Memories of War

  You can see them while you pass by on the highway. These Civil War battlefields. They stretch out, mostly empty except for canons and plaques bearing pertinent information. A silhouette of buildings in the far off distance. The neighboring road, with it's speed limit of 55, sends travelers by at an alarming rate. You could almost blink and not realize they had gone by. Simply fields of grass lined with trees. An echo trapped in the present with no remaining purpose but to remind us of what took place on their soil.

I have never been very interested in visiting old Civil War sites. I remember being a child and my dad would read books about the Civil War. He read them because his dad read them. They would soak up the history as if it were a great novel. As if John Steinbeck had dreamed it up. There were also documentaries. These showed old black and white photographs of men in uniform both before and after famous battles. I did not appreciate the beauty of those photos like I do now. In the infancy of photography, men would have to stand still for great lengths of time while their image was formed into glass plates covered in chemicals. Standing still like the fields do today. Frozen in time forever.

I grew up in Florida but my Dad's family was from Pennsylvania. They would talk about visiting these famous battlefields like it would be a fun way to spend the day. I guess my 8-year-old self would rather have gone to Disney World or someplace like that. I never did visit them. Sure I have been to old forts and museums, but never to a place where blood was actually spilt. Never to a place where a musket was fired or a bayonet thrust forward. One time I saw a canon fired with a fake cannonball. It echoed it's massive BOOM while smoke poured into the air around us. A smoke much thicker than that of the Flor de las Antillas  sitting in the ash tray next to me.

Seeing the fields today, I try to image what it was like to walk in them so many years ago.

Picture this: You are a Civil War soldier. It doesn't really matter from what side. You wander out into some random field on a bright sunny day. The kind of day better spent at the beach or fishing or whatever.  On the other side you see what can only be described as yourself wearing a different color outfit. And this field has been chosen for you to engage in combat, the hope being that you can cause more of that color to fall to the ground than that color can do to your color. Painted a new color of red.

Stay with me here. I'm not trying to send you a hidden message about some war happening in a country you have never been to. I just want to paint a picture.

These fields might have once been the farms of poor American people. Some of them young families; some of them old men. Celebrating the birth of a first born or the wedding of a daughter. Growing corn, wheat, maybe tobacco. Some of these fields were roads that took you from one town to another. Maybe well traveled or maybe a little known shortcut. I am not a historian and I didn't read the same books my dad did. I did watch Gettysburg on television a few times. I couldn't tell you exactly what happened in these fields before Americans decided to quarrel in the grass. Perhaps I don't know what I'm talking about at all.

Today, what amazes me is that these fields are still here. There are no Walmarts on them. No hospitals or public schools. They stand empty along the paved roads that will take you from Best Buy to the winery 20 minutes west. Each year, the grass is covered in a layer of snow. In the spring, flowers will bloom from the dirt and birds will occupy the trees. The wind will rise while insects burrow below the soil. As commerce drives itself outward along their borders, pressing in, these fields will continue to stand as they did over 100 years prior to my birth. They are a constant reminder to us of what happened there.

I am not sure exactly what it is about an ordinary field that drives me into a state odd fascination. But today, my 29-year-old self just wants to walk among the grass. Roman Mars is constantly insisting that I always read the plaque and today that is just what I want to do. Could it be that I want to be connected to history in some way? After all, is preserving the past only done in an attempt to be useful to those living in the future? Or do we owe these battlefields preservation as penance for what we did there?

Maybe I'm just hoping to get a decent photograph that I can sell. Captured at 1/1000th of a second while motor cars race past the ghosts of horses and buggies. While my preferred method is photography, it seems that a painting would do this place more justice. My friends that paint can appreciate the labor and time spent that allows the artist to fully take in the scene. Searching for the details. My view is obscured by glass and the quick snap of a shutter. But the end result feels insignificant compared to the thought that this field will be here for a long time. Maybe forever.

Seeking the Uncomfortable

Many of us spend every ounce of energy we have to avoid an uncomfortable situation. I would venture to say that we often make ourselves uncomfortable in order to achieve this goal. I'm reminded of this as I walk by the old ships in the harbor. The smell of fish filling the air around me. It's unavoidable at this point.

Being a vegetarian will periodically add a level of complication to eating. Listening to my friends say, "Can you eat there?" It's exhausting. It is also endearing. At least they care enough to ask. Many times the result is the same as it is today. Sitting in the back of a fish market pouring over the menu in search of a non-meat substance. But I don't want to be that guy. The guy who determines the eating habits of everyone around him in order to suit his own. Seems easier to go hungry.

