Hurry Up and Wait

Just what was it that I thought I was doing? There I was, standing in the kitchen, gazing out the window looking across the back yard when suddenly it caught my eye. We had snow for the first time this year and there was quite an accumulation; at least for us in the low lands of the Pacific Northwest. Over the past week’s time we had about eight to ten inches total but today was the first day of the thaw.

To most people what I was seeing, what caught my eye, would be totally insignificant. But to those who know me, I mean really know me, they would understand. They might not, or should I say probably would not agree, but because they know me, they would understand that this is just something I have to do. So what was it that suddenly grabbed my attention and wouldn’t release me? What was so important that I was willing to discount any other plans that I might have had for the day for this? What could I possibly have seen that would cause me to give up unrecoverable time just to be mesmerized by this?

Well… there, across the yard is where the barn is. We call it the barn because both my wife and I work in “the shop” so to call this building the shop would just be too confusing. The barn is actually an aluminum pole building. It has two sections. One section is for auto repair. That’s the part that is taller. Actually almost a two story building and then the other lower section is for wood working. We have a fairly large carport attached to the taller auto section and over the week’s time as the snow was piling up I had to shovel the carport to prevent the possibility of a cave in. The snow around here is really wet and heavy so I just don’t like to take those chances. Time ran out on me the night that I was shoveling so I never got to the lower section roof to shovel it. As I get older I find that the tasks that I used to do quickly and easily take much more time and energy than I expect. Fortunately the snow stopped falling and the melt started, so I never did have to shovel that lower section of roof and it’s because of this that I was now standing, mesmerized by the view.

There on the lower section of barn roof was the piled up snow starting its decent. It had slid enough to overhang the eaves by twelve to fourteen inches and had cracked the surface pack. It was poised to fall at any time. This is something that I just had to witness. I know that may sound silly but I just had to wait and see it break off and tumble to the ground. As I stared at this eighth wonder of the world, I just knew that I couldn’t do anything until that overhang fell. I grabbed a cup of coffee and settled into a spot that gave me an optimum view.

The first ten minutes was nothing. I expected to have to wait. The next thirty were a bit harder to endure. Then I started getting restless. I started asking God to just break it off already. I had waited long enough. Come on God, this is my life I’m wasting here. How long do I have to wait to watch some stupid snow to fall off the roof? I know, you thought that at the very beginning, but now I was getting impatient. I finally gave up and told God that it just wasn’t important and that He wasn’t listening to me anyway. So I determined that I was going to go and knock it down since He wasn’t going to heed my request. I got all dressed to go outside and headed for the door when I realized that I … needed to floss my teeth? Really? The eighth wonder of the world is about to unfold and I need to floss my teeth? Go figure!

So I floss my teeth as quickly as possible and come back out to find… you guessed it, I missed it. The show was over. All that waiting, all that anticipation, gone. Wasted. I got distracted. I lost the focus. So of course I told God that I really didn’t care. That it was stupid anyway. So I marched down to the barn and knocked off the little bit of snow that remained because I was going to be in control. But inside I knew that I just allowed my impatience to get the best of me. I knew I should have just waited. I knew this one was on me.

So what did all this mean? Was there something larger here then snow sliding that God was trying to teach me? I believe that there was. But that only became evident today. So as Paul Harvey so eloquently stated; “Now the rest of the story.”

This morning I got up a little later then normal for a Sunday, and headed downstairs for a cup of coffee. I knew that we were too late to make the early morning church service but for some reason I wasn’t interested in going to the second service either. As I took my coffee and roamed through the house I looked out across the yard and there once again was that ledge of snow hanging precariously at the edge of the roof. This time however there was no crack in it so I knew that it would be some time before this ledge would hasten to the pull of gravity.

As I thought of the events of the previous day, I told my wife Lynn of all that had happened and we had a good laugh over it. I told her that as I sat there yesterday waiting, that I had thought of her, and knowing her personality, accepted the reality that this was something that she would have been incapable of doing. Just the same as with the nights that I stand out in the middle of the yard gazing at stars and not allowing myself to go off to bed before I see one more shooting star or one more satellite go by. She agreed and appreciated that I knew her so well and again we laughed.

