Continuing from A Look Back – Part II

There is nothing very special to speak of as it concerns my birth. I am the first born child of my mother. I think I was born some weeks short of the norm of 42 weeks. But I weighed about 10 pounds at birth so I don’t think I was premature. That being said I guess it’s safe to assume that I was conceived at some time before my parent’s wedding night. I don’t judge, I remember being young and in love.

I believe that people who think don’t really look for anything special as it concerns the circumstances of their birth. I think they want to know if they’re special. The question that I ask is “why am I here?” I have carried on with my life seeking and demanding that the author, if such a one exists, of this tragic chaos reveal or expose to me the ‘why’ of me. I think I have sampled everything that has appealed to me that initially I thought would please me and not hurt me. In truth I reached beyond that standard when my selection process wounded others around me. There are a lot of things I like but nothing I can’t get enough of. I like to fish but I don’t want to go fishing every day. I enjoy some television but I don’t feel like watching everyday. I like to have a beer or something stronger but it hasn’t trapped me. I just retired from my job but the nature of my employment never defined me. It was just a tool that allowed me to take care of my family. It also allowed me to have some of the stuff that pleased me. My job was never my career. My career must have been something else. My job was just a tool to make money.

My wife is my favorite person. To say that I love her is a profound understatement. We have been together well over half my life. There is no one else. That being said neither of us want to be in each other’s company every moment of every day. Our interests vary. While I scribble these lines she’s out in her small barn building furniture. If she needs a hand, I’ll help. If she needs another set of eyes to help problem solve, I’ll look. If there’s no one else that reads this, I hope she will. We have six or seven children. I haven’t worked it out in my heart if the seventh is my youngest daughter or my oldest granddaughter. Logic tells me that she needs a father more than she needs a grandfather. She needs a dad. But when I see her smile….it’s her mother’s smile. When she walks, moves, her mannerisms all belong to her mom. The choice may seem easy from the outside looking in….be her father! But when I look at that little girl it’s impossible to not also be reminded that she is her mother’s daughter and I am not her dad. Why am I here? Why was I born? If this is all (as huge as all is) there is…is it enough? No, it is not.

When I was young someone introduced me to the idea that there is a God…a creator…a designer…an author. At that time I wasn’t of an age to have been able to articulate my questions of why. In the atmosphere of my young heart the questions were there though not yet formed. In this world of chaos…madness…pain…hunger of heart…small doses of joy…there is someone who sees…who understands…someone who knows why I am here. To know such a one requires an introduction. Imagine meeting someone who already knows every secret…the truth behind every lie…the worst. He introduced himself to me. I required no introduction to him because he already knew me…a broken and naked human thing. Yet in the meeting I was found acceptable…redeemable…clothed and covered by love.

Some time ago I saw a film that I think illustrates the circumstances of my life. A man and a person who represented God were outside working in a garden. The garden was a mess of overgrown grass…tangled branches…thorns…weeds…and in the mess the occasional beauty of a flower. The two people were having a conversation as they went about tending to the garden. The man was confused. He didn’t know why they were working in a garden that was so far gone. Nothing they did seemed to offer any improvement to the chaos of the overgrowth. As the man made his complaints the camera from overhead began to pan out. As the shot rose higher and higher above I saw it…the design…the beauty of the garden. It wasn’t chaos and confusion. It was a carefully orchestrated symphony of color and growth. Since the man was so close to it…a part of it…he couldn’t see the bigger picture…the why. I don’t know what happened next or how the film concluded because I stopped watching and turned it off. I watch movies to be entertained…to forget. Those few moments broke my heart. I remember thinking later that the scene was a fair illustration of why I hate God…why I love God. He is taking what I see as a mess and changing it into something beautiful. He is witnessing the transformation. He is watching the beauty emerge. While I, on the other hand, am pierced with thorns…a slave to his agenda…with nothing to look at but the mud on my shoes.