From a Pig to a Boar

I've been told that if a domesticated pig leaves the farm and goes into the wild it can transform into feral swine within a matter of months. Their tusks will grow out, their fur will become longer and more coarse, and they will become more aggressive. (I can neither confirm, nor deny this. Internet research swings both ways.)

However, it makes sense. The hog must adapt in order to survive. It no longer lives under the nurturing care of the farmer. It has to find it's own food, it will be exposed to harsh elements.

More on hogs later.

Before I met Tiffany, I was never a co-dependent person. Sure, I dated some nice girls from time to time. But, I was never someone who HAD to be in a relationship. I had great friends, and I had great family that I spent a lot of time with. I thought they were all I needed.

Then, I met a beautiful girl from Minnesota and she ruined all of that. (In a good way.)

I can clearly recall, in our early days of dating, telling myself that she was great...but I still wasn't one of those co-dependent people.

But, something happened. Something changed. I let her in. I never wanted to be apart from her. I fell in love. I asked her to marry me.

I had been tamed. I became domesticated. And, I loved it.

Doing the things* I used to do as a bachelor just weren't quite as fun anymore. Wild road trips and adventurous weekends with my friends took a backseat to quiet weeknights spent watching Netflix on the couch. Activities that used to be a way of life became occasional hobbies. This was all by choice, not by force. I didn't change or forsake who I was, I just changed who I wanted to be.

I wanted to be a good husband. I wanted to become a father. I liked being a family man. She brought out the best in me.

Now what? Where do I go from here? Everything has changed. This was not the way it was supposed to happen.

How could I ever go back to being the person I was? In short, the answer is, I never could. Not that there was anything wrong with the person I was, I'm pretty sure people liked that dude too. But, now that I've experienced a fuller and richer life, how do I define joy and happiness in her absence? (Notice I said define. I still experience joy and happiness. But, how do I define it now when so much of my joy and happiness was tied up in sharing it with Tiffany?)

C.S. Lewis expressed similar despair in his book "A Grief Observed". Lewis was much in the same boat I was, enjoying his bachelorhood and independence until he married a woman to help keep her from being deported. But, he fooled around and fell in love. (H. is the initial used instead of using his deceased wife's full name)

Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to domesticate this creature if only now to reintroduce it to the wild?

Like the domesticated piggies turned feral hogs, I can feel my tusks growing in and I know my fur is getting thicker. (That's a metaphor, not a beard joke.)

I'm doing what I have to do to survive. I'm trying to revisit the fun things from my past that used to bring me joy and happiness. I'm trying to enjoy life without the necessity of sharing it with someone. It's a rough transition, but it's happening.

Though I'm learning to survive in the wild, I have to wonder; Can the feral hog ever be domesticated again? I don't know.

I won't leave you on such a terribly depressing note. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that I'm very thankful for the friends and family who are journeying with me and helping me rediscover a definition of joy and happiness. The concerts, the late nights, the conventions, the future fishing and hunting trips, and all the upcoming plans sure make life a little more enjoyable.

I still don't know where life goes from here. But, I couldn't ask for better people to help me figure it out. (or, help me make it up as we go along) 

After all, pigs do run in herds. (That's meant to be endearing, not insulting.)

Grace and Peace,
Robert

(*Not to be listed here in order to avoid self incrimination.)

Three Years in the Pulpit

I wrote this for the upcoming church newsletter and I thought it was worth sharing here.

April 2014

Dear friends,

Grace and Peace to you in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Can you believe that this April will make it three years that I have had the pleasure of serving this congregation?

It is amazing to consider where and how God has been at work in the time that I have been here. As I was reading Psalm 23 today, because it’s the Psalm for this upcoming Sunday, I considered the ways in which God has been involved in our church and our lives over the last three years.

