Discouragement

It seems like life for some people goes so smoothly. Of course not everything's perfect, but why does it have to look that way? How are some people so stinking successful?

I am not one of those people. I am in a completely different class. (As I'm sure just about everyone and their mom knows at this point.)

I was thinking about this fact in church yesterday. (Probably should have been paying more attention to the song...) What can I say, it's hard not to think about it. I guess my biggest question is why does it seem like everything is going wrong and nothing is even remotely going right?

First let me add my little disclaimer that I know full well life does not go perfectly, ever. But is it so wrong to wish that things would work out well at least some of the time? (It probably is, but for ranting's sake, I'm ignoring that.)

Sometimes it feels like life is a giant pit I'm trying to dig myself out of. But each time I make some progress there's a landslide or cave-in, and I'm back at the bottom trying to dig. And it's not so much the work that's the hard part, it's the discouragement over failing yet again.

Fail. That word seems to come up a lot lately. It popped into my mind while we were singing that chorus at church. I tried to push it out of my mind because I don't like to think of any of God's children as a failure. But honestly, that's all I feel like right about now. I feel like a failure. (There, I said it.)

But what do you do when things are out of your control? Because I can honestly say, I've tried my best in almost every area, but it sure doesn't seem like my best is working out so well.

So what do you do? If there was such a thing as a magic formula for making things work, believe me, I'd take a good dose of it right about now. But alas, no such formula exists or I wouldn't be in this pit.

I suppose I don't really want an answer, I just want to rant. And maybe beat my head against a wall. Because I'll tell you what, discouragement is a hard one to beat.

What I Learned from Sarah Wheaton

Pop culture seems to like to set you up by making you think you'll succeed when sometimes... you'll fail.

I was thinking about this while driving through empty Iowa corn fields and reflecting on where I've been, and the fact that I'm back here again. I was remembering one of my favorite films as a kid, Sarah, Plain and Tall, a Hallmark movie we had recorded from the tv onto a video tape.

If you haven't seen the movie, the whole premise is that this woman, Sarah Wheaton, moves from Maine to Kansas to help a widower (Jacob) and his two children in the early 1900s. She ends up falling in love with the widower and marrying him. All's well and happy and somehow manages to work out, even though at first Sarah and Jacob don't get along at all. But it's a movie, right? It has to somehow work out or no one would watch it.

One of the lines from the movie popped into my head, and was the main reason why I got to thinking about it in the first place. Before Sarah moves to Kansas, her brother tries to talk her into staying in Maine. She responds that if she doesn't go now, she'll never know what it's like to have her own life. "This is my chance, Will," she says.

So after thinking about it, I came away with a few things. First, it takes one gutsy person to move half-way across the country to live with perfect strangers. And I don't think you necessarily come away with that feeling when you watch the movie (at least I didn't as a kid). But having done something sort of similar, now I get it. No, they weren't complete strangers, but I moved across the country because it was my chance.

This brings me to point number two, sometimes (most times) things do not work out the way you think they will. Or another way of saying it is, the best-case scenarios you see in movies are not realistic. It was Sarah's chance, she took it, and miraculously it worked out pretty well. That's not necessarily real life. I took my chance and hmm, it didn't quite work out. At all. So sad to say, movies with their happy endings and perfect fairy tales can set you up for disappointment if you don't keep a realistic outlook.

Now what's the point of all this, besides the fact that I'm being Debbie Downer? Well, it's not to be a killjoy, because I'm all about the movies that make you feel warm and happy. It's to be a little reminder that real life is hard and takes work. Sure, there are good times, happy times and maybe a few almost perfect times. But there are also terrible times, sad times, and a lot of very imperfect times. The thing you have to learn how to do is to take the good with the bad and keep on going.

From my experience, when you encounter failure, it's easy to want to throw in the towel. I've felt like giving up on a lot of things, and still do. There's always this desire to curl up in bed and never get out, to never bother trying because you're tired of failing. But when you stop trying, that's when you miss out on all your opportunities to succeed.

You don't get much of a back-story on Sarah. She's portrayed as a little bit older, almost matronly. By this point in a woman's life in the 1900s, she should've been married already with children. Why she isn't, the film never explains. But you get the idea that things for her haven't really worked out. She'd probably tried different things and met different people, only to be faced with failure. This was a chance for her to succeed and rather than fear the potential of failure, she took her chance.

The fact that Sarah did succeed isn't really relevant to the fact that she tried. She didn't know the outcome of her effort, just like none of us knows the outcome of our efforts. You don't know going into an interview, a new job, a relationship, if you're going to succeed or fail. All you know in that moment is that this is a chance and you're going to take it. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is real life.

Real life is risks, chances. It's trying, failing, succeeding and trying some more because giving up shouldn't be an option. And ultimately, it's trusting that God is working through it all.

For You, Life

Ever wonder what your life is worth, or who would miss you after you are gone?

