Building A Mystery

I love Sarah McLachlan’s music. “Building a mystery” is what we do as we manage ourselves through the inconsistent and crazy things that make up life. I don’t know about you but I never in a million years thought that I would end up where I am right now.

Sure there are things that I planned and they more or less worked out. I live where
I’ve always wanted to live, even as a child Tybee Island cast a spell on me.
Whenever I pass the “big curve” on Highway 80 and catch glimpse of the sun sprinkling diamonds on the ocean I’m still the little boy in the back seat of the car oblivious to my family sitting beside me. So I moved my family here one day and my kids grew up on the beach but I never considered that I would here alone.

How did that happen?

I planned to write books and that worked fine enough but where the book writing has taken me is far different from anything that I ever thought. I do it for me first. It’s kind of like praying. The holiness of words is haunting. They kidnap my thoughts and every day it ends up surprising me what comes out.

Most everything else has happened wasn’t planned by me. It makes me believe in God because somebody had to think this stuff up.

I’m blessed with three children, none of whom were planned, who turned into wonderful and enjoyable people. We create laughter together. I don’t know how but we do. Consistently so! Talk about blessings. Jeremy just stumbled out wearing shorts and sunglasses looking like a surfer when the last thing he can do is surf. Eight o’clock laughter is a wonderful gift and he’s already blessed my day as he curses the sun for being too bright.

He cracks me up.

Of course I’m near naked on the beloved back deck and all of my children are used to it. When Kristen blows into the house she yells, “Dad you got clothes on?”

I don’t think that there is a single picture of Chelsea and me where I’m wearing a shirt including her graduation pictures.

Then I fell into a career when four homeless men asked me to come inside one cold January morning in Louisville. Everything about everything changed that morning. I was born. Bruce, Pouchie, Chester and Mr. Jackson gave me life that day. Three of you are dead but there isn’t a day that you do not grace my life.

And all of these years later they still come to me and this new work is unfolding … presenting itself to me … but it remains rooted in what I’ve always done … just figuring out exaggerated ways of being … nice.

Treat others as you want to be treated. That really does sum up everything Jesus had to say.
I have no idea what is coming next. At the same time I’ve never been more certain.
Choirs of birds are singing hymns of praise while I stare at Fran’s thousands shades of green. I love you Fran. I always have. Thank you for coming back from the dead to light my heart again.

And there is this one. I’ve come to know that I’ve spend my entire life getting ready for her. She’s not even here yet. She comes in my dreams. Yet I know. She is everything.

A few weeks ago I was calling people that I haven’t talked with in a year. One was Skip. My last days at Union Mission were intense though I was burned out. Who plans for that? But I love Skip. He was the right person at the right time (though Joy is the one who really understands everything). I got his voice mail and left a message that I would really like for us to get together.

He didn’t call back.

I’m certain that there are a thousand and one excellent reasons why he hasn’t.

That’s life right?

Sometimes what you want isn’t what happens.

And it leaves you forever changed.

It’s all been a mystery. It still is.

“You’re so beautiful … a beautiful fucked up man,” Sarah sings.

“Yeah,” I say out loud to Fran and God and Jeremy and whoever else wants to listen.

I am.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.