What the Next Big One won't Take Away

     I sit contentedly with at my computer. The cat is on my lap and I’m sipping coffee from my favorite coffee cup. All is right with my world. There are no troubles to face here.

In my young age, I didn’t know how to deal with my troubles well. I would sit in school, or more likely in my room at home, with my math book open in front of me. The numbers would be stacked up like torturous pillars of confusion and agony. I would stare at the math problems and not even be able to remember my basic multiplication facts. My mind would slide away from the math book and come to another place. I’m not proud of where I went, which was where I was beating up the authors of the math textbook. I would sit at my desk at home or school. The math problems would vanish and there I would be inflicting injury on the three people whose names appeared on the title page of my write-in textbook. That was how I thought I could solve my problems. And in truth, the math anxiety did go away when I ignored the math problems and went somewhere else. Why wouldn’t I think it was a good solution?

     This was about the same time that I was experiencing growing pains, both physical and emotional. Not knowing how to deal with feeling left out and lonely, I created other worlds to occupy, which I’ve talked about before. But there was something else I did too. I imagined that there was a place somewhere where people’s troubles and problems physically existed. There was a big building somewhere, kept under guard obviously. And sitting on display were little objects resembling cold remedy capsules. Each of these capsules was the physical manifestations of an individual’s troubles. And here was the great part: All I had to do was infiltrate that building and squash mine, and that would end my troubles. My life would be trouble-free. That was my solution for how to be happy.

     I don’t want to blame anyone or anything for my lack of healthy coping skills back then. And if I could go back, I don’t think I would want to change anything. My childhood fostered a hard-working imagination and it’s easy to have empathy for kids today.

     Of course today I still encounter little things that trouble me. And deep down, I hope that’s the worst that happens to me. I feel like I’ve paid my dues in the genuine pain and disaster department and nothing catastrophic ought to ever happen to me again. But I know the truth. Losing a daughter to cancer does not get my ticket punched and exempt me from further tragedy.

     I think about when I was going through the toughest times of my life and I did have good coping skills. I prayed a lot. The worse off my life was, the closer I got to God. And now that I’m kind of coasting, my prayer life can be rather lukewarm.

     Bad things happen to good people. While God does not stamp and OK on those things, He never wastes a hurt. The result of something horrible happening in my life could be that I will draw closer to Him. But I can wait for the next thing to happen, or I can choose to draw close to Him now.

So, my coffee pot broke last week. This was not the next tragic thing. But when I posted it on Facebook, not only did I get an outpouring of sympathy, but three friends offered me a coffee pot they had. This was a reminder that even when the little things happen, people are there for me.

So something might happen in my life. Like “The Big One”, the huge earthquake scientists predict will hit someday, it’s not a question of if, but of when. Southern California had a few tremblers last week and it can make me edgy. But in truth, I will never really lose what’s important.

For I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels won’t, and all the powers of hell itself cannot keep God’s love away. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow,  or where we are—high above the sky, or in the deepest ocean—nothing will ever be able to separate us from the love of God demonstrated by our Lord Jesus Christ when he died for us.   Romans 8:38-39 (Living Bible)

Now this morning as I drank my last cup of pour-through coffee, (my new coffee-pot arrived in the mail Saturday)I had my cat on my lap and was feeling content. Then there was a plop. The rubber on the bottom of my coffee cup fell in my lap. My favorite coffee cup that holds lots of coffee and keeps it warm with a lid and I use exclusively every morning when I write, it’s falling apart.  Another little trouble to deal with. A very little one and it’s pretty amusing that the day I get a new coffee pot, my old coffee cup begins to self-destruct. I thank God for little reminders that nothing I think I own will ever last. I just need to remember what is His will last forever.

A wet filter basket

     I was talking to Prajna last night, kind of lamenting that I had been bouncing around some blog topics in my head but never settled on anything. Lately I have liked to write a rough draft on Sunday afternoons, but was not able to yesterday. So here it was, Sunday evening and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I told Prajna about how little I’ve actually been thinking about blogging lately. I have been actually enjoying working on my second draft of Sidewinder.

The last time I worked on my novel was Thursday morning and I had to quit writing when 7am was rolling around and it was time to feed the animals and think about breakfast for the family. I wasn’t ready to stop. I was wishing that I could write at night like I used to. There was no quitting time then. Write ‘till I can’t. I mentioned to Prajna that maybe I could stay up late one night writing. She didn’t care for the idea and reminded me that I am rigidly fixed in routine. I almost never stay up past 11 anymore, and am usually up at 6. If I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning, I might still not sleep in, I would be tired and cranky all day, more than usual even, and everyone’s day could be ruined.

