October 20, 1968 - A BIG day in THIS boy's life!

I remember October 20th, 1968 like it was yesterday.  We lived in an awesomely HUGE new house that my Dad had built in River Plantation in Conroe, Texas that backed up to what felt like a thousand acres of unexplored piney woods just waiting to be tamed.  Only two years before, my sister Jamie was born, bringing the number of my female sibs to a grand total of THREE.  I’m not kidding when I tell you I remember crying my eyes out as an 8 yr old when Jamie’s arrival was announced from the Montgomery County Hospital.  Nothing personal, Jame, but I was in serious need of a little brother to balance things out!  But NOOOOOO!!!!!  It was “not to be” in the life of THIS poor, outnumbered little eight year old.  Turned out Jamie wasn’t THAT bad after all - but I REALLY wanted a little brother and that just didn’t happen.  But I digress.  This particular moment is about 1968 – in late October about the time the Oilers were on their way to another lackluster season just up the road in H-town.  (Oilers lost to Jets that day as it turns out.)  In fact, it was a Sunday about like any other Sunday in the life of a Southern fundamental Christian family.  I’m thinking we attended our usual morning Sunday School classes at the Conroe Church of Christ where we took turns reading the Red Letter Edition King James Bible out loud to each other from our little school desks, trying to sound as “right” about it as possible, I’m sure…followed by the usual Sunday morning service where I honed my pencil drawing skills to a fine art.  All this while Harry Gipson delivered another stirring rendition of the Plan of Salvation, after we downed a shot of Welch’s and a stale unsalted cracker, just before we wrapped it all up with six verses of Just As I Am.  It’s no wonder we had to be called down for running out of the auditorium and recklessly barging the cold aluminum push bars on the big, glass double doors as we sprinted out into the Fall sunshine for another game of tag.  Anybody else remember waiting on your parents for what seemed like days while they stood and talked to other parents after church was over?  But it was that afternoon that I remember so well;  we were hanging out at the house after church that Sunday when the phone rang in the kitchen.  It was Dad on the other end announcing that Mom had given birth to a BOY!  “WooHOO!”, I shouted.  “It’s a BOY!!!  A BROTHER!!!!  I got me a brother!!!!!!”  I must've chewed a dozen of those blue bubble gum cigars.  Believe it or not, they let me name this little guy, too.  Along about then, I was a huge Bart Starr fan.  Don’t ask me why I was rootin’ for a Green Bay Packer back in that day and time, but Bart Starr was my man.  Well, I thought that was about the coolest name I’d heard, so I remember asking them some weeks before this big day if I could help pick out his name.  (I guess after you’ve named five kids already, you’re running out of possibilities, so you let your kids in on the process.)  I believe his middle name, Farrell, is some kind of nod to a family name – but I’m still clueless as to whom that would be???  But his first name, and the one you all know him by is Bart…and I, yes I, his ten year old brother, chose that moniker for him and it stuck.  What a day that was…and what a happy camper I was when I heard the news.  I cried that day, too…only this time, they were tears of sheer joy.  And a lifetime (about 42 years to be precise) with that brother was pure joy, I promise you.  From teaching him to throw a curve ball to watching him strap on his pads as an All State Offensive Guard playing football for Ft.Worth Christian, it was my life’s purpose to show my little brother the ropes.  Even when I stumbled a bit in my early adult life, he was there for me.  The past few years, we had learned to lean on each other to pull through life’s travails.  And we spent some spectacular moments together (thanks to him), at the 2008 Masters and in the infield at the Nascar race in Ft. Worth, where we enjoyed breakfast with his good friends, the Waltrips.  I’ll never forget those very special moments, but the early ones when he was just a little bugger are the ones I cherish most.  As many of you know, it is our times together as a family at holidays and special times that are our family’s specialty.  (Lots of you have joined us in those times, too!)  Well, so today is Bart’s birthday.  He would be 43 if he were still here on this planet counting years with the rest of us.  But, as you all know, he was called home a little over a year ago and is counting time a little differently nowadays, I’m guessing.  And since Bart’s been gone, when we come together for those family times, we celebrate the amazing moments we had with him here.  And thank God he lived such a full life, because our memory banks are chock full of funny, shocking, sad, and some very poignant moments together with this special man.  A man that I had the JOY and PRIVILEGE of calling B R O T H E R.  I cried the day he came into the world.  I bawled my eyes out the day I heard he was gone.  And I shed some tears with good friends today as we remembered my little brother on this, his 43^rd birthday.  As always, sending prayers up for Suzi and their boys, Gabe, Luke, and Nate in Colorado Springs today. Miss you, Bart…but I’ll see you again one of these days.  Save me a place!

One year ago today...