And then, it happened. God began to speak to me. I looked out at the ledge of snow again on that roof top and now, there it was, a fresh crack across the top snow pack on the overhanging ledge of snow. I thought to myself; it won’t be long now before it falls and then quickly remembered that those were my thoughts the previous day and I didn’t have the patience to wait. That is when God spoke and said, “Are you willing to wait for My time?” As I pondered the question it occurred to me that there was great relevance here. So I decided to get another cup of coffee and sit for a spell and see if there was anything else He was going to say. As I sat and watched, He brought greater insight to my mind.

He brought to mind the reality that all too often I get impatient and end up working ahead of His timing. As I sat there, a Stellar Jay flew by and perched in a nearby tree. He reminded me that sometimes I get so focused on the outcome that I miss the beauty in the work. A few moments later, a hummingbird flew into view. It stopped at the feeder for a few moments and was gone. Again He reminded me of His creation and His blessing. Then, a red-winged woodpecker flew by. You guessed it, again He spoke and said, “I have created all of these for your good pleasure.” After a few more moments a couple of Crows flew by and I wondered if this was Satan’s way of distracting be from my goal.

After much more waiting, an interesting thing happened. In the middle of the overhang, a large part of the bottom of the ledge broke off and fell to the ground. He again spoke to me and said, “Sometimes when you wait for something it doesn’t all happen at once. It may come in smaller increments.” Just then a beautiful Red-tailed hawk soared by and I was in awe at the diversity of His creation.

Suddenly I noticed that the crack was getting bigger so I decided to go down and look at it first hand. By this time, the weather was getting blustery and rainy. I put on my hat, boots and coat and walked across the yard toward the barn and just then four huge Canadian geese flew by seemingly close enough to reach out and touch. I had to wonder just what it was that He was trying to say with all of these beautiful flying masterpieces that He had blessed me with and then it came to me. He wanted me to see that the waiting doesn’t have to be as painful as I had made it the day before. The waiting can be a blessing if we know and recognize that it’s His plan to wait. I’ts easy to get so focused on the final outcome that we lose sight of the blessings along the way.

So I finally got to roof’s edge and as I inspected it I could hear it creaking and groaning. But I could also hear the sounds of the birds calling to each other in the background. The Stellar Jay squawking to its mate. The Crows just having a time of community and then I recognized another sound. The song of the Robin. Now to me the Robin’s song means a new beginning or new life. When I was growing up, the Robins would leave for the winter and it wasn’t until the spring when the carpet of snow gave way to the new blooms that the Robins would reappear. That’s when He spoke to me again saying, “I will make a new thing for you if you are willing to wait for My time.”

Wow! That was one powerful message. That one really got my attention. With all that has been happening in my life lately I really needed to hear that. So I stood there in the wind and the rain and the cold and I waited. I listened and watched and waited. But while I was waiting, knowing that I had to wait this time, nature started calling. All those cups of coffee that I had enjoyed earlier that morning where starting to talk to my bladder and I knew that I would have to relieve myself soon. So I paced back and forth and called out to God and pleaded with Him to just let this snow ledge fall already because my eyeballs where about to start floating. Nothing! The snow ledge was getting longer, the crack was getting bigger but it just wouldn’t fall. Finally…. I could wait no more. I had to relieve myself. I went back to the house and took care of business never looking back. When I came back out…. You may have guessed it. Or not.

The snow ledge was still there. He hadn’t let it fall. As I walked up to the barn He spoke to me again and this time He said, “Some times when it’s necessary, I will wait for you too.” So as I gathered my thoughts and took my position of waiting once again, not two minutes went by and it happened. As I was starring right at it, the ledge of snow made a clean break and fell to the earth. I smiled and my spirit smiled and I knew that God was very near. I went close and looked at the break line and noticed that there were a few spots that were still hanging on and He said one last thing to me. He said, “Sometimes there will be some reminders of the past but don’t let them control your future.”

So today I missed my church service. But what I got instead was a real life lesson from my Father Himself. Attending church is an important part of our lives and there is much good to gain from it but we need to have discernment enough to be able to know when we just need time alone with the Father.

