Life...to the max!

........................................40

...the 3rd big happening in 1967

Marriage.  College graduation.  New Job...full time.

...it was a very good year!!!

        One more never down.  Thankfully.  In the fall of ’67 Judy and I hauled our belongings from Costa Mesa to Whittier, CA to begin several years in youth work in a church that further forged and formed our lives.  Hard telling where we would be if not for Calvary...the name of the church based on the name of another place that has forged and formed our lives.

        Those years there, remembering back, were times where I made some of the largest gaffs, and flat ugly mistakes of my life.  It’s a good thing that the God I’ve come to know is one of grace, mercy and redemption...demonstrated daily in that sojourn in work I said I’d never do.

        Those were years that to this moment stun me with what did take place.  Because of years and distance and the circumstances of moving, I’m not sure where all the “kids” are today (many of them now in their 50s, fast chasing their 60s).  Facebook, texts and tweets have been super to reconnect with some long lost...and to keep up with others with whom we still maintain welcome connection.

        Such as...Rick and Debbie Yorgey:  tonight I’m sitting here in Rome smiling, even as I think about them.  Deb was one of the first girls (now an amazing woman...) we remember bouncing into our lives in ’67.  Rick (long story here...!) literally came crashing into our lives.  What a kick it was to watch them fall in love, do their pre-marital counseling, have the sacred privilege of doing their wedding, and off they went to the east coast to find this God wildly redirecting their own lives.

        They now live in inner city Washington, DC...and have for years.  Six kids later, three by special adoption, and three by natural birth, their varied and talented family is a joy to be around...including the addition of in-law kids and grandkids showing up.

        Where they first thought they were going...is not where they ended up.  What they are now doing through the Navigators is right where they are supposed to be.  They know that.  We cherish the relationship we continue to have with them...those kids...from way back there in “never land.”

        The pic, by the way was taken in their home five years ago when visiting them at the beginning of a trip that I’ll write about later.  Rick is on the right of me, Deb is on the left, and his precious mother, Ruth, is that beautiful lady with the gray hair...and almost all of their kids...what a wonderful crew!

        A few weeks ago I was sitting around that same special table in their home having Easter dinner with them.  They are a treasure!  What an adventure they have been on.

        Couple #2 Tim and Jan Murphy (...and I could write for weeks about all the truly exceptional “kids” who came through that youth group...making differences in our world that are stunning...known and unknown...what amazing men and women they’ve all grown up to be!).  My recent trip to DC began with the Yorgey's...and was bookended at the end with the Murphys...who continue on quite an adventure with their own  lives.

        I still love to tease Jan with the true fact that she chased Tim until he slowed down so he could be caught.  Good for him!

        Tim’s family figured prominently in our church...there were a ton of Murphys (10)...almost all born in a Catholic hospital...where the nun nurses loved the fact that this was a prolific Baptist family, who evidently took after their prolific Catholic cousins.

        Tim was awarded an appointment to the United States Air Force Academy.  No surprise.  He, like so many in that youth group, were born to lead and make a difference.  Ultimately, after graduation his future appointments took him and the family all over the world (except to an stretch in Korea where he was without them).  In the midst of training for his final assignment in his military career, he was at the Pentagon during the horrible time of 9/11.
        His final assignment?  Military Attaché for the US of A to the nation of Israel.  Whoa!  What a time to be doing that...then...or now.

        Pardon the distortion of the picture (still learning my new camera...), but that’s Tim and Jan on the right and their son and daughter-in-law (also an Air Force Academy grad) and grand kids on the left.  As in the Yorgey pic...what amazing kids have come from these two couples.  Totally.......!

        So...honor beyond honor, the Yorgey son, Brent, and the Murphy son, Barry, and their beautiful brides invited me to do their own premarital counseling (having done such with all their parents)...and...I had the immense sacred privilege of also doing their weddings.  Humbling.  Delightful...to the max.

        This final pic is of Barry and Cortney’s wedding in the Air Force Academy Chapel...the only one I’ve done there.  So much more could be said...about all the kids from that youth group...and their kids.

