Assignment 2

13. April 2009 · Comments Off · Categories: Ramblings, Spirituality, Stayings at home

In our “Creating a Life that Matters” class that Scott and I are taking through our church, we have weekly homework.  This class is conducted in three “courses” (“Rediscovering Relationship With the Sacred”, “Rediscovering Relationship With Myself”, and “Rediscovering Relationship With my Passion”)  of 6 sessions each.  We completed the first course a few weeks ago.  Tonight we completed session 1 of the second course, “Rediscovering Relationship With Myself”.  The homework varies from week to week.  The first session had one assignment that involved journaling.  I wrote about that first assignment here.

This week’s assignment also asks us to journal.  We’ve read a piece from Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore.  The following three questions are what we are to write about.

  • Where do I come from?
  • Who am I and who am I not?
  • What might I do to strengthen the connections among the physical, emotional, and spiritual dimensions of myself?

I fear that the reading does not provide much guidance for answering most of these questions.  So, I’m on my own!

Where do I come from?
I think there are several answers to this question; they are not mutually exclusive.  First of all, I come from God.  I believe all of us are, whether or not we choose to acknowledge or believe this. 

And I know it sounds strange, but I come from stardust.  I think we all do.  The stuff of which we are comprised, the basic atoms and molecules have been here since before here was, and will continue after we are no longer here.

I come from Iowa/Nebraska.  I come from Bonnie Yates Strom and Louis Strom.  I am from Swedish, German, English, and a host of other nationalities.

And finally, for this journal anyhow, I come from 50 years of experiences that have created in me pain and ecstasy; happiness and sorrow; hope and at the same time a sense of hopelessness.  “I can do all things in God…” and nothing I ever do will change anything.

Who am I and who am I not?
The questions get harder!  Once upon a time in a land not so far distant from here/now I could have taken a stab at answering that more fully than I can today.  So much water under the bridge of life over the years though has taken it’s toll on my self knowledge.  I wonder these days, just who am I?  And because I do not know who I am, I have even more problems answering who I am not.

I suspect that to some extent my confusion on this matter stems from loss.  Things I’ve lost in life have robbed me of self-identity or more to the point, self-knowledge.

I am no longer employed.  I no longer serve in a leadership role at church, having chosen to rip those roles from myself.  I am no longer involved in the “international” retreat organization which I lead for some years… mainly because I lost to some degree my belief in that.  And the greatest lost, which contributed to much of those things I “am no longer”, is the loss of identity in relationship to God.

When I could put a label on my spirituality, on the way in which I believe in God, I could identify TO God.  In a very real sense, I lost God.

I need to label the compartments of my life.  I just realized that as I was writing the above.  Without labels, I am nothing!  At least can identify with nothing.  And if I can not identify with anything, then I can not know who I am – or who I am not.

I doubt much that anyone ever had any illusions that I “had it all together”, least of all myself.  But now, what togetherness I had is ripped from me.

Yeah, I’m skirting the issue of what it is that I am thinking.  Because, having made the decision to post this in my blog, and knowing who reads my blog, all of a sudden I’m fearful!  There are people who read this blog that matter much to me, and I want to keep the curtain between who I think they perceive me to be and who it is, or what it is, that I’m skirting.  Ahem, you know know who you are.

See, it’s like this.  I have lost my experience of my faith in God.  I don’t know how else to say that.  Once I could label my experience of that faith as Catholic.  I can do so no longer.  Once I could label myself as a “sort of rebellious evangelical type”, but I can do so no longer.  Once I could say comfortably to myself “I know who God is”.  I can do so no longer.  I honestly don’t know who/what God is.  I could blame the author of a book I once read; I could blame a spiritual director at a monastery I visited a few years ago; I could probably blame a bunch of others; but it’s on me.

See, God once upon a time made the Divine Presence known to me.  God made Himself known to me.  In many ways, small and large, I knew God’s Presence.  In the way a breeze caressed me.  In the way the atmosphere changed.  In the way God spoke to me.  But it’s been a very long time since I’ve experienced that.  I’ve tried so many things to recover that sense of God.  I have to content myself in struggling to be faithful and to acquiesce that, with or without experience, God exists.

