Diary of a Divorcee, Part II

   A while back I sat down in front of this computer and pecked out an initial entry for a "diary". My intention at the time was to share openly the life of a divorcee, not hiding anything, sharing the triumphs and failures. I quickly learned that doing so exacted a heavy emotional toll... I have sat down here, stared at this computer, and tried to write this second part many times. But the hand that touches fire,.. well, It's not soon eager to repeat it's mistake. Not saying that the first diary entry was a mistake; However, every attempt that followed has ended with resignation, frustration, and ultimately failure. No matter how I conceived the structure, or imagined the detail, it never turned out the way that I knew in my heart GOD wanted it to be. I didn't know what to do.

  This Sunday I sat in church, staring vacantly towards the front,... My mind anywhere but on the words of the visiting minister,... (sorry) As I sat there, I suddenly realized that I was praying. It was an unconcious thing,.. I can't really explain; My heart without benefit of the concious mind, began pouring itself out before GOD. I cannot explain the trouble I've had for the last few months praying for myself,... How difficult it has been or the why... I just know that as I sat there,.. my heart finally did what my mind could not,.. at first so faintly I was unaware of it, then building to a emotional intensity that brought tears to my eyes,.. My heart sent out a distress call. "God,.. This is where I am.... MAY-DAY." I felt HIM almost immediately,... something in my soul was reassured, a promise whispered,.. Something unseen, not verbalized,.. but suddenly,... I knew HE was there like I haven't known for some time. I knew he had a plan to turn this disaster into triumph,.. and I knew he would be with me.
    As for the journal ? well, He spoke to that too. The remainder of this journal will be addressed to my children. Every evening I'm able, I'll sit down here, and write to my children about my day. That is what GOD told me to do... I hope it blesses someone. It is helping me to heal, and I hope it does the same for others. This entry is from christmas of last year, and seemed like a fitting place to start.

  12/25/09
Dear Isabella,

  It's Christmas day, and Daddy misses you. This morning when I got off work, all I could think about was seeing you and Jaiden. I was worried, because Daddy didn't have a lot of money this Christmas, and that would mean that there weren't a lot of gifts. I knew you wouldn't care, But I did. Somehow, even though I knew it wasn't true; for just a moment I felt like my worth as a father was tied to what you would see under that tree. I shook off those thoughts, and drove to the gas station where your mommy and I had agreed to meet.
  I laughed quietly to myself as I pulled into the gas station. Your mommy, as usual, was late. I wasn't angry though... In fact. it made me think of some really good times, things we had done as a family,... everything from shopping to vacations,.... all of which mommy had made us late for. I wish I had laughed more then. It's funny that something that had been a constant irritation to me, was something I thought so fondly of now. How many times had I sat in the car, with you and the boys belted in, car running, waiting for her to finish her hair? I'd blow the horn, and she would come out that door,...

   As I sat there lost in thought, my cell phone rang. It was your mommy. She apologized for running late, and then dropped the bomb shell... My precious angel had decided she didn't want to spend Christmas day with me. I was shocked. "My little Girl"? " I remembered the way you begged to stay the last time you were with me, cried when I took you back to your mother... It didn't seem possible. We hung up the phone, and there you were, sitting in the back seat of the car, as pretty as anything I've ever seen. Just to make sure, I asked again " Isabella,... You don't want to go with Daddy?" You didn't see it, But I was really shaken up. You shook your head "no" without looking at me. I knew how difficult this divorce has been for all of us, and I knew better than to press the issue. I blinked back my tears, kissed your cheek, and asked: "Do you know how much Daddy loves you, Baby?" You nodded slowly, your voice just slightly more than a whisper,... "yes" you said. "how much?" I asked. " The big, big, big, big, big much." you replied, the same answer you've given to this question ever since you were a toddler. I smiled. You smiled. I knew this was were I had to leave things today. And I did.
I put Jaiden in the car, finalized arrangements with your mommy, and watched as she climbed into the car and drove away,... taking my Angel with her. I missed you today. I just wanted you to know. Merry Christmas, Angel,.. Daddy loves you.

