My Wife is Not My Best Friend

MY WIFE IS NOT MY BEST FRIEND

(Author’s Note:  This is my opinion.  You may feel your spouse is your bestest friend in all the world and that’s great.  This is not to slight your relationship in any way, this is just my opinion.  Thanks.)

I’ve only ever traveled first class once.  A friend of mine who worked for Alaska Airlines got us upgraded to First Class on a flight to L.A.  Though it’s a relatively short 2.5 hour flight, I wanted to take full advantage of being in First Class – including champagne and extra leg room.  Who knows when, if ever, I will fly first class again.

Just like this, just remove the TV and add champagne.

The other day I took our car to a car wash and you had three options:  Bronze, Silver and Gold.  The higher you went up (ie: the more money you paid) the better and more thorough service you would get.  Even though I paid for “silver” (good) when I gave the worker a two dollar tip – he told me that I would get the “gold” (best) treatment.  Sure as heck I want the added foam wax and the sealer wax.

Honestly, you can't have too much wax.

Before I get too far into the weeds here, I think what bothers me when I see advertising or read anniversary cards that refer to someone’s spouse as their “best friend” that I think I need to define, to me, what or who a best friend is.

Who am I to speak?  Well, I’ve had – and continue to have, many friends and best friends during my life.  In elementary school, my best friend was a boy by the name of Barry.  We used to go to his house during lunch and watch “Get Smart.”  In Jr. High I went through an annoying phase where I had very few friends, all by my doing.  In High School I had Nathan and then Nathan had other friends and we didn’t talk much and then I met Jason.  Also during that time I had my first female best friend - Kathy.  Out of high school it was Carolyn (along with Jason).  Then Jason fell out of the picture for a few years…until he came back.  I’ve continued to have really close friends like Jim, Steve, Earl, Jen, Gina, Keith, Kim, Cecille, Lynsey, Christine, Stephen, Richard, Taso, Kelley and others.  I’ve lost some friends along the way (Susan, Kristin, Loring), too.  I am truly blessed and I never want to take them for granted.

In 2016 I think there are a number of friend levels.  Just think of them as car wash levels, just with less wax:

Facebook “Friend” – Someone you know on Facebook who is friends with a friend of a friend and might share some the same interests and political viewpoints.  You may not know them, you may have never met them but they’re friends with so-and-so and they posted that cool cat meme and thus…you’re friends.

Time spent together – hard to determine.

So many "friends."

Casual Friend – Typically this is a friend of a friend who spends time at your house.  This can include your friend’s current girlfriend or boyfriend who comes to hang out.  Maybe it’s a friend of your son or daughter who came over because you were having a barbecue. 

Time spent together – a couple hours every so often while you watch a sporting event together or said barbecue.

I like the sport thing you like or something...

Co-worker Friend – This is a person you see on a nearly daily basis.  You talk about family, life, “what you up to this weekend?”  You find out about their kids, their sickly mother, their trip to Kansas City, Missouri.  Very rarely do you spend any time outside of the office together and the moment they leave or you leave they will, most likely, become relegated to Facebook Friend…if that. 

Time spent together – 40 hours a week plus overtime.

Hey!  Let's be really close and enjoy each other's company until one of us gets fired.

  Wow, check out this article about how diverse our workplace is.

Neighbor Friend – Depending on the relationship, this could bump up to “REALLY Close Friend” but mostly this friendship is spent talking about the concerns of the neighborhood, chatting over barbecue, having a common purpose of making sure that so-and-so doesn’t cut down that one tree and what’s with the downtown renovation? 

Time spent together – not much, but it’s quality time when it happens.  Most often this is represented by casual waves and meet-ups at the mailbox.

"I baked these with my sweat..."

Close Friend – Much like the Co-worker Friend, a close friend is someone you spend time with, but outside the office.  Someone you’ve broken bread with and had a glass of wine with.  Still, they’re kept at arm’s length.  Maybe there’s a trust issue.  Maybe you just haven’t gotten to know them yet.  Maybe it’s the fact that they love white chocolate and that’s just…gross. 

Time spent together – undeterminable but when it happens, it’s fun and “we should do this more often.”  And possibly Karaoke is involved.

"Where are the presents you bastard?"

REALLY Close Friend – On the fringes of Best Friend, these are friends you seek out to be with.  Many meals have been shared.  Many tears have been shed.  Deep conversations about life and love and hurt and loss.  These friends are deeply influential in your life.  Maybe you have some shared interests that bring you together.  Still, they never raise to status of “Best” friend maybe it’s because you just never spend enough time together or you don’t have a fully shared history. 

Time spent together – unspecific but when you’re together you have a great time and often seek time together.

