50k

The Mirror is Broken

The rearview mirror in Brenda’s car came off. Again.

It broke in December. The dealership wanted $82.50 for a new one. Seemed a little steep. The local auto parts store had a generic one for $16. I cleaned the glass surface well and ran a heater a half hour to warm it up a bit, hoping to give the glue a better chance.

Apparently that wasn’t enough because this morning I found it on the floor of the car. Brenda didn’t want to tell me. She thinks the two side mirrors are plenty and didn’t want me to try and fix it again.

So it is sitting on my desk. I’ve scraped the glue off and it is ready to go back on when the temperature rises a little more around here and I find a stronger glue.

She may not think she needs a third mirror, but I do. I always scan all three mirrors when I’m driving. I try to be aware of everything going on around me while I am on the road, even assessing the driving patterns of everyone within view so I can predict how they may respond to changing situations when they happen to be near.

I don’t want her to be surprised by something emerging from a blind spot, or rely on a side mirror that is momentarily blocked by the imposing nose of our dog.


I’ve written lately about how busy I am, and a bit about my slight bout with depression. A little thing like a broken mirror is a trivial task, but it is another one thrown onto the pile of tasks which tower over me.

I could write several hundred words listing the projects and tasks that are already on my plate, but it's best I do not. First, it would seem I must be exaggerating. Secondly, even if you believed it, the list is long enough to bore you. And there are always things begging to be added to the pile.

A good friend of mine wishes me to make a short little video promoting our annual church camp out. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy...” A colleague at work handed me a mini digital video tape this week containing the events of a retirement party. “Just transfer it to a DVD.” A workaholic teacher I know in Hillsboro has asked me to meet this coming Saturday to discuss creating a set of learning CDs for kids and teachers to use in robotics programs. “It’s just going to be a few hours to set the direction. Then we can get together for three days during Spring Break. You’ll be paid for all of it of course. And maybe you can do a presentation later this Spring at a conference.”

Brenda is feeling overwhelmed about the work we are doing in raising our children, and her frustration is showing. I feel it also.

And the mirror is broken.

Well, at least we found the leak that was ruining the linoleum in the laundry room, and got the overheating problem of the car engine repaired. We haven’t much money for Jeremiah’s 18th birthday present, but then he doesn’t seem to really care what he gets.

I’ve taken on a small daily task to keep me mindful of Lent, as is my annual custom (no beard shaving this year!). I am meeting with various groups for prayer and spiritual companionship. Such spiritual disciplines are healthy and I really do enjoy them.

There are the zillions of cares and concerns which come with raising special needs kids, any kids really, compounding the cares of everyday life. Those seem to be a little more urgent of late.

I’m concerned about the quality of my teaching, about the individual challenges my students face, and those undertaking my study skills program. It seems to me that looking at the pile of things pressing at my back isn’t healthy.

Fortunately I’m not concerned about Britney Spear’s haircut, or whether Scorsese is going to finally get an Oscar. I don’t care about the dramas of American faux royalty.

And while I am concerned about such global issues of peace and the environment, I tend to limit my involvement to prayer and doing what I can in my own home and community.

It seems this mirror lying upon my desk is an apt little metaphor. It represents several things. It stands for one more little burden, one more little task that needs doing. It is the sort of task that should be done. It should be done because I want my wife to be safe while she drives. It should be done because it is something directly tied to my family and my role as the caretaker of such things.

It is also interesting to think about what it is. When I hold it to clean the old glue off I see my own reflection. Greying hair, deeper wrinkles about my eyes reflecting how tired I have become. Mirrors are also often about ourselves. Looking at who we are, what we are really like. They don't lie.

This particular mirror is designed to look backward. A useful thing at times, but not what we should do an awful lot of. It makes me think that the most important thing to be doing while driving is look forward. See where we are going, where our destination lies.

Of course that is where my Lord is. He is ahead of me. He is making rough paths smooth, leading me to where I should go.

So, I will let the mirror lay upon my desk for a little while, awaiting the changing seasons to bring about a suitable temperatures.

And it is a nice little reminder of how little things can have their place in the line of tasks to be done, and not worry too much about all of the details.

The mirror is broken.

That’s OK.

Juggling

I'm as busy as a one-armed juggler.

I haven't time for a post, but I am planning to set aside some time Saturday or Sunday.

Emotionally, I am much better. Physically, I'm exhausted, collapsing into a deep sleep each night.

I see some relief down the road a couple of weeks out, but busy simply doesn't describe it. Manic is more like it.

But I'll be back real soon folks and I would love to come by and visit all you fine folks at your blogs.

This weird aging blogger in Oregon will be in the swing of things again soon.

That Sort of Guy

I’m smiling. It’s a little forced, but I’m smiling.

I’ve been in the prayer room for quite a few hours this week, and though I know I’m in good hands, I still feel... a little down.

I could say I’m worried about money, or the challenges of work and family or overwhelming, or any number of things are on my mind, but this mood of mine is out of character.

