Dear Doctor

I'm still not sure what I said to offend you, but I have an idea of what it was, so I will try to apologize. Let me first say that I talk too much and often too freely and too familiarly. It is a true fault that I have spent the last five months or so thinking deeply about and repenting for when I catch myself gossiping about others or being flippant with subjects that may be hurtful to others. As such, I can only assume that this is where your grievance with me resides. About five months ago I said, in front of the nurses at the front nurse's station, that you could "use me, abuse me, and through me away." What I meant in jest was wrong, hurtful, and embarrassing. I then exacerbated the situation by loosing my cool a few months later in front of the back nurse's station and accusing you of being "childish and absurd." Again, I have no excuses that merited my actions and beg your forgiveness for my own childlessness and absurdity.

I know myself a little better.

My nursing classes take me to weird places in my own soul. It seems that, the more I dig into the workings of the human body and mind, the more I see into my own internal workings. The more I see of others' sufferings, the more I understand my own. In short, to know others is to know yourself.

I had a eureka moment a little bit ago, sitting at my kitchen table in front of the computer, trying to be interested in chapters three through five of my nursing-research book. In it, the authors present a critical thinking exercise about the process of spotting good research questions to look into. The case study involves the often prescribed regimen of bed rest for mothers in high-risk pregnancies, but it focuses not on the mothers or the babies, but on the fathers who are powerless to help and the guilt and anger they may have during the ordeal. It goes further to assert that the main reason for the crisis on the male is that "men frequently derive their primary source of support from their partners."

Wow.

Now I have to tell you that my wife isn't pregnant, but I'm lost for the first two days that I'm away from her. I've been frustrated at my lack of ambition and the depression that seems to take a while to lift when she goes somewhere without me. It literally feels like someone has kicked my legs out from under me and it takes me awhile to get back on my feet and start moving again. No, I'm not suicidal, nor do I intend to do anything stupid, but it's frustrating to not understand the reasons for my temporary inability to function as I should.

Now I know or, at least, I have begun to understand another way in how integral my wife is to me, even at my core. The day-to-day that has formed my life has her written all over it and, my home, is centered and coordinated by her. Without her, my supports, even unseen, are missing. She, for more than half my life, has become my “primary source of support.”

Wow.

It’s a shock to my system to hit the ground without her presence, to miss her voice, to just know that she’s in-the-other-room. I knew it, but now I know one of the reasons why… and I know myself a little better.

Too Soon... Too Soon

I've watched two dad's give their daughters away in marriage. I've watched two men struggle with paradoxically coexisting emotions of joy and sadness as they walked down the isle. The smiling girl on their arm was both three and twenty, a little girl still waiting up at night to see their dad come home and a grown woman ready to move on with another man.

My wife's uncle Steve was blown away and visibly shaken during his daughter's wedding rehearsal tonight. After walking her down the isle, he sat down in the seat beside me and watched my youngest daughter playing in the grass. I've never seen him so thoughtful. After a few minutes, he turned to me and said, "It all goes by so quick. I wish I had done more with my kids when they were growing up. They're all grown and leaving now. Make sure you get in all you can while they're still young." I agree Steve. I agree. It scares me.

I guess that's why I try to, as a friend once said said, looking back, "say yes more than you say no." When either of my daughters asks to jump on me, play with me, or wants their nails done, I try to see the time that's short. That's why they know, if they persist, I will gladly lay down pride, my lack of sleep, homework, or TV to play some cards, dress the dolls, or wear a funny hat to tea.

Grace at The Table (Speaking Notes)

Thankfully, the table of the Lord is open to ALL who have chosen to accept the gift of God (Mark 16:15), made perfect in our brokenness, as we are, until the second coming of Christ.

So... "come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden" (Matthew 11:28). Come as you are, realizing that there is nothing you can add to His sacrifice to make it more complete, either with nice cloths or good works, nor is there anything you can do that will diminish its worth or potency, either with evil deeds or your absence.

So... come as you are in what ever you are wearing and in the grips of whatever you are doing or have done (2 Corinthians 12:7).

Come all you who are liers, cheaters, alcoholics, and thieves. Come all you womanizers, homosexuals, worriers, murderers, abusers, losers and more. This table is for you and no one more worthy... for no one is more worthy (Romans 3:23).

Come in your Metalica t-shirts. Come in you torn jeans and your ragged cloths. Come in your, as of yet, sinfulness (2 Corinthians 12:9, Philippians 3:12).