"That's right, two beautiful women and shorts with lots of pockets!  Thumbs up!"

Best Friend – How to define a Best Friend?  They are an extension of yourself in a way.  A chemistry that is unparalleled.  They sometimes know you better than you know yourself.  You have some similar interests (like crappy movies) that your spouse doesn’t care for.  You have a deep history together.  Maybe you haven’t talked for years, but you can pick up where you left off.  You’re nowhere near the person you would be today without them in your life.  You can’t imagine them out of your life and you remember fondly the times they’ve been in your life.  You take their advice, you give them advice.  You’ve knocked on their door at 1 a.m.  You’ve called them in a panic at 3 a.m.  You’ve opened your heart to them. 

Time spent together – undetermined but when the time is spent, it’s wonderful and insightful and sometimes silly.

There's even jewelry.

Spouse – all of the above, but with sex included.  Well, that and mortgage payments, debt, the raising of children, sickness, health, worrying about the future, optimistic about the future, camping trips, pets, pet deaths, family influences and impact, worrying about the kids, Christmas mornings and New Year’s eve,  bill paying, home improvements, retirement conversations, 401Ks, tax returns, car tabs, TV show juggling, grocery shopping, arguments/disagreements, boxed wine, meal planning, trips to the coast, birthday party planning, Hallmark cards, issues regarding dishwasher loading, extended naps, flatulence, snoring, cuddling, casual nudity and did I mention sex? 

Time spent together – basically 24/7 for years and years, if you’re lucky.

Now, again, I don’t want to rain on your “my spouse is my best friend” parade but getting married and all the things that that entails goes far beyond being a best friend.  I almost find it insulting to refer to my wife as a best friend.  She’s NOT.  She’s far more than that.  Calling her a best friend is to lessen what it means to be my wife.  I love my friends and best friends with all my heart.  I would die for them and they’ve had an impact on me and who I am that can’t be measured.  My heart would break without them.  But they are not my spouse and they, most likely, wouldn’t want to be.  They are who they are and my wife is who she is.  And, after nearly 30 years, she is not my best friend:

She is first class.

She is gold level.

She is the love of my life.

She is my wife.

Looking for Dirty Words

The story goes that a library opened up in a small town and an old lady showed up to check out the books.

She wandered over to the dictionaries and started looking through them.  At one point, she picked up a large dictionary and lugged it to the head librarian and said, rather sternly:  “Sir, there are dirty words in this book!”

He looked at her and said:  “Ma’am, you were looking for them.”

 A couple weeks ago some young millennial gal, videotaping from her car, went on a rant against millennials out there who don’t “hold open doors for our elders” and blah blah blah.  It was one of those heart felt “come to Jesus” moments where she was taking her fellow millennials to task for not stepping up and doing more.  It has been viewed a few million times and, at first blush, you might find yourself agreeing with her:  “Wow!  She’s pretty spot on!  Good for her to try and rally people to change.”  But it’s one of those things, or moments, that the more you put thought into it – you realize she’s looking for dirty words.

After thinking about it for a moment, I turned my attention to the dozen or so millennials I know – including my son and his wife, my daughter and her boyfriend and their myriad of friends.  None of them are at all like the millennials described by this gal.  The millennials I know are hardworking, struggling to make ends meet, trying to make a better world, living and dreaming and laughing and each one would open the door for my 83 year old mother.

A couple days ago, I saw a meme (below) blasting this new “generation” of people and, once again, I saw someone looking for dirty words.  Easier to post a meme that blasts what you think you see than actually go out and look, right?

Where are these selfish disrespectful brats of what you speak?

Here’s the deal.  You want to find free-loading mooching welfare queens?  You can find them.  If you want to find struggling families, trying to make ends meet, and needing some assistance to get through to the next meager paycheck – you can find them, too.

You want to find Muslims bent on destroying America, ready to go Jihad on all our asses?  Sure.  Just turn on Fox News.  You want to find many MORE Muslims who love this country and our freedoms and just want to live and breathe and worship as they please?  You can find them.

Scary Muslims

Muslim died serving our country.

Refugees, immigrants, documented workers, undocumented workers, liberals, conservatives, gay, straight, the list goes on and on and on.

You want to post a story about out-of-control black youth on a rampage?  You can find it.  You want to post a story about black youth helping in their communities, you can find that, too.  What is it, in reality, are you looking for?

Are you looking for this?

Or this?

You want to post a story about out-of-control cops profiling black people and finding systemic racism?  You can find it.  You want to post a story about cops working with inner-city youth and helping out their communities?  You can find it.