“The Lord is my shepherd…” Think about all the things that God, the Good Shepherd, has led us to do over the past three years. “He leads me in right paths, for his namesake…” Think about the right paths God has led us down in order that we may bring glory to His name. I truly believe that the Holy Spirit has moved through us and encouraged us to work on the many outreach projects that we have been so fortunate to be a part of. When I think about the Chicken Dinner fundraiser, the monthly Bread of Life meal, the monthly Bryant Community Meal, the Angel Tree, the Stockings for Soldiers, the “Faith, Family, and Football” event, the Lord’s Table Food Pantry, the Comforters given to families, etc. I cannot help but believe that God equipped us to serve those around us by pouring out the Holy Spirit upon us.

I think of these things, and I am optimistic for the future.

But, there is another part of Psalm 23 that we must consider as well. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…” Though we have had so many good times over the past three years, I (and others) know that we are still traversing the valley of the shadow of death. These last four months have been hard on all of us, for we have discovered how deep and dark that valley can be. But, if I truly believe that the Holy Spirit has prepared and sent us to serve our neighbors, then I must also confess that I believe it is that same Holy Spirit that has kept and sustained us during these dark days. The Psalmist beckons us to remember this most crucial part about the valley of the shadow of death, “THOU ART WITH ME.”

God is with us, in the good times and the bad. God is with us, in serving and in sorrow. God is with us, and He will see us through.

I thank God everyday for our congregation; I thank God everyday for you. Let’s continue to watch for the new thing that God is doing in our lives. And, let’s continue to lean on God and one another.

Yours in Christ,

Vicar Robert

Tiffany's First (and only) Convention...and other thoughts

Last week's post was pretty heavy, so I'll keep this one relatively lite. (Light? Lite? Take your pick.)

I attended Horrorhound Weekend in Cincinnati this weekend. I had a great time with great friends. Horrorhound Weekend is a convention dedicated to Horror Movies and the community around them. Whether you think that's cool or weird, you're right.

The primary function of these conventions is to meet your favorite actors, directors, and writers. You are given the opportunity to interact with them, snap photos, and get their autograph. I've met quite a few celebrities at these things, and I've had a lot of fun doing it. (I met Bruce Campbell this weekend...and yes, he was awesome.) Along with the celebrities, there's merchandise, discussion panels, costumes, and lots of other random stuff.

Attending the con this weekend reminded me of Tiffany's first, and only, con experience. Tiffany was never a "horror fan", but she would watch scary movies with me when she was in the mood to watch one. She liked ones that were well done (i.e. The Shining), and she liked some of the funny ones I'd occasionally get her to watch (i.e. Sleepaway Camp). All of that being said, Tiffany never planned on attending a Horror Con with me. She never discouraged my attendance, she would just pat me on the head and encourage me to go have fun.

Well, all of that changed last September. Tiffany caught wind that my friend Chad's wife, Nichole, was going to Horrorhound in Indy. Then, she found out that my friend Vinny's wife, Sandy, was going. Tiffany likes hanging out with Nichole and Sandy, so now she wants to know why she doesn't get to go. (Funny how that works isn't it?) Obviously, taking Tiffany to a Horror Con never crossed my mind. But, I figured, if the other wives are going she'll have fun.

So, for my birthday, Tiffany bought us weekend passes for Horrorhound and booked us a hotel room. I was one happy husband.

Now, I'm not sure what she had in mind. But, as we pulled into the hotel/convention center parking lot, Tiffany starts to realize what she'd gotten herself into. She looks around and says, "There's going to be a lot of weird people here, aren't there?" After I contain my laughter, I say "Honey, you're with me...and my friends...at a horror movie convention." (This was not too different from her reaction when I took her to a David Allan Coe concert...which was also for my birthday. I see a trend here...)

We parked the car, checked into the hotel, and headed over to the convention to meet up with our friends. After the initial shock wore off, Tiffany had a great time. She enjoyed seeing the costumes (pictured below with Freddy and Jason), she liked seeing the celebrities, and she got to see what all the fuss was about. In fact, Tiffany was with me the only time I got to see Robert Englund (the actor who played Freddy Krueger). We were waiting in line to go into a DJed pajama party, hosted by the con, when we looked up and saw Robert Englund shooting a strange look at the staff person next to us who was shouting instructions. We were 5 feet from him. (I didn't get to meet him the next day, my only goal of the weekend, because his line was sold out within minutes of the door opening.) She and I had a good laugh about seeing him in such a confused state.