Earlier this morning I was reminded again of how out of place I feel. Just like I feel now. Like a fish out of water seems too easy a metaphor to use. Like when I watch football or the Country Music Awards. I can't help but wonder how I got here in the first place. I should have just made up a lame excuse and went home instead. But right now, watching people pour into this seafood mecca, I don't want to be anywhere else.

That uncomfortable feeling is subsided by the laughter of my children as they play. They are so at ease with our two friends that they could be their own family. If I let my mind drift, my children would cease to be mine and Alyson's. I would again be yearning for the joy that our two friends have one day to experience. For now we simply enjoy the peace that comes along with two extra sets of eyes. Stopping the one-year-old from smearing ketchup on everything.

The menu comes to my rescue with a sole vegetarian option. We order. We eat. We talk. It seems so simple. Maybe it seems insignificant but I can feel God at work in every word we share. Our words matter and they change us with each syllable. They cut deep to a place that others will never see or understand. Our sentences change our thoughts. These change moments which will eventually go on to change lives. Lives that will start movement and revolution. Movement that will change a city, a country or even a planet. Times and futures.

I lose myself in the conversation. We talk about Jesus like He is an old friend. That morning at church we told each other stories of how the Holy Spirit has been made present in our lives. Now I can see a new story unfolding itself to be told as I again sense something outside of our small back booth. God is telling us that we have a part to play in all of this. We have a role in this grand story but it will require us to do things we may not want to do. Like Jonah, throwing himself into the sea only to be spared by a fish.

We step out in the warm air that passes for a Florida autumn. It is unmistakably too hot for November. Once again I feel uncomfortable. Like things shouldn't be this way. Again still,  I am comforted knowing that I am right where I need to be. We follow the boats to the back of the building and walk along the wooden docks. I can't help but take a photograph. It's too perfect. My friends look so in love even with their features melted into a silhouette against the sun's light.

And to think, all of this could have easily been avoided.

It Ain't How Hard You Hit...

I have been thinking a lot this week about Rocky. I'm not sure why exactly. I should tell you that Rocky is in my top ten movies of all time. If you have never had the privilege of viewing this wonderful film, I urge you to stop reading right this second. Solicit whichever movie rental service you prefer and watch this movie. I'll wait.

And yes, KC Mitchell, there will be spoilers.

First, a brief history. I saw Rocky when I was in college. I signed up for this unlimited movie rental program and started going through all the movies I had always been told to watch but never had the time for. Aliens, Goodfellas, Akira, those sorts of films. I usually don't like sports movies. I never saw the appeal of Raging Bull although De Niro killed it in that one. Still, I rented the 1977 classic Rocky and by the end I was whimpering like a child. I went back to the store and swapped for Rocky II. I watched all five original movies in five nights.

I remember being stunned that Rocky did not win his first fight with Apollo Creed. All that work and training. All the obstacles he had to overcome. That montage! And yet he still loses the big fight at the end. Why? How could this have happened?! Well, I think the answer to such questions has presented itself to me recently.

I just had a job interview for a big promotion and as I'm writing this, things are still up in the air. I work overnight and my interview was in the middle of the day. Understand that this job will drastically affect my life. So I was a bit distracted afterwards and I couldn't sleep. I sometimes let a movie play in the background while I'm trying to rest and something drew my attention towards Rocky Balboa, sitting dusty on my shelf.

Once the movie started, I could not turn my attention away. These movies are mostly a series of inspirational speeches strung together by small events that carry the plot forward. With each dramatic monologue I became more and more emotional. Rocky has a million to one shot at winning this fight. He's the underdog. No one expects him to succeed. I could not help but draw some similarities to my own situation.

So what was it that made the Italian Stallion so great even though he lost in the end. Stalone has a great quote in Balboa:
"It ain't about how hard you hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward."
You have to imagine him yelling this and punching the palm of his hand. I love this quote because it shows us what is ultimately important to Rocky. He just wants to prove that he is worth something. As he often says, he wants to be able to stand toe to toe. Go the distance. There is a great scene in the first movie where Rocky is standing in the arena just before his fight with Creed. He's not there worrying about whether or not he might lose the fight. He is just noticing that on the poster for the fight they have mixed up the colors of his boxing shorts. I love watching Rocky stand there in awe of what is happening in his life.

Getting jobs, fighting that big fight, being the underdog, I often wonder about these situations in terms of faith. In churches there is this idea that if you have total faith for something to happen then it will happen. Believing God for that job or that new car. This is prevalent in secular thought as well. If you keep telling yourself that it will happen then you will get that parking spot right up front. Etc...