Are you just looking for that dirty word that eases your conscience?  Or confirms what you think you already believe?  Just because you see some slacker smoking dope by the 7-11 dumpster, does that inform everyone that age?  Certainly not.  But, hey, it’s a microcosm of a greater truth?  Right?

A?

or B?

And our generation never did anything like that.  We didn’t have slackers.  We weren’t slackers.  We always held doors open.  Sure.

Just yesterday I saw a posting on Facebook from a conservative relative blasting liberals for attempting to take down a statue of a confederate soldier.  The article basically states that liberals are trying to wipe away history.  I quickly wanted to find the on-line articles about how some conservative school districts are trying to literally re-write history books to make slavery “not so bad” and, possibly to wipe out the history of slavery in this country altogether.  See – if they can find dirty words, so can I!  If they can pick and choose their story to push a certain narrative, then so can I!

Their post:

http://www.uschronicle.com/liberals-successfully-remove-historic-statue-reminds-history/

My possible post:

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/10/06/us/publisher-promises-revisions-after-textbook-refers-to-african-slaves-as-workers.html?_r=0

But to what point?

Is it to actually provide information that might inform someone’s thinking?  Or is it to just say, basically:  “Nu-uh.”  I see your argument and raise you my rebuttal!  I’m more correct than you!

If I look at myself honestly, I want to voice my opinion or my point or my statement to basically say:  I’m right and you’re wrong.  I’m better and you’re lesser.  I’m a winner and you’re a loser.

Take the time.  Do the research.  Read different viewpoints.  Don’t take holier-than-thou speeches by 20-somethings or rants by 50-somethings as the gospel truth.  Sit down with the gay, transgender, Muslim, conservative, liberal, homeless, drug addict, divorced single mother, veteran, politician, teenager, etc. if you really want to inform your life and what you believe.  Maybe those dirty words won't seem so dirty any more.

Bottom line, if you or I look for those dirty words, we’ll find them.  But for each dirty word we find, there are 10,000x other words that we’re missing and maybe those words are more important than the select few.

Lots and lots of words.

April 22nd, April 23rd, April 24th

I put no stock in Horoscopes.  I don’t think the stars align to tempt or seal our fate.  Fung Shui is not my “thing.”  Tossing salt, reading tea leaves, jumping over cracks – lest I step on one and break my mother’s back.  Foolish, I know.

Look, it's all Taurusy - you know, the whole "Bull" thing.

If I have one, or two, idiosyncrasies it’s that my favorite numbers are 4 and 8 and when I drive through tunnels, I hold my breath.  4 and 8 came from the original “Game of Life” and holding my breath in tunnels came from childhood trips around the country.

That colorful strip with numbers there to the right? 

 Yeah, that's how 4 & 8 became my lucky numbers

To recap, I take no stock in weirdness.  I place no value on things that tickle fancies with words like luck or fate or kismet.

What is…is.  Except…

Born April 23^rd, 1964 (year of the Dragon), I first met her at church.  She caught my eye and I fell head over heels.  Something about her playfulness mixed with confidence.  She was beautiful (still IS beautiful) and had dimples in her cheek as if God himself put them there using a specific dimple tool.

Of course I was smitten.  Many a guy were.  Still I thought I had a chance.  I was the caring, loving, listening guy and she was with a loser (they always seemed to be with a loser).  Of course he was rugged and cool and just a slight dangerous.  I was sweet and nice and just a slight boring.  It was inevitable, I would fall into one of three categories:  boyfriend (highly unlikely – see dangerous boyfriend already in place), non-existent (highly unlikely – as she went to my church and I was smitten), or, finally… friend (likely).

As her caring and loving friend, I would listen to her talk about how much of a loser he was and how badly he would treat her and I would give her advice and let her cry on my shoulder and, at some point, dangerous loser guy would exit the scene and I would be there with open arms and she’d finally, FINALLY, realize that boring normal sweet and nice are actually better than exciting thuggish douche-bag and dickish.  Yes, I was in the dreaded Friend Zone.

Eventually her relationship with said thug/dick/douche ended and she turned towards someone else – not me.  Why?  Because we were “too good of friends” and she “didn’t want to ruin the friendship.”  I had plenty of friendships, I could spare one.  Or, at the very least, take the risk.  Certainly I also knew that even if whatever relationship I hoped to have didn’t work out, that I wouldn’t cast her aside like thug/douche/dick.  I’d find a way to work through my feelings and we’d rekindle that amazing friendship just now with a bit of history behind it.  History that hopefully included a lot of kissing and hugging and stuff.

Yeah, uh, none of this.  Not gonna happen.

