A Stranger In A Strange Land

In 1987 I satisfied my one remaining foreign language requirement in college by studying Spanish in Spain. I was to stay with a Spanish family and would study with others at a language institute in Madrid. After a two-week tour of Spain, we arrived in Madrid. My
roommate and I were given enough money for taxi fare and a piece of paper that had on it the address of the apartment where we would be living for the next several weeks. We got in the taxi and could only point to the address on the paper to indicate where we wanted to go. When we arrived, we walked up a few flights of stairs and knocked on the door of our host family. They were very friendly and invited us in. The only difficulty was that my roommate and I spoke very little Spanish and our host family spoke even less English. We were going to have to learn the language in order to get by.

Every day we walked from our apartment several blocks to the school where we studied. We entered class the first day only to learn that our instructor spoke NO English. This was going to be a bigger challenge than we imagined. Our classes were in Spanish, we had textbooks in Spanish, and we lived with families that only spoke Spanish. Every time we went to eat or to
purchase anything, we encountered the same difficulty of not being sure if we were communicating well enough to get what we needed or wanted, but we also had a concern about the exchange rate of every transaction to make sure we knew how much we were paying. After struggling day after day to get around the city, my roommate and I would sit in our room in the evening and talk about our day – in English. Those moments were so nice. I did not have to work to find the right words or worry about being misunderstood. Communicating was easy and it just flowed. It was an odd oasis that would usually not last very long because our “mother” would knock on the door and in a stern voice say, “No ingles,Español olamente” (No English, Spanish only).

By the time I left Spain, I could speak enough Spanish to get around and carry on some rudimentary conversations. Much of the Spanish spoken around me was still lost on me and every conversation required effort on my part. I learned a lot about Spanish culture and appreciated a different pace of life, but I often felt lonely because I could not just connect wih someone who spoke my native language. Getting to speak my native language was a breath of fresh air in every day.

At PCCT, our new initiative to reach those in the Nashville area for whom Spanish is their primary language is an attempt to provide that breath of fresh air. Eduardo Lelli, our Spanish-speaking therapist, understands the challenges not only in language, but other challenges to adapting to a new culture. While not every Spanish-speaking client will come from the same culture or speak the same dialect of Spanish, Eduardo is providing a service that hopefully allows someone who must struggle with words and other communication to have a place to relax and breathe a bit while trying to work on the very human challenges of emotional, relational, and spiritual health. It is myhope and prayer that PCCT is always a place like that for all who seek our services.

My experiences in Spain and the experiences of our clients at the Pastoral Couneling Centers is why I am bosting this in opposition to the "English Only" proposal in Nashville. Please vote against this proposal. Early voting is open now.

The Secret Life of Bees

So, my daughter Jessie read the book and my wife wanted to see the movie. I generally try to avoid movies that I know right up front are going to make me cry, but I didn’t know anything about this movie. So, I agreed to see it. After the first two minutes, I knew I was not going to get out of this movie without some emotion. When it was all said and done, I have to say that my first thought was, “Sometimes I hate being a white man!” In a movie that deals well with racial tensions of the early sixties, southern white men are not generally portrayed well. However, there are a couple of moments in the movie where white men do challenge the predominate views of the day and time and cross the invisible line that kept blacks and whites separate. As I reflected on this aspect of the movie, I thought about the confederate flag I saw waving high by the side of the interstate today and I thought, “We haven’t come very far in forty years.” Of course evidence that things are better is everywhere, but the dream of racial equality and peaceful co-existence still has a way to be achieved.

In other reflections on this masterful film, one has to look at the way that each character deals with connection, vulnerability, emotional intimacy, pain, loss, and guilt. Each character carries within themselves a different experience – a different set of fears, joys, and hurts. Throughout the movie, each of the characters attempts to balance his or her own fears with care and connection with others. Some characters cannot do it, while others seem to be able to do it effortlessly. “There is no perfect love” is just one quote that is lived out perfectly in the movie. People laugh and cry together. They reach out to each other and hide from each other. They connect and withdraw. It is the nature of human attachment. We love as well as we can, but we love imperfectly.