12/25/09

Dear Jaiden,

   I look down at you sleeping here in my arms,.. the movie you INSISTED on watching ( Batman... I have NO idea why,... on Christmas day?!) before bed has barely been on 10 minutes. As I stare down at you, I fight off a very real, very loud, very sincere desire to laugh. It's not how cute you look in your wolverine/X-men pajama's, or how silly it is that you fell asleep so quickly,... It's just,... Your snoring. Not the light easy breath sounds that accompany all children's sleep,... You, my little wolverine,... are snoring so loudly,... I remind myself to write an apology letter to the neighbor's. " Say Phil,... What was all that racket last night?" I hear them asking. " My apologies Jason,... My three year old was snoring." Yeah?, he replies, "Well, you owe me some new windows." It occurs to me how comfortable you must be, how deeply asleep, if you are snoring like a drunken pirate. And I am happy. Happy because it means you know that you are safe. You know that you are loved. and just as I'm thinking this, you move, snuggling closer, both of your arms entwining around my forearm as I craddle you. I look down at you and I am Proud. You are all that a little boy should be... and yet under it all beats a heart so tender,... The tears rise again, and silently, I thank GOD,... What need is there for anything else ? I know I am holding the greatest gift GOD has ever given a human being. I smile writing this... I love you son. Thank you for letting me be your father. Merry Christmas Jaiden, my little super hero,.. Daddy loves you.

The Deal about Real.

     Much is said around fire stations about being "real". Around fire stations, people reminisce about the "Old Heads" saying things like "now so-and-so... he was a real firefighter.".  Being a real firefighter seems to make up for quite a few character flaws too. It's usually added to the end of a statement like this... " Did you hear _______( insert firefighter name) was arrested for __ ( insert heinous crime here)? I heard he drinks like a fish and kicks his dog too." (pause) "But he was a real firefighter." Maybe I exaggerate, but hey... Firefighters do that.

     How about Christianity? Is there a "Real" Christianity and a "Fake" Christianity? If there's a real thing, then the statement itself infers that there must be some question as to it's authenticity, and therefore THERE MUST BE something that looks similar, but isn't... "real".

     I think if you want to know if something is real, you go back to the source, and see how much it looks like "the source".  For example to see if someone is a real Christian maybe we take a look at what we know about Christ... We take it back to CHRIST... Christian means "like Christ" right?  You can't possibly get any more real than the person or thing you are impersonating, so what do we know about Him?

   Isaiah 53 speaks of Christ like this: "There is NO beauty that we should desire him."  He is "despised and rejected of men", a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief. It states further that he had "No form or comeliness".  The prophet is so turned by his vision of "Christ" that he says "We hid our faces from him." We esteemed him as ".. stricken, smitten by GOD, and afflicted."

   Doesn't sound like the popular definition of Christianity. Popularly (Christianity that is)  doesn't look sweaty, and ugly, and tired, and hurt. It looks like an extra five in the offering or hugging the neck of someone you don't really like or dropping a can of creamed corn in the "food drive" bin.
  Seriously, you were NOT going to eat it anyway. 
   But all too often, that view of Christianity leaves people who aren't familiar with Christianity wondering: "Is He for real?"

     Maybe to find real, we have to look past the way things appear and see what really is. Maybe appearance, no matter how pleasant; is just appearance, and "real" means actions that really matter, a  sacrifice for another, and a resolute character that isn't easily shaken from "what is right."   Maybe it isn't nearly as pretty as we think it should be sometimes, but it's realness is unshakable; and  people who are looking to be real themselves.... well, they recognize it right away.

Today I thought about Jesus, and whether I am "real"... I sit here writing this; and my heart is troubled. I found two things to include in this blog, and I hope one of them touches you.
  

Excerpt from the velveteen rabbit:

(or how toys become real)

" What is REAL?" asked the rabbit one day,

when they were laying side by side near the nursery fender, before

Nana came to tidy up the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you, and a stick out handle?" 

"REAL isn't how you are made," said the skin horse. "It's a thing that happens to you.

When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you,

then you become real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the rabbit. "Sometimes," said the skin horse, for he was always truthful. "BUT when you are REAL, you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once?" he asked. " Like being wound up, or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the skin horse. "YOU BECOME. It takes a long time.

That's why it doesn't often happen to toys who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you become real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out. You become lose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose YOU are real?" said the rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the skin horse might be sensitive. But the skin horse only smiled.

"The Boy's uncle made me real, " He said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are REAL, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

   

All About Heroes

  01/30/12

  Tonight, I have just returned from assisting with the instruction of a basic firefighter class in a neighboring county, the topic of which was "hands on" primary search with an entrapped victim. This is something that is very close to the hearts of all firemen ... and most would say it's what we sign up for.
  In fact, if we are truly honest with ourselves; I believe that all firefighters begin this career in the hopes that one day they would become a hero. And maybe we're the kind of guys ( and gals) that need that. I don't mean to be disparaging. I don't think that necessarily means that firefighters are glory seekers, adrenaline "junkies", or reckless "hose monkeys". For me, It only means that I must aim my life at a greater good; something extraordinary, in order for it to have meaning.