Alas…no.  Into the Army she went.  When she came back she had grown up (years and military do that to a person) and she fell in love with a guy that wasn’t a thug/douche/dick and got married and is still married.  And happy.  What friend doesn’t want another friend to be happy?  Even one you’re head-over-heels over?

She was truly, my first real platonic friend.  I had a few others in there, certainly, but not like her.    

We don’t talk much anymore.  Time and distance do that.  But I see her updates on Facebook and she seems to be doing good.  Good.

She was born April 24^th, 1964 (year of the Dragon).  She fancied herself an actress or…something.  Maybe she just liked one of the guys in the group.  The guy in said group actually knew April 23^rd and I can’t remember if they dated or not but, still, there was some weird cross-pollinating going on with April 23^rd and April 24^th.  It’s not a large area we lived in and they went to rival schools and wouldn’t you know there was a guy involved…but I digress.

April 24 was different than April 23.  Where I was attracted to April 23’s confidence and free spiritness, what attracted me to April 24 was her quietness and lack of confidence.  Of course she was (and is) beautiful and her beauty stung me like 1000 wasps but her inability to either see or own that beauty stung me like 10000 wasps.  How could someone so stunning in so many ways not recognize it?

Side note:  Before you cast this blog off as the ramblings of a shallow human being only interested in looks and nothing else, I can reassure you that the women I’m talking about in this blog are also amazingly talented, super intelligent, giving, caring and loving - sometimes to a fault.

As I became friends with April 24, I made the point of always telling her how amazing she was.  How beautiful she was.  How important she was.  I set my sights on making her feel as wonderful and powerful and stunning as she truly was.  She fought me, tooth-and-nail, but slowly and over a year’s time it started to sink in.  She started to own that she had value and worth and humor and beauty.

Yeah, "Libra" nowhere to be found.

Side note two:  Both April 23 and April 24 had been adopted.  April 23 never talked about getting to know her birth parents, April 24 always wanted to find her birth mother (which she eventually did).  Maybe that had something to do with the self-esteem issues?  Certainly, but I wasn’t about to let April 24 use that as an excuse.

I stayed in April 24^th’s life as much as I could and fought falling in love with her but, eventually, the weight of who she was and what she was becoming became too great and I succumbed to wanting to be with her, too.  But, of course, by this time “I love you as a friend” was said far too many times and I was pinned with the song “Owner of a Lonely Heart” by the band YES by my friends as my theme song.  Any sort of next-level relationship would not come to pass and she fell in love, got married, had three kids, moved to Missouri and has carved out a life only few ever get to have.

Missouri?  Misery?  It's all on how you pronounce it.

I sure miss her hugs, though.

She was born April 22^nd, 1967 (year of the Goat).  I didn’t meet her until I was long married so there was none of that infatuation, “will she date me?” “Why is she with that loser?” crap that I had with April 23^rd and 24^th.  She was, strictly, a co-worker who thought I was “weird.”  I could live with that.

What struck me about April 22^nd wasn’t that she was lacking confidence, she wasn’t (or she hid that well).  It wasn’t that she had low self-esteem or good self-esteem.  What she taught me, or showed me, was that change can be good.

Throughout my life I’ve encountered people who are trying something new, whether it be religion or self-help or a diet or exercise program or…and they come to me and say: “Hey, Matt, check this out!”  And, for a while, I “check it out” and I watch the person change…for a bit and then old habits creep back in or stuff happens or whatever and they return to the way they were before. I mean, hell, that’s life.  And life is like that sometimes.

Do I put any stock in this?

For April 22^nd when I met her and worked with her, she was in massive amounts of debt.  We’d go to Nordstrom’s for lunch and she’d come back with a pair of shoes.  We’d go to Macy’s and she’d put something on her credit card.  It was a downward spiral and I couldn’t really help.  But then, she stopped.  Seriously.  She stopped.  Cold turkey.

She called Consumer Credit Counseling and she started the process to get herself out of debt and on the path of recovery.  I stood on the sideline waiting for the eventual habits to return.  The call of a good pair of flats that made her feet look “cute” with just enough toe cleavage to excite the boys.  But she didn’t fall off the wagon, hell, she drove that wagon.

Once she was out of debt, she went back to school to study art.  From there she got her Masters in Chicago.  She lost weight, took up training and teaching at the local gym.  She went to exclusive artists retreats, starred on a Reality Artist TV show that never got released.  Spent months in New York stalking Ann Curry outside of the Today show (seriously) and did an art piece on it.  She tried out, multiple times, to be on “Survivor.”

Ann Curry (little known fact, Stephen Curry's great Aunt - kidding)

If there ever was a survivor, it was April 22^nd.

