The Good, the Bad and the...

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

So begins “The Tale of Two Cities” and so begins this meditation.

The origin goes back a few weeks. At my worst I had so little energy and stamina that all I could do was sit in my recliner and stare at the TV. That’s an interesting exercise when you have double vision, especially when your best eye is not your dominant one. I was watching one documentary about acrobatic flying. This team was doing an incredible job. Inches apart—tighter than the Blue Angels—in identical planes, they flew patterns I thought could only be accomplished by a single pilot. Then I closed one eye and...it was a single pilot.

Somehow or another I got into a series of Christian movies. The problem with most was they were low budget with smaltzy plot lines, poor directing and the actors — to be kind — were amateurish. But occasionally one would hit home. One opened with a fade from black to the verse from Jeremiah 29:11 and closed with a quote attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt…

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' “

I was texting with a friend about how this spoke to me in my circumstances. This friend* is far sicker than I have ever been and for a much longer time, but is a powerful prayer warrior with a strong faith and shared with me what meditation the friend was working on...

“Am I not enough?”

Pretty deep stuff. But here’s the interesting part. I read that statement as “I = Me” not “I=God.” And WHAM!

God reached way down on a bottom shelf in the deepest corner of my Vault, pulled out a box and scattered the contents all over the ground in my soul.

What a clear picture of my self esteem at that moment! And it pulled up garbage from way, way back in my childhood.

Interesting how life goes in cycles isn’t it? As a young child I was the epitome of brashness and ‘courage.’ Being hyperactive I lived with my aunt much of the time since I overwhelmed my gentle mother. Lean, trim, and exuberant I would try anything. And then the world changed. I stopped growing up and started growing out. With20/400 vision to boot, ‘Inept’ was a mild euphemism for my state. Today’s language would be “dork” or “nerd.” Loneliness became a constant companion.

And then came the next series of movies...all about ‘father’ problems. Yep. Move that one to the top of the list.

My father was an incredible man. As one person described him, “He sucked all the air out of the room when he walked in.” A natural leader and story teller, he commanded the floor by his very presence.

Several things I especially remember about our relationship:

We were very different, but as I remember it he hung all his expectations on me since my older brother opted out of the family system early on.

Since he was an excellent athlete in college, I tried to play football for him. Rolly-polly, blind and slow I was cannon fodder.

I remember only one time he told me he was proud of me, and don’t ever remember him saying “I love you.”

I never remember him teaching me anything. He had incredible skills but became highly impatient when I didn’t reflect them by osmosis.

Self-esteem? Not in my world.

But somewhere along the way I became my earliest childhood self again. If I wanted to try something I did...usually with fairly good results, and supreme self confidence:

Drum major of two college bands and my Pre-Flight OCS band.

Regimental commander of my Pre-Flight squadron.

Almost always held an office in any organization to which I belonged.

Rector of some wonderful congregations.

Somehow leadership had became second nature to me again.

Fast forward to the present…

It’s a spiritual cliche that our God image is a reflection of our earthly father. For me this was never true. The phrase “God, the Father” has always been something different. God’s presence was just a “knowing.” How would I describe Him if not as “father?” I don’t know. I never tried. He just always “was.”

As I became increasingly ill I began to lose faith in myself. I don’t think I ever lost faith in God...He just became very distant. Angry with Him? Don’t think so, but gradually I let our deep connection slip away.

Giving up one thing after another that I thought defined me, He just became increasingly distant—seemingly disappointed in me. Slowly giving up each successive “treasure” I struggled to find “me” again so I would have something to offer Him. And In these latter days I clung to my Psalm — 143:8 — and now most recently to God’s promise to Jeremiah, desperately trying to convince myself they are true.

I’m constantly aware that if I were to write down all the blessings I’m experiencing even in the midst of my tribulations, to paraphrase, there would not be enough books in all the libraries to hold them. And yet…

Epilogue:

I hope all of the above makes some kind of sense. There are so many gaps in the narrative it may seem like a flat river rock skipping across the water’s surface.

I’d love to tell you there’s a nice neat bow to wrap around a theological gem, but the reality is, I’m still a work in progress.

The image comes to mind of my older brother, who at one time stood a foot taller than I. When I would become furious with him, he would calmly extend his arm, placing his palm on my forehead while I flailed away, futilely out of reach to inflict the damage I envisioned.

In many ways I feel this is my current relationship with God. I’m flailing away, —not angry, but tilting at windmills—and He’s patiently waiting for me to wear myself out. He and I both know the outcome is inevitable. But I just don’t seem cut out to passively accept…

Maybe one day…

In the meantime, in some mysterious way, I grow more and more at peace even as I grow more frustrated.

Oh, well….

Till then,

Thanks for journeying with me.

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The repeated “friend” is bad craftsmanship, but preserves anonymity which I consider more important.