       Being in both homes earlier this month...cherishing the moments, again, with these who have become so special to us...I’ve been sobered by how I almost missed out in knowing them.  If I’d held on to the nevers written in the previous posts, I would not know them or theirs.  That, frankly, I cannot imagine...with the grace I know now.

...a couple of other nevers remain to be written about...

(.....................to be continued.....................)

.........................................41

...another never!

Be careful to what you say,

“Never!”

        Of course, you and I know that some times the word, never, is a good word to use.  Some circumstances prevail for never to be used.  SomeOne has seemed to get a delight in helping me not only take back my nevers, but nudging me to live into them.

        I never wanted to be associated with this entity called God.  The clearest, most heart changing invitation to do just that took place (as previously indicated) @ Malibu Club (Young Life camp in BC).  Oh, oh...now what.

        Oh...pahleeze no...if that should ever happen...oh no...I never want to be in this thing called ministry...of any kind...any where..in any form or fashion...nope!...never!!!  That’s only for......well...not for me!  No, no.....................never!

        Ya gotta go to one of “those kind of schools” where the girls are not good looking and the guys are wimps, and when one graduates they go live in the jungle somewhere and are never seen again...except for every four years when they show up and begin to ask people for money...again...and again.......and again.

        Well...I did go to one of those schools...and accepted the invitation to thrive, from my soul out.  The girl (the love of my life now for 45+ years) was good looking...and is even more so years later...inside and out.  She married a man who is not a wimp (that be me...)...and college buds abound who are some of the most courageous souls I know...no wimps in my database with their names in there.

        The jungle?  Well...that did not get escaped.  Fortunately.

        But...oh Lord, if you really love me and have any kind of design for my life...please...I never, ever...........never...want to be in youth work in any context, let alone any religious context.  Anything but that...hear my plea...for then I may have to deal with those like me...or like I was...never:

Never.

...some olde eggs, at times, are just hard to crack!

 

(.....................to be continued.....................)

..........................................42

...whoa!

“Mrs. Kasperek I did it.......this one’s for you!!!”

        I had not thought about her for seven years...from high school to the day I finally graduated from college.  Why now?

        No doubt, it was my rather”independent spirit” (read surviving against some odds) that brought my high school typing teacher to loudly declare, red-faced and angry, right in front of the class, “If you don’t follow the rules, you’ll never graduate and amount to any thing.  If you don’t learn to type like I tell you...you will  fail.  You probably need to fail any way.” And with that she steamed our or the room and down to the principal’s office to demand that he have me taken out of her class.  I had failed...........

        “What was the problem?” asked my 16yo self.  We were dong time trials for getting so many words down in a prescribed time with as much accuracy as possible.

        This may not be an accurate sentence.  Some of you maybe endured the same organized craziness.  But the sentence went something like this, and we had to repeat it several times from “go!” to “stop!”

        “The big brown fox jumped lazily over the snarky wooden fence and and landed on his snout.”  Or...whatever.  lol  I know that’s not correct, but someone reading this will remember the exact sentence that was supposedly arranged to teach us how to type...way back in the day...eight fingers, and sometimes two thumbs.

        The biggest problem here was I taught myself to type.  As a lad of about 10, a secretary of my dad’s insurance business let me play on a spare Royal (manual...no electrics way back then in the middle of the last century).  She kept me reminded of where to place my fingers...A  S  D  F and J  K  L  ;...to get started and let me have at it.

        Who knew I had to help foxes over fences?!!!!!?

        The chubby fingers of childhood gave way to fairly strong fingers of adolescence.  In my own odd way of hitting the keys I set up a game for myself to type as fast as possible and make sense of it.  Some fairly creative thoughts began to ooze out my fingertips.

        Until I got to high school.

        Right or wrong on my part...there was a fire in me to prove Mrs. Kasperek wrong on her part.  Game on.

        Mr. Pearson came and got me and took me down to his office.  If I remember correctly we took a two block walk over to USHighway 20 and had a Coke at the new Dairy Queen (which is still there to this day...).  Nice treat for wrong typing.

        He asked me if I knew how to type like she taught.  I told him, “No.”  He asked me why I didn’t do it her way.  I told him I was faster and more accurate with my way...and that I thought that was the goal of the class.