While I know that faith is an important part of a belief in God, I don't quite see things the same way. I don't think God just does things because we believe He will. However, I do believe God can do anything. I have faith that God is capable of fixing all my problems if He chooses to. But, you and I are more likely to go through some tough trials before that happens. That is part of spiritual growth and I think God wants that for us. He can see the bigger picture. He would rather us grow than be spoon fed.

Rocky is such a compelling character not because he knew he would win his fight. It's more accurate to say he knew he would not win. But, what kept Rocky moving forward was that he knew he could win. He could stand toe to toe. He also knew it would be a long road before he got to that place. In the end, even though Rocky loses to Creed, he proves that he has what it takes. And in Rocky II, after more hard work and another great montage, he becomes the champ.

As for me, this job is a long shot. There are a lot of odds stacked against me and I may or may not be selected. Even so, despite the odds, I believe that I could get it. And if it doesn't happen then I'm proud knowing that I had an opportunity to stand toe to toe and go the distance. My hope is that I never quit moving forward. As Rocky would say, "That's how winning is done!"

Plot Points

Story Telling - The ability to talk until you have something to say.
-Garrison Keillor

Have you ever been in the middle of telling a funny story when you suddenly realize that the story is not funny at all? In fact, it is downright stupid? Welcome to every day of my life.

I started this blog to be a starting point. It is just a plot point in a story that has been telling itself to me for many years. Since I started these short entries, I also began writing a book. So, allow me to rephrase my earlier question. Have you ever been writing a book when you suddenly realize that the story is not interesting at all? In fact, it is downright boring? Welcome to every day of my life.

All those things they say about how difficult it is to write a book are absolutely true. It is quite a lot of work. I always assumed that going into the process but I still couldn't imagine what the difficult part would be. Now I'm starting to piece some of it together.

My wife, Aly, once told me that she wished she had a better testimony. For Christians, your testimony is sort of an important thing. It is the story of how you came to follow Christ. Some people have these really elaborate stories about how they were lying in a gutter after a massive drug trip, then they heard God speak to them and dropped their needles cold turkey. Crazy stuff like that. Others can give you the exact date that they prayed a prayer and explain in detail how their life began to change from that moment on.

What troubled Aly was that she didn't feel like anyone would be interested in her story. That it was boring. This is the case for many Christians I meet who grew up in a Christian home or who were always involved with a church. They say that there is nothing to tell concerning their testimony.

I fall into this category. The story of how I got to know Jesus is fairly uneventful.

However, I would like to propose an idea that I stumbled upon. I have another friend who told me the same thing. He said that his story was just not that interesting. But every time we get together I've learned to start asking him questions and encouraging him to speak. I started because I find his stories to be absolutely fascinating. Each time we talk he has something interesting and thought provoking to share. Let me give you an example:

A few weeks ago, we were at this cigar thing that a few of my friends and I host once a month. It's a time for guys to hang out and get to know each other better. It's really not a big thing, but with every event we put together, it seems that something unique happens. Usually it's around one or two in the morning after most of the crowd has left. That's when things get interesting.

At our last event, there were seven of us left when one guy shared his own story with us. He was really struggling with some stuff and wanted our opinion. I spoke a lot, as I tend to do, and a few other guys contributed as well. Then my friend, the one with the boring story, he decided to chime in. He had the most amazing things to say. It was so personal and yet universally practical at the same time. What he said was very meaningful and I can honestly say it spoke to all of us and not just our troubled friend.

So, here is what I've learned. Your story matters. Even if you think that you have nothing of value to add to the conversation. Our stories shape who we are. There are always others who are on the same journey but just have not  reached to the same point as you. You may not have done anything really exciting in your life, but that does not mean that you haven't learned anything along the way. And it certainly doesn't mean that people are not interested.

Though it has been a challenge, my book is coming along just fine. It is a memoir of sorts so it deals with my own story. The problem I have is that I often question whether or not anyone cares what I have to say. It just doesn't seem like there is enough excitement. So I guess I'm writing this blog for me as much as for you. Thanks for reading and thanks for listening to my stories.

Note - I've included some of the pictures I've been editing from my backyard. This is where I get to do most of my writing.

The Great Gatsby - A Forward

  I was in high school the first time I read F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Even then I knew there was something I loved about this novel though I couldn't put a finger on it. You see, back then I was required to read. We would have a set number of assigned chapters and then a quiz followed by some discussion of themes. We read all kinds of great book but Gatsby was one of the few I actually finished. Back then, I was too worried about girls to read books. Maybe that was what I loved about the book.