Don’t let the waiting in life be a burden to you. Enjoy it and look for all the blessing along the way. Who knows, there might be a snow ledge, shooting star, or satellite out there with your name on it.

When you are willing to wait for His perfect timing, the sky is the limit. Happy waiting.

By Geoff Lyons

(Note: This beautiful piece of writing was done by my younger brother and sent to members of our family. When I read it, I knew that it was meant to be shared, and with his permission, I am posting it here. I pray it touches you in the same powerful way that it did me. - Mark)

Lessons From Home

Sometimes I find myself having difficulty remembering my childhood (actually, most of the time) , but he passing of Mom this past June has given me cause to do some reflection. And while there are many specific memories that I doubt I will ever recall, I have had the chance to think about the legacy that our parents left us. It’s with that in mind that I identify a few of lessons that they imparted to me specifically, but I think all four of their children collectively.

1. The gift of generosity. Mom was probably more guilty of this than dad was, but she loved to give things away. When she was able to financially…and even when she wasn’t, it seemed that she was always buying us something. She did her best to make our Christmas’ and birthdays special. And as we got older, if she had the opportunity, she would often try to send something she may have bought on HSN home with us.

Each one of us kids seem to have that same characteristic, although I think with a greater degree of fiscal responsibility. I am in awe at times of the generosity of Debbie as well as both Frank and Geoff (and of course their spouses – Walt, Clare and Lynn respectively). Whenever given the opportunity, each find a way to take care of a need or a want that they see in others.

2. The gift of hard work. It can never be said that mom or dad was lazy. From as early as I can remember, and throughout their entire lives, both of them spent countless hours trying to make our lives as comfortable as possible. While we had the dairy, they were both invested in making it successful. Dad would work six days a week driving the milk route while mom would process and bottle the milk. And when they weren’t doing “dairy” business, it was working in the fields for dad and running a household of four kids for mom.

When each of us was old enough, we were given a “job” as well. First it was helping dad on the milk route, but as he got bigger and stronger, we moved up to washing the dirty milk bottles. A hard job, but it paid a lot better. We also had our daily chores and opportunities for “seasonal” work like mending fence during spring break and putting in the hay during the summer. When mom and dad sold the dairy business, each of us found jobs as soon as we were old enough to have a social security card and have been gainfully employed since.

3. The love of the water. I really don’t know if when mom and dad bought the dairy in Sandpoint if they were thinking about the fact that it had two creeks running through it or not. And I don’t know if they considered the location of Lake Pend Oreille nearby in their purchase decision. But is has always been apparent that they loved the water. Part of that love may have been instilled by Grandpa Lyons and his love for the water and his lifetime spent building
boats. Both mom and dad spent parts of their early life on Lake Coeur d’Alene with their families. As we were growing, we enjoyed the “big” creek that wound through the farm and the “swimming hole” halfway down the property with the old stump overhanging the bend in the creek that we used as a diving board (and the site of my first, but not last, belly flop). We spent many summer hours molding blue clay we dug from the bottom of the creek bed into a variety of crude pottery items.

When they could, mom and dad would take us into Sandpoint to the City Beach where we improved our swimming skills until we were able to swim out to the docks and feel a bit more grown up. They purchased a ski boat that each of us learned to water ski behind and that Geoff caught his large Kamloops trout during fishing derby week. Later, when Grandpa died, dad inherited the cabin cruiser and even more time was spent on the water. Today, Frank and his wife Clare live full time on the water in their boat. All of us love going to the beach and feeling and smelling the freshness of the surf.

4. The love of the country. I’m sure mom and dad could have chosen to live in town instead of out in the country. I have to admit that during times growing up, I wanted to live in town. That’s where all the action was and it seemed where all of the fun occurred if I listened to the other kids talking at school. But in reflection, I’m so glad we grew up in the country. The farm offered us a place for adventure…and sometimes danger. That was a perfect recipe for kids. And while we didn’t have a lot of neighbor kids who lived close by, it also provided us many opportunities to learn to play and get along (at least most of the time).