        We went back to his office.  He had me do some typing on his typewriter.  He even told me to type a couple of new sentences that didn’t have “foxes and fences in them.”    He sat down and did those same sentences while I timed him.  I had fewer errors that he did.

        Game over.

        I didn’t go back to her class.  He let me take an art class from Mrs. Kearney who encouraged me to do whatever I wanted to do...creatively.

        Oh ho!  New game on.  With appreciative permission.

        Now...here’s why this particular story is showing up when I was writing about graduation from college way back in 1967...one of the more important years of my life.  Little did I realize then the impact of being shamed.  Yup...some of you are thinking, “You deserved that, you ornery son of a gun!” 

        You make be right.  Then again, maybe not...at all.

        Frankly, I was really surprised that that teacher came to mind as I walked across the platform to shake the school president’s hand.  Seven years from high school graduation, it was a fairly glorious day.  My new bride was in the audience.  My parents were even healthy enough to make it down from Oregon.  Friends cheered.  It was a good day.

        There is a time to follow the rules.  And...there is a time not to.  Wisdom discerns the difference...the outcomes...and for whom there is that creative and courageous benefit.

        Even, right now, sitting here in Rome, Georgia at the way beautiful WinShape Chick-fil-a Executive Retreat Center NW of Berry College (for over 20 years now it's been a sincere privilege to be part of the team putting on the SCORRE Conference...the next few days here in GA), typing my olde heart out to you.  Doing so in my own nonsensical way of attacking the keys...thinking back to college graduation 45 years ago this June 6.  It may be good for me to conclude with a bit more maturity than back then...

        Thank you, Mrs. Kasperek...wherever you may be...this one is for you (with a better mindset and open heart).  Indeed...thank you!!!

        ...now I think I’ll go and look for some foxes on these beautifuf grounds before the rest of the team arrives from Atlanta.  These next four days promise to be exceptional in the communication training of some rather remarkable leaders.

(.....................to be continued.....................)

...........................................43

...moving on.

Whew........!
 

        Way back in the day there was a “stress test” one could take to measure what the stack up of life events may be.  Beyond a certain number, it was like, eliminate something(s) or in the long haul it won’t be good for you.  But...hey...we were young, for awhile anyway.

        Married in March of 1967...graduated from college in June (only took seven years from HS graduation...some travel...a couple of educational deportations...too much time at the beach...a great job @ Disneyland...exceptional, caring, tough mentors to help me get my you-know-what in gear and learn how to learn and lean into my own uniqueness)...and one big move inland from Costa Mesa in late September to Whittier...whew, indeed...what a year...’67.

        ...and there were more...whew!...years to come.  Briefly looking back will catch us up with the late 60s and early 70s.

        For whatever the good...and, yup, the not-so-good reasons, way back in my adolescence I made some vows to myself (mostly not good ones) to cover the pain in my growing up.  Some of those I even held on to into my early 30s (...some of us are slower learners than others...but I do learn eventually...).

        Though life seemed perfect on the outside, I did not want anything to do with God.  Trust God?  I pretended...but, ugh!  No way.  Never.

        Another big never is that I never wanted to be one of “those Christians.”  Some were OK.  Too many were not.  Never.  And I got really good at “Christian pretending.”

        Then.  Dang.  A couple of guys from Oregon State University (College at that point in time) came out to our rural high school.  With the principal’s permission they just began to hang around.  They were from some sort of organization called Young Life.  We had a blast...and eventually they began to talk about that “big never”...........God.

        Uh oh!  Careful.  Except.......

        Reaching back to 1959 and 1960, these guys offered the opportunity to go to a camp way up in British Columbia called Malibu Club.  We were to take a bus up to Vancouver, BC...board a small ship and cruise up through the most outrageous scenery to a camp that looked like more fun than one could imagine.  Plus...in the PR pics...the girls on the work crew looked, like, mighty fine.

        So, Mr. Cool, here ,signed up, saved up and took off for the north.  Poser is a phrase used today.  Me and several other dudes were the current posers of that day. 