It was about midnight, maybe a little later, one year ago tonight that the shrill sound of the cell phone erupted uncharacteristically in the bedroom, disturbing a rather routine and common evening.  I'm not sure why I even had it in there...usually it's plugged in downstairs.  But on that night it rang loud and clear...piercing the still night with intrusive sound and light.  Little did I know the voice of my brother-in-law on the other end would bring a message that would shatter our world - in a moment.  Like a bomb going off, he spoke the words that my baby brother had collapsed and been rushed to the hospital.  Even tho' in that moment, Bart delicately clung to life, it would not be long until that same phone would break the silence again to announce that he was gone...gone to another world...much too far from our own.  I remember all the strength going out of my legs and only being able to crumple to the floor by my aspen log bed firmly gripping the heavy texture of the cowboy comforter to steady my balance.  I remember crying out, "NOOO!  NOOO!  NOOO!  Not Bart!!!"  Over and over.  And quickly that thought, why not me instead?  Why not ME?  After a year of ciphering on that question, I'm prepared to own that it just might be one of the most arrogant things we/I ever utter, I suppose.  God chose whom he chose and for reasons I/we may never know.  And so this past year has been another tough lesson in acceptance.  To learn, again, that pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth, that hardship is the pathway to peace.  How many ways can we say that?  Acceptance of that which I do not understand nor WANT to accept at all is once again placed in front of me...this time in rudely, starkly, heart-breakingly cold fashion.  But there it is...and there it has been...sitting...for a year now.  Impossible to believe it's been that long.  It's like time just froze in some ways.  If I could indeed freeze time, could we possibly beg God for a reprieve, manipulate the Creator of the Universe, make an alternative suggestion that He allow this to take a different course?  Maybe that we wake up from this dark slumber to find that we were only having a bad dream and instead of the grueling work of acceptance being our lot, we get to experience complete relief and redemption from the world-rocking nightmare that has befallen us by waking UP?  Damn....no such luck.  That empty wish has long since subsided, of course...and made way for the stinging reality of his absence from this world.  So many days driving home from the office, I've reached for my cell to hit the contact photo that says "Bart"...only to remember that there's no one there now...that the phone that used to ring is not even his number anymore.  Some stranger now picks up her I Phone with the 719 area code followed by the seven digits that used to connect me to the Life that would complete my week.  Just not there anymore.  Oh, yeah, I get that "he's in a better place"...and that "he's here in another form and all that sh*t".  On my good days, I think I can even see a little progress in the acceptance process.  But today, on the anniversary of his death, I just don't feel it.  I just MISS him.  And those words are SO inadequate...pitifully so.  I lack Bart.  I lack his laugh, his stories, his activity, his troubles, his judgement of me, his fear I'd be inappropriate, his goofy faces while he was doing an impression, his long prayers at family of origin dinners, his giant Diet Coke in hand, his "seasoned" work car with the back full of samples of this and that, his need for that "doo-dad" for that car so it would continue to run, I lack his unmistakeable faith in God...no matter what.  On days when mine had completely run out, he would listen one more time and tell me it was going to be OK.  The older brother getting consolation and counsel from the younger.  It was not always welcome, but today, I'd trade a LOT of important stuff for an hour of that counsel.  Bart had come into his own and was on a rocket into that dimension of Life where few people get to live.  And it was stellar to watch.  Though he flamed out quickly - in an instant - we all got to see an amazing transformation and the coming into his own of a man who understood the Calling.  Make no mistake, he was as human as you and me, sometimes more so, (just ask Suzi) but he had a focus on that calling that Ty Lovell called "laser-like", and it was an inspiration to watch.  Amazing.  And now he's gone...but not forgotten, as Tulio posted today.  Nope, Tulio, he's not.  Not a day goes by that he or Suzi or the boys don't cross my mind.  Gabe turned 13 yesterday.  Becoming a man after his dad's own heart.  And I guess that's how we're going to get to "see Bart" in the future...through his boys...through his family...his legacy.  Well...I've made my grief and dissatisfaction with reality known quite enough here by now, I'm sure...so I'll stop my whining, and finish with this:  Bart's death has motivated me to live life with a sense of purpose and intention that I simply did not have before his passing.  I didn't know that would happen...I didn't anticipate it.  I didn't plan to open a Sober Home for men in my rent property and spend my Sundays as a Chaplain, teaching in a residential treatment center that I have come to call "my church".  I guess I just kept doing what you all told me I needed to do to survive the grief and a year later, new fruit has been borne.  Hmmm...and I've had an inspiration even in the lean and difficult stretches of this last year that is palpable.  It's him.  I can feel it.  It's his wind at my back, his foot on my accelerator, his unshakeable faith in my back pocket...moving me to the next place.  That's how I get to experience him today.  And I guess that's enough.  You know how I feel about the loss.  So, thanks for listening and for sticking with this story until I got to the good part.  I hope Bart's life and death have inspired you, too, this year...to greater things than you thought you'd be doing.  I hope you're surprised like me...that you are walking in a faith that is more real, that is more human, that is more visible...and surprised that it has taken you further than you thought you'd have traveled in the last year.  Maybe that's just ol' Bart - doin' his usual job of motivating and loving us on to deeper love and good works. 