You see, my life has been so wrapped up in God, and in my faith, and in the experience of that faith, that with it all gone, I don’t know who I am, any longer.  And worse, I don’t know who I’m not.

What might I do to strengthen the connections among the physical, emotional, and spiritual dimensions of myself?
Like the question of who I am and who I am not, this question asks of me something I can not provide.  The soul is utterly unique to each of us.  It arises from, and informs who we are.  It is that point within us at which our unique “usness” meets the Divine.  To paraphrase Thomas Moore’s reading for today, if I don’t know who I am not, I risk filling my soul with that which is bogus. And when that occurs, my soul has no way to present what is ultimately real of me.

So, what CAN I do to strengthen these connections?  I can but continue to strive to sustain the faith I do have; to continue to seek the label-less me, though of course, when I do ultimately find that, it will no longer be label-less.  Muscles unused wither, atrophy.  Faith not exercised also will atrophy.  Muscles are supported by our skeletal structure and our tendons.  The experience of my faith that is now lost was the skeletal structure and the tendons which sustained and supported my faith.  Without it, I don’t know how to sustain this faith.  But, of course, as all analogies must, the whole thing falls apart here for me, because a body without skeleton or tendons becomes a puddle of goo, whereas my faith, without the experience of that faith, can and will remain strong.  Perhaps it is the power of mind which sustains that faith that becomes surrogate skeleton and tendon.

In which case, I’m in deep doo doo!

Day 10 and a Half – Interlude

24. March 2009 · 2 comments · Categories: Our Travels, Ramblings

Well, here it is, Tuesday morning, 6:30 a.m.  Waiting for Scott to wake up, trying to kill time.  I’ve already posted yesterday’s activities, such as they were.  Uh, for obvious reasons, I can’t yet post todays activities.  What to do?

Then I thought, let’s provide a little mundane detail!  I’m sure people are just DYING to know what it takes to get the camper in motion on days we’re moving.  So here goes:

First, any dishes used for breakfast must be washed and put away.  Not an overly hard process.  Then, we start at the front, inside of the trailer and stow everything.  Nothing can be loose.  The bed is made, clothes picked up and either put in one of the closets or in the laundry.  Toothbrushes, razors, soap… all put in the medicine cabinet.  Cleaning supplies are removed from their shelf, and nestled all snuggly in the sink.  Coffee maker, unplugged, the pot goes on the bed  (after washing and drying, of course) and swaddled in towels, the maker itself goes on the floor under the table.  Cook spoons and spatulas, etc, go in othe sink.  TV is unplugged, it’s cable coiled up and put in it’s place (on the shelf where the cleaning supplies used to be, as it won’t move from there.)  The TV is laid face down on the bed.  Weight keeps it there.  Now we make a final walk through… anything else lying about that might go flying?  If so, find a spot for it!  All this takes about 5 – 10 minutes.  Scott and I are pretty good at it.  Now, to the outside.

I go back the truck up to the hitch.  I can generally, now, do this in 2, maybe three, maneuvers.  Scott unhooks the cable TV cable (if we have it – most campgrounds do not, yet) and coils it.  It’s stored inside, in the DVD nook. (As you can see, our camping is REALLY roughing it!)  Next, he disconnects the city water hose, drains it and stows it in it’s compartment. 

While he’s doing this, I go around to the 4 jacks and raise them.  Next, I lower the trailer tongue on to the hitch on the truck. 

Scott, meanwhile, retrieves the “gray water” hose and connects it.  This is used to flush out our “black water” and “gray water” tanks.  What are those tanks you ask?  You shouldn’t have!  There are three tanks on our camper.  White, gray and black.  White is clean water (this tank is bypassed when we can connect to city water), the water that comes in to the trailer for our use.  Gray water is water from the bath tub/shower, or from the kitchen sink, like from washing dishes, or from the little utility sink in the front by our bedroom… toothbrushing, shaving or washing hands.  The black water tank is what hold everything that goes through the toilet… I assume I don’t need to be specific here!!!!!