Mom and dad also used the country side as their own form of escape I think. It seemed on at least one weekend a month, we would take a “Sunday” drive someplace. It would always be out in the country, never into the city. Dad would drive the old Rambler station wagon up old logging roads or through the back roads all over North Idaho and Eastern Montana. And when the opportunity arose, if there was an old abandoned building along the way, we would pull over to the side of the road and do some exploring.

There are other lessons that we all learned from mom and dad. Some were good and others, not so good. But I believe they did their best. As I look at our family now, I think they would have much to be proud of. Their children love each other with deep compassion and with respect for what we do. Each of us has excelled in our chosen fields of profession. Even though we don’t always agree on everything (which is a good thing), we’ve not allowed rifts in relationships to become chasms that can’t be crossed. While we weren’t raised in a “church” home and religion never seemed to the center of discussion, they both renewed their commitment to Christ in later years. And today, all of us kids love God as well.

I can only thank them for the lessons I learned.

A Rise From Ashes

He startled me as I walked around the corner at the annual "Coffeefest" trade show in Seattle. I was walking through the trade show with my younger brother Geoff, who owns a coffee shoppe in Bothell, and my sister Deb who had made the trek up from Battleground to experience the latest in caffeine delights. Suddenly out of no where, a large African American man was calling my name and rushing through a throng of people to get to me.

I recognized his smile immediately and moved toward him. A handshake was quickly followed by a hug and we stood there momentarily holding each other. When we separated, he stood back and I felt a deep warmth as his face beemed with a a smile stretching from ear-to-ear.

"You finally did it!", I said. "I am so proud of you.".

I marveled as I looked around at his display area. His booth was surrounded with a throng of people stepping up to sample his home-made organic teas. Three young women were creating the hot beverages for the eagerly waiting crowd and an older gentleman sitting near the back of the booth was putting together sample bags for the trade show participants. My friend stepped away for a moment to hijack a potential customer...mildly chastising them for attempting to pass by his booth without experiencing the best new item at the show.

Moments later he was back, his voiced filled with excitement (and what I could sense as humble pride) as he quickly described the last year of his life. I introduced him to my brother and sister, and when he saw Deb, he stepped back and looked at Deb in wonderment.

"You're the writer", he nearly shouted as he extended his hand as though he were meeting a celebrity. "I love your stories", he added . "Mark gave me the address to your blog. The stories are wonderful!". As I watched my sister, I could see the pleasure of meeting this man expressed throughout her entire being. Like me, she knew some of his story.

I had met this man nearly three years earlier whe we were both in a treatment program together. Like me, he had made a serious mistake that had cost him a promising career as an educator. And like mine, his fall was very public...and painful. During our time in group together, he had experienced the nightmarish life that is common for felons after their release from prison. A few months in a group home. Then finding himself living on the streets, his nights spent in a homeless shelter with other outcasts from our society. A weekend in jail for a miscommunication with his probation officer when he finally found a place to live...but it was in the next county.

As our friendship grew in group, I would usually find myself giving him a ride "home" to the little house where he lived with a group of other men. On on rides in the car we would talk about his desire to start a tea business. He talked about the classes he was talking through the Small Business Administration and I would share resources with him to create a business plan. We would talk about our families...or more accurately, about our ex-wives and the marriages we once had . Stories were shared about our children and the uncertainty of our futures.

Eventually, he graduated from group and I lost track of him. I would ask a few of my other friends from group if they had heard from him, but they too were unaware of what he was doing or where he was. I oftened wondered if he were pursuing his dream, but I also knew that the last five years had shattered the self-confidence of this amazing man.

When he called out to me on that Saturday afternoon in September, he helped to renew a bit of my own self-confidence. He reminded me that none of us are what we "were" when we fell from grace. He helped me to see that it is possible to overcome the barriers that we face that are often created by poor choices that we sometimes make. He restored hope in my life that the dreams that I have for my own business can be reached. And most importantly, he gave me great joy in being able to share in his rise from the ashes to become a successful entrepreneur

The Roller Coaster

The knot was still there this morning, feeling almost larger than it was on Friday when I got the call. I have been working with Jamie (my probation officer) to get permission to purchase an electronic tablet that my sister Deb and her husband Walt had sent me money for to buy for Angelwings. The money has been sitting in my bank as I did my research to determine what kind of tablet would best fit the needs that I have as an antique dealer. Last Monday, I talked with Jamie and she said she didn’t think there would be any real problem but she would have to run it past her supervisor. She told me that I had her support. And then she told me that I was being taken off of electronic surveillance on my computer. My heart quickened…a small light at the end of the tunnel of these past eight years of incarceration and supervised release.