Three Questions From a Friend

I got an email from a friend today with the following three questions: 

1. What is your "Higher Power"?  2. What does your HP or God do for you?          3. How do you get in touch with God, or your HP?  (The title HP just makes Him more accessible to some.  Don't freak.)    

I answered him with the following:

1. 1.  My HP is God.  Funny how my conception has changed over the years as I’ve lived some life.  God started as this loving Creator that my Mom told me about from the time I was in diapers.  I remember songs like, Jesus Loves Me, and other Tiny Tots favorites that taught me that I was someone who was loved and special and whom God held in very special esteem.  But somewhere along the way, the song changed to There's An All-Seeing Eye Watching YOU and I began to assimilate a very different picture of this grand old man I had come to call God.  I suppose that in the fires of Life, somehow that loving God morphed into this punitive, demanding, high expection-holding, impossible to please JUDGE that was going to hold me accountable on JUDGEMENT DAY.  Ugh.  After crashing and burning a few times over not measuring up under what had become this "performance-acceptance" model of self-judgement, I found myself running as far away as I thought I could get from him out of fear and panic.  I would run until I found a "cave" secluded enough to hide me for awhile, during which time I would try to put myself back together enough to get the outside polished up and looking good again...just good enough to fool you into thinking I was OK - which I was pretty good at.  No, I was REALLY good at it unfortunately, and that kept me stuck for years. Crazy as that whole cycle must sound, that's the way it was with me for a loooooooong time.  What a waste of time, energy, and love from an awesome Higher Power who watched over me the whole time.  What I know now that I didn't know then is this amazing truth:  while I was hiding, He was longing - longing for my return, and rooting - rooting for me to discover the Truth about Him again - that He was and is and always will be that loving, forgiving, run-to-meet-me-on-the-road-even-while-I'm-still-a-long-way-off God who just wanted me back in relationship with Him.  So, yes, my concept has changed and grown into one that allows MUCH more forgiveness and love – maybe ALL forgiveness and love, and I know that’s gonna get me in trouble with my old friends who want to hold onto that Judgement Day.  J  Oh, well...I've learned how to let go of them too and trust God with their transformation, if indeed, that's what they need.  It ain't for me to decide.  I just keep seeing more and more love and forgiveness as I watch people’s lives change in recovery one day at a time. (OK, first answer WAAAAAY too long!) 

1. 2.  God roots for me.  Heals me...soothes me...supplies me...prepares me...surprises me!  Helps me to see the gifts he’s given me to serve others.  The more I spend time helping others, the more I see his grace and his support for my choices and my behaviors.  I feel better about myself, and that in turn gives me more healthy energy and self esteem to carry the Message.  I have come to believe that’s why I’m on the planet, and my HP gives me the power to carry that out - often in ways I would never have discovered on my own in my cave. : )   

3. 3.  Well, I’ve learned to listen for him...in what, compared to my old concepts, are some unlikely places.  God was defined VERY narrowly for me as a child and young man.  But as I EXPERIENCED God in other ways as I matured and as I said before crashed and burned a few times – I began to experience God as forgiving and loving and always giving me another chance at life or a particular lesson.  So, the more loving I come to know him to be, the easier it is to hear his voice.  ( I don't guess I wanted to hear Him back when I thought all he held for me was judgement, disapproval, and disdain.  Imagine THAT!) 

At times, in life transitions, or facing financial difficulty or relationship challenge, I feel as though I need an “answer” more quickly, or more practically...or more on my terms.  This doesn’t always go like I wish it would or to get me out of pain or trouble in the way I’m thinking or on my timeframe.  But, if I can slough off my own will, stubbornness, and closed mindedness long enough, sometimes I can hear Him offering me another path...a clearer path.  Usually showing me the bigger picture, and not just the tiny micro-crisis I see right in front of me.  This is, for me, a kind of reframe or re-envisioning of my life...and it’s a delicate process, because I get it in my thick head that I need, I need, I NEED (whatever)!!!  And then, I see that I’m not surrendering and allowing for the refreshing change of vision that comes when I can lift my gaze above the low horizon where I’ve been focused for this period of challenge or struggle.