There’s a 4″ diameter hose that connects the trailer to the sewer.  At the top of that is a valve that allows us to connect a hose, a GRAY hose that is never used to carry drinking water.  It’s used to flush out the gray and black tanks.  Anyhow, Scott does that.

By now, I’ve got the trailer lowered on to the truck hitch.  I lock it in place, then connect the chains from the trailer to the hitch.  Then I connect the sway bars to hitch, and chain THEM to the tongue of the trailer.  I then connect the pig tail to the truck (this extends the electrical power from the truck to the trailer to power turn signals, the trailer’s brakes, etc.  It also will recharge the trailer’s battery if needed.  I turn off the trailer’s propane.

Tanks purged and flushed, Scott puts the gray water hose away, then removes the 4″ sewage hose from the trailer and stows it in it’s special little place in the rear bumper of the trailer.

Now we retract the slideout, disconnect the electric cord from the power station and stow it.  Scott does this, and I pull the tire chocks from the tires, and stow them, then find all the jack boards (2×6 boards that we generally place under all the jacks and under the tongue jack to keep them from sinking in to the dirt) and stow those. 

Scott locks the camper door, and stows the steps.  I wander around the outside of the trailer, lock all compartment doors, and look for anything that still needs to be put away.  Finally, Scott and I perform a quick “police call” to make sure we’re leaving no trash behind, and generally pick up some stuff that other campers have left.

And, finally, we get in the truck, take a last look around us, and away we go.

Generally, from the moment we start until I pull away from our site, only 20 minutes has passed!  We’re getting really good at this!

OOH AHH!

08. March 2009 · Comments Off · Categories: Ramblings

That’s the sound of the … people… working on the CHAIN GAang!

Saturday, Scott and I were getting ready to set out on a series of errands when we received a call.  A load of large rocks had been delivered to the dirt parking lot behind church.  Volunteers were needed to spread the rocks over the area of the lot so that the garbage truck could get in.  It seems that on Thursday when the truck got there, it sank in to the dirt so far it couldn’t get to the dumpster!

So we headed over to Omaha to church to help several other volunteers get the rocks spread.  I used muscles that haven’t been used in a VERY long time!  But we made short order of the work, and we now have a rock parking lot!

Mea Culpa!

26. February 2009 · Comments Off · Categories: Eric's Life, Ramblings

Uh… hi!

Sorry I haven’t posted since Sunday.  I got addicted to a computer game.  It’s occupied far too much time.  I promise… I’ll repent!

Hmmm.  Blog?  Or play Stupid Computer Game?

Okay, here’s my pledge:  I will only play Stupid Computer Game 1 hour a day.  Maybe then, I’ll take time to blog!

Early Life

20. February 2009 · 2 comments · Categories: Eric's Life, Ramblings

Last Sunday, I indicated I’d be writing a series on my life, boring as it may be.  My first such post was last night, when I wrote about a “Day in the Life“… how a typical day unfolds for me.  Today, I turn to my early life.

I currently live in the town of Council Bluffs, a town on the western “leading edge” of Iowa.  Council Bluffs is a town of approximately 63,000 people.  Just across the Missouri River from Council Bluffs is Omaha, Nebraska.  We are part of the “Omaha Metropolitan Statistical Area”, a metropolitan area of 850,000.  The Omaha MSA in turn is part of a larger “Metroplex” of nearly 1.3 million people. 

Today, I live in a house less than 1/2 mile from where I was born nearly 51 years ago.  I still sometimes drive by the house, a duplex, where I spent the first 18 months of my life… Mom, Dad and I and 2 older brothers lived on one side of the duplex, my maternal grand-parents on the other side.

In 1960, my parents, siblings and I moved across the river to Omaha.  The home we moved into was a split level ranch and, at that time, on the very outskirts of town.  I can still recall looking west from our house and seeing corn fields.  Today, that house is in the center of the Omaha area.