        Who was going to be the most cool for that week?...was no doubt foremost in our minds.  I did my best, while acting my worst, to hide behind the cool.

        However.......

        ...cool didn’t work well there. 

        Whether one was cool or not...one was taken in and accepted just as they are...a new twist for me.  When Tom somebody talked to us morning and evening, the God he talked about seemed like he was talking about a close friend.  That was different from the God I had experienced in our family pain to the south.

        Curious, but cautious, I returned to my senior year with a bit different slant on God from "never-ever land."  I was confused.  I was also beginning to be way intrigued.  How could God seem so different in two different places?

(.....................to be continued.....................)

 

............................................44

...Wow!

        So much happened in 1967 that it’s almost impossible to encapsulate what all took place.  I will say this, ’67 was one of those land mark years that were climatic in my life.

        In the mentoring I do globally, I look at life in three 3rds.  I’ve learned this travels well in other cultures than even our American influenced western culture...the age spans simply adjust.

        In the Circle of Life Mentor Training I do (and will be doing this weekend in Atlanta...you live there?...y’all come...just let me know...) I talk about the First 3rd being from 0-30/1-10 childhood; 10-20 adolescence; 20-30 young adult.  Of course, all those numbers, give or take, move around by person, culture, or circumstance.

        So here we are early/mid-20s getting married on March 18, 1967.  Talk about a life-changing event.  Indeed...the memories abound.  :-)  As you’ve gathered in previous posts, we were both raised in fairly conservative environments.

        We laugh now, as this seems so benign with regard to today’s weddings, but it almost took an act of God (or maybe even Congress...or at least the city council...) to get permission from the Deacons to kneel and pray during our ceremony...and to light a unity candle as a meaningful visual metaphor of our becoming one.  We also wanted a totally candlelight wedding.

        You’d have thought we were inviting the good Catholics to take over the Baptist church...because “we don’t do kneeling and candles.”  Fortunately, the bride was the youngest daughter of the Chairman of the Board of Deacons...so love did win.  :-)

        In our “pioneering” on changing up the olde ways of doing weddings, way back in that day, others were soon allowed to do the same, since lightening didn’t strike the steeple or the walls fall down.  Who knew a wedding could blaze a trail for others?  We’re glad it did.

        After a two week drive up US 101 to Washington and Oregon for another wedding reception with friends of my family we settled into a cozy honeymoon home in Costa Mesa, CA to begin our journey to now.  Thankfully...this journey has lasted for 45 years in the thin and thick of living life.......deeply thankful...........!!!

(.....................to be continued.....................)

 

.............................................45

        Last evening we did dinner with two special friends who were celebrating their 15th wedding anniversary.  The conversation flowed wonderfully well and meaningful for almost three hours.  Though it was not the only intention of the evening, we celebrated life together, knowing we two couples had survived some bumps...celebrating the possibilities...remembering where we’ve come from...being thankful for where we are headed...hopefully.

        While 23, I proposed to Judy.  She said yes...and maybe.......and then, thankfully, yes.  I wish now I had proposed differently, not sure how, but it was on a late Spring evening in Arizona where we were swinging on swings in an elementary school yard, not far her parent’s home in Glendale.

        In the arrogance of my youth I told her that if she married me she would never have a dull day.  There have been some days in our 45 years she has asked, “Is this one of those days?”  Meaning...well, meaning all kinds of things, but usually indicating almost too much is going on at that moment.

        We have had joyful seasons.  We have had some very hard seasons.  We have had calm seasons and turbulent ones.  We have wondered if life is over.  We have faced challenges we never thought we would have to face.  We have survived...and thrived.  We have lost ground.  And we’ve stood together on heights of the heart, and on mountains, that have nourished our souls.  We have disappointed each other.  We have nourished each other.  We are determined to live into the possibilities.

        Little did we know on that night of proposal.  We’re still learning and growing...even at day 16,791 of our marriage.  We are committed to beginnings...daily...some days, hourly.  That we learned in our youth.  That we are still learning today...proposing to be the husband and wife we long to be.