After it was all said and done, she had fun and she enjoyed hanging out with our friends. But, she informed me that she never needed to go to another one again. I saw that one coming from a mile away.

Those con memories were on my mind this weekend as I attended my first con since the accident. I'm glad that she went with me last September, it's a really nice memory to keep. (A funny side note. Not long after that con, Tiffany and I were at our friends Jaimie and Kevin's wedding when we randomly ran into a horror actor in the lobby of the hotel at 2am after the reception. It was Ari Lehman, he played the child Jason Voorhees who jumps out of the lake at the end of Friday the 13th. She remembered seeing him at the con and thought it was awesome that we ran into him in public. Not to mention that he was super friendly as well.)

But, those memories can come at a cost too. Although they make me smile and laugh, they still remind me of how much I miss her. I got a little misty eyed (that's a lie, I was crying) during the drive home from Cincy yesterday. I realized that not only do I miss making new memories with her, I miss not having her to come home to. You never realize that part of the enjoyment of going to do fun stuff is tied up in having someone to come home to and telling them all about it. It was never hard for me to leave friends and fun events in the past because I knew that I got to go home to my best friend. That's gone now, and that sucks. It sucks coming back to our empty home. I don't hate the house, I love the house. But, I loved it more when it was our house. Now, it's our house minus one. And, it's a damn weird feeling to be lonely in the home you built with someone else.

But, enough of that. I said that this post wasn't going to get heavy, so I'll save it for the next one.

Grace and Peace,
Robert

What in the Hell do I do now, Morrissey?

(Caution: The content of this post may be a little heavier than previous posts, and it may be hard for some of you to read. I feel I have the ability to share these thoughts because I've already discussed them with those closest to me. If you choose to read these words, read them carefully and try not to get the wrong idea.)

It is an odd feeling to wish that you yourself had died. Notice what I said there. I didn't say that I wish I was dead, nor did I say I wish to die. What I said was, for the first time in my life I had experienced feelings where I wished I had died.

In the immediate days and weeks following the accident, I had moments where I wished that I had died alongside my wife. Why would I experience that? It's pretty obvious really. She was the love of my life, and facing life without her was too much to bear. To be perfectly honest, facing life without her by my side is still too much to bear from time to time. But, again I say, it was the feeling of wishing that I had died. Not the feeling of wishing I was dead, and doing something foolish about it.

To wish that I had died, is to wish that I didn't have to experience all of this pain. It is to wish that I didn't have to be physically separated from her. It is to wish that I didn't have to go on planning a life without her.

When I think about this, I think of  lyrics from "There is a Light that Never Goes Out" by The Smiths: "And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die. And, if a ten ton truck, kills the both of us; to die by your side, well the pleasure and the privilege is mine." (It may sound morbid, but trust me, it's a beautiful song.) I think of the lyrics and how much I've liked the song over the years, but then I think, "wait, I didn't die, what in the Hell do I do now Morrissey?"

I think that many of us, if not all, have this illusion that we're going to die peacefully in our old age simultaneously with our spouse. Okay, maybe we're not that naive. But honestly, many of us never acknowledge the fact that living out a life with someone does mean that one of you is probably going to die before the other. I don't say this to depress you, nor do I say it with hope that you will dwell on it. I say it because I've discovered that it is an unfortunate reality.

So now, having lived, I have to ask myself; what do I do now?

In short, the answer is...live.

Some folks will say to me, you survived for a reason. I know that they mean well when they say it. But, it often implies that I lived for a reason and my wife died for a reason. Then we get back to the notion that everything happens for a reason, and I don't believe that everything happens for a reason. To follow this line of thought theologically, one has to suppose that God took my wife and God spared me. I don't believe that. And, as I've explained in a previous post, I don't believe that God is the source of our tragedies.

Though I don't believe that I survived for "a reason", I believe that I should derive purpose from my ongoing survival. I've always tried to live a meaningful life, the accident amplifies my reason for continuing to do so.