I thanked Prajna for the reminder and went out to set up the coffee pot for the next morning. A horrific surprise awaited me there. Someone had used the coffee pot that morning and not washed and dried it. With the filter basket wet, I could not put the next day’s fresh coffee into it for a delayed start the next morning. And I the filter basket is ribbed and ridged in a way that it’s impossible to hand-dry. It only takes lots of time to dry. But I was tired and didn’t want to stay up a lot later. My routine was disturbed. I felt justified in losing my mind. But I held it together. My daughter Sarah rebuked me for blustering over such a first world problem. I poured the water in the coffee pot and set aside the measured coffee for the next morning where I would have to make the effort to place the fresh coffee in the basket and push START, and then wait for several minutes while for the coffee to brew. Sarah experienced extreme amusement at my fuss and she remarked how much I loved routine too.

Last week I was sharing with a friend how much I loved my job. I love to work alone and listen to my iPod. I love the predictability, the routine. My friend listened and informed me that it wasn’t routine that I loved the most. He told me what it was that I really loved, not just about my job, but every day. I didn’t like what he told me, but it was too true to ignore.

I love control. Like the coffee pot, I set it every evening that I want coffee the next morning. When I get up, there it is waiting for me. Everything is where I left it. I don’t have to fuss, or even think hard. I don’t stress, and therefore I don’t really rely on God too much for my peace of mind.

I confessed my love for control just last November and have already forgotten it. I don’t remember how deep I delved into it last time, but I remember when I was dealing with Naomi being sick, how I flew into rages when things were not in my control. I hate to think of myself as a violent bully. And I don’t think I really was, nevertheless, I acted wrong. I know that I’ve come a long way in dealing with anger, but I still do not like to not have control of my life.

So I’m grateful that the coffee pot wasn’t in condition for me to set it up. Yes, it was nice to get my mind around a blog topic I had been working over in my head. But I was reminded, by the coffee pot and by Sarah, that I take way too much joy from having things work out the way I want them to and not enough joy from important things.

By important things, well I could go on and on about my blessings. But in addition to all of that, just 10 years ago I was still an emotional and mental wreck where nothing was stable or predictable. I definitely wouldn’t have been able to eventually laugh about my weeping over the coffee pot.

So I had to wait for the coffee to be ready and I still managed. The sun still came up and here I am. Still learning and sharing what I’ve learned. By the time the sun goes down tonight I will have dealt with minor victories and defeats. But I’m thankful I have the tools to deal with them both and loved ones who don’t tolerate my tirades.  

Freedom from Fear

     I don’t know what it was like living in the days of World War II when the demise of the free world was a genuine fear. I look at the Rockwell Painting with parents tucking in their children at night. The dad is holding a folded newspaper where the only clear words are bombings and horror. The times must have been scary to live in.

     People fought and died to give us freedom from fear. I don’t know how long it was supposed to last. The war ended and new ones came and went. More people died. It’s even happening today. And it’s hard to not still be afraid.

     I hope I am not seriously sinning here not trusting God. I do trust Him for my salvation. And like so many Bible heroes I try to trust and obey. But the world is scary. And it’s not just war. Yes, there are megalomaniacs out there with the power to kill thousands or more. But that isn’t all. People are killing each other for no clear reason. Kids are killing themselves because they are hurting so bad. And so much of this is happening in schools or with kids and young people.

Leaders are scrambling and debating about the best way to end this violence. Putting more control over ways to kill (gun laws) seems to make sense. But then someone rampages through a college with a knife and puts people in the hospital. It looks to me like people are going to lose touch with sense and reality and try to hurt or kill one another no matter what laws are in place. Sure, better laws may be good. Keeping weapons out of the hands of dangerous people seems smart to me.

But I don’t think an important factor is being lost on anyone here. I see it and I can’t imagine no-one else does. We can’t ignore this truth: something is making people snap. People out there are misguided, broken. People are hurting.

And I sit in my safe little house and feel overwhelmed. I hear the newscasts that break my heart and sometimes just want to go crawl under my bed, plug my ears and hum. Or sometimes I become so discouraged I just want to say, “I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.” And it’s overwhelming. I wish I could do something, but I don’t even know where to start.

I get overwhelmed at work sometimes. Once in a while, there is a tremendous amount of things to do and I don’t know where to begin. Let me unequivocally state here that I love my job and hope I can keep it forever. But sometimes when a large event is done and I’ve already worked a long day and I need to get everything ready for Sunday morning, I feel a little beleaguered. And here is the thing: the room will have a semblance of how it should look for Sunday. But the floor will be dirty and need vacuuming. I will need to pick up all the table and chairs vacuum, and reset the room. So I have to step backwards to move forward. The restrooms will need a deep cleaning and the corridors will need vacuuming to. It all sounds easy written out. But standing in a big room late in the day and thinking of all that must be done can give me this feeling. And I realized yesterday that the feeling I get thinking about all the hurting and broken people and the sad state of so many things is the same feeling I get late in the day with a plethora of tasks ahead of me.

There is so much to do. Where can I even begin? I don’t have the strength to do all of this. 

But each time I get onto it. I stride into the room and unceremoniously grab one chair, I fold it, then another and another until I have four in my hands. I take them to the side of the room and lean them on the wall. Then I go get four more. There may be 168 chairs.

I stay distracted listening to my iPod. This is usually when I like to have an audiobook on. I keep at it for the hours it takes. In the end I go home and go to bed and sleep well.

