Legacy!

"This shouldn't be what [he] was all about..."

"I'm tired of people blaming [his father] for what he did to [him], it's what he did FOR [him] that made him what he was in the world..."

"[He} was no saint or no sinner, like people keep saying. He was just a man, a man with God-given...genius."

"I cried for the lost child in him and the stress it placed on this wonderful person."

"Let us not confuse talent with sainthood. Have we forgotten the other side of his notoriety?"

"[he] was...a confused adult who couldn't look at himself in the mirror and did his best to change what looked back."

A lot has happened in the past several weeks that has caused me to reflect on my past...and my future. A number of very famous, or perhaps infamous, people have passed away and the media has been quick to review their lives for all of us to see. One of those was Michael Jackson...the "king of pop".

Growing into adulthood during the 1970's and 80's, Michael Jackson was a constant fixture in pop music...and like many, I liked his music and appreciated his talent. I remembered him from his early years as a member of the Jackson 5 and was, at times, amazed at the gifts of this little boy...and later, this young man. His musical genius was apparent to all of us. And on the outside, he appeared to have it all...money, fame, acclaim, talent. But as we all learned over the next 30 years, on the inside was a severely wounded man.

A week ago, every major television station in this country broadcast the funeral of this man live around the world. I even found myself scanning it occasionally from my computer at work as it was streamed across the Internet on countless websites. As I watched the memorial service and listened to the speakers, I was struck by the way that this man was remembered. And as I read the accounts in the print media, the same thoughts occurred to me. And then, I started to reflect on my own life.

Six years ago as I was starting into a new job, I never could have imagined anything but positive acclaim at the life I have lived. I was a highly visible, highly respected member of a profession and community. I was a beloved husband, father and grandfather. And if I had died at any time prior to February 23, 2004, the things said at my memorial service would have mostly likely been full of the remembrance of my professional accomplishments and cute stories about my role as a father and grandpa.

But all that changed when the FBI walked into my office. The article in the newspapers now painted a different picture who I was...and they were not pretty. When people talked of me over the next several months, there was not only confusion about what I had done, but also a sense of loss...that the person that they thought they knew no longer existed.

One thing that I know about all people...we each leave some type of a legacy. What that legacy says about us can change in a twinkling of an eye, but nonetheless, it's what we will be remembered by. I've come to understand that I could choose to let my legacy be those words that were recorded in the countless media in the days and weeks that followed February, 2004.

But I believe that God has a different legacy in store for me...a story that He wrote for me before time even existed. Some of my life experiences were not good...and should not have been experienced by anyone. And certainly, some of my choices were worse than bad...and should never have been made. But life cannot be undone. I am called to use those experiences and how they shaped me...and God's work in my life to help other people. To share a hope for those who find themselves in a similar closet of darkness that my own life had become.

I found a final comment in the media that spoke of the legacy of Michael Jackson that I hope will never be written of me...

"I wish [he] could have met the real Jesus, not the rule mongering, anti-holiday, party pooper Jesus of The Watchtower. I'm talking about the Jesus of the New Testament...Jesus would have quenched his thirst, healed his hurts and changed the color of his soul, not his skin. ...happiness cannot be bought, it can only be received from the hands of our Creator, our Savior, our friend, Jesus Christ."

Instead, if I were to write my own legacy, it would be this -

Mark was a tortured man for much of his life. He bore scars that were buried beneath the surface that no one else ever saw. And for many years, he refused to treat the wound, choosing instead to keep it covered (even from himself). But then he met the Great Healer at a time in his life when everything seemed to be lost...out of control...and life didn't seem worth living any more. Through the grace of God, Mark received the gift of salvation and restoration. And then, he freely shared that gift with anyone who would receive it, much the same way that Jesus offers that gift to everyone today.

Mark was not a perfect man...far from it, and he would be the first one to admit that. And he finally recognized that he was not alone in the struggles that he faced and that he could not win the battle on his own. After his fall from grace (in society's eyes at least), he spent the rest of his life working to help others win the their battles with the help of God, a warrior who will stand beside you and go before you in the battles of this life. He would not want to be remembered as a hero or a saint. Instead, he would want his legacy to simply be that he was a man who was willing to be used of God...and he was.

Photo from Flickr

The Celebration!

Chaos seemingly surrounds me as I stand in the dining nook, a cold soda in one hand and a styrofoam plate in the other loaded with the goodies that have been set out on the counter. So many faces…few familiar. Every few minutes, the rumble of noise is magnified as Lou or one of the ladies here releases a roar of laughter.