I continue to live so that I may continue to love. Life is too short not to love. Tiffany's love completed me and taught me the meaning of true love. I must go forward living with that love in my heart, using that love to carry me forward and sustain me.

I continue to live so that I may love, bless, and serve others. This was what Tiffany and I did as a couple, this is what I must continue doing so that the beautiful parts of her that live on in me may be made present.

I continue to live because I believe that God is not finished. God is not finished restoring this world, and God is not finished restoring me. I believe that God still calls me, even in my darkest hour, to serve others. (I say that knowing that I must take care of myself before I can take care of others, and I am.)

I continue to live because even in the midst of all of this pain, I know that life is still worth living. I know that alongside great sorrow, there is still great joy. My friends and my family remind me of this every single day.

Might I add that continuing to live would be a whole lot easier if this damned winter would come to an end.

It is an odd feeling to wish that you yourself had died. It is an even more odd feeling to go on living life without the person you planned on growing old with. But, it is because of the love that we shared, that I know that life is worth living. There is a lot of life left to live, I'm going to try to make it count.

Grace and Peace,
Robert

It's not a Duck Dynasty beard...

...nor is it a beard grown to honor my viking ancestors or the new season of Vikings on the History Channel.

I'm growing out my beard as a sign of public mourning. A long beard has been a sign of mourning in different cultures throughout history. Unlike the Greeks who shaved their beards as a sign of mourning, the Romans grew out their beard as a sign of mourning. Some Orthodox Jews let their beards grow wild during their time of mourning for a period of 30 days to a year, or until their friends reprimand them.

I trimmed my beard, which had grown long during hunting season, the Friday before the accident. Tiffany declared that my beard had reached a length which made it appear as though I no longer cared about life. I haven't trimmed it since then, and I don't plan on doing so until I feel like my time of grieving publicly is over. The trimming of the beard will signal the end of my public grief, not the end of the grief I will carry the rest of my life. I will not make the decision alone, my closest friends will help me decide when the time comes. Because, after all, it's very easy to lie to yourself during your time of grieving. My closest friends certainly know how my grieving is going. Though we know there are certainly wrong ways to grieve, we also know that there is no 100% right way to grieve either. I, and others, can only hope that we are finding ways to grieve well. This beard is a sign of that grief, it will be here for a while.

My beard isn't a sign that I've "given up", quite the contrary. For me, it's a sign that I'm continually examining my grief. In fact, I look forward to the day that I can trim it. Until then I will continue to shave my head and neck, as I have been, so that I don't look completely like a hot mess.

Grace and Peace,
Robert

A Plan, "a plan", and our plans.

The Merriam-Webster definition of the word plan:

plan noun \ˈplan\

1

:  a drawing or diagram drawn on a plane: as

a :  a top or horizontal view of an object

b :  a large-scale map of a small area

2

a :  a method for achieving an end

b :  an often customary method of doing something :  procedure

c :  a detailed formulation of a program of action

d :  goal, aim

3

:  an orderly arrangement of parts of an overall design or objective

Interesting dialogue occurs when you put the words "God" and "Plan" in a sentence together.

-I believe that God has a Plan (capital P) when it comes to the redemption and restoration of this world and all things in it.

-I do not believe that my wife's death was "all part of a plan" (lowercase p), as some folks like to (or hate to) believe.

Before I go any further, perhaps we should examine the definition of believe as well. Because I'm going to talk about what I believe, not what I know. There's a difference in what we can believe and what we can know.

be·lieve verb \bə-ˈlēv\

intransitive verb

1

a :  to have a firm religious faith

b :  to accept something as true, genuine, or real <ideals we believe in> <believes in ghosts>

2

:  to have a firm conviction as to the goodness, efficacy, or ability of something <believe in exercise>

3

:  to hold an opinion :  think <I believe so>

What I believe may be different from what you believe. That's okay. To take it a step further, if you are also a follower of Jesus, what I believe may be different from what you believe. Again, it's still okay with me. I don't believe that any of us have God or the Bible fully "figured out". I'm okay with that, many of you may not be. So, the things I'm about to say are what I believe. You may not believe it, and I'm sure we could proof-text each other until Jesus comes back. But, what would be the point? I digress...