As I hung up the phone and her words sank in, it helped me to realize that there may actually be an end to this journey that I’ve been on. The man who started is not the same man who is ending it. The “roller coaster” of emotions that my mind and body have gone through over the past 2,810 days has had more twists and turns than the wildest ride at any Six Flags amusement park. Most have them have resembled the emptiness in your bowels that you feel when the car takes the sudden drop or hairpin curve that you didn’t see coming. There have been a few moments of the peace and rest that you feel as the car just slogs along as you come to the end of the tracks.

When I talked with Jamie last Monday, it felt like I was on that final part of the ride when your heart finally stops racing at 120 beats per minute and your stomach starts to settle back into where it belongs. But Friday’s call provided one more twist in the ride. She told me that before I can purchase the iPad, I need to take another polygraph. And then that I could expect to take another before my release from supervision date in August. Finally, I was informed that I’d have to do another “one-on-one” evalution with my treatment counselor. Heart racing…stomach dropping. So much for the smooth ride to the finish.

I’ve tried to reflect over the weekend why I have so much anxiety about the polygraphs. It’s not that I’m not confident in my answers – I don’t need to be afraid that I’ll be lying about anything. I like the man who will be performing the test…we’ve gone down this road together now for a few times. What it really boils down to is trust. As much as I try to trust, there is a deep wound that I haven’t been able to heal that makes it difficult for me to trust. It’s not only people that I have difficulty trusting, in this case it’s also the system. And the problem is compounded for me because what a polygraph actually measures is anxiety. This is a test that the results could never send me to prison (because the results aren’t reliable enough), but they could send me back.

Like that man in the car on the roller coaster, I grip the handrail and let out a scream (silent in this case) as I take this unexpected turn. The adrenaline kicks in and all of the feelings that are associated with that chemical ravage my body. But I stay in the car. I’ll take the test. And I’ll wonder when and where the next unexpected turn is going to come. I can’t trust that there isn’t another one.

Photo from Flickr - by Markku

Transformation

The aisles of the antique store were crowded and tight together. Often times I would run into a dead-end and have to turn around and find a new path to the next row of potential treasures. I didn’t come to the store often…it’s located on a one-way street in a city about a half an hour away from my home. I only found myself here today because I was killing some time before I went to an antique auction being held in a gallery up the street. I had nothing particular in mind as I wandered. I simply love antiques and like to browse shops any time that I can.

I finally found myself in the back of the store where it appeared the owner simply unloaded stuff through his backdoor, waiting to be sorted and placed on the sales floor. As I looked around, an item caught my attention. It was an old antique armoire/wardrobe that was being used as a janitor’s closet. It wasn’t in really good condition with veneer pealing in a few places and a sagging bottom where cans of paint and cleaning supplies were haphazardly stacked. There was a price tag on it of $300…not a bad price for an older piece, but not a steal either.

I had started to keep my eye out for an old wardrobe about a month earlier when the owner of the antique mall where I have my space told me that he often converted wardrobes into display cases. In fact, he had just sold one that I had my eye on a few days before our conversation. At the time, I didn’t realize that it had at one time been an armoire. So as I looked at this old piece, I made sure that it was structurally sound (which it was) and took a few pictures. The following day, I sent them to my sister Deb for her feedback. As we talked, it seemed that it might be worth making an offer on the wardrobe.

The next day, I placed the call to the owner of the antique store and made him a reasonable offer which he accepted and made arrangement to pick the armoire up. It stood over seven feet tall and was more than six feet wide. My younger brother Geoff used his van and helped me pick it up and move it to his place where we were going to rebuild it into the display case.