So, against that backdrop...I get in touch with God by opening my heart, opening my mind, and opening my mouth.  I like to pray out loud....very often in the truck.  I don't really have a special place for prayer.  I like to talk to God all the time.  Just when a moment of inspiration comes, I FEEL it as fully as I’m able in that moment – in essence, saying “thank you” to God.  But very often with NO words.  Just that warmth and love I feel in my chest that is affirming and encouraging.  I take a deep breath, take in the inspiration, and exhale it into my world, thanking him for the change of perspective, the reminder of what’s really important, or the Truth that I am loved and accepted and that everything is TRULY alright in God’s World in that moment.  That's how I hear God...it definitely ain't rocket science!  Pretty "low church" if you ask me.  : )  : )  : )   

I told him I hoped that my thoughts had helped...at least some.  And then I received a second email from him saying, "nevermind...I decided I'd just ask you in person."...to which I replied, "Too late, it's in my blog now, and it's WAAAY too long!"  : )

Maybe you've found something useful here, too.  I hope so.  And I hope we can all find Him more easily in this coming new year...God knows we could use some more of Him in our walking around lives, huh?

Wes

Long Time No Blog

Wow.  I just looked and it's been THREE weeks since we've shared this Blog together.  *Deep Cowboy voiceover* "How long's it been since you had a hot, steamin' bowl of Wolf Brand Chili???  Well, that's too long!"  Remember that dumb ad?  Weird what sticks in my brain over the years.  Something really odd jumped out the other day...and I knew every word and nuance in the jingle tune...it was amazing.  Here's one:  If you lived in or around Houston growing up, some guy would come on TV in a voiceover right before the 10 o'clock news every night and say, "Bedtime, maaaaan, bedtime!"  Why is that stuck in there?  That goofy ad bummed me out every night before bedtime...because it meant that whatever fun, cool, eventful moments had been taking place, they were now OVER and it was time to hit the sack.  Kinda like when it got dark outside in the summer and I knew it was time to come inside.  I hated that.  There were always more innings to play, more drum beats to learn and groove on, more projects in the garage to finish, and more TD's to score on the carefully paint lined "football street" that ran so perfectly perpendicular to Silver Ridge.  So, is there a recurring theme or central issue highlighted here?  Maybe this:  I've been afraid at times in life that I was going to miss something important.  If I were to go inside at dark, or go to bed while everyone else was staying up to watch TV, or have to leave the gathering before someone else, that surely all the good stuff would happen right after I left. 

I think that's partly ADHD.  My brother was pretty ADHD...so I guess we came by it honest.  I remember eating a few meals with Bart and before I could finish (usually because I was talking more than eating), he would be done and ready to move on to the next thing.  Well, I have the same built-in timer...mine just goes a little longer before the on board buzzer announces it's time to leave.  So....I wonder if somehow he was just ready to move on to the next thing that God and His Universe had to offer?  Hmmm...interesting thought.  Of course, that would suggest there was even a shred of desire in him to be somewhere that his lovely Suzi and boys would NOT be.  Naaaahhhh, no way.  Not a chance.  He would NEVER have wanted that...even if the Father Himself had stepped up and invited Him to come on in.  Bart would've fought to bring his family with.  And I mean instinctively fought...like Peter with his sword in The Garden taking Malchus's ear clean off - out of a completely sincere desire to protect Jesus in that highly tense moment. 

So he's not gone because his ADHD called him away because he was "ready for the next thing".  Then why IS he gone from here?  A particulary nasty aneurysm, right?  Well, that's the physical reason.  But is there a spiritual reason?  Is there ever a specific spiritual reason why we're called away from this physical place?  Man, I just don't know.  I just don't have that answer in my brain today.  But I DO have some worthless old jingles stuck in my head for the past 40 years that I can't seem to get rid of.  : ^ )  Very odd.  I wondered today how long the "why" questions will linger?  Is it for always?  Or is it just a stage that I'll pass through?  Man, I hope so because it seems like a completely fruitless pursuit.  Ugh.  Wears me out.  "Why is he gone?"  "Why didn't we know?"  "Wasn't there something I could've done?"  "Where was God that fateful night in Colorado?"  Well, regardless of how long I grieve this loss, or how long this stage lasts, I can always look down at my nifty little blue and white rubber bracelet for a reminder that, "An Eternity Awaits".                                                                                                  

Miss you, Brother...and I'm ready for the next thing.  Hey...what's it like?