        Recently I purchased a book, no clue where I heard of it, but I’ve now read it twice through.  It is a book of raw and righteous and reflective life-giving poetry by Ted Loder:  Guerrillas of Grace...Prayers for the Battle.  He wrote this about new beginnings:

Help Me To Believe in Beginnings

God of history and of my heart,
so much has happened to me during these whirlwind days:
        I’ve known death and birth;
        I’ve been brave and scared;
        I’ve hurt, I’ve helped;
        I’ve been honest, I’ve lied;
        I’ve destroyed, I’ve created;
        I’ve been with people, I’ve been lonely;
        I’ve been loyal, I’ve betrayed;
        I’ve decided, I’ve waffled;
        I’ve laughed and I’ve cried.
You know my frail heart and my frayed history--
                                        and now another day begins.

O God, help me to believe in beginnings
        and in my beginning again,
                no matter how often I’ve failed before.

Help me make beginnings:
        to begin going out of my weary mind
                into fresh dreams,
                daring to make my own bold tracks in the land of now;
        to begin forgiving
                that I may experience mercy;
        to begin questioning the unquestionable
                that I may know truth;
        to begin disciplining
                that I may create beauty;
        to begin sacrificing
                that I may accomplish justice;
        to begin risking
                that I may make peace;
        to begin loving
                that I may realize joy.

Help me to be a beginning for others,
         to be a singer to the songless,
         a storyteller to the aimless,
         a befriended to the friendless;
to become a beginning of home for the despairing,
         of assurance for the doubting,
         of reconciliation for the divided;
to become a beginning of freedom for the oppressed,
         of comfort for the sorrowing,
         of friendship for the forgotten;
to become a beginning of beauty for the forlorn,
         of sweetness for the soured,
         of gentleness for the angry,
         of wholeness for the broken,
         of peace for the frightened and violent of the earth.

Help me to believe in beginnings,
         to make a beginning
                  to be a beginning,
                        so that I may not just grow old,
         but grow new
                        each day of this wild, amazing life
                                                         you call me to live
         with the passion of Jesus Christ.

(.....................to be continued.....................)

..............................................46

        People who say they have no regrets in how they’ve lived their life I view with some suspicion.  Is that really possible?  None?  I do have some regrets...mild ones...deep ones...several happening in the third decade of my life...my 20s.

        I would not encourage any of us to wake up, as each of us did today, and chart the day with this idea in mind:  “Let’s see, where, when, with whom, how, at what time can I plan to foolishly do something today that I will fully regret at some point in my existence?”

        “Simple distractions,” such as texting while driving that then turns into an accident (which has happened several times this year here in Colorado) that either cripples or kills another.  The news reports suggested that the “texters” didn’t mean to hurt anyone, they were just texting.  Texting, rather benign at the right time, can have good benefits...and it’s regrets.  In my 20s, who ever thought of texting anyway.  lol

        “Intentional distractions,” such as drinking too much, driving too fast, sexual miscues, even saying whites were better than blacks or any other color of human, or that one way to interpret religious beliefs was dominant, also had their times of regret...and still do.

        The slave trade in our world, even right here in America had Biblical back up...ugh!.  Then William Wilberforce...and others, including John Newton, who penned Amazing Grace, lived into and beyond their regrets.  They walked to the other side of them where redemption waits for the willing who face their regrets and long to live free.

        Novels, true stories, films, are numerous to remind us that though serious regrets take place, owning them, living into them all the way to the other side of whatever took place, redemption is possible...for all who will believe.

        What movies would you suggest here?...seriously, I would welcome knowing.  You and I could probably come up with a long, l   o   n   g list of films.  I would enjoy seeing what you might recommend.  The story of Wilberforce’s life is powerful, Amazing Grace, where we learn more about why the great American folk hymn of the same name was penned.  Watch this movie trailer.  Watch the film again...soon.

        I don’t know if you’ve been an accomplice to murder, or not.  But for what ever God’s wild reasons were (and this thought hit me in my 20s as I was walking, with mentors, into and beyond some of the regrets of my own life...), this God I now know personally chose an accomplice to murder, a man of brilliance and learning, a man who delighted in seeing “those Christians” being persecuted and taken out by lions having lunch, no less, to be one of His most significant spokespersons...back in the day of the formation of the Christian church.