For the next three months, I would make regular trips to my brother’s place as we planned to reconstruct the wardrobe. Off came the doors and the end panels that would be replaced with glass. The crown on the top was damaged so we redesigned it and found trim pieces that would give the old piece of furniture a new look. We devised a system of interlocking pieces on the front that would cover the slide rails for the new front doors. Finally, a colored was decided upon and week after week, the new case moved closer to completion.

As I reflect back on the transformation of the old, battered armoire that I found stuffed in the back corner of an antique shop, I realize that the journey that the antique piece took isn’t dissimilar to the transformation that takes place in people…certainly that took place in me. Rebuilding the wardrobe was NOT an easy process and at times it seemed like some invisible force was trying to prevent it from happening. Plans for free mirrors that ultimately didn’t work out. Glass panels for the ends that first broke, and then were cut the wrong size. Difficulty in finding the right kind of replacement hardware and locks. Unforeseen costs that kept adding up. While there was never a thought of giving up on the project, there were times when I wondered what the ultimate outcome would be.

Even as I write these words, my own life is a transformation. Like the antique armoire, at one time my life looked really good. I was successful, in a happy marriage, respected by peers and the community and it seemed that it would always be that way. But after a few bad choices, I found my own life seemingly discarded. Time in prison has a way of making you look at yourself differently and assuming that everyone else does too. Like the old armoire, it seemed that my life was no longer useful for much.

But transformation is an incredible process and sometimes it just takes some time and love for it to occur. There are a lot of people who have invested time and encouragement in me over the past four years. And I know that there is a God who is orchestrating all that is going on in my life. Like the armoire, there is great comfort in knowing that there are no plans for giving up on “this” project. But there is also wonderment on what the ultimate outcome is going to be.

Out of the Darkness

The sun was shining as we stepped out of the car and walked the brief expanse across the warm, asphalt parking lot. My sister, Deb, and I had spent the morning at the Seattle Gift Show and we had driven across town to check out the permanent showrooms. The trip had taken us on the city streets through the commercial warehouse section of the city that we’d never seen. As we stepped up on the sidewalk, Deb notice the flowering trees and leaned into to it to check out the beautiful, white blossoms. The trees were located on the western side of the building, close to the awning which only provided it with afternoon and late afternoon sun. As a result, the trunks on the trees each had a distinctive bend to them…appearing to reach to the sunlight to the west.

“You know why the trees are leaning to the west, don’t you?” I asked my sister.

“Well yes,” she responded. “Plants always grow toward the light.”

“Actually the light is retarding the growth,” I replied. "The growth is actually taking place on the dark side of the plant. The light is actually preventing the growth."

My comments stopped her in her tracks. I had taken college Botany close to 30 years ago and I remembered performing the experiments in the lab where light was only provided to a plant on one side and we would monitor the growth of the cells. In other experiments, we would measure the growth of plants where they had light 24 hours a day or where we would deny the plants light at all. What we discovered was that plants will grow faster then they don’t have any light at all…for a while anyway. If the light is restricted long enough, the plants will die. I know now my explanation wasn't completely scientifically correct, but it is the dark side that is actually growing taster.

As we drove back to Tacoma later that day, we talked about the light…and darkness…and growth. It is amazing when we think about the interaction that occurs between those three elements. And not only in plants, but in our lives as well.

Like many people, one of my phobias is the fear of the dark. I really think that it is a natural, innate fear in most of us that gets reinforced in a variety of ways throughout our life. For me, I had plenty of opportunities during my childhood to reinforce the fear. His name was Geoff (my little brother.) He seemed to take great pleasure in finding ways to startle…or outright terrify me in the dark on our farm in North Idaho. Eerie old barns and garages and trees gave him all the tools that he needed. Very few people like the dark.

But sometimes the seasons of our life can also be filled with darkness. They are times when we can’t see clearly what’s going on…or where we are headed…or what the future holds. I’ve been there more than once. The three years I spent in prison were one of the darkest times of my life. I saw a lot of men there who were slowly dying. Not in a literal sense, but dying nonetheless. They hadn’t learned the lesson of the plant.