  Since then I have revisited the novel half a dozen times. Every few years I start to forget the details and a new urge to relive this story rises up in me. It is the same feeling as remembering something that happened to you many years prior that you will never forget. "Remember the time..." For me, the experience is the same. From the first sentence I become Nick Carraway and I am remembering the events of that long ago summer. "In my younger and more vulnerable years..." and so on. I can hear the sounds of Gatsby's wild parties. I see the eyes of Dr. Eckleburg piercing my skin and revealing my secrets. I can still taste the brandy and wine on my lips.

  It interests me that this story has stuck with our culture for so long. With Baz Luhrmann's latest installment, there are now four motion pictures based upon Fitzgerald's greatest work. But what is it that keeps the story so interesting to us today? It's not like there is a particular amount of action, save a few scenes. Due to Fitzgerald's attentiveness to detail, the story will forever be captured in the hustle and bustle of the roaring twenties. And yet it speaks to us somehow. There is an element of the story that seeps out to capture our attention.

  Still, with each reading I find myself among the characters as each plot point unfolds. What I think captures my attention the most, as with many readers, is Gatsby himself. Jay Gatsby, from the moment he is introduced, has a noticeable air about him. He views the American Dream differently than ever other character. While the others get caught up in the superficiality of life, Gatsby seems to think that the world can be better than it appears. He is a true romantic. And it's Gatsby's American Dream that I see as the key component of this woeful tale. It is what leaps off the pages and has a direct affect on us, the reader. To me, that is why Fitzgerald uses Nick as his main character. Although the story of Gatsby's pursuit of Daisy is meant to hold our attention, the change that takes place in Nick is what we can really relate to. It is because that change is meant to take place in us as well.

  As the years have gone by, I have finished reading most of the books that I neglected in high school. Each has had something spectacular to say that makes me wish I had not ignored them back then. But The Great Gatsby still stands above the others to me. Maybe it is the superb writing, or maybe it just holds a special place in my heart. But I truly believe that this book will always be read. Years from now people will still be retelling F. Scott Fitzgerald's tale. Each time they do, giving new life to Gatsby's American Dream.

I Used To Go To a Church

 
          Let me start with this: I used to go to a church. You may know what church I'm talking about, or you may think you know, but may I please emphasize how unimportant the name on the sign may be. Though my own experiences have shaped the outline of this story, the building itself is merely a footnote. The truth is, if you've gone to any church, then we may in fact share the same story.

           Over the course of my life, I have been an active attendee of several churches. Although every church is different, they have a lot of similarities. A common opinion about churches is that they should function like a community or a family of sorts. Churches light up these words on signs just off the highway. They use them to identify to the world what it is they stand for. And often they are not too far off. When you frequent a place often enough, it is more than likely that you will form bonds with the people you see every week. And that's what I like about church. It ceases to be what you get out of it and becomes what you can pour into it. But that's a different story.

           It has been awhile since I've been to this particular church, but I had an opportunity recently to speak with many of my friends who also used to attend. Visiting with old friends is like dreaming of a movie that you've already lived. It is a reimagining of what was and a reflection of how you came to be the person you are today. It is both refreshing to the soul and deeply painful to the heart. The perfect blend of joy and sadness. As friends often do, we spoke of things that are only interesting to those involved in the narrative. And as it goes with most of these encounters, you begin to wonder what happened to the others. There is a vibrant cast of supporting characters in each of our stories that fade into our memories.

I must refrain from the details. I do not wish to gossip, so for the sake of those who may think they know any of these individuals I will keep things as vague as I can. But some of the details are important to the narrative.

           We told stories of extreme pain. Stories of our friends losing their grip on reality. Stories of people who were hurting and people who hurt others. It is amazing how much divorce is rampant in a place where relationships are held in the highest regard. Financial ruin, arrests, infidelity, and so on and so on.... Keep in mind, these are people that I used to see every week for years. People that I knew very well. People that I love. So it's hard to hear these stories. You want to pretend that they don't exist.

           My friend Zach told my wife recently that some people decide to go back to their college town in hopes that they can relive the time they spent there. Or something like that. I think that is true with churches too. In a community, you don't just see people every so often. You are living your life out alongside them. Life is happening. When that life is no longer available, you long for it. We had something really special while at this church and I still miss it today. Knowing what we had there together and knowing how much things have changed for the worse is difficult to take in. It is the unfortunate reality of all relationships. But there is an exception.

           The purpose of this writing is to illustrate where I think we often fail as a church community. You see, I've been witness to many people in very similar situations. When your life collapses, you need someone to keep you afloat. Often times, we Christians get a little too wrapped up in the sin of a situation. Or we think too much about the politics of how we respond. We sometimes make decisions with our gut or with a handbook rather than with our heart. I've made these mistakes and I still pay for them today. Even as I type these words I am faced with the reality of relationships that I crushed with my own actions. But I've learned a lot from those mistakes.