 "Why do you want to be a hero?"  I have asked many rookies why they wanted to be firefighters, But I don't think I've explained my own reasoning to more than a few. While I was still a young man, I lost a cousin in a structure fire. Katrina (blackwood) Walker was only 13 when she died on July the 1st, 1991.
 In the early hours before dawn, she had woken to flames consuming her home. My Great Aunt Betty and uncle H- had made it safely to their agreed meeting spot, but Katrina wasn't there.
 Katrina had fled to the bathroom, stuffed a towel in the crack of the door and waited for help.She had been taught (correctly)  that this was the best thing to do if you couldn't get out of your house during a fire.
 Her home was less than a mile from a firestation... the response was direct and timely, the firefighters there did their ABSOLUTE best. It wasn't enough.
Katrina had an infectious smile.She had been born mostly deaf, but somehow she was still teaching herself to play guitar. She had a pet skunk. She was 13.

Katrina's incident has always been, and always will be; in my mind. It's something I carry with me out the door to every shift. I can't imagine what those firemen that were there felt... But the fear of feeling it?  Well... It makes me want to be a hero.
 


  Talking about "Heroes" tonight made me remember this story.
. I want to share it, because to me, heroes are not defined by the status their actions may bring them, but instead by what action they will willingly give themselves to... for the sake of another, seeking nothing in return. This one event created a lasting impression on me, and here for the first time in a long time; I saw what I think heroes truly look like.
   I've had to change the names, but I promise the story is true... I hope it blesses you.

6/10/11
"She's Gone."
Just moments ago, I received that simple text message. Two words, simple and expected, but devastating.
  " Jasmine", who would have been five years old in little more than a week, had finally lost her fight with Cancer. I had met Jasmine through my girlfriend, and at the beginning of our relationship, we took the picture you see above. She had met Jasmine and her family while volunteering at Duke University's Oncology department. She had helped the girl's family that day, and the picture above is from the simple dinner they prepared for us, their way of saying " Thank you."
  Despite the best efforts of the medical professionals, the child grew worse. I vividly remember the night the child's mother called, panic in her voice as she begged my girlfriend for help. We had to be on a plane at 4am the next morning, but still ( at my girlfriend's insistence) we drove to their house and picked them up, mother and child, so they would have a way to the emergency room. I have never felt so helpless as I did that night, listening to her whimper in the back seat, her tiny voice saying, over and over; " me duele, me duele." ( it hurts me, it hurts me) I asked later what it meant, but there was no need... somehow I already known..
Earlier today, my girlfriend rushed out of class to be with Jasmine and her family, stopping only long enough to pick up dinner for them. She called me on her way, and I was moved by the genuine concern I could hear in her voice as we talked. Mary ( the girls mother) had called her earlier in near panic, begging her to come. She had not been there long when I received the text.  " She's Gone."

My girlfriend didn't go because she had to, or because she would get some satisfaction from going. She didn't go because everyone would know what she had done. Until this post, only a very few knew the story. No one was watching, and there was no medal for her to carry away. She owed those people nothing, would profit nothing to suffer with them, but still she went.  Her motive was simple... Love. Not fleshly temporal love, but the love that each of us should nurture in our own hearts, love that seeks no self fulfillment, but is simply an echo of the Love shown us by Christ. This was heroism. This was Christianity, and this one event taught me more about Christianity than any of the time I spent in bible college.

  As firefighters we are blessed to be in a position of "helping", being there for those crisis moments when no one knows what to do.We assist those in desperate need, making sense of it all. This too, I believe; is very Christ-like. However, we are also very isolated from  the reality that exists outside of each "scene." When our work there is done, we go back to station, clean the gear, do the reports, and move on. This is our refuge. If we were unable to disconnect from the tragedies and trauma, I don't think our careers would last very long. We cope, we grow; distancing ourselves further from the pain, but perhaps also further away from our reason for being here in the first place. Maybe the callused, distant veteran doesn't even remember the "hero" he wanted to be.
 This one event however, was something I was forced to see in it's totality. I saw it up close and personal, and I learned what heroes really look like.

They don't always look like a "Rescue". The guys in Katrina's yard that night, dejected, exhausted... they were heroes. They don't always look like superman in a "10-10". Because to this firefighter heroes don't always look like the guy who saved a life, or put out the most fire.
Sometimes heroes look like people who didn't have to be there. People who couldn't change the outcome. But People who were there anyways, and gave it everything they had.