You Make Me Cry

I've noticed something recently.  I seem to be going along, scabbing over nicely, until one of you asks me how I'm doing...or how the family's doing.  In those moments, I feel a jolt of emotion connect all the way through my wiring, down to my heart in an instant...ZAP!  Then, when I begin to fumble for a way to answer on 'auto-pilot", trying to skirt the issue by repeating something rote I've been saying to a few people, I make eye contact with you and realize that you aren't going to accept a rehearsed, Sunday school answer from me on this.  You are asking because you REALLY WANT TO KNOW HOW I AM.  It's love...the kind we've been developing and growing for years together...and now you're asking for the REAL stuff.  I check my system resources and while that little flashlight is wagging back and forth trying to decide if the information you seek is indeed inside the heartfile you're polling, my little diagram pops up and shows that the CPU Usage is 100%.  Overtaxed.  I'm on overload.  I can no longer disseminate the info you seek without a quick reboot.  I am so shared out, so emotionally wrung out, ultimately I guess...left feeling numbed out, that I want to spare my heart the hit.  But because Don Phillips was my dad, (might as well blame it on him - he ain't here to speak for himself) I can't go there.  Not because I don't WANT to, mind you, I mean I CAN'T go there because I can't do it.  My autopilot quit working a few years ago when it didn't get used for awhile.  So, I stumble along these days - authentic and open to a fault - heck, I've cried in front of total strangers.  Yesterday, this guy I haven't seen in ten years stood there in the pouring rain in a parking lot and prayed for me...and it wasn't some short little cliche' prayer.  I mean, he put his strong hands on my shoulders with a grip that was almost scary and he proceeded to really PRAY for me...and it helped.  I think in that moment, I could feel that flashlight disappear, followed by the system resources screen showing that my strength bounced back up to about 90%.  And I walked away knowing I could live with the pain and loss for another day.  It was about 1 o'clock and I had a transfusion that would carry me through the afternoon and into the evening, where I met up with my home group, who stepped in and took over the supporting role.  Amazing.  The resources are YOU...God's gift to me and my family while we get to carry this grief. 

So how AM I doing?  Hmmm....God, you got anything?  OK, OK...here's a short answer:  I think I'm RIGHT where I'm supposed to be in this long, arduous process.  And for me, tonight, that is enough.  Thanks, God.  

Level 6 Adventures in the Life of a Grieving Big Brother

I felt better today - in general.  More like about a 6.  Does that mean it was a better day overall on a scale of 1 to 10, in the "how's my grieving coming along sweepstakes?"  Well, compared to the other day when I thought you were going to "flush" my blog for being so angry that I hollered at God, that's pretty good...cuz I'd give that day about a 3: 1 being the worst and 10 being the best...gauging a day in the life of a grieving big brother.  Hmmm...so why was today better?  Well, I have my hunches:  For the past couple of days, I've done something really good for myself.  Yesterday, at a big monthly celebration meeting, I stood up and received some accolades from a fellowship I love to be with for accomplishing something that this group of friends really likes to honor, and then hung around for the two dozen hugs that come with that moment.  (Actually...just between you and me, the BEST moment was when the big room cleared and one young, fairly "new" guy approached me and thanked me for my transparency...and told me that it "gave him permission" to be the same kind of "open" as I'd been when he looked at his own feelings of inadequacy and struggle.  Then I got a huge hug while he told me my favorite tie-dyed shirt was "killer" [and he meant it!] - and he's one of those young, hip, shirt-tail out, plaid pearl-button-wearing dudes from California that those young hot chicks REALLY dig.  I bet he has NO idea how good he made a 50-plus guy feel about himself in that moment.  I bet I looked like I won the lottery walkin' outta there!) 

Then, as if that was not enough, I did it again tonight.  Went to my favorite Monday night Men's Group that met at my buddy's brand spankin' new custom home, where, after a hot, delicious plate of Rudy's barbecue, I got to bawl and snort my way through an emotional check-in from my private grieving life...wide open and vulnerable to this safe, loving group of guys who KNOW my stuff stinks and STILL love me.  So, they listened to me pour out my heart and then proceeded to share their own stories of loss and pain...after which we prayed ourselves out, and then they hit me with a bunch of honest to goodness manhugs.  All the way from the "chest bump" to the "point n' go" to the "bro hug double back tap combo"...and these guys, they freakin' MEAN it.  If I said, "dude...I need you to come with me to my house, sit and watch Spike TV with me eatin' Funyuns and drinkin' YooHoo until midnight, then sleep in the extra bedroom, just in case I wake up sad, havin' a bad dream...they'd come do it...in a second.  And don't even GO there.  These are the kind of men's men who would kick your tail for even making a joke about someting as sacred as that...except they've all learned healthy boundaries now and would quickly "play the tape all the way to the end" and realize you aren't worth getting all wrapped around the axle for...and they'd blow you off.  These guys are my defenders.  They'd go to bat for me even if I had willfully gotten mySELF into some huge bind.  Because they LOVE me.  NO judgment allowed.  That's right, John Wayne!  Roll on over in your grave now, because I've got a whole pack of manly dudes who've GOT MY BACK...and they're not afraid to show it.  Hell, a handful of 'em shared a few tears with me tonight when I read my "randomly assigned" reading as it came my turn in the circle to read and the text discussed how we sometimes have a hard time with God when we lose someone we love and in trying to process it, find ourselves blaming God for it...even tho it's probably irrational.  (WHEW! That was a freakin' LOOONG run-on sentence.  Sorry, Miss Walker...you tried really hard...but now that I think about it, you're probably hanging out with my brother and my dad about now up there laughing about that sentence...so I'll retract the apology.  I might need it later for another infraction.)  Back to the "co-incidental reading topic deal".  I've got a question:  Are you going to stand there and call that a co-incidence that it was MY turn to read and that Grief and Loss just happened to be the subject matter in THAT paragraph?  I didn't think so.  (the chapter is about coming to believe in God...not "On Death and Dying")   It's called a GOD-incidence where we come from and it happens MORE frequently than you'd THINK it would.  Way to go, God.