           We all screw up from time to time. Some of us worse than others. Some much worse. But if Jesus is our example, we must remember to grab our friends by the arm and say, "I've been there." "I'm here for you." "I know you're hurting, but I'm not letting you go." We must remain one thing above all else: a community.

           Not all stories end poorly. Many people have since left my old church and left for good reasons. It has changed for the better along with the worse. Some churches and some communities will shrivel and die in the face of adversity. But my old friends, along with the church we used to frequent, continue to persevere. That is the message of the gospel really. It is a story of redemption when there was no hope to be found. Regardless of how many people from that community are suffering today, new life awaits each one of them.

Death's Sting

Let me start by saying that I have not known very many people that have died. A few, but not many. So, I'm not exactly an expert on the subject. There are many people I know who are able to recount the feelings they had when someone they were close to ceased to be physically present in their lives. I know enough only to be sure that this is a difficult experience. But where I am well versed on the topic of death is much different than experience.

So here it is. I am afraid of death. I know I shouldn't be. As someone who believes in Jesus, I really shouldn't be. The Bible even says I shouldn't be. Yet, here I am.

Understand that I am slightly obsessive compulsive. Especially when it comes to certain things. That old saying, "better safe than sorry", I want to murder the guy who came up with that haunting phrase (which I suppose is appropriate considering the topic).

This idea of heaven and hell and "where will you end up when you die?" has torn me apart right to my core. Because I'd rather be safe than sorry in the realm of eternity. I've been to enough fire and brimstone church services that I'll be messed up for a long time. Maybe that is why I feel a sharp sense of disgust when I see these guys in black suits on the side of Davis Highway thumping their Bible at me. I know it's not their fault. They are just doing what they feel is right.

My issue is that I can't get a grasp of the guidelines involved to get into heaven. I sometimes imagine the pearly gates as a kind of nightclub where St. Peter is the bouncer. He wears dark sunglasses and is holding a trendy clipboard, checking off a list of names while a line forms out front. He's watching his ratios. This being the case, in the back of my mind there is this tiny voice.

"Are you sure you're right?" it says.
"What if you missed something"
"Maybe the KJV movement is onto something"

Sometimes it just makes me chuckle quietly to myself. Other times I am paralyzed with an existential crisis that shuts me down mentally. I'm not exagerating this. Total shutdown. Like when 007 or Macgyver pulls the right wire with 1 second left on the timer and the bomb is rendered useless. That's me.

Why am I telling you this? You see, despite my own struggle with the end, I believe in something better. I believe in a faith that is less concerned about getting a ticket to the eternal nightclub and more concerened about loving others, feeding the poor, and caring for the sick. Loving God is not a matter of what you get out of it. It's about giving something back.

Don't misunderstand me. I believe in the afterlife and heaven and hell. I really do. But I don't always agree with the presentation of the topic. I know of conversations had by myself and others dealing with eternity that were very loving and very real. They meant something. Those stories are too personal for me to share here, but it is important to note them. If you believe in God, these conversations are a reality of that faith.

God and I had a mental conversation recently. If you didn't read my recent entry about talking to God, then please note that I did not hear a booming voice from the sky. What did happen, when I was having one of these mental checks about the afterlife, was I felt a small nudging in the back of my head. It said, "I'm sorry." Then I thought, "what does God have to be sorry about?"

I think that for many years I had a slightly misguided perception of who God is. I don't blame him for it. I've just witnessed too many people try to frighten people into becoming a christian. I take issue with this. I'm tired of it. And I'm tired of being afraid.

Maybe one day I'll write about the death I have experienced in my own life. Maybe one day I'll write about growing old and slowly losing control of your life. Maybe I'll even write about losing a mental grasp of reality. But right now I have only one thing to say. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to all of you that live in fear because you worry more about eternal death than the precious life God has given to you. I'm sorry to those of you who feel you can't have a loving relationship with someone because they don't believe in God. Even more so, I'm sorry to those of you that mourn the loss of those who are close to you.

I'm sorry because I know the words of many people, who mutter the name of God in the same sentence, have not shown you a message of love but one of damnation.

There is obviously more to the topic of death than this. There is a very real discussion to be had about heaven and hell that I don't mean to downplay. There are conversations about motives and ends justifying the means and interpretation and blah blah blah.... But I'm not the right person for those conversations. Not yet at least. Just know that God loves you as you are. Now. Today. When Jesus talks in the gospels He doesn't say that the Kingdom of God will come when you die. He says that the Kingdom of God is at hand. That fact helps me set aside some of these worries.