If you don’t know the story and don’t want to know the story – Stop reading now. This story is of a 14 year-old girl named Lilly who accidentally shot her mother when she was 5, while her parents were fighting. At 14 she lives with her father and works in his peach stand on their peach farm. Her father is distant and harsh to Lilly. Lilly does not have the love of a mother and is rejected by her father. She has a friend in their black housekeeper, Rosaleen. When Rosaleen is arrested (after a disturbing scene and a gross miscarriage of justice) Lilly takes Rosaleen with her to run away. In series of coincidental (or providential) events, the two girls arrive at the home of the Boatwright sisters – a trio of sisters that have a family honey farm. The remainder of the movie is about the relationship that grows between the new arrivals on the farm and the relationship between the sisters. In the end dad makes one last return to retrieve Lilly, but what happens then – you will have see the movie to know. Suffice it to say, that love and acceptance are always healing and even when we lack the love we feel we should have from parents, we are not without the capability of being loved.

The religious references are vague and ambiguous and tend more towards goddess worship than Christianity, but the references to faith are not without merit. There are strong messages of the power of love, the art of care, the dance of intimate connection, and the power of relationship. There are themes of forgiveness, unconditional love, and the power of God in each of us that calls us and encourages us we seek to be all that we are created to be.

So, yeah, I cried. (Most of you know it is not a difficult job to accomplish that though.) It has its moments of deep sadness and overwhelming heaviness, but it accompanied by moments of laughter, love, and joy. Pretty much just like life.

REFLECTIONS ON UNCLE MORT'S

Some how Jean Godfrey is a cousin to my dad. It is one of those long stories of distant cousins that I don't remember, but she is a cousin. My wife says you can tell we're all related because the whole extended family has the same blue eyes. All I know is that growing up, whenever we went to visit my grandparents in Jasper, Alabama, we took a trip to Uncle Mort's. Mort is Jean's husband, so he wasn't my uncle, but they were family.

Jean and Mort opened a little store to sell their cured meats - and boy were they awsome! Then they opened a little restaurant to sell some prepared meals. Next thing you know they have a 150 seat restaurant that is serving breakfast all day and some of the best steaks and ribs you ever ate. Mort and Jean lived upstairs for a while and then they build a huge mansion back behind the restaurant. Mort had a collection of antique cars and it used to drive my brother crazy that he didn't keep them up. There was that surreal story about how Mort accidentily shot Jean in the foot one night in drunken rage, but that wasn't how they really were and so that story just evaporated over time.

Jean and Mort were hard-working people that literally lived the American dream. They came from being poor hog farmers to having a world famous restaurant! They did work hard for it though. Until their kids were old enough to keep the place for them, Jean and Mort worked almost 24 hours a day. When the kids did get older, Jean and Mort would often travel to various parts of the world. It was fun to hear their stories about Paris, Rome, Italy (or IT-ly as they would say it). I could only imagine what Europeans would think of these very rural and very country visitors, but what great stories they had.

As I said, we went to Mort's whenever we visited Jasper. I have been to Mort's at the time of Weddings and at times of funerals. I went their with my family and I went there with college friends. I took Lynda there to eat before we were married because I wanted her to know this place that had been so important to our family. Lynda came to love the place and the food as much as the rest of the family. We would often stop there when we could to buy a few pounds of meat to bring back to the rest of the family. I particularly loved the smoked sausage links, but my brother's favorite was the bacon. Their country ham was pretty awsome as well. I even have some pictures of my girls taken there from our visits to see my grandmother.

The last time I went there one of Mort and Jean's daughters told me that they were going to sell the place. I just couldn't imagine a world without Uncle Mort's. I was saddened to learn today that Uncle Mort's not only had been sold, but that it recenlty had burned as well. Uncle Mort's will go the way of so many things in my history now. It will simply be a memory of great times and sad times spent with immediate family, extended family, and friends for most of my 40 years. Some traditions are hard to grieve simply because of the memories of the people that go with them. I already missed Jasper because we don't get there much since Grandmother died, but it is said to know that those little pieces of my past are being lost.

Parenting Is Sometimes Lonely Work

I tell my daughters on a regular basis that I feel blessed to be their dad. I usually take great delight in watching them live their lives. There are days that it is more difficult than others because of the struggles they sometimes have. I hate watching them struggle. Like most parents I want so much to provide a great life for them - financially, spiritually, and emotionally. I love my kids so much and want to be included in what they are doing. However, more and more they have friends that they spend time with that I don't really know that well. They spend their days in chat and email conversations that I don't know about. I invite them regularly to share with me or to do things with me, but more and more they have other things to do. Today I took the girls out to buy them school supplies. We ate dinner together. We went shopping. We didn't buy all they needed and spent close to $400. When we got home, one daughter left to go to a friend's house and one went to her room to make plans for tomorrow that will no likely involve me driving her somewhere without asking me what my day is like. No "thank yous". No acknowledgement of our time together. I feel like I keep giving and they just keep taking. Maybe this is parenting or maybe I am doing it wrong, but sometimes parenting just seems like a lonely job.