My father was a civil engineer working for a major gas company, though he was also studying law.  By 1964, Dad was a practicing patent lawyer.  Mom was a home-maker, though she also did some work in the 60′s for a political campaign, and then in the 70′s held down a job at Boys Town. 

Our neighborhood fairly exploded with children.  I remember a small handful of these kids from those days. Greg lived across the street, Jimmy lived next to him, Andy around the corner, John on the next block to the north, Paul two blocks away.  There was Jeff, and a boy I just can’t remember between John and I.  Greg, Jimmy and I were probably the closest, though there was an ongoing rivalry between Greg and I for Jimmy’s friendship.  Beyond the boys listed, within just a few blocks were probably another dozen boys… all of us spent our days together.  Sleepovers at various homes, including ours, were not uncommon.  “Camping” in the back yard was a frequent summer-time treat… Dad would set up an old canvas tent that would sleep maybe 4 adults… usually 10 kids!

My cousin Danny lived not too far away, and was part of our gang.  He once “ran away” from home one Sunday.  My Aunt called Mom, quite shaken up, to let us know the horrible news.  Danny was maybe 4 years old, me slightly over 5.  The moment Mom told me what had happened, my gut instinct kicked in, and I ran out the back door and into our “fort”, a collection of 4 or 5 bushes at the corner of our property and had a small “hollow” in the center.  Sure enough, there was Danny.  He’d made the 6 block journey to our house to play!

Playing was pretty typical fare for children.  Hide and Seek is the game I remember the most, though we also had these fantastic summer “water fights”.  There would be thirty to forty of us kids, ranging in age from 5 to 15.  We’d stock up on water pistols and water baloons during the day, getting our arsenels prepared, then, after dinner, the fun would begin, and would last until well after dark.  The territory of our war stretched over 3 full blocks.  Hoses came in to play, as did buckets of water.  The little kids (me included) were detailed to guard our home base, while the bigger kids went off on patrol.  The parents too were involved!  Our Dads, most of whom were veterans of WWII, were the commanding generals, providing tactical and strategic advice… and once or twice getting involved in our “hand to hand” combat!  The water fights were actually modifications of our Hide and Seek games.

It was a close-knit neighborhood.  In addition to the games, there were block parties.  Our Dad’s would block off the end of the street, and set up tables made from saw-horses and planks, card tables… anything that could be turned in to a surface.  The Moms would put out table clothes, and adorn the tables with all types of food… though I remember the hot dogs, hamburgers and fried chicken the best.  We’d wander up and down the block, eating from whichever table looked most inviting (which meant by the end of the night just about every table was barren!)  The kids would wander off to play and the parents would congregate in small groups to chat over coffee… oh, I suppose there was lots of beer, as well!

By the mid sixties, that had begun to dwindle.  Those years were the height of the mobile society and families moved in and out of the neighborhood.  We lost the sense of closeness to a degree.  Those block parties shrank to dinner parties with very full houses!  By the ’70s, there just a handful of “old timers”.  We’d get together and play cards… our parents, that is.  The kids continued to play as play we always had!

Snippets of memories crop up as I write:

  • playing outside, in 1967, waiting to run inside as soon as it was time to watch the moon-landing.
  • not understanding why Mom was crying, as we watched the news of JFK’s assassination on TV.
  • Touring the newly built main fire station downtown as a huge commotion erupted… news that Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated.
  • The two Japanese men staying with us for a week on an exchange program, and the tension in the family room as the older Japanese man and my father discovered that they’d literally fought against each other on Okinawa… in the very same small tract of land they both referred to as “the cemetary”.  And their hugs of mutual apology and forgiveness.
  • The flood of 1964 (I think) when we watched our side yard turn in to a raging creek… a creek that washed out the house to our west.
  • The annual heavy rains that would flood our basement with up to 8 inches of water… water that every one of us would spend hours cleaning up… carrying buckets of water out to the back door… until Dad finally discovered the cause and fixed it… even then, it was only a partial fix.
  • Christmas Eve of 1961… I was a mere three years old. I recall waking around 2 or 3 in the morning, just knowing that there was something horrible in the house.  Running to Mom & Dad’s room, and yelling that something was in the house.  Dad leading us all, Dad first, me second, Paul and Bob (my older brothers) next followed by Mom bringing up the rear.  Dad armed with a baseball bat to lend an air of adventure, as we crept down to the basement… where the noises were coming from.  Throwing open the door and being attacked by a vicious….ly loving Dalmatian puppy!
  • Another midnight hunt to the basement and discovering we’d been literally overrun by MICE!