        One of the Biblical stories that jarred my young soul was that of the Apostle Paul’s prior life.  The Bible states clearly and simply that he held the coats of those who stoned Stephen, a devoted follower of Christ, who in church history became the first known martyr for holding on to what he believe to be true about life with Jesus.

        Of course, Paul wouldn’t actually throw the stone that might actually kill some one.  As a religious scholar, he was too principled for that.  From his place in society he “just” held the cloaks of those who were all riled up, so they would not get them bloody or dirty while, most likely, cheering them on in their “righteous task."  Someone has to stop these religious fools.

        And yet...that sordid act of intellectual cowardice was not held against Saul, who was renamed Paul...because there was a better plan, a larger holy design for the rest of his life.......by God!  Mind you, this was all jarring my soul as the Viet Nam conflict, and its impact, was heating up around the globe.

        Most likely, because I’m still human, in my own life there are some regrets yet to come.  At this hour, 8:36am on Friday, April 20, 2012, I do not want them.

        However, when they show up, via my own poor choices, or lack of love, or whatever I stop believing for a moment about what I, at this second I do believe to be true...I will then need, even be compelled to carefully, slowly, mindfully, go through the sacred routine of repenting, refocusing, renewing, re-engaging, re-believing that my sins are forgiven by a more than gracious God who has created me to live much more than regretfully...but to live with the freedom of resurrection into these next hours, months and years.

        This I began to live into and learn in my 20s.  Today, somewhere, I will be reminded afresh to be fully open to learning more about living free ‘til I breath no more.

        Thank God, that the chains of regret that once held me down are no more...even though some days those chains try to sneak back onto my soul.  I refuse, not in my own strength, but with God’s.  Sometimes I have to choose to refuse times per day because of Amazing Grace...available to all...no matter race, ethnicity, religious beliefs, financial status, educational achievement, relational concerns or joys, etc.

        Mahalia Jackson, the greatest of gospel singers I first heard in my 20s...watch and listen to her here; when you have some extra time also watch and listen here and learn where the melody of Amazing Grace came from...go Wintley; or here...go Willy, ya gotta love this.

        Today, it is possible for you to be free of your own regrets...even the new ones that will be there tomorrow.  You want to know more, I would be deeply honored, as time may allow, to listen to your own soul and share more with you in person.
 

We were meant to live in freedom.

Where, in your own life, do you long to be set free?

What are you willing to do about that...truly?

...taken last summer (2011) in Rocky Mountain National Park...

...free...indeed.......!


(.....................to be continued.....................)

 

...............................................47

        The Summer of ’64 was alternately one of the worst and best of my life.  The worst was extra sad.  The best redeemed the worst.

        What happened?  I fully stepped into being me...no one else.

        If you’ve read back over my blog posts, then you read about the tragic accident that happened in 1950 that changed my family forever.  Times over, between then and now, I wish the care givers that attended to my parents in a variety of ways had known what we know now about grief and its lingering issues.

        Please do not hear me putting “ye olde blame game” on either of my parents.  They did what they could...with what they were dealt.  I resolved long ago they didn’t know that they left me out...with the care of some very special help along my journey.  All of you know who you are, should you be reading this.

        Dating my wonderful wife-to-be in the mid-60s, her wanting to meet my parents, I wanting them to meet her, indeed!, I told her there would be one quirk in the times together that may cause her pause to wonder why.  You see, from that day of the accident until each of the days that my parents individually passed through the “thin veil” to finally rest in promised peace, they rarely called me by my name...Wes.

        In some ways the hands on our family clock fell off in 1950, when I was 8.  From then to my early 20s, to my parents I was most often called Richard, the name of my brother who had been killed.  Oh, some times they would catch themselves, but not often enough.

        As a child I wondered who I was...and who were they?  Most nights I can remember going to sleep hearing them arguing, with my mother blaming my father for the death of their first son.  Most years, whatever I accomplished, or tried, I was reminded that Richard could have done it better.