Maybe the same thing would work with helping the world. Maybe instead of succumbing to being overwhelmed, I could look for the first little thing to do and just do that. It’s true I don’t have what it takes to do it all. But, maybe it’s so cliché that it’s unapparent, I have what it takes to do the first thing that I’m capable of.

Perhaps it’s simple-minded to liken my little world to the great big broken world. But my point is that the great big broken world can’t be fathomed unless looked at simply.

If my iPod keeps me cool doing the work resetting a room, prayer could guide me and calm me in the world. And one more thing I’ve recently admitted, I could get help. A few nights ago, there were not 168 chairs with tables, there were 244 chairs and accompanying tables. I got two people, not to help me, but to pick up the room and vacuum it for me while I went home and fell asleep. I was able to get up early the following morning and set for the next event starting with a clean room. 

special setup with 244 chairs and 31 tables

It helps to start small with the first task one can do. But sometimes it’s so valuable to have someone step in before me and help clear things up. What I got was a clearer picture of what I needed to do.

It’s not the task that’s daunting. It’s the vision of it. Looking at the world, the idea that people are hurting and killing and cannot be stopped is enough to paralyze me. But when someone steps in and wipes away the clutter, I can see there are people close to me, within arm’s reach that perhaps I can get to. It would never be up to me to “reset” or “clean” them. I don’t really know what I would do. It’s not up to me to ever plan a response for that. God tends to not work that way. I just have to be ready. There may not be freedom from fear and I might always feel fear. But I can still step forward despite it. Fear diminishes with each guided step.

The joy of Now

     I remember having a bad day back in 2004. It’s not the only bad day I ever had, but it was such a lousy day that I remember how crappy it was. It had a long lasting effect on my. Months after I would look back on it and worry that there would be worse days than that ahead in my life. What is there are days to come that will be worse than that? I’ve lucked out so far.

     Last Wednesday was a good day. We went to Sea World in San Diego. The kids woke up with no problem and were in the van ready to leave when it was time. We had a good drive down. I took quick alternate route around bad freeway traffic. I hit all green lights on the surface streets and unquestionably saved time. I had a good playlist picked out. The drive down through Temecula and across the county line was beautiful as usual and we got to Sea World on time to meet our group and get in.

     Sea World was a blast as always. We rode our favorite rides, saw our favorite shows, and ate a good lunch that we had packed and brought. The weather was cool, but sunny. Everyone had a good time. The kids had a good time and there were no meltdowns or difficulties. We left the park just before closing. I got a little turned around looking for where we always get supper but after a few corrective turns we found the In-N-Out Burger. After that the drive home was easy and pleasant.

     Everyone had had a great day. Nathaniel said his favorite part was the breakfast sandwich I had made him. The day had been almost flawless. I ought to have been joyous after it. I was happy, but there was still an uneasy feeling from the day.

     It has to be a terribly unhealthy attitude to have. But after such a good day, the nagging feeling inside of me was this: What if I never have another day this good again?

     After a bad day, my worry was that it wouldn’t be the worst ever. After a great day, my worry was that it would be the best. I think that this is what drives me to not want to do anything sometimes. If I just stay on the level status quo, no highs or lows then there will be no worries.

     No highs and no lows. No highs seems like a terrible price to pay for no lows. I don’t know if it’s worth it. I do know it feels wrong.

     We rode the Journey to Atlantis that day. It’s a fun, wet roller coaster ride. The first time we all rode together. When the day was almost over Jamie and I rode it once more together. I couldn’t help but think of a day at Sea World about 6 years ago. Jamie was too young to go on the ride and stood by and waited to watch the older kids and I ride by. Every roller coaster car that roared past splashed Jamie abundantly. He loved it. Prajna captured images of him standing in anticipation, getting soaked and laughing afterwards. And the photographs capture something. Pure joy. 

     Here is a face of someone who may or may not have had a terrible day the day before. But in just this moment, nothing in the world is greater than the sunshine and the splash of a passing roller coaster car. Who cares if tomorrow will be bad? This is now and now is good.

     I would like to live in the moment more, but here I am at this moment, reflecting back a week, 6 years and even 8 years. A lot of my blog goes on about the past. Nostalgia is one thing, but fixation on the past is another.

     The truth is that I don’t live in the moment. I constantly analyze the past and mull over the future.

     Now it’s a Sunday afternoon and I’m composing this first draft. I have a kitten curled up asleep on my lap and Roy Orbison on my headphones. I’m writing with good music and a cat. That’s good. I think I should be reveling in this with the same joy Jamie had being splashed. Of course if I leapt to my feet in celebration right now I would upset the cat and possibly my laptop that the headphones are plugged into. I don’t have to be whooping it up. But I can at least acknowledge that there are good days all around and I ought to look out for them and be thankful.

     I would like to recognize that most moments I’m existing in are alright, even pleasant.

     The cat just looked at me and jumped off my lap. I’m not totally devastated because I can finally stretch my legs. Things are still good.