But as her friend, I knew something was missing from her life and that was the cuddle of a boyfriend.  She had sporadic relationships that never seemed to go anywhere but then she hit her high school reunion and met a guy and they “clicked.”  From my distance (we worked far apart at this point) she was falling in love.  And I couldn’t be happier for her.  Everything was finally falling into place.

Then the relationship ended.  He was a dick who had been sleeping around on her and I offered to go punch him in the neck.

And here it was, finally, the precipice upon which she was going to fall.  The diet would be thrown out the window.  Art would have to wait.  She was going to spiral down so fast, it would make anyone’s head spin.  And not a person would blame her.

In a move I found very surprising, she owned the hurt.  She owned the pain.  She turned it around into something amazing.  She regrouped, refocused and became more positive about all the things in life.  Where I would have easily found a corner to go fetal with a jumbo bag of ranch Doritos she came through the fire stronger, braver and more focused.  I couldn’t be more proud, even though the offer to punch him in the neck was still on the table.

Yeah, kinda like this.  With probably as much force.

April 23^rd has known me over 35 years.  April 24^th has known me over 33 years.  April 22^nd has known me about 25 years.  But what they’ve taught me about women, about friendship, about love and strength and hurt and perseverance and about life goes beyond years.  It goes beyond the decades.  There’s no way I’m even a fraction of who I am today without these three women in my life.

I have many other female friends.  Some very close.  One even born on April 21^st.  And I’ll truly admit I haven’t been the best of friend to any of them.  But I try.

To the April trifecta, thank you for everything you’ve taught me, shown me and how you changed me.

Oh, and happy birthday.

Lenten Blog – Day 40 – The End

You know how it ends, don’t you?

Spoiler alerts ahead.

When you think of popular films you know how “Star Wars IV” ends with the destruction of the Death Star. “Wizard of Oz” ends with Dorothy waking up back at home. “Casablanca” ends with Rick giving up his love so she can live. “Citizen Kane” ends with the revelation of Rosebud. “Sound of Music” ends with the Trapp family escaping the Nazis. ET goes home, Rocky loses (or in the many sequels he wins), James Bond saves the world.

You know how it ends. You can’t shake it. As much as you want to watch these films with fresh eyes you can’t. Good storytelling makes you think that the Nazis are going to capture the Trapp family this time, or that they won’t blow up the Death Star or Dorothy will be stuck in Oz when, in the back of our mind, we know what’s going to happen before the credits roll.

At Christmas it’s important that we find religious themed cards to send out to family and friends. There’s enough Santa stuff to go around and we do like to keep Christ in Christmas. You’ve got the three wise men cards, you’ve got manger cards, you’ve got renaissance Mary holding the infant baby Jesus. You’ve got a smiling baby Jesus with a halo over his head, etc. Lost in the gloss of beauty is the fact that Mary could have been stoned to death for being pregnant. Joseph arrested, possibly killed. They could have been exiled, beaten, shunned and that’s just them - not counting the baby. Remember, there’s a birth involved. I’ve been to two births and they ain’t pretty. There’s screaming and blood and water and waste and placenta and more screaming and more blood and umbilical cords and sweat and tension and fear. It’s. Not. Pretty. As much as Currier & Ives or Rembrandt or Hallmark want to create a beatific Christ birth story, there was some serious stuff going down and any moment it could have gone South very quickly. But we forget in the glow of candles and trees and pine scented wreaths and gifts and family.

Yeah, probably not like this...

You know how it ends, don’t you?

When I think about Easter and the resurrection, I know how it ends. We’re taught how it ends from a young age. I’ve seen this movie before. Christ is tortured, beaten, hung on cross, dies, stabbed, is placed in a tomb and three days later he rises again. Pardon me if there was a spoiler in there somewhere, but I think you know the story. Even if you’re not very religious.

Where my difficulty comes in is that I know how it ends. They don’t. The disciples don’t. Mary Magdalene doesn’t. Even Christ, I don’t think, knows how it’s going to end. He’s pretty certain but he still wants the “cup to pass him by.” Or maybe he just wants to get it over with - the pain and bleeding and stabbing part and just get to the resurrection. Skip all the “real” and get to the “amazing.”

But the disciples, as I discussed in a previous blog, are filled with fear. Their teacher, rabbi, friend and confidant has just been dragged away. Their dreams of power and control slipping away with every torch and scream and cry. They don’t know how it ends.

Peter denies him three times, the others scatter, the women follow him. Judas hangs himself. They don’t know how it ends.

During Holy Week I try to place myself in their clueless shoes and try to not think of the three days following the death on the cross. As much as I want to displace the resurrection to another track in my brain, I can’t help but remember it. I know how it ends. Would I have done the same thing? Would I have rejected him? Would I have run away to hide from the authorities? In all honesty, yeah, I probably would have. Peter denied him three times, I probably would have denied him five or six times.