So, I guess you could say me and God sorta worked a few things out since our little talk in the workshop on Sunday.  (Sounds like it, huh?)  Oh, I haven't told you about that deal yet?  Well, somehow in the process of repairing the laundry room door that goes over at my rent house, I was sanding down a blob of hardened wood substitute, preparing to drill out a new hole in the bottom of the door for a new spring loaded peg-thingy that holds the door on it's axis, I guess I slightly OVER-sanded the door during a rather intense GRIEF reaction and now the door is shorter than the other one.  However, because of the aforementioned grief-driven-I-don't-know-my-own-strength episode, I had enough gas left in the tank to even out the longer door...and now they match.  How nice.  I had never noticed the reluctant byproduct of mixing salty tears and sawdust together, but they do make kind of a weird paste that could probably be used to improve the planet somehow...but then, I'm one of those wackos that doesn't have the arrogance to think that I'm powerful enough to destroy one of God's most powerful, resilient, self-preserving objects of creation as this planet...but has the gall to think that Global Warming is a hoax, devised by some crooked, granola chompin' people who's sole aim and end in life is to suck in the largest pile of jack ever grifted by one group of yayhoos, while disguised as honest, caring, GREEN, planet-loving humans ever crammed into one corn-gas guzzlin' Toyota Prius.  But I digress. 

Perhaps I'll be given some "emotional leeway" in my grief as I occasionally skate over into a bit of self-justifying, somewhat judgmental, slightly prejudicial voicing of my political opinions...since we all know that I'm under stress and need to "vent" now and then.  So, thanks...and don't take it personally.  I'll let you do the same when it's your turn to grieve.  And believe you me...your time is coming.  Because this grief thing is NO respecter of persons....and it ain't for sissies.  It's comin' for all of us, like the locusts were comin' to all of those Egyptians while they defied God with their unbelief.  The good news is...if you're as lucky as me, God's gonna surround you with a group of loving, accepting, nurturing friends who have your back while you divert your gaze from your usual hyper-vigilant pursuit of happiness and joy in life...and who will hold you while you tend to your broken heart for awhile...until it mends.  And when He does and they do, you're gonna write over-the-top stories about it, and maybe even pump your score up to a 6 that day...because compared to those grueling level 3 days, a day spent feeling like a 6 is better than a quality first-run movie that lets you disappear into the characters and the story long enough to forget about your grief while you enjoy a huge Mr. Pibb and some of those Nibs ice cream deals that ring up at about a DOLLAR a NIB at your local multi-cinema.  But, hey...life is short...on a level 6-worthy day, shouldn't you just go ahead and eat your NIBS first?

I'm OK if you're OK : /

Oh, man...it's been SO hard not to go back and EDIT last night's blog, "Not Tonight, God..." Because, you see, I want you to LIKE me. I've always been wired like that. The experts call it Codependence. Works like this: my OK'ness hangs on whether you like me or not. You get it, right? So, if I holler at God and let Him see my anger is AT HIM, it's like when I was a kid in Little League and I spiked my batting helmet for striking out. That behavior was always followed by "the silent treatment". In my family, I took that treatment to mean, "your behavior was unacceptable and we aren't going to talk to you until you can act like a Phillips". Of course, being a little junior codependent, I thought it meant "if I don't get it right every time, they're not going to love me!" I don't think that was the message they sent at ALL, but somehow it's what I assimilated. The "little kid psyche" is a weird thing. Easily influenced and yet excruciatingly hard to change a wrong imprint or notion about one's self. I've done a lot of work around that, with mixed results...but at least now, I recognize the behavior and misapplication of Truth about who GOD says I am, and have a chance to correct it. Welllll...you didn't stop by for a lesson in Codependency recovery, did you? I didn't think so.

Back to the grieving process: So, I ain't changin' last night's blog...even tho' I'm tempted to. I'm leaving it JUST like it is, because it IS the way I felt last night and I promised myself that I would be open and vulnerable and let you see exactly what's in there when it occurs. (This could get ugly...oh, it already did? Hmmm.) Today, I sat and talked with a few friends who geniunely care about my busted heart. I could feel their love and concern...right down to my guts. That helped me...a lot. Another good friend called on me to speak in a large meeting of brand newly sober folks...ugh. I was afraid I'd taint them, too, if I didn't tell them that sobriety was GRRRRREAT!!!! Well, I stuck with the rigorous honesty plan and told them that getting sober and living a spirtual lifestyle was about more than just skipping that beer today. I told them it was helping prepare them for LIFE that was headed their way...and lest they mistakenly think that 21 years in recovery means it's all smooth sailing, I burst that bubble by telling them I was walking through a really tough grief experience having buried my little brother of 41 years last week in Colorado. You could hear the hush fall over the room. People KNOW this hurts. To some extent, they FEEL it when I share the story. I hear a LOT of brother stories after a deal like that, ending with, "I'm gonna call him this afternoon and just tell him I love him!" I love it! Oh, and I got a lot of hugs after the meeting. Quick note: the girls smell better than the guys. I'm just sayin'...

