lost. To  restore the entire world, EVERYTHING,  to Eden.

And finally, in Isaiah, a Little Child will lead all the disparate parts of Creation into a harmonious eternity together. To include the Wolf, Leopard, Goat, and Lamb, and even the Cobra. All together in Eternity together with Him.

And we will all dwell together, finally, at peace.

As animals were there in the Garden at the beginning, I believe this tells us that they will be there in the New Jerusalem.

Cats and Dogs alike.

Here’s a link to a more scientific treatise on the subject.