Overcome with fear, people do many stupid things. Fear causes people to lose their senses. Fear is controlling. You make people afraid, you can control them. People will do things they never thought they’d do if they’re afraid. I always analyze presidential candidates with how much they use fear to get votes. Fear is more powerful than hope and, sadly, fear is more powerful than love. Fear gets to the very core of who we are and when the disciples were afraid, their love and friendship with Jesus was cast away. The miracles meant nothing. So he walked on water, I’m afraid. So he multiplied bread and fish, I’m afraid. So he told me he loved me, washed my feet, broke bread with me, held me, wept with me, laughed with me - I’m afraid.

They don’t know how it ends.

Christians by the very name of calling themselves Christians should not be afraid. They know how the story ends. What are you so afraid of? Death? In Christ’s resurrection we have life. Pain? Suffering? Hurt? Welcome to life, welcome to the world. Peace and comfort are there for the taking, but we run, we hide, we’re afraid.

We know how the story ends. Why are we afraid?

A priest once said about the resurrection: “We don’t know exactly what happened during Christ’s trip to Calvary, his death and resurrection but the ones who turned their back on him turned around and preached his gospel. Something happened where they weren’t afraid any more. Something empowered them. Was it the risen Christ? We don’t know, but something happened.”

They finally figured out how it ends.

Lenten Blog – Day 39 – Searching for Love

Yesterday I read that something like 20% of people lie, or embellish on their resume.  I’m sure it’s more than that.  Plus, I’m certain, that obituaries don’t tell the whole truth about the person who had recently passed on.  Accomplishments, sure, but not about the alcoholism or the fits of anger or the inability to hold down a job.  Plus there’s that “speak no ill of the dead” unwritten rule that people seem to follow and the next thing you know that celebrity who was kind of a pain now looks better in a different post-life light.

When I think about the story of Christ and his journey to death and resurrection, I think it’s amazing, or telling, that so much love shines through.

John 13 – verses 34 & 35:  ³⁴ “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. ³⁵ By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

The writers of the books could have pushed a different narrative.  I mean, truly, how many were present during this time?  They could have easily written that Jesus said:  “Take revenge on those who hurt you.  Rise up and avenge my death!  Take up arms on your oppressors and spread righteous hellfire down upon them.”  I mean, sure, we get some of that in Revelations…but in these moments, in these passages, a message of love still shines through.

Love your enemies.

Pray for those who persecute you.

Turn the other cheek.

Give the person a cloak.

Sell all you have, give it to the poor and follow me.

Help the poor.

Help the suffering.

Welcome the stranger.

Be generous.

Friend the friendless.

Love one another.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

The authors of the bible knew something of the power of love and forgiveness and redemption.

A quick Google search of “how many times love is mentioned in the bible?” (after wanting to auto search “how many times should I poop?” and “how many times should I pee?”)

KJV – Old Testament:  131 times

KJV – New Testament:  179 times

NIV – Old Testament:  319 times!

NIV – New Testament:  232 times

And yes, I know there are different types of love mentioned and some of the Greek and Hebrew versions are different and mean different things and there’s brotherly love and romantic love and Godly love, blah blah blah – but the point is:

THERE IS LOVE.

Even in the time of trial.  Even in these moments leading up to Jesus’s arrest, torture and crucifixion, he’s still trying his hardest to get it into the thick heads of the disciples that, at some point they’ll GET IT.  Just like Mary Magdalene gets it.  At some point, they’ll clue in.

The authors of the books could have “buffed up” the resume a bit.  Could have embellished the curricula vitae.  Could have tweaked Jesus into a revenge seeking badass hell bent on destruction of his enemies but, instead, chose love. 

How easy it would have been to feed to the masses a narrative so simple as to seek revenge and kill those who have wronged us:  Fear, anger, revenge and retribution are easy.  Forgiveness, restitution, redemption and love are hard.

Choose love.

Lenten Blog – Day 38 – Searching for Hope

When I wrote my screenplay “The Search for Santa” two children travel across the United States and to the North Pole to find Santa.  Why?  To save their friend who was dying of cancer.

Having found Santa to be a disgruntled, bitter old man they feared their journey was a fruitless one.  Santa had given up once the “bad kids started out numbering the new ones.”

Finally one of the heroes says to Santa.  “My friend doesn’t have any hope anymore.”  This ruffles Santa’s feathers (if he had feathers) and suddenly Santa was back in the game, grabbing the lone elf hanging out with him at the North Pole and going about making a gift for the dying child.