        Many days my parents were kind and good to so many...and, sincerely, they did honest good.  But...........until Judy also heard them calling me by another name, it was hard for her to believe.  Thankfully, she heard it, believed me, knew my name, and welcome healing continued.

        Healing began the summer that Barry Goldwater was nominated as the Republican candidate for President in San Francisco...1964.  I had arranged to be off work for three weeks to be with my parents.  Intense, welcome, needed counseling had given me the courage to begin to face my own place in the family tragedy.

        I drove my parents up to British Columbia to visit my Mom’s younger brother...my favorite uncle.  My father had been infirm some more, and was not able to drive, but was able to travel.  The tension between my brother’s name being spoken over and over again and mine barely spoken was building.

        What took place on an isolated stretch of road into my uncle’s hunting/fishing lodge ignited me to be me.......not another.  What took place could seem cruel...it was not, in the long haul.  I stepped out of my brother’s shadow (a man I expressed early in these posts I now wish, sincerely, I could have known) and into the light of me.

        I stopped the car.  Got out.  Opened all four doors and let the anguish flow.  It was awful.  It was the second best thing I had ever done for myself in my two+ decades.

        At 12 I had defended myself and began the journey to becoming a man.  At 22, I owned me being Wesley Marvin Roberts...no one else.  The liberation of that moment rests in my soul today.  It was one of those searing moments of anointing from on high for which I will be eternally grateful...PBTG!

        In March of 1980, my father slipped into heaven, into wholeness, in every way he never experienced in his last thirty years of life.  Humbled and eager, I led his memorial service.  It was November of 1991 my mother slipped into heaven, having lived with the demons of dementia for her last years...'til she didn’t even know who she was, let alone anyone else.  I also, gladly, led her memorial service...purposefully...peacefully.

         My mom lived with us in Colorado for three years, until her mind was almost gone.  Then she was placed in a care facility in Idaho, near my sister, for her remaining days.

        My sainted wife cared for my mom in our home, in the manner that my sainted sister-in-law had cared for my mom when she still lived in Oregon...carefully, tenderly, thoroughly.  It was a life-lesson for us...extending grace...and forgiveness...no matter the past.  It was a hard season...some days very hard.

        Relief flooded my own soul knowing my parents were at last “home free” of the torment of their lives...and resting in the good that did take place, too.  If I can imagine heaven...they knew who they were...they were with a host of relatives, beginning with my brother...and (we don’t know for sure...but...) if they could take a glimpse over the edge of heaven, I believe they would even, finally, know who I was.

        Now, at almost 70, I am thankful for who I am...for the man I continue to become.  Though “stuff” happened, in our God’s wild and crazy ways of His amazing grace, this is what has formed me...will continue to do so.......until I, Wes, join them there.

 

(.....................to be continued.....................)

................................................48

        Somewhere in those early 20s, when I was trying to figure out life, where and how I wanted to live it, I did my best to put on a good face, even with turmoil on the inside.  But, like a lot of kids of any age, I got tired of playing the “nice” game, which is obvious from my last post.  This is a pic of my first freshman year at one of those schools from which I was deported.  :-)

        One summer I had a blast of a summer job, doing the irrigation of all the city parks then known to be in Corvallis, OR.  My parents had sold off the home spread, and had moved into town.  This was the park just down the hill from where they lived out their days.  What a kick it was to drive this three-wheel Harley and help the grass stay green.

         At that time there was an interim pastor at their church who for some crazy reason took a liking to me.  He stayed in a home on one of my routes between parks, and would often be sitting on the front porch and wave me down for some conversation.  He was a bit of a gruff olde fundy pastor, who called me Young Roberts, since he knew who my day was.  He was bald as a billiard ball, and had the longest, bushiest eyebrows I’ve ever seen, before, or since.

        I liked him.  I think he had a bead on my ornery side, and would often ask me questions about what I was going to do with my life.  I told him that somehow I wanted to work with people...not knowing just what that meant.  He told me to always work with the willing...not the hesitant...for the willing were ready to go somewhere with their lives.  That has been good advice all my days.

        However, the next summer found me staying in Southern California, after my second educational deportation, having the time of my prodigal life...with willing people who wanted to have some fun.  Somehow there had been a glitch in the system at Disneyland and some of the summer jobs were not being filled.  I applied...got hired...and spent much time following then working on the Jungle Cruise.

