fill ‘er up

“You know, it is just as easy to keep the top 1/2 of the tank full as the bottom 1/2.”

This was the advice my Dad’s Dad gave to my mom on their wedding day. For a long time, I chuckled over this advice. It made no sense. It was just another example of the odd genetics I was born into. Slowly, the advice has worked its’ way into my subconscious. When I started driving, I generally never let the gauge get below 1/4 tank. In my current truck, I have never seen the indicator for needing fuel. In my last truck, I saw it only once, as I was pulling into a gas station. I have never run out of gas. Never. Well, in a car.

Recently, I drove carpool to school. When I do, I take the milini-van (a mini-van made in 2000). I started to back the van out and the fuel indicator light when on.

My grandfather died when I was 5, so he didn’t deliver his sage wisdom to my wife. The only thing I still like about the van is it has a button that you can push that tells you how many miles you have left to go. I had about 25 miles, so I could get my duty accomplished and get to the gas station.

However, as I stared at the gas pump light on the dashboard, my grandfathers advice came back to me. Haunting me. Taunting me. The advice was no longer about fuel. It was not important that I had never run out of gas, or that I have some compulsion to go to gas stations. It was the running on empty tendency that was important. It was that feeling of being drained and having no place to fill up. It was the fumes of living a joyless life that Grandpa was talking about (well, at least to me.)

Crud, I had run out of gas before.

When we roll off the showroom floor, we are given a tank of gas. Fortunately, at that time, it is pretty easy to fill up the tank. We need nutrition, sleep, warmth, love, and diaper changes. Over a short time, we learn to cry, laugh, smile, and throw things. Still, the basic needs remain. Our curious natures encourage us to explore and play. We learn the word ‘mine’ and think that having ‘it’ will fill the tank. We imagine that the tank is fuller for the other toddler who has ‘it’ when we don’t. Even if our tank is full of the basics, we learn to see it as waning. Sometimes, our tank isn’t full. We get distracted by life, or the pursuit of worldly happiness. Or perhaps, the people in our life can’t meet the needs or even ‘steal’ our gas.

I have been running on empty.

I have done this before, but for different reasons. I oscillate between thinking that I don’t deserve a full tank, to thinking I don’t need one. Neither is accurate. I get distracted by the things I think I have to do. I get misdirected by the things I think I should do. I forget to stop when the indicator light is on.

You know the feeling?

It’s that time when you are feeling drained, you know you need rest, or comfort, or solace but you think that you will just get one more thing done, or just make it to that next vacation. In your heart, you know you are lying to yourself. You stumble through the day, the week, or the years. The indicator light burns your eyes and heart. Even at home, there is no sanctuary. The feeling of have-to’s and should-do’s is even stronger at home. A multitude of activities and directions abound. There is clamor for a full tank and you are seeking it from everywhere but the gas station. Running, stretching, participating, all distracting from living.

Until, you run out of gas.

The stop, the crash, the tears, the exhaustion and the power outage. It is almost a relief. You eat, pray, sleep, and laugh together. The tears flow. We find the REST. We get to fill ourselves with God. We get to experience it from those around us. We see it in the neighbor who helps us push our car into the service station. We get to feel the love from a friend who listens and shares enthusiastically. We get to experience it in an embrace from another heart.

We get to know it is from God, directly.

hot cross WHAT?

OK been two whole days with the sax and I have a serious question, “What the heck is ‘Hot Cross Buns?”

Seriously, are we talking anatomical buns here? If so, how did this poor guys buns get all toasty? And why is he so mad about it? Doesn’t it seem like some nice warm buns would be just the ticket on a cold day?

If we are talking about rolls here, how can they be mad? Perhaps it is simply they made the buns too hot and some guy burned his tongue and he is the cross one. If that is the case, shouldn’t the song be, “Hot Buns, Cross burned Dude?”