Memories like this pile one on top of the other as I remember those early years.  For instance, as a Kindergartner, I walked… alone… over 6 blocks to school, crossing a major street!  Today I think that would be considered neglect!  Then it was perfectly normal.  Or, walking home from same school, and stopping to play in the vacant lot where the city had deposited several large sections of drainage pipe big enough for little boys… many at a time… to stand upright in.  Such fun places!  Until one day, exhausted by the rigors of kindergarten, I fell asleep in one of them.  By the time I awoke late, late at night, I couldn’t find my way out.  The neighborhood was awash in activity.  I’d never seen it so busy!  And best of all, Police cars and fire trucks were everywhere!  Police were pounding on doors, firemen were looking in bushes and everywhere… everywhere, that is, except the stockpiled drainage pipes… for the lost or run away little boy!

Next post will be about the 70s!

Interlude

15. February 2009 · 1 comment · Categories: Ramblings

After my 2nd last post, I read the blog of my pilgrim friend.  He posted his own “first experience of the Sacred” writing.  It was one I’d read before.  And every time I read his post I feel blue for a day.  What a life he’s had.  I’m sure the Pilgrim neither needs nor desires my pity… what an ugly word that is.  But I’m just struck by the differences in our lives.  My “growing-up-years” were so easy.  Where he encountered struggle and loathing, my life was easy and loving.  While he was fighting to survive, I went on adventures.

The reality for me is, after reading about your life, my pilgrim friend, it is so hard for me to write about my own.  I suppose in some way a voice in the back of my head is saying “How do you top that?”.  And I KNOW that is a ridiculous sentiment.  There’s no need to top anything (uh, okay, there is, but let’s not go there!)

So, over the next week or so, I’m going to be writing a series of posts about my very dull and very white-bread life.  I’ll throw in a few of my “adventures”; like the struggles that formed my friend into the man he is today (a very admirable man), my adventures played a role in who I am. 

I hope to add the first of these posts later today.

I DO love 8 inches!

14. February 2009 · Comments Off · Categories: Ramblings, Stayings at home

This past week, the news stations breathlessly hyped up the coming snow storm.  It was going to be a big one!  Problem is, over this past winter they’ve done the same thing several times.  Most of the time whichever system they anticipated either drifted off to the north of us, or passed to the south of us.  We’d get a dusting… or nothing at all!

In the meantime, I went through the week doing this or that.  Chores to be run.  Some of the chores that pile up over the weeks until you find time… well, I’ve plenty of time on my hands these days!  I took Miss Nikki (our Australian Shepherd/Blue Heeler mix) to the vet.  It was time.  And last year I was a baaaad boy.  I didn’t license her.  So, I wanted to make sure she was up to date on her vacs.  The vet recommended we have her teeth cleaned.

Then I took her paperwork down to City Hall and got her registered/licensed.  That’s off my back.  Ran by the bank one day this week… deposited a 10 year collection of coins… a collection that we frequently dipped in to… and I must say had some help with that from little sticky fingers. 

Yesterday morning, the day the news stations had set aside for our snow storm, Miss Nikki and I made the drive back to the vet for her scheduled teethcleaning.  It’s an all day event.  They anesthetize her for the procedure, then keep her until late afternoon to monitor her while the anesthesia wears off.  As I was leaving the technician told me I could come back at 4:30 to get her… hopefully the snow wouldn’t be too bad.  It was supposed to start at noon.  No, I informed her, it’s supposed to start at 9, but the worst is supposed to come at noon.

We were both wrong.