That first Plan, the capital P, I believe that. I affirm the words of the Apostle's and Nicene Creeds (and the Athanasian Creed too for the record). And, I believe the oft quoted words from the third chapter of John's Gospel especially because they speak to God's great love of the World. (And, I do mean World with a capital W, from the word Kosmos in Greek. This speaks to God's love for all of creation, not just our self-centered worldview.) Long story short, I believe that God loves this world and everything in it, and He's ultimately going to fix everything in the end. That's the Plan I believe in.

The "plan" I don't believe in is the notion that my wife's death was part of "the plan". As if to say her death had to occur in order for some "plan" to be fulfilled. At this point, some of you may be asking, what's the difference? 

The difference is, I don't believe that God is the micro-manager of our lives. I don't believe in a God sitting in Heaven pulling levers and pullies controlling every aspect of our lives. I believe in free will and I don't believe that everything happens for a reason.

What plan, what reason, could God possibly have for taking my wife from this Earth? Why would God choose to remove someone who brought joy and love to everyone She encountered? What plan is made better by causing the death of a devoted follower who did her best to make the Gospel known through her actions as much as her words?

At this point, some of you will say, "Robert, you have no way of knowing whether or not this was part of God's 'plan'." And, you would be 100% correct in saying that. I have no way of knowing that. I just have a hard time believing that. I just have a hard time believing in a loving and merciful God who would take away our loved ones in the prime of their life in order that we might learn something from the experience.

Now, that being said. Do I believe that we can all learn something from this tragedy? The answer is yes. But, do I believe that God caused this tragedy in order for us to learn something? The answer is no. I do not believe in a God who causes our suffering, I believe in a God who transforms our suffering. (I paraphrased and stole that from Nadia Bolz-Weber)

Again, I stress that you and I may believe different things about this. That's okay. I believe that God's Kingdom is big enough for us to maintain our opposing viewpoints on this. So, if it's more comforting for you to believe that God chooses to kill fantastic people in order for a plan to come together, then please continue to do so. (I'm sorry if that sounded condescending)

No, I don't believe that God is the micro-manager of our lives. But, I do believe that God is at work in our lives. I believe that God's Holy Spirit moves among and within us and it will strengthen and sustain us until we see the Plan (capital P) completed in full.

The final plans that I want to speak about, were our plans. Beyond the physical loss of Tiffany, I also carry the grief of losing our plans for the future. It's hard to play the hand you've been dealt when you enjoyed your old hand so much more. (I've never tried to make that argument at the casino, I'm sure it wouldn't work there either.)

Of course, we had more plans to travel. We had planned on having children. We had imagined what our life would look like in ten years. We put money into retirement. We planned on growing old together. We made so many plans for so many weekends that we didn't know what to do if we didn't have plans.

Some new plans are easy to make: hunting trips, fishing trips, trips with friends, etc.

But, many plans are hard to make, because it just doesn't feel right making plans without her. She was a much better planner than I, and now I have to make plans without her. And that just sucks.

And, as I spoke about in my previous post, the survivor's guilt occasionally makes me feel guilty for making plans without her. It can make me feel as if I'm leaving her behind. I know I'm not leaving her behind, I never could. But, it can be a long distance from your head to your heart.

Luckily I have plenty of friends and family ready to make new plans with me. (Too many plans sometimes!) Though it isn't the same, it's a start. And, I'm just so damned thankful that people are willing to make new plans with me knowing that these plans are the hardest ones to make.

Speaking of plans, I have some to attend to right now, so I think I'll quit rambling on about them and go do them.

Grace and Peace,

Robert

The Peace that Surpasses all Understanding...

It is common in my faith tradition, and others, to cite Paul's words to the Philippians when we encounter people who are dealing with grief and other difficult situations. We pray that ourselves or others may encounter "The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding..."

These words have crossed my lips many times. And, many have said this in their prayers and words of encouragement for me. For this, I am very thankful. Please don't stop praying for this peace. This is not a criticism of the words or the prayers.

