Some time ago my wife recommended that I change what I write about. She suggested that instead of writing about what I believe, write about…give background to….why I believe as I do. I tried to make the point that the “why” should be evident as I explain the “what.” She then made the valid point that the “why” may be better articulated by telling of the past…my past…my history. I wasn’t really excited about looking back and opening that door. It’s not that my past is full of misery…it isn’t. At the same time it wasn’t easy. As a child I didn’t assign an easy or hard label to my circumstances or lot in life. It just was what it was. It wasn’t until I was older did I recognize that it was difficult. In any event my mind forecasted that the process of writing it would be tedious and uninteresting. My heart anticipated an opening of old wounds. Why do that?

I’m really not sure if my wife even reads the things I write. We never talk about it so I conclude that she doesn’t read most of what I write. That being said she absolutely understands who my target audience is…my children. I attempted to skirt her suggestion by saying that my kids know my history. In her way she made me see that knowing the facts of where I’m from or where I’ve been do very little to explain who the man is…why he is who he is.

I’m standing on the edge of the diving board looking into the pool that is my life. The water is not clear. It is not chemically enhanced to crystal clear brilliance. It is murky, cold, and deep. I don’t want to dive in. That would take courage I don’t have. I can’t even bring myself to jump in the pool. I know what’s in those icy murky depths. There is pain. There exists in that water the brutality of a loving God…the dedication of an all-powerful father who is determined to raise his delinquent son into his image. He is relentless in his pursuit of my heart. He has plan and purpose for me. Is there a way to the pleasure of plan and purpose without the pain and suffering of heart? None of this is to suggest that there are no happy and joyful moments to relive or experience in the pool. I have experienced countless pleasures and joys. There is contentment and peace that I could never calculate or articulate. I just know that the way to those places is littered with brokenness and painful destruction. I have made what is to me a profound discovery about life. It is an uncontrollable beast that will never come to heel. I have never been able to manage my life in such a way that leads to happiness or pain-free living. Never have I been able to manage…manipulate or massage circumstances that resulted in happy and painless living. This is what’s true. Here is how life and living have really worked for me. As I stand in the festering pit of my own bad choices or in the catastrophe of circumstances I had no part in creating, I find my father waiting for me. He urges me to come closer still. He asks me to do exactly the opposite of what all instinct and logic screams for me to do…flee! He invites me to lean into the pain of the mess…embrace it with the passion of a father whose child has finally come home. Don’t avoid it. Don’t deflect or shield myself from it. Let it do its work.

No thanks. I know what the pool of my life is….was. I’m not really interested in reviewing…rethinking…revisiting or writing of my life and times for the edification or entertainment of others. My wife knows what’s in the water. Yet she presented me with the idea of doing it. She knows that I enjoy writing. I’m not sure she realizes how much it costs in stored and forgotten grief. I have a son who knows what’s in the water too. I think he lives with the illusion that if he keeps me close then he can gain what I have acquired without living through the mess…the pain. I just love him while realizing I will disappoint him. I may prove to be an adequate reference but he will never get from me what is only available from someone else. No…I’m not for the sake of nostalgia putting another toe in the water until time and circumstances bring me to the edge again.