When I stepped out to my car, I was already seeing the first flakes of snow (8:20 a.m.).  By 9:15 a.m., the snow was heavy in the air.  At 10, I decided I better go out and buy the groceries, pick up my two medications, and the like so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the heavier snows/crowds of later afternoon.

That’s when I had my accident.  In the grand scheme of things, a pretty minor accident.  I was turning left at the bottom of our hill.  The light was green…. er, yellow…. er, red…. but by that time I was in the intersection.  I was half way through the turn… and then the car decided that it didn’t want to complete the turn!  I plowed into the curb, missing the light pole by a mere 2 or 3 inches.  Fortunately, I was able to drive on.  But this coming week, I’ll need to take the car to the shop and have them make sure there’s no serious problems wth the suspension or alignment or anything.

At noon, Scott called.  The University was closing shop and sending people home (they don’t have classes after noon on Friday’s… wouldn’t want those professors to have to work TOO hard, you know!

So Scott was home by 1:15 (not bad commuting time, considering the snow).  By 4:20 when we left to go get Miss Nikki, the snow had mostly stopped.

And, for once the news people were right.  It was a pretty good snow!  We have 8 inches.  I DO love 8 inches!  Of course, I’d prefer… uh, well, I AM talking snow, you know!

Grown Up

08. February 2009 · 1 comment · Categories: Ramblings

In 1996, I put aside a dream; I departed from the seminary that had molded me, nurtured me, swaddled me.  I spent most of 8 years trying to get in to the seminary.  It was not an easy achievement.  I had married as a very young man, and spent 4 years in the military.  The Franciscans didn’t want me, partially because of my “militaristic” tendencies.  The Dominicans didn’t want me because, at 30, I was too old for them to properly mold me.  And diocesan priesthood also presented difficulties.  Then, in 1994, I was accepted!

And so many were quite surprised when, after only 2 years, I departed the hallowed halls of an institution I loved.  But what surprised many more was that I also left the church I professed to love.  In 2 years of seminary life, I learned that there could be no place for me in the church of my childhood.  While perhaps I could sneak through the process (academically, there would be no problem) at best I would never be fully welcome at the table set by the church.

But my faith was such I knew I needed some church home.  Within just a few weeks of my departure, I arrived in the embrace of my current home… a congregation in the UFMCC.

And it’s really about this church home that I write today.  For it isn’t MY growing up to which the title pertains.  Though, I suspect the preamble will be longer than the main text!

At some point early in my time at MCC, I met a lovely young woman and her son.  I remember a little boy with red hair and freckles… wearing shorts.  He stood out, I suppose, because at that time there were not a lot of children in our church.  Even so, Scott and I didn’t socialize very much with this young man, though his mother became a good friend.

Over the years, we watched the young man grow into a fine adult, first as he entered high school, then a few months ago as he graduated high school and set off for his collegiate career.

I do not know what transpired in the past several months while he was away at college.  Maybe nothing much of import.  But at some point, he made the decision to change his path in life.  He is taking another step as a man in this world.

And today, our congregation said goodbye, hopefully just for a time, to this young man.  We formally blessed him, and sent him on his way as he joins the US Army.  I wish I’d told him how proud of him I was.  Instead, I just cried watching the pain in his mothers’ eyes.  And in spite of his maturity, and the courage he is showing as he goes off to the Army, I sensed still some of the vulnerability of the youth I first met nearly a decade ago. 

I wanted to tell his mothers that this is a good thing for this young man.  That the military can grow him in good ways, even while knowing how dangerous this world is that we send our young men and women in to.  But we’re at war… wars, really.  

How can I reassure my friend in this time.  In reality I can’t.  I guess really all I can do is just be there for her… and for her partner.  And pray that my young friend comes through all that he has ahead of him with courage and maturity… the maturity that he has already shown in his life.  Pray that God will keep him… and all young men and women who serve in the armed forces of nations around the globe… safe.  And perhaps even better, pray that all the OLD men and women who send our youth in to harms way will find some way to bring them home, and to put these wars to a swift end.

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