(I know, these are the rambling writings of a person on a little depression. It happens sometimes. It will pass.)

P.S. Four days later - Life is good and kids are great. I had a little melt down, but it passed.

Long Days+Sleepless Nights=Free T-Shirt 2008

I just returned from a week at the Blue Horizon Camp in Panama City Beach, Florida with the youth from my church. This was my third year in a row to attend camp and every year it seems I do just a bit more in the preparation. This year I was responsible for the daily "seminars". The seminars are designed to be practical information sessions that students attend in the time opposite their daily Bible Study time. I was also involved in their special drama event on Wednesday night (a special time of focus on the camp theme designed to bring the point of the camp directly into self-reflective focus). I brought my professional self as well and both formally at decision time and informally at other times I was the "camp counselor". Other than that, I helped with other aspects of camp as needed and stayed in the cabin with the students who just finished their Freshman year in high school.

Once again, I was blown away by several things about our students. The first was how incredibly well-behaved our students are. Even on the nights my cabin had difficulty settling down I was very aware of what I was not worried about in their conduct. I was also incredibly impressed this year with the openness and honesty in the sharing of the students. As is usual, the more students shared, the more open others became. The students reached out to one another, prayed for one another, and supported one another. There was a sense of bonding and caring within the group that was tangible. This was also demonstrated in the way that the students supported and responded to each other during the annual talent or variety show (some of those performing were less on the talent side and more on the creative/humorous skit side.)

As the week went on it became more and more apparent that the students were growing closer to one another and and God. As the Camp Pastor preached on forgiveness and keeping relationships right as a tangible way of expressing God's love, the kids seemed to be greatly affected. Some kids called home to apologize to their parents and begin working on relationship with them, while others sought out friends for hugs and apologies. I was moved to tears more than once watching these interactions.

This camp had a special significance for me having just had the reunion of my own youth group. (See separate post) During the week I had the chance to talk to Joe Morrell, the music minister at my church during my youth group days. I told him that I was trying to pass on the next generation what he had given me as a youth. I really have that sense as I have the chance to interact with the kids. At times I have to remember that I am a grown up and they are youth because I love to laugh with them, I learn from them, and I appreciate them as friends. However, I have many years of living on them and I try to share with them things I have learned that I hope will help them. I had a few youth tell me that they appreciated what I shared and it felt good to think that I might be able to help them as they continue to grow and develop. It is a blessing to feel used by God. I sometimes feel I am getting away with something because while camp is for the benefit of the kids, I come away feeling blessed every year. I am already ready to go again! I am so pleased my girls tolerate my being at camp with them. They are a blessing to me as well.

Call it a mid-life crisis, if you have to

So, last wednesday I went and got my first (and only - EVER) tattoo. Since people have been learning about it, I have heard comments like, "Well, I guess it was only a matter of time since you got that motorcycle" and, "Wow, are you having a mid-life crisis or what?" I have been thinking about that idea of a mid-life crises. I guess getting a motorcyle at 40 and a tattoo at 43 does conjure up some image of a guy with a bad comb-over buying a Corvette or leaving his wife of 20+ years for a beautiful woman who just "makes him feel younger." However, as I think about it, I am not conscioulsy trying to "recapture my youth" or "trying to feel young again." I have been young and there were parts of being young that are not worth doing over.

Part of my being young was about being driven by "shoulds" and "oughts" that got from my family and from my understanding of faith. Because I was often very judgemental, I assumed others were as well and I tried to not do anything that would seem "bad" or "too crazy." I wanted a motorcycle as teen, but my parents said no. The best I could do was 50cc Honda Express Scooter. Top speed was a whopping 30 mph (when you were going down hill.) When I got married, Lynda said she would be too afraid for me to have one and she threw in that her father called them "Murdercycles." So, I scratched that off the list. Over the years Lynda and I have had talks about it and we are much better at communicating now. (That one sentence could be a completely separate post sometime.) For Father's Day several years ago, Lynda gave me the Motorcycle Safety Course and I completed that and got my operator's license. After another very long series of events that needs a separate post here, I got my first bike.