Regardless, do the buns cost one a penny or two a pennies? I really have to know. If they are anatomical buns, I have to decide how cold is worth two a penny. If it is rolls, I am not sure I want to pay to burn my tongue. Is there a song, “Warm Pleasant Buns?”

play that funky music, white boy

Today, I rented a saxaphone. I really have very little musical talent. I shake my head when my wife and daughters can recognize a note and go play it on the piano. However, I always thought it would be cool, and if you are playing the sax, you don’t have to sing.

I got it all set up. I am embarassed to say it took me 10 or 15 minutes to figure out how to put the reed in. I sat up straight in my chair and put my fingers where the book told me to and played a few notes. Apparently, none of them were the right notes, according to my note hearing,  piano key striking, family.  I tried it while wearing sunglasses and I think it sounded much better. The big question now is can I pull off a beret or even a fadora?

My lessons start next week, I hope I properly accessorize my outfit by then.

fighters fight

 

The fighters had met before. The are often at odds. They know they need each other, but just cant seem to agree on much. One fighter is clad in all gray. He is older and has wrinkles that seem to plunge into the depths. He is logical, calculating, predictable. However, he has no intuition, no emotion. He is antisocial and really is as likely to fight as run away.

The other fighter is dressed in loose red garments. The wind rustles the clothes and they seem to pulsate. His cheeks are always flushed. He is angry, or excited, or impassioned–no one really knows. When asked why he is flushed, he rarely has an answer. He is young and impulsive.

The fighters circle. The stare at each other. They remember the alternating times of partnership and adversaries. The smile at each other. They begin the battle. They fight, they push and shove, they bite and claw. They want nothing more than to be independent of each other. The battle wages for days. They collapse into each other, panting. They know they can never be totally separate and have come to realize they are never fully alive and real without each other. The one benefits the other. Together they are a whole.

The fighters were my head and heart. I have repeatedly tried to separate them. I tried to live by rational thought alone. I tried to protect my heart with logical and predictable thought. And while there is safety in knowledge, there is no passion. I also have tried to follow my heart, to feel the wide range of emotions. The risk is a broken heart. The flushing of pain.

I arranged the arena. I went to referee and let my head and heart battle. I want to be whole. I want to live connected with myself, my God, and my life. To do that, I need head and heart. My retreat had a secret agenda. I would let them fight to see the strengths of the other. I would let one explore the others’ being. I would let them grow to appreciate the fellowship of the other.

The fighters left: arm in arm.

ok, have it all

“We could have had it all,” may be the most manipulative and harmful utterances ever said. I love the song, and sing it alongside Adele often. I have even thought those guilt-ridden and sappy thoughts. This song is about not letting go, not moving on, and stalking an ex-lover. In an effort to throw one more dagger of guilt, the singer declares, “Boy, are you missing out.” The ultimate, “Nana, nana, boo-boo.”

The song starts out with a haunting message of retribution. “Go ahead and sell me out and I will leave your ship bare.” Well thats just a cheerly Valentines message, isnt it? Then to really drive home the point, she says, “There is no limit to what I will do.” Umm–well “Isn’t that special?” this is boiling your kid’s rabbit kinda threats. This is the kind of pain you would feel if your ex was a superhero. This is “Warning, Will Robinson,” crazy.

Fortunately, she cheers up some as you descend into hell. She declares that she has no story, but has been keeping tabs on yours. As a result, she will make your head burn and leave you in hell as you descend there. That is almost as creepy as “Every Breath You Take, I’ll be watching you.” I say almost, because in this scenerio, at least you get to escape to a warmer climate.