What is left in the void created by your absence? What do the people say about you, standing over your cold corpse? Do they say it was a tragedy, you died so young? Do they say they don't know why this had to happen to you? Do the people look down from their lofty eyes and thank the Lord their hearts are still beating? Do they mourn the stop of yours?

Do you care what is left behind you, after you are gone?

Perhaps the reality that we will all still be here didn't come to mind. Of course when life is bleak and dark and cold, it's easy to forget the ones your existence keeps warm. Instead of looking from the inside out, you've got to contort your viewpoint, looking from the outside in.

What do people see when they look at you?

Certainly the ones who call themselves strangers, perhaps acquaintances, will admit they don't know much about you. They see someone who is young, perhaps struggling, but has opportunities just like the rest of us. They see that you are carefree, handsome and strong.

But I am not one of those, the ones who don't know you. Neither are the ones who call themselves family, friends, lovers. They know the you that you are struggling to see. The you they love and dream for. They know your secrets, but hold none against you. They know your flaws, and see only your successes. To them, you are a beating heart, a lung full of air, essential for survival in a world otherwise lonely and rejecting.

Don't forget this in your wondering, as you contemplate your worth. And when you think you want to pass that way, remember who will be waiting, waiting for you to come home. When life seems like a deathtrap and all you're wanting is escape, don't forget the ones that couldn't go on without you in their life.

For you we've prayed and thanked the Lord. For you our hearts smile and dance. For you we keep these treasured memories. For you we long and hope. For you we love.

Moments in the Company of Death

These past two weeks I feel like I've been living in a haze. A little bit lost, somewhat stunned and undoubtedly disconnected.

These past two weeks I looked at death. I realized how little I know or understand about it, beyond the fact that I have seen others taken by it. I realized I had a lot of questions and very little understanding about death and the act of dying.

When does death really take you? Is it the moment you stop breathing, or when your heart stops beating? But what about your mind? If your mind stops working properly, is it really you in there? Or is it just a shell? The shell is what they put in caskets and bury in the ground. How are your mind and soul connected? Does your soul have consciousness? If so, do you need your mind to understand what's going on, or just your soul? And how are all these elements--heart, lungs, mind, soul--connected? What does it feel like at the moment you die? Are you aware that you're dying, or are you simply aware that you are present in a new and different place?

The week of April 4 I finally got to see my grandpa after his fall and rapid decline. They put him in a care facility. Before I got there, he had been speaking to people. Not always coherent, but speaking. When I got there, he only said two things we could understand, he slept most of the time, and by all accounts, was mentally gone. He wasn't the same Grandpa I had known all my life.

It was so hard to see someone who had once been quick-witted and full of life lying in a bed, eyes glassy and unfocused, unable to interact with his loved ones. No, it was more than hard, but the words to express the feeling are absent. The feeling is a mixture of powerlessness, sadness, and understanding that you will never have that person back. They are gone.

That understanding made me question what marks the ending of life. Scientifically there is a dying point when the body ceases to be alive, I get that. But seeing Grandpa made me realize death is so much more complex than just a heart stopping. At least it was for him.

Where was he, lying in that bed in his last week of life? Where was his mind? Where was the man we had all known? The shell, his body remained but his mind was gone.

I believe the soul leaves when the body dies, but is that really correct? And if so, was Grandpa's soul aware that his mind was gone? Does the mind dictate what the soul understands? And what exactly is the soul?

I realized too, looking at Grandpa, that the barrier between life and death is so thin, like a piece of tissue paper, it can be ripped in an instant. I didn't feel so strong and invincible, watching him. I felt frail, breakable, like my last moment could be his last moment.

And I've always heard this, but it's true, life goes by so fast. You really don't have as much time as you think to do all the things you'd like. So you'd better get on with becoming who you want to become and doing what you want to do. When the veil between life and death is torn, that's the end--there is no going back.

I'm glad that Grandpa was a believer in Jesus. Knowing that I will see him again made all the difference in the world when I had to see his body lying in the casket. It didn't really lessen the pain of the loss, but it did cast a ray of hope into the haze I was drifting through.

Sometimes I think that if the person that has died was a believer, I shouldn't really feel sad. They're in heaven (or what some people call "a better place"), without pain or suffering or sadness. But the truth is, the rest of us on earth are in a place of pain, suffering and sadness. And we have to go on without the person that we love.

I have to go on without either one of my grandpas now. At moments it feels like there is a missing piece to my life. It's not tangible, but a looming void hovers within the unseen parts of my existence. Eventually we get used to the void, but it's always there. It's like that with really anyone you lose, whether they die or go away by choice.

I know I'm going to miss Grandpa for a long time. He had great stories, he was generous and laughed a lot. He loved sports and gardening and making things. He served his country through the Marines and through various political offices. He gave to anyone who had need. He loved the game of Hearts. He was an usher at his church. He meant a lot to me.