Dark Water

We slept in the car, on the road between here and that place of loss. To view empty bodies. Broken. I was empty headed and too young for my own good. Talking stupid came easy to me. But he was wise beyond his years. And kind. He took me to the door of death and stood with me while I peeked in. I didn’t like what I saw. I didn’t know how to process it.

I had seen the cost of this over the years, had lived with the cost, endured it, but I was too young to feel the pull of the waves. I was farther down the stream, where you can imagine waterfalls and oceans, instead of the dark flow from hard rock on the side of a moss covered mountain that no one can stop up.

Later, I saw the water rise, flood the hospital room where my grandmother was drowning in her mortality. It didn’t scare me but it disturbed me. It shook my spirit. And I have seen this wash of mortality again and again since. I have held the hand of people, soaking in it, waiting for the waves to take them under.

It makes me wonder how well I will tread this awful, dark water myself. How will I handle it as it fills my lungs. As I’m reaching for that strong hand on the other side to pull me up to safety.

© LW Publishing 2011

Grow Up Already

Over the years I’ve become a much more serious person. I suppose it needed to happen, but I kind of miss the old me who would do and say really dumb things and laugh at whatever and not take everything so seriously. But growing up happens. And it should.

I found growing up a challenging thing from an emotional standpoint. I simply didn’t want to do it. Partly because it scared me, and partly because our culture encourages us to not grow up. It’s apparently something we’re supposed to avoid.

The commercials said, “I don’t want to grow up, I’m a Toys R Us kid.”

Walt Disney said, “Too many people grow up. That's the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up.”

The Ramones sang, “I don’t want to grow up.”

Simple Plan sang it at the top of their lungs, "I don't want to be told to grow up."

And there’s plenty more where that came from. It’s a theme of living in the western world that growing up is about loss. Losing innocence. Losing freedom. Losing imagination and wonder.

But I think, in reality, what people are afraid of is losing our selfishness. After all, childhood is a massive exercise in selfishness. And we accept it from children, to a point, because they’re trying to figure out who they are and what their life should be about. But when this selfish, self focus, drags on year after year, decade after decade, keeping a person from growing and maturing, it gets plain ugly to see.

Growing up doesn’t mean giving up comic books or giving up dreaming about the future or losing your sense of wonder. At least it shouldn’t be about things like that. Growing up means realizing that the world doesn’t revolve around you, and being at peace with that reality. It means living for others sometimes instead of living every moment for yourself. It means learning to live out grace with contentment. It means learning to cope with the harshness of life without letting it eat you alive.

I love children. I adore my own kids. They are wonderful. There is much to be said for childhood. I miss my childhood in some ways. But here’s the truth: Apart from a very few child savants, children have not produced great art or films or accomplished great scientific discoveries. Children have not created medicines and vaccinations. Children have not built great cities or uncovered profound spiritual truths. They just don’t have it in them yet.

We should be like children. We can be child-like. But we should not be children forever. It’s okay to grow up. It’s healthy. And it should be expected.


1 Corinthians 13:11
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Cuss

There are times in life when we are all challenged to take the next step and move forward toward maturity, adulthood and enlightenment. For instance: learning to cuss.

I did not hear a lot of cussing in my house growing up. It was frowned on and I’m thankful for that. But it was a constant friend in the neighborhood. Some of the kids were masterful with it. The cussing flowed like chocolate syrup on the vanilla ice cream of life. And so it was that I tried to use this particular art in one of my endless attempts to fit in. And the plan was simple. I thought I’d learn the cussing thing. It seemed easy to figure out and it was an easy way to prove my manhood to the other kids in the neighborhood.

So I started in one day. I cussed and I cussed. I didn’t think for a second about the meaning of the words. It didn’t matter. Each word was simply a key for getting in the door of acceptance. And the kids in the neighborhood helped me! They told me which words were most appropriate in whichever situations. They high fived me when I got it right. It was very affirming. All day long, cuss cuss cuss, every other word. Icouldabeenagangsta.

When I went home in the evening, after being unaccounted for all day, I started to get nervous that I would accidentally cuss in front of my parents. I wasn’t sure, but I thought there was a good chance my mom would immediately kill me if she heard me cuss. Probably with a sawed off shot gun or a dull knife. And she’d do it in front of my brothers and sisters to make a good example of me, my blood spraying across their tender, horrified faces. But I somehow managed to control myself.

Over the next few days I couldn’t wait to get out there and practice my art. Cuss cuss cuss. Hey man, how’s it cussing goin’? Cussing great! Well I’m cussing glad to hear it. We should get our cussing bikes and cussing go to the cussing creek and try to find some cussing turtles or snakes. Cuss yeah, man! I bet there’s cussing all kinds of cussing turtles out there. Cuss.

Being me, I think I was enjoying the creativity of it. It took careful effort to fit all of those expletives in at just the right spot, to get the nuances correct. It was like a new toy. I loved it. But a few days later, the guys took me aside and sat me down on the porch to explain something to me. They told me I was taking things too far. Cussing was great, but I was overdoing it. I was cussing so much it was annoying them. Too cool to be cool. So they asked me to tone it down a bit. And I did. Failing once again to get it right with the indiscernible madness of human interaction.

Cuss.

When I was at university, an English professor said that cussing had no true meaning and was really a form of violence. He said that anyone can cuss, but not anyone can express their true heart. And I found that very challenging. I don’t know if he was completely right, but I think he was on to something. I learned how to cuss and I have since learned to put it behind me. Mostly. I have to confess that even now, decades later, the urge is still there sometimes. When you least expect it, it can rise, easy to the tongue. But I think the prof was right. I think it’s a good thing to want what you say to matter and have meaning. That simple desire could shape our connections to others into something more beautiful and true.




Matthew 12:36-37
Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010