Near the end of the script the dying child wakes up in his room to find Santa holding a gift.  A box.  Wrapped.  The dying boy opens the box and we do not see what is inside and our only view is of his hospital room from the outside and our heroes see that the room is filled with lights and colors and beauty.  The box was, indeed, filled with hope.

Hope for a future.  A better tomorrow.  A lasting peace.  Hope for dreams to come true.

It’s been over a year since I helped walk my son down the aisle for his wedding.  That day was filled with so much hope.  Of new beginnings and all the stuff that that may entail (amazing joys and crushing defeats, journeys of a thousand miles and baby steps).

When I walked to the bus this morning, the full moon shown bright.  That moon doesn’t know of the death of terrorist attacks.  That moon doesn’t know the depths of depression or hurt.  That moon doesn’t celebrate one’s accomplishments.  That moon doesn’t cheer you on.  It is just there.  Constant.

In the torture, pain and death of Christ – we see the disciples lose hope (scattering to the winds).  In the bleakness of that moment when all that had been hoped for, all that had been planned, all the triumphs of miracles and followers and everything Christ had said would come to pass – seemed lost in the very fact that Christ had been crucified.  Where do you find hope in death?  Where do you find hope in finality?

Though I’m searching for hope, I know that it will come.

The world keeps turning.

Lenten Blog – Day 37 – Searching for Peace

The news hit again, a terrorist attack on Brussels, dozens dead.  Drone strikes and ISIS and shootings in the street.  Paris attacks and immigrants drowned.  Terrible, terrible things.

How do you find peace in a world where war seems so prevalent?  How do you find peace in the journey of Christ to the cross?  Violence begetting violence.  Swords and cut off ears and hands being nailed to a cross?

Years ago I remember hearing a story about a woman who complained to the local library because they had a dictionary which contained, what she said, were dirty words.  She found these words offensive and brought the book to the head librarian and demanded that the book be removed.

“This book contains dirty words!”  She said to the head librarian.

And the librarian responded with:  “Madam, you were looking for them.”

It’s difficult in this 24-7 world of news and internet and Facebook, etc. to find peace.  It’s easy to find war and fear and hatred and anger and murder and strife and confusion and pain and evil.  A lot of our economy is based on those.  What’s going to put you in front of your TV so that every 12 minutes we can sell you products that make you feel inferior about yourself, your body, your sex drive, your car, your life?

Someone once said:  “Imagine how many magazines and companies would go out of business if women just accepted their bodies exactly how they are.”

Let’s face it:  It’s hard to find peace.  It takes work.  It takes thought.  It takes effort.  Sometimes it means stripping away old prejudices or thought processes and rethinking things.

I walk by a Mosque two times a day.  For some politicians that mosque should have a cop car out front 24/7.  Those going to and from should be profiled.  We should train cameras on the mosque.  Heck, while we’re at it, let’s just round ‘em all up and put arm bands on them and put them in a nice fun camp somewhere so they can’t hurt us or hurt each other.

If I sought fear and hatred and anger and frustration maybe I’d go the long way around.  Maybe I’d just keep walking.  Maybe I’d wait a few more minutes to take a bus that would drive me two blocks a different way.  Maybe.

It’s HARD to find Peace.  I admit that.  And it’s a struggle.  But, honestly, if you look hard enough.  You can find it.

Even in the darkness.

Lenten Blog – Day 36 – Searching for the Messiah

When I talk of logic and think of the time Jesus walked the earth (and if you buy into everything in the story at face value) there’s something that’s always on the fringes of my mind:  “How many Messiahs were there?”

The people in Jesus’s time were simple folk.  As I may have written in a previous blog, someone pointed out that the technological advancement of a wheelbarrow would have blown their minds.  Many were illiterate and easily sway-able with hear-say and rumor.  I’m sure if you just said to Bill that Kyle had Leprosy - Kyle would be in for a bit of a hard time.  The ten commandments that Moses brought down from the mountains had morphed into hundreds of rules and regulations for the people to follow because, as they knew, if they followed them there rules, they’d have eternal life or power or control or God’s favor.

With Jesus’ ability to tell stories that made sense to the masses and to teach in the synagogue and be called Rabbi - it was obvious that Jesus was a learned man.  Probably could have been in the Judean version of Mensa.  So, certainly, he was a threat to the ones in power and control.  He was smart.  And the rumors of him doing some kick-ass miracles were starting to get to the authorities.

In Luke 23, verses 8 & 9:  ⁸When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had been wanting to see him for a long time, because he had heard about him and was hoping to see him perform some sign. ⁹He questioned him at some length, but Jesus gave him no answer.

So, yes, word on gotten to Herod about what Jesus was doing and I can’t imagine the communications systems were all that great 2000+ years ago.