I assured them that these devastating life blows weren't an every day event in recovery, but that one must begin building a faith that can withstand this kind of test. And I made sure they knew that didn't mean perfoming perfectly when tested. God knows my perfectionist keeps getting up out of the grave trying to take over my recovery...rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune times. Oh, well. Spiritual progress, not spiritual perfection, right? I spent part of the day thinking about my "earthly fatherless" nephews and praying for each of them in light of their VERY individual personalities. I could see each of the three dealing VERY differently with the experience during the memorial and the week I was there with them, because each of them is so different. (Tho' all are exceptional boys, in my humble opinion of course.) So, I'm asking God to hold them tightly and the same for their lovely mother, my sister in law, Suzi...and I believe that God does that rather well. While I can't often get Him to change outcomes, I have been struck many times with just how perfectly He walks with us through the fire. Unbelievable. I believe the Daniel and the Lion's Den story from childhood...AND the fiery furnace deal, too. God was in that fire...and He's in this one too...right beside us as we feel the searing heat of grief and loss, somehow mysteriously perfecting us in that God-like way that only He understands. : /

Not tonight...God...not tonight...

OK...so my purpose in writing this blog was to work my way thru the emotions of the moment and discharge thoughts and feelings so that I will move through this in as healthy a way as possible. So, tonight, I ain't feelin' so spiritual and I ain't got nothin' happy to write. I just drove up in my driveway, pulled the mail from the rock mailbox a ways from the house and noticed I had a "sympathy card" in the pile of bills. I've gotten at least one of these a day for the past two weeks, it seems. Some days, I read your sympathies and your honest gut level condolences and I feel grateful to be loved and glad you're helping me bear my burden. NOT TONIGHT. Tonight I tore open the envelope and read the sentiment - quickly acknowledged it - and then realized my MOST prevalent thought in THIS moment is this: I don't want a bunch of F'in sympathy cards DAMMIT! I WANT MY LITTLE BROTHER BACK RIGHT NOW! I don't WANT to be the charity case for whom everyone feels sorry and pats on - NOT TONIGHT! I WANT BART BACK!!!!! He's MY brother....and it just AIN'T RIGHT that he's gone! Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit D A M M I T ! ! ! ! This is supposed to happen to SOMEBODY ELSE...I don't care WHO! Just somebody else! I'm SICK of tellin' the story. I tell it so much, I've gotten freakin' GOOD AT IT! I can make it sound like I'm just molded right into God's plan...so neat and clean. Well it ain't NEAT and it ain't CLEAN!!! It's MESSY and UGLY and SAD and it SUCKS!!! I can't stop thinkin' about the boys and what they need...how young Suzi is and how unfair this all is. Is JUST ain't RIGHT!!!! God, are you LISTENIN'???? HELLOOOOOO?????!!!!! (If you stopped by hoping for some clean theological exposition that winds it's way around to happiness and resolution, I'm afraid you picked the wrong day to stop by. I'm all out of bows to put on top of this one. But I'll promise you this: I will always strive to be real here. I'm not going to shine you on. So, when you get lucky and it's one of those nights with clarity and encouragement and joy, then maybe you'll buy into it more readily...when it's coming from the same guy who's willing to tell you what he's really feeling. I hope so.)

I need some windshield wipers. I can't see the damned monitor thru the streaks on my eyeballs. I'm thinking about where Eugene Peterson translates Psalm 77: David is completely out of gas and torn up over his feeling of abandonment by God. In the process of his whinin' and spittin' and kickin', he writes, "Great! Just about the time I need Him, the High God goes out of business! Perfect!" I hear you, David. I hear you BIG TIME tonight. I have heard you LOTS of times when I was trying to accept what this Life throws at us on some days. Well, God, this one is JUST TOO BIG!!! I wish I could sound all spiritual and willing....but this is JUST too big.....tonight. I need to sleep....I need some Blue Bell...I need an embrace from somebody who knows...I need some water, I'm dehydrated from sitting at a football game...(so I could try and think about something else for awhile...it didn't work :( ) I need, I need, I need....I need my brother back. God, you got a miracle up your sleeve???

"Say Thank You....until you mean it."