        Yup...that was me if you were there in the early to mid 60s.  Working there was truly the best part of my college education.  I was even on VIP detail and got to take some well known folks and their families through the rivers of the world...never lost one of them to the crocs.  Even had a brief conversation one afternoon with Walt, himself.  Being part of the cast thoroughly uncorked the creative side of me.  I use almost every day, to this day, what I learned there.  Amazing input that has lasted.

        My opinion:  one can’t get enough Disney in their lifetime.  Out in SoCal in January, I stopped by Disney Village in Anaheim, and found a pancake form in the shape of Mickey.  It beckoned to come home with me since I’ve a tradition of making pancakes for anyone’s first night’s stay in our home.  Prior Mickey-pancakes looked more like modern art...now I’m prepared.

        I still remember the opening line to the nine minute script:  “Welcome aboard the Zambezi Miss.  My name is Wild Wes and I’ll be your skipper and guide as we travel down these rivers of adventure.  Now...I want you all to turn around and wave good bye to all those folks on the dock.  Come on...turn around...wave good by...because you may never see them again.”  And away we went.......

 

What was your favorite summer job, post high school, and whatever else you did with your life in your early 20s?  What all made it your favorite?


(.....................to be continued.....................)

.................................................49

        In this journey of reflecting back...growing forward...glimpses of personal history...to the current moment, ‘tis time for some confession.  Someone once said that an honest confession is good for the soul.  I do believe...it is.

        By the time I was 21 I had the “privilege of being educationally deported” from two different institutions of higher learning.  One on the east coast.  One on the west coast.

        The first “invitation to exit” was one of the best things to happen to me.  Seriously.  I did glean some very important appreciation for things with regard to fine arts and culture.  I learned that I had a voice that could influence the future...though not a future there.  However, there, my soul shrunk to about the size of a mustard seed.

        The story is too long, and weird, to tell here.  Over my lifetime, those who need to know, do.  In later years I’ve learned that there is an intriguing  “club of fellow honorees” who also got deported.  Knowing some of them, I’m honestly honored to be a part.  :-)

        My second “invitation to exit” was Exhibit A on how to be totally brash, stupid, unkind and so full of one’s self that this invitation was well earned and deserved.  Period.  Ugh!

        I had so much wrapped about the core of my existence hiding my story, hiding fear, fueling wrong decisions.  I was a powder keg about ready to blow.

        Looking back, though I was dead wrong, what took place back then could not have been better, in the long haul.  Out of this “deportation” I experienced the raw invitation of redemptive grace, when, for sure, there was no deserving it in any form.

        I began determined then, with the creative guidance of amazing mentors, when getting back on track after a lot of soul surgery (which, of necessity, still continues to unfold to this moment in time), I began to dedicate the rest of my days to being a warrior of grace for others...not having a clue to what that fully meant.......then.

        Two profs risked their reputations on getting me back.  Who wants to associate with the “village idiot?”  They did.  I am forever grateful.  They model for me the risk and joy of not giving up on others.

        The willingness of these good men to step up and step into the messiness of my existence turned my life inside out and upside down and pointed me in right directions.  They saw in me what I could not see...even though I was a tightly wound bunch of contradictions.

        From one of them, in particular, the seeds of mentoring were deeply planted.  Those men established a model of thinking and being fully alive for me that I’ve repeated over the decades in passing it on and paying it forward in mentoring other amazing souls...who have also needed someone to believe in them.......no matter what.

        One more amazing soul, a counselor who lost his sight back in the last century while defending our country, and his seeing-eye dog, were soon added to the list of those, who, over the years were part of the sacred and motly crew who saved my life.  There’s a great story here to ask me about when we might be in personal conversation.  All God’s creatures are a part of His redemptive story...as was Nero, the German shepherd, who growled me into sacred reality that is with me to this day.
 

Love does win.  Always will.

Who needs your grace-filled, no-matter-what love?

Act on that in the next 24 hours.

It could save a life.  It did mine.


(.....................to be continued.....................)