The problem is, on this journey of grief, when one finds themselves experiencing fleeting moments of this peace that surpasses all understanding, it doesn't feel right either. I know, crazy right?

I'm getting better at holding on to the peace when I find it. But, a typical day starts with waking up in an empty bed, the heart crushing reality of life kicks in the moment I'm aware of my consciousness. (Tiffany's friends/family and I used to joke that it was a good day if we didn't wake up crying. On a really good day, we'd make it to the shower before we started crying.) These days, I rarely wake up crying, I just wake up really bummed. I muddle through the day filling my time by working at the church or campus ministry, this helps keep me focused and keeps my mind off of being bummed. Working in ministry, working in the Kingdom of God, gives me direction. It doesn't mean I put on rose colored lenses and whistle my way through the day, quite the opposite, it's motivating work that often challenges me to examine and re-examine my life and my faith daily. When I'm not working, I'm either hanging out with or talking with friends and family on the phone. If I'm not doing that, you can find me shopping for books or hunting stuff.

The catch is, if I'm not keeping busy with the aforementioned things, and I find myself experiencing peace or not constantly thinking about Tiffany, I feel like something is wrong. I start to wonder if I'm allowed to experience this peace. I ask myself if I'm grieving enough. Obviously, the answer is yes, I'm allowed to experience this peace. And, yes, I am grieving enough. Lord have mercy, am I grieving enough...

I'm told by one of my grief counselors* that this is not only grief, but also a touch of survivor's guilt. He would describe grief working much like this, "You find yourself standing on the beach with your back to the ocean, you're enjoying the sun and the water ebbing and flowing at your feet. Then, out of nowhere, a large wave comes in and knocks you face first into the sand. Didn't see that one coming. You pick yourself up, spit out the sand, dust yourself off, and go back to enjoying the sun and water until the inevitable takes you by painful surprise again..." I find this to be true. I would go on to add that this survivor's guilt would work into the illustration by making you feel compelled to throw yourself down into the sand from time to time. You don't want to, but if you haven't been hit by a wave recently, you start to think that something is wrong with the natural order and into the sand you go...
If you haven't experienced it, it's hard to understand.

This is where "the peace that surpasses all understanding" comes in again. I believe this peace is something that God truly does place in my heart when I experience it. It's a peace that can only come from God, because let's face it, I can't find it on my own. The funny thing is, I'm the one who tries to understand it. I try to make sense of it. I try to be logical.
What did I miss about it being a peace that SURPASSES ALL UNDERSTANDING?

Why do I try to understand it? Because I'm a rational and logical person. I hold the teachings of Jesus Christ very near and dear to my heart, and I try to live them out. But, when it comes to these articles of the faith that are mysterious and beyond comprehension I can be like a child throwing a tantrum. I want to understand, I want to know, I want to be able to explain it. Instead, I'm left filled with awe and mystery. I've seen the word made flesh, I've felt the Holy Spirit moving, but I can't always point to it and say "there it is, everything is going to be fine now." I've felt the peace that surpasses all understanding, God's Shalom, but I want to know that it's okay to feel it. I guess if the situation were reversed and I spent all my time experiencing peace and then thought it was weird when I felt intense grief, I would really be "off my rocker".

As time goes by, I'm learning more and more that it is okay to embrace this peace when I encounter it. In the early days, I would all but reject it. Then I had some really bad days, and I learned that it's okay to experience some peace from time to time. It's weird, and it doesn't always feel right, but I guess that's why it surpasses all understanding. I will continue trying to submit to the mystery. And, I know that my beautiful wife would want me to find some peace in life.

Please continue to pray for the the peace that surpasses all understanding. But, if you ever find me walking around in a constant state of euphoric peace, I've found a way to lie to myself, slap some sense into me.

Grace and Peace,
Robert

(*Luckily, when you work in ministry, you have lots of colleagues who have various amounts of training/experience with grief and grief counseling. Aside from my colleagues I see and speak to regularly, I've been seeing my former Chaplaincy Supervisors at the hospital monthly for some grief discussion/counseling.)