What is it, that we could have had it all? In the song, I don’t really hear anything that sounds all that great. I am a hopeless romantic and wanted to include people in on my fantasies and lovely dreams of relationships. I would love to think that I am ‘all that and a bag of chips.’ I would like to think that I have ‘it all’ to offer. However, in reality, I have faults (I know, shocking.) I have insecurities, growth edges, and blind spots. Some of what I have to offer is not attractive, some is glorious, but all of it is part of the bigger whole. If the song means that to be in love, we have the opportunity to share the whole self, the ‘all’ that we are: good, bad, and ugly, then I am wrong and it is a wonderful love song. Because it seems like if love is to last over time, giving and recieving ‘it all’ is the requirement, whether that is love of God or your neighbor.

reprint 10/22/2011

 I am reviewing my old posts, this was one of my favorites…

Looks like the prediction was wrong again–dang it, I am all packed. I even set this to publish 2 days ago in case I was already gone.

I am sure going to miss the people left behind Saturday. I wonder how it felt to be in that slow moving earthquake. Is it strange to anyone else that Heaven looks just like Earth did? I guess when Jesus said His kingdom was already here, this is what He meant.

I spent Sunday trying to make sure I had been whisked away up and not down. I went to church and everyone was still there. I have heard it said that we will be more surprised who is in Heaven than who is in Hell. This proves it. I was certain some of those hypocrites would never get into Heaven. There is no room for jocularity in the kingdom of God, right? Some of those people are having way to much fun. They laugh and smile on the outside, but I bet they knew they were doomed on the inside. And they are always judging me to boot. From church, we went to go eat. We stood in line only briefly, the food was good, and they gave me a free soda for my niece. Heaven, right? Well, there were a few spills, and a fussy infant at the next table, so I am not sure. Wait, kids get a free ride, right? This must be Heaven.

I decided to just accept it, I got in. Probably by the skin of my teeth, but I made it. I went to rent movies and gave the clerk a big hug and said, “Welcome to Heaven, Brother.” He found the movie, “Brother where for art thou” to show me that even sinners get forgiven. I went over to the grocery store to pick up ice cream, and high-fived the surly butcher, “Wohoo, you made it too.” He looked puzzled. Maybe they don’t speak English up here. I prepared myself for the new way of living. Since I was in Heaven, I was going to have to clean up my act a little bit. I vowed to drive the speed limit (in town, not on the highway), not cuss (unless it was necessary), and love some of my neighbors. I figured that I could ease into the rest of it. This reborn into Heaven thing is hard. However, what an opportunity to get to start fresh with all these people. It is cool we will all have the same experience of being delivered from the world as we knew it. We have so much in common. we are the chosen ones, God’s favorites. We arent like those left behind. We have hearts and minds and souls eager to grow in relationship with God. We have been blessed by Jesus through the Holy Spirit. We are beloved children of Christ. Welcome Brothers and Sisters to the end of the world as we know it. Welcome to Heaven on Earth.

Dumbo and Dumpty sitting in a tree…

Someone recently reminded me of the movie, “Dumbo.” He told of Dumbo’s big ears and how he was tripping on them and falling all over. He ran away from the mocking to happen upon crows, the bird of death. It was only from death, he recieved the feather. As long as he held on to this feather, he could believe in himself and fly. Not until meeting and embracing death, could Dumbo live and fly.

What if Humpty Dumpty didn’t fall. What if he jumped? What if he realized that the years of hanging out on the wall wasn’t really living into life abundantly? He thought of the hiding he was doing on the inside. Keeping his substance hidden behind a brittle shell. He thinks about how nourishing he could have been, or even could be, if his yolk were available. In a moment of sheer reckless abandon, he leans slightly forward. OH, the amount of faith that little lean would take. It would be equal to Peter leaning out of the boat. He leans, he falls, he shatters at the bottom. The rock bottom meets him and releases all the hidden treasures, good and bad. All the kings horses couldn’t put him back together again. No human power could. Humpty wouldn’t want them to, even if they could. He is free of the prison he created, the stagnation, the pain of mediocrity.

From death, from shattering, we get a chance to be free. Fly

whoops

Hey some folks expressed concern about my well-being and even if I was safe around sharp objects and young children. This voyage is me being stronger and healthier. This is me really grasping the courage to look into myself and the darkness that we all carry with us. Thank you so much for your concern, prayers, and support. I am really doing ok.