This table is not a confessional. In the same way you cannot clean your face with a dirty rag, you cannot clean your soul with sinful hands. You cannot make yourself more worthy. That has already been done by another with hands that, first, washed your feet (1 John 4:19).

We will not and should not hinder you in coming to this table. Come as children (Matthew 18:3), and woe to those who try to stop you from coming or get in your way (Luke 17:1,2).

This table is for you because it is not about you (Genesis 22:8).

Come and remember what He did, its finality and authority. Come and remember what He still does (His grace) and why (His love).

*Taking the bread and cup in turn*

"While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, 'Take it; this is my body.' Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it. 'This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many,' he said to them.
Mark 14:22-24 (NIV)

“…Do this in remembrance of me.”
Luke 22:19 (NIV)

Grace at The Lord's Table (scratch paper)

Central Ideas:
1. Why are we worthy?
2. Why do we think we are not worthy?
a. A mistaken view of faith & works.
b. Do we have to be perfect to come to this table?
b2. Understand, this is not a table of forgiveness, this is a table of the forgiven (remembrance). Hence, only believing sinners may come.
b3. This is not a confessional booth, this is a table of acknowledgment of our Lord's work, not yours(acknowledgment). Hence, only baptized believing sinners may come.
3. Why do we think others are not worthy?
a. We demonstrate a lack of faith in His way & power. (Paul & David were murderers.)
b. It is not up to us to "know a man's heart."
c. Ultimately, we condemn ourselves. (leave the alter and then come back)
4. Grace at The Lord's Table.

Poem Paragraph in Prose

I'm blessed with lungs that can expel more air than most and trained extensively in the rudimentary controls, I've become adept at being loud. I talk. I charm. I ease. I can yell harm or warning. I can whisper love and sweet nothings, calm from lips. I have become the double edged sword of the tongue, but now is the time to sheath that sword, the time to listen, the time for vulnerable peace in the face of the storm. The bravado that isolates may not be the strength that protects, heals, and allows for growth. Faith, not in the sword, but in the sword maker.

So now I wait, in unfamiliar silent frailty to see the protection of the maker, of me, the future, my gifts, my job, my love.

Do more than Survive.

One would hope that you do more than survive, thrive.

I often wonder why so many people do what they think "ought" to be done instead of what they want to be done? Unless their is a moral/legal imperative against something, why not do it? If you can do something, why not do something that makes you happy?

Perhaps the root lies in our subconscious breeding, a strange mix of the protestant work ethic, Victorian stoicism, and the general working-class idea of life-as-suffering. Although I do believe in a life of some restraint, why be miserable?

That said, I think my camera and a new paintball gun are calling me. After all, it is my day off.

What a coincidence!

I should clarify that ALL of these issues were unknown until yesterday morning:

I went downstairs to retrieve a plastic tote for Angel to swap seasonal cloths. While down there, I heard water dripping (never good).

I discovered a very leaky shut-off valve in the hot-water-tank's cold water intake and the valve came apart when I tried to fix it (over 50 years old). I shut off the house's water and went to Home Depot for a replacment valve. With additional muscle (and know-how) from my father-in-law, the valve was replaced and I turned the water back on to the house.

With the water back on, I was watching for leaks and noticed that the gas vent on the water tank was swiss-cheese and had been knocked loose by the earlier pipe-persuasion. CO alert! I'm sure the only thing saving us in the past ten years had been the general draftiness of the basement/house.

While inspecting the damage to the exhaust pipe, I heard a 'snapping" noise and got dripped on as the dish washer kicked into a new cycle. Looking up, I noticed electricity arching to a pipe and water coming through a hole in the floor above me.

A sensor in the dishwasher above my head had given out and was now pouring a few gallons of water into the basement and on to my head. Luckless, or not, it was draining down the power wire and through a hole in the floor instead of into the rest of the kitchen. My earlier electrician/carpenter job was not water proof and ran right by the pipes I had just fixed.

That night, after the whole string of events, I couldn't sleep for some reason. To settle my fears, I walked around the house and checked the various detectors; all of the fire detectors on the ground floor had low batteries and the CO detector... had a dead battery.

Maybe my oldest daughter's malaise has been a coincidence, the strain of a growth spurt. Maybe my own narcoleptic feelings have been from lack of sleep and stress... but maybe not. Whatever the cause, one possibility has hopefully been eliminated.

What a coincidence.