An interesting phenomenon is actually occurring in the plant on the dark side…on the side away from the light. When the light strikes the plant, a hormone is produces that migrates to the cells located in the darkness. And this hormone causes an amazing thing to happen. It causes the plant cells on the dark side to stretch!! As a result, these elongated cells “bend” the plant toward the light (which we interpret as growing toward the light.) I love this lesson of nature because that’s what I need to do when I find myself in a season of darkness.

When we are surrounded by darkness, that’s when we have the opportunity to grow the most. We get stretched in ways we’ve never been torn before and find ourselves facing situations that we don’t have an answer for or an understanding of. The real growth in our lives occurs during the darkest times. It’s when we feel hated and ostracized that we can best learn to love and forgive. It’s when we are poor and have nothing that we learn the real value of giving…even if it means we give the last that we have. It’s when we are sickest that we appreciate what little health that we have remaining…or choose the live out the last days of our lives the best we can. It’s when we see someone that we love dying (or hear of their sudden death) that we examine the true value of every person’s life.

But like the plant, we have to allow the “light” that is there to stir within us the willingness to be stretched. We have to be willing to endure the dark season because it leads us to the light season. A time when our life flourishes and grows stronger. When we can celebrate the lessons and changes that occurred in the darkness. A time that we can let our light shine into the lives of those who find themselves in the dark.

Photo from Bing Images

NUMB3RS

I’ve always loved numbers. I remember as a little boy…laying in bed at night and silently counting as high as I could before I would fall asleep. Not counting sheep, just practicing my numbers. I did the same thing with the multiplication chart. Over and over, I would do them in my head. As the train would pass by on the Great Northern railroad tracks that ran behind our dairy farm in North Idaho, I’d try to count how many cars were in the trains as it whizzed past. Even as we would lay out on the front lawn in our sleeping bags in the summer at night, I’d look into the sky and count as many stars as I could. Counting cars on our Sunday drives provided a nice distraction to the bodies of three siblings squeezed into the backseat of the Rambler station wagon with me.

My wife Paula was always amazed that I could remember phone numbers…and dates. I knew (and still know) the date that we met, the date of our first date, the day I proposed and our wedding anniversary date. Sadly, I also know the date that our divorce was final. The birthdates of our children and our grandchildren and engraved forever in my memory. I guess sometimes, it’s a curse to remember too many numbers.

August is a month full of numbers for me and I have found them swirling in my mind a great deal this past week. It seems each one is associated with a memory…mostly painful. A grandson’s birthday. Release from prison. A date with Paula. Since I’m not getting any younger, I thought I’d put down a list of numbers that seem to have some significance.

6427 - Number of days Paula and I were married
2564 - Days since I last saw my grandson and grand daughter
2552 - Days since I kissed Paula
1463 - Days I've been out of prison
1086 - Days spent in prison
851 - Average number of days between seeing Paula in the past seven years
365 - More days of supervised release
341 - Number of days I've had my antique business
284 - Number of days that I've been selling antiques at the Tacoma Antique Center
260 - Miles round trip my sister Deb drives when she comes to auction with me
137 - Milepost number on I-5 that you take to go to my antique space
43 - Number of antique auctions I've attended in the past year
41 - Number of months I was sentenced to serve in prison
26 - Number of birthdays my grandchildren have had in the past seven years
26 - Number of birthdays I’ve missed for my grandchildren in the past seven years
23 - Hours spent on a bus from Seattle to Bakersfield, California
23 - Date in July of 2004 that my marriage ended
23 - Date in February of 2004 that my life changed forever (can you spell FBI?)
13 - Date in December of 1986 that we were married
13 - Date in August of 1999 that I had my first grandchild
6 - Thickness of a prison mattress…in inches (if you're lucky)
4 - Number of grandchildren
3 - Numbers of siblings that I've renewed a wonderful, loving relationship with
3 - Number of children
1 - Years until I can move freely…anywhere I want to without permission
0 - Number of parents still living

Not all numbers are bad. They are just real. And they serve as reminders to me. There’s one other thing about numbers that I like though…some of them change. Some get bigger, and some get smaller. As I reflect on the list, there are numbers to celebrate...and numbers that I'd like to just let slowly fade from my memory. Maybe....just maybe, time will allow that.

Photo from Bing Images