Time out!

I am sick and tired of feeling stagnant.

I am sick and tired of the voices in my head telling me I am not worthy, that I am not good enough.

I am sick and tired on feeling like I am unworthy of love.

I am sick and tired of the battle between wanting to live into life and feeling cheated by it.

I am sick and tired of feeling it is my duty to stab myself with hurts over and over again, as though watching the blood seep out will somehow make it better. 

I am sick and tired of my brain acrobatic skills, leaping from topic to topic.

I am sick and tired of my emotional roller coaster.

So, I declare war. I will stand and fight for my weaker self. I will protect myself without walling myself in. I will roar my might roar while listening to the small still voice that whispers Truth. I will branish that sword, and wear that armor, while encouraging my vulnerability and humility. I will drop the knife of self-inflicted misery and let the hurt go. I will stand and go instead of waiting and weaping.

My war starts with a retreat. I am going to run and hide for five days and explore my mind and heart. I am going to an undisclosed area and have plans to write a book and to explore the muck I have led myself to.

My plan is to look at my life and develop plans to recapture the joy in myself and everything I do. I choose to live into life abundantly. 

I plan on a thorough moral inventory, exposing how I have hidden from Grace.

I have set up accountability meetings to check in on progress and to keep myself from becoming morose or downtrodden.

I hope to blog a little on how it goes–wish me luck–no Wait, wish me peace.

the journey part 1

I am a little nervous about my Vision Quest that starts today.  The idea started a few months back. Originally, I thought taking some time to be alone, maybe write that book that rattles in the back of my mind, would be a delightful getaway. Over the ensuing several months, I have become more disgusted with politics, healthcare, Obama, drug seekers, my own romantacism, my attitude, and brief style underwear. 6 weeks ago, I hit a wall, well, I was driven into one. Finally, I threw up my hands, a la Carrie Underwood, and let Jesus take the wheel. I am done. Put a fork in me. Roll me over. Whatever. I am done. I hurt. I have a gnawing ache, near where my heart was, all the time. I am open, vulnerable, and deconstructed. I have tried to grab the ropes people threw. Some of them didnt reach, some weren’t strong enough, and some I wasn’t able to hold on effectively.

The weekend then became a necessity. In cahoots with my counsellor, I devised a schedule to walk the dark and dusty hallways of my mind. I plan on peering in every room, counting the lockers, exposing the hidden secrets. I will wonder like a student in a High School during summer break.

My goal is to understand why I have lockered up my joy in work, living, love, relationships. I want to know what it is that I have put between God and myself to keep me melancholy at work. I suffer under the weight of being a small business owner, the continuous problems and hastles, and a doctor in a volatile, malicious, medical environment. I can almost restore myself to sanity before the next day and then buckling under the weight of some new outrageous request or landslide of complications. Occasionally, it takes seconds for this to flatten my resolve.

My goal for matters of love are to understand the difference between romantic love, or eros, and all encompasing love, or agape. I want to feel the joy of the ups and downs of love. I want to feel like I can grow and change and stretch my understanding of the world and myself. I want to love me. I want the Love of God to shine through me to others. I want to really LOVE. I want to truly repair relationships, amend them when I fail. NO more expectation of forgive and forget, but the true mending and restoring.

I want to live life. I dont want to just be alive anymore. I dont want to just exist. I want to live fully. I want to live while working, while loving, while recreating. I want to live into life abundantly. I dont ever want to settle into the unsatisfactory and assume it is normal. I dont want to think to myself that: “Well, God made me this way,” or “I guess I deserve this (or dont deserve this).”

As I paused writing this to drive carpool, the song, “Voice of Truth” played on KLove. The voice of Truth tells me to be not afraid. He tells me a different story. I just want to be able to hear it.