I’m one of those irritating, early rising, whistling and singing at daybreak types who seems to be cheerful when others are down. I still seem that way, but between you, me, and the hundreds of others who peek into this blog regularly, I’m faking it.

In a prayer meeting the other day a friend of mine spoke about the wounds so many of us carry. How life has “nailed” us and we all carry these terrible wounds.

I have my own hurts. So does my wife. There are many internet friends who visit here, aching and stumbling with wounds fresh and wounds old.

I’m thinking about our Lord.

About His wounds.

He suffered terrible wounds. But, I think, the wounds that hurt Him the most, are the ones we continue to inflict on Him, the rejection, the indifference. Or perhaps it’s the wounds we bear which hurt Him. He’s that sort of guy.

I think that if we could just look up from our own suffering for a moment, for a clear moment, and see the hand He stretches out to us, if we would look at that hand that bears a wound passing clear through, we would see something important.

We would see that our wounds are His wounds. That He is holding out His hands to pluck the nails from our own hands, take our suffering away. That His wounds are great enough, eternal enough, to replace all the ones we carry.

In the prayer room this morning I was looking at the painting I did last Christmas. A joyful, laughing infant carrying terrible wounds. Infant Messiah, Infinite Messiah.

I am still in a bit of a funk. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I need to slow down, make peace with myself.

But gazing at that picture, that feeble echo of a truth the Lord shared with me, I know that I’ll be just fine soon enough.

Stretched

Being discouraged isn’t a bad thing in itself. Even Jesus became frustrated with people, with lack of faith, with the slow progress of His followers. And perhaps the sense of discouragement is a warning sign for us. It tells us to take notice of things that need to be changed.

I’ve been discouraged lately.

There are a number of demands on my time. I work fairly long hours, at work by 6:15, hustling along, sometimes too busy to stop for lunch, until I head home around 4:30 or five, and back for a couple of hours more on Saturday.

I have a lot of projects going on... There are television shoots on Saturdays, videos to be made for friends, posts for this blog about twice a week, a daily Bible study, three weekly prayer times, a painting I am working on, a book I am writing, and a continuous stream of house repairs.

There are meetings with friends, church services, and weekly walks with my wife. There are times I need to spend with my kids. There are personal projects I am doing: fund raisers, helping friends, being a husband, being a dad.

There are the financial burdens. Brenda isn’t working while she goes to school. It's something she deserves, but it places a strain on our budget. We tithe our earnings. Which isn’t the burden I thought it would be... but still it is a little over 10% of my salary, which isn’t all that much. When I was an estimator for a construction company I earned about 140% of what my starting pay at the school district was (after $45,000 and 6 years of schooling!). There is the additional money we are giving to help rebuild the church. There is the $1200 Isaac needs for the Christian retreat this summer. Repairs I need to do on the house this summer. A family vacation of some sort. Repairs for the car. Items I buy to make my teaching better (about $1000 this year). On and on and on.

There are the anxieties of raising special needs children. Kids who are growing up, who need the final steps of parenting, steps for me which are into unfamiliar territory. The culmination of all these years... The goal of every parent is to teach their children to be self-sufficient, a goal I am not sure I can achieve.

There is the privileged responsibility of being a husband. I love my wife. I don’t like her to be worried. I don’t like her being burdened. I don’t like her carrying any concerns I can shoulder.

When Jeremiah was going through the psychology tests ordered by the district attorney after the fire at the church, a report was created about his personality, his abilities, disabilities, propensities, fears and secrets. It also included how he was being parented.

It surprised us that our parenting was described as exhaustive, demanding, and that we did not recognize the huge effort and burden we were placing on ourselves.

A couple of weeks ago I had some memories crop up, images and emotions I couldn’t seem to shake. I wrote them in a post. (A friend said that I am either a great liar, insane, lucky to be alive, or a little of each!)

All this is to say that there has been stress.

Now none of this is unusual. Except that a couple of weeks ago I started feeling a little hollow on the inside.

I began to feel sad, deeply, and I put extra effort into joking with family and friends.

Then I wrote the previous post. As I began to write it the little hole in the dike grew, and by the time I had it posted I was feeling very anxious.

Many left kind words of encouragement and advice. Good hearted words to help me, guide, lift prayers for me.

They ran the gamut of advice on caring for myself, and not taking on more than I should, to simply “cowboy up” (one of my favorite comments).

After writing the post and feeling I had gone as far as I could alone, I told my wife about how I have been feeling. Amazing woman. She knew what to do. She has me on a daily regimine: go to bed early, drink a quart of water, and walk at least one brisk mile, every day. Man, it is great to have such a wife!

It has been a step in the right direction.

The walks are helping, it allows me time to pray, to think, to watch the clouds scuttle across the Oregon skies.

I’m not going to say I’m doing much better. I still feel anxious. I still worry about Jeremiah and money and all the things I should let go. I still feel “stretched.” But I’ve caught my breath.

That’s a good thing.