I just love Melody Beattie. One of these days, I'm going to meet her and it's gonna be sweet! I cracked open my well worn copy of her Daily Devotional classic, The Language of Letting Go, on August 1st this week, only to find she would begin August with thoughts on gratitude. She's so amazing...her words so simple, yet so profound. She wrote, "Say Thank You...until you mean it!" I knew instantly what she meant by that. It takes me three "auto-pilot" voicings of that phrase until I soften into one that connects to my heart. Why IS that? Who cares? It just IS...and nowadays I don't have to beat myself up because it takes three times to finally connect with a thought that important. All that matters is that I GET there. Halleluiah! Thank You. I figured out a few years back when I read about her burying her only son that she had a LOT to teach me; about letting go...about "wearing life like a loose garment" as we often say around the meeting rooms...and on that day this week, about gratitude. And now when I read her stuff, it carries SO much more weight with me...after learning what she's been through in this Life...what she's LIVED through...what she's let go of. She has such seasoning...such insight...such character...and only because she has trudged the road...and paid attention...and made conscious choices to be taught...to learn to love...and to let go - many of the same things that have made my life so rich today as well. I was fortunate to get to chair a meeting at noon on Wednesday. There must've been seventy-five people there...not because of me, of course, but because my current "home group" is in a powerfully synergistic groove that attracts a lot of us to be together over lunch during the week...and I'm going to speculate is because we all need that midweek shot in the arm...that quick tuneup...that emotional adjustment that sets us right again. At least I do. Wednesdays are truly "humpday" for me and I can often feel that energy shift - once I've reached a point in the course of my Wednesday that I've made it to the downhill side - that realization carries me through the rest of the week and into my weekend, which I especially love. Cool how that works. I'm lucky to belong to a fellowship of men and women whose experience, strength, and hope really do nurture me...give me what I need in those moments. There's something so cool about chairing, because I get to see everybody's eyeballs...as they key in on me while they unwind their stories of challenge and letting go. Selfishly, it's my favorite chair in the room....especially on those days when I strongly feel the need for that adjustment. It just proves to me again that I can walk in rather "empty" spiritually, and walk out a new man. Oh, and one more word from Melody from that day's writing: she said, "Gratitude can make a simple meal into a feast!" I'd love to quote you the whole piece from that day, but I'll let you go look it up. You need that book. It has walked me through some excruciating, exhilarating moments in this life...some years ago and some just last week. Gratitude. That was the topic that day...and by the time I'd heard ten or twelve stories of God's Providence and Love from my brothers and sisters in that room, I had been set right...again. How many other things in Life can you say THAT about?

My friend(s) Kenny

I've had a few friends named Kenny throughout my life. The first one was actually Robert Kinney and he was my cousin. We hung out and did boy stuff in the woods south of Conroe, Texas. Forts, Cub Scouts, building bridges over creeks, real floating rafts, even underground domiciles replete with Dentler's Potato Chip tins full of chips and magazines I can't mention here. Sometimes we went to my dad's sawmill and slid down the shavings pile. It was always fun, but you went home with little pine shavings in your hair and sap in your crack. Cleaning up was no fun, but the ride was worth it.

My next Kenny was Kenny Kelly from freshman year in high school. That was in Austin, Texas. It was a whole new ecosystem from my upbringing in the piney woods and I liked it a LOT. I'm not sure why. But when we got to Austin in my 12th year, I felt like I was home. Haven't lived too far from here for long since. So, Kenny and I sang together in high school choir. We were both really good singers and got away with things the other kids didn't. Because we knew we were good. God bless those of you that were there. The arrogance must have been awful to be around. Oh, well...Kenny played double bass in the orchestra and together we sang first tenor lines in music that was way over our heads. But somehow we did it. We made it through music theory, too. There were days I would just fuzz out listening to Dr.Watkins as he espoused the intricacies of music theory. But by the end of the lecture, I had somehow made sense of it. I've used the word "somehow" too much the past couple of sentences, but it seems to fit "somehow". So Kenny and I had some experiences together that I can write about and some I can't. Choir trips to great places, crushes on the same girls, and a carefree life that I'm jealous of today. Those were fun, formative, and unforgettable times.

My last friend, Kenny, is a writer and a teacher. He says he mows yards today to pay the bills, but what he is is a writer. He is a crafter of words and thoughts. He moves me. I can't read one of his pieces without crying. It's as if he knows just how and when to pull the tears out of their ducts with the perfect image and expression. I love reading his stuff. One of my old fave Christian artists is a guy named Bryan Duncan. One of his songs used to say, "Blessed are the tears that fall. They clean the windows of my soul...and usher in a change of heart, that brings a joy that Angels know." He's right. I am changed in those tearful moments as the streaks from days of emotional struggle are washed clean and the glass shines again, letting in the sunlight of the Spirit. I always wanna say thank you to my friend Kenny every time I read his stuff. Thank you, Kenny.