But I often wonder how many other “messiahs” were there.  How many others thought they were the chosen one?  How many had some obscure dream which told them that they were to be the next King of the Jews?

If Jesus was from the line of David, how did we exactly know this?  Was his mother from the line of David since she was the one pregnant with him?  Or was Joseph, the surrogate father?  And, again, how many others thought that they had the answer to the problems of the suffering of the Jews?  It’s not like ancestry.com was available for them to quickly log in and do a little research.  And it wouldn’t surprise me if Meredith, around the watering hole, pointed out that her son Biff seemed especially good at drawing in the dirt and she was certain that their family was from the line of David.  So Biff was, certainly, destined for great things.

Much like hind-sight is 20-20, I imagine that the authorities and disciples and the story tellers were able to piece together the fragments of Jesus’s journey from Birth to Resurrection and then fit it into a whole (even taking four books of the bible to do it).

And what of these other messiahs, kings, rulers, saviors?  To what end did they meet?  I assume that they met a grisly end, no doubt.  And the word of their grisly end sent shockwaves through their followers and their friends who slunk back into the recesses for fear of retribution by the authorities.

So here comes Jesus.  Already known for doing some amazing things.  Already hitting the tabloids that Herod reads:  “He hangs with sinners!  He runs with tax collectors and prostitutes!  People call him a king chosen by God!  HE DOES MIRACLES!”  Known throughout a land that doesn’t even have a dial-up modem.

How many discarded what he said as the ramblings of yet another madman – a friend of that other madman John the Baptist?  How many turned aside when wanting to see a man on a horse with sword in hand but instead got a carpenter on a donkey preaching love and forgiveness?

Searching for a messiah, how many walked on by casting him with the others who came before him?

I wonder.

Lenten Blog – Day 35 – Searching for Truth – 2 + 2 = 5

Holy Week is starting and I’m six blogs away from finishing this path that I’m on. I really didn’t think I’d last this long, to be honest. I figured I’d peter-out about 20 and come up with some excuse or realize that no one was actually reading them and quit writing them, so no loss anyway, right? If a blog in the blogosphere doesn’t get read, does it truly exist?

And now, with Holy Week underway I’m scrambling to find some morsels of something in the recesses of my brain cupboard. All I’m finding is out-of-date soup. But even soup is something, unless it’s cream of mushroom.

So why not handle “Truth.”

I know within the next few days I’m going to be bombarded with a bunch of images and stories and rituals and church services. The images and stories and rituals and church services will collide in my brain like they have in the past and I will question and I will nod and I will reason and I will ask and I will confirm and I will shake my head and I will rationalize and I will wonder a basic question: Did it all really happen? Is it true? What is the truth?

If I type 2+2=5 your brain snaps. You know that 2+2 does not equal 5. It’s not true. You know this because you were taught from a young age about numbers. Whether by your parents or a teacher or your older sibling who pointed out that HE got FIVE pieces of candy and you only got FOUR. There’s something about 2+2=4 that rings true to you. What if you discovered some ancient tribe and 2+2=bogsnap to them. Bogsnap would be true to them and not to you and 4 would be true to you, but not to them. So which one is true? Can you both be true? And where does that truth come from?

"They’re over there with their picnic basket."  As an editor, I see that this sentence is correct. But if you start messing with the their, there, they’re and getting them out of order, my brain will attempt to put them in the correct order. “Their over they’re with there picnic basket” is so out of whack, WORD wants me to fix it. Even a dumb word processing program knows what is true or not - at least when it comes to editing.  An "editorial truth" if you will.

Still, what I’m trying to get to, is what is it about our brains that say “aha!” to this and “nu-uh” to that? I’m sure therapists and psychologists, etc. have some general understanding of basic comprehension when your brain acknowledges that something is correct and true and when your brain doesn’t. It’s like I’ve written in previous blogs about logic. There are some things in Christ’s journey to the cross where it rings true but then there are logic gaps that make me question. Maybe that’s why I continue to focus on the political aspect of this path that Christ is on - because it makes logical sense. Man is on a path, man talks of love and peace and fighting the good fight, man gathers followers, man journeys to Jerusalem where he is seen as a threat to the governing authority and is arrested, tortured and put to death only to rise again in three days.

As logical, or illogical, as that may be, there’s still something about it that “rings true” for me. Even while I question and search and rationalize and look deep into myself and my psyche I can’t help but wonder if it rings true because that was what I was taught. That’s how I was raised. That’s what I learned. 2+2=4. Jesus died and rose from the dead three days later.

Is it true because it's true?  Or is it true because someone said it was true?  Or do I take it on faith?