The motocycle was one thing; the tattoo something else. I have thought about one for years. Had ideas about designs (just in case I ever REALLY got one.) My brother-in-law got one a few years ago and I thought that was good for him. My sister-in-law got one and I just thought it would be too painful. Then my brother recently got one. I went with him for his and watched. While there I talked with the artist who did it and a few weeks later, I had my tattoo. (If you want to know what that tattoo is to me, follow the link above and read the comments.)

So, I am 43 now. I love my wife. I have great kids. My job goes pretty well most days. I teach Sunday School. I am involved in several organizations. I am pretty happy. I have been in lots of therapy for myself over the years. At 43 I have been doing life review of sorts. I have had some regrets. I have regreted that 17 year-old I used to be that thought he knew what was right for himself and everyone else. I regret that I spent so many years afraid of others' opinions of me. I regret the fears and anxieties that have ruled my life. I regret that because of those fears and anxieties, I did not let people get too close to me. I regret that I spent so much time in my life feeling lonely. So, I am 43. I have some life ahead of me. I want to live that life to the fullest. I want to experience some things in this life (within some kind of reason). I want to laugh hard and love deeply. I want to have good friends and enjoy my family. I want to help others be the best that they can be and not tell them what to do. I have reflected on my past and tried to correct for the future. That is a mid-life review. I don't feel a crisis about it, but if you have to call it a mid-life crisis, I guess it is okay. I am not so tied up in what you think about me anymore anyway.

What a reunion

My youth group in Jr. High and High School was a very special group for me. The members of that group were my best friends and my primary social outlet. My church youth group nurtured my faith and shaped my development. It made sense to me that we would want to schedule a reunion of our youth group. I was part of a group that planned this event. We picked the years of 1979-1984, the years that Jim Gallery was our youth minister and Joe Morrell was our minister of music. We had no idea how many would come, but there were several of us that thought it might be fun.

While I thought it might be fun, I began to have some anxiety about it as well. As I have reflected on who I was during my high school years, I tend to remember myself as a self-righteous, judgemental, young fundamentalist. Years of growth and experience have broadened my perspectives to include a lot more acceptance of the unknown and the gray of life and to emphasize grace and love more than "getting it right." So, as I began to think about the youth reunion, I began to have fears that others would remember me the way that I did and not want to spend time with me. I did not know what to expect.

On Saturday afternoon, however, we gathered with our families at the park for play and visiting. As one person after another found me and hugged me and asked about my life, my fears began to disappear. It was great love , grace, and a sense of forgiveness that I felt. Even if others remembered me the way that I did, they were willing to get to know me now. It as very humbling for me. As we gathered for a dinner Saturday night, we shared memories, pictures, and bits of our lives since those days at Woodmont Baptist Church. For just a little while, years melted away and it was as if we were at a "Mid-Winter Youth Retreat" once again, sharing about our feelings and God's work in our lives. People laughed and cried, hugged, and talked. Though people looked a little different, this was the same group of friends I had so many years ago and once again, they embodied the love of God for me.

The final event was Sunday afternoon when we gathered for a worship service in the Chapel at Woodmont Baptist Church. Parents, families, friends, former youth workers joined together to worship. With an inordinate number of seminary graduates and pastors in the group, there was certainly a lot of experience to go around. We sang many of the old songs we sang as youth. We heard testimonies of friends who have lost parents, lost children, been divorced, been paralyzed, suffered near-death accidents and other life experiences. Then we were blessed by the sharing and reflections of my friend, Kevin Roberts (see previous blog post about Kevin). Kevin honored that time in our lives when our youth leaders tried to pour enough faith and love into us that when life happened to us, we would not lose all we had. Kevin talked about the toll life can take and difficulty to find God sometimes, but there is an anchor in the faith experience of our youth. I referred to it as the Jesus we have in friends, but it was a very special time. We completed the worship time by joining together again as a "youth choir" and singing one of our long remembered anthems. It was truly a moving experience.

So, while I had mixed feelings about being with this group, I was blessed once again to be in their midst. Our youth experience was an extraordinary time and it was good to remember those times once again. Each of us seems to have been seeking a similar experience for our own kids and I hope that we can continue to carry those memories and experiences through the years.