A man walks over beside me and asks what my relationship is to the Shucka’s. Several possible answers roll around in my mind.

“I’m a former educator and have known both Walt and Debbie for years as a member of that remarkable profession”, was one thought.

“I saw the pretty pink balloons as I was out yard-saleing today and thought I’d see if they had any free cake”, was another quirky possibility.

“I got out of prison recently, and they were both so thoughtful that they invited me in”, was another.

I extended my hand and simply said, “Debbie’s my sister and I’m here to celebrate with her today.”

At times, I felt a little awkward amongst so many strangers, but the fact that we all shared something in common today made each of us a little less “strange”. Many of the people I was meeting finally put a face to a name that Debbie had shared with me over the past 22 months as we’ve visited and gotten to know each other after too many years between us.

I glanced at the clock on my cell phone...wondering…waiting, tempted to make a call, but hesitating. The celebration was already 45 minutes into its scheduled duration. But I knew I needed to relax…after all, I knew they were never early and rarely on time.

I saw the vehicle out of the corner of my eye as it pulled in and parked beside the other 20+ cars in the yard. A few moments later, the door bell rang and I saw Walt go to answer.

“Debbie!”, the voice called out. “Would you come here a minute?”

My sister made her way through the crowd of well-wishers, weaving her way from the laundry room through the kitchen to the front room. Suddenly, the dull roar was pierced by a scream that might have been frightening had I not known the source…and the reason.

As I stepped around the corner into the living room, my sister was in the arms of my little brother…joy clearly radiating from her entire being. Geoff, too, was displaying his joy in knowing that his desire to keep his arrival a secret had been kept. As Debbie released my brother to give his wife Lynn a love, I walked across and embraced my brother…thanking him for being here. He may not have understood, but I did. Today was important to our sister and I was glad that we were here to celebrate.

As I move through this season of my life, I am reminded of the value and importance of family, friends and relationship. Unfortunately… all of our family didn’t make it to this celebration of flight, but I’m glad that I did.

Photo from Flickr

Affirmations

I finished putting away the DVD and manual and began to walk to the door. As I approached the exit, one of the class members stopped me.

“Class was so good today”, he said. “You should really think about doing this full time.”

“It was so awesome how you were responsive to the Holy Spirit”, his wife added.

The regular teacher of the class was nearby and remarked how much he enjoyed the class this morning and that it could probably be worked out if I wanted to take on this class on a more permanent basis. I thanked them all for their kind comments and left the classroom.

As I walked back across the parking lot to the sanctuary, I reflected on what had just happened. It had been awhile since I actually stood in a classroom full of students…and it felt good. I had led a few Bible studies in prison, but this was different. Here, there was preparation, and well conceived questions. Here, there were men and women who knew the Bible, but were still engage. Here, I was in a “real” classroom, not a room with thick concrete walls that were designed to keep me in.

It continues to amaze me how God brings affirmation into my life in so many ways. I know that He has placed a calling in my life, and I am continuously seeking to determine His will. All of my life has been spent preparing for “something”…but only He fully knows what that is.

He gave me additional affirmation just the other day. At times, the enemy continues to try to undermine who I am…and the voice penetrates. As I sat in prayer the other night, I asked my Father who I was…and His voice brought tears to my eyes that I couldn't’t stop. The answer was simple.

“You are My son!”

As I continue to move through each uncertain day after the next, it is reassuring in my heart that God continues to see me…to hear me…and to love me.

Photo from Flickr

Choosing to be Who I Am...

I came across a poem the other day that grabbed me in an unexpected way. I found myself crying. The words seem to be words that would have one day in my past smoldered within my own heart.

I am who I choose to be, random and weird.

There are times when I want to fade into my dreams and feel as though I belong.

I see myself in a place where I can always be me, and not be criticized for my actions.

I want to be young forever and not have to worry about life coming to a conclusion

I wish life could be like a VCR, fast forwarding the pain, or rewinding and relishing the moments of happiness.

I am who I choose to be, random and weird.

Awesome Ramsey!

I don't know who "Awesome Ramsey" is, but this person put words to the feelings that I struggled with for so many years. A person who felt on the outside...longing to feel like I belonged in the story. A longing to fit in...a longing to be happy with who I was...who I am. A man who wished he could stay in the happy moments of his past forever and skip over the eons of pain and frustration at failures in his life.

I pretend that I have this amazing power and with it I might one day rule the world.

But power is for the weak minded, so I say.

I see and hear things that I believe no one can ever see or hear.

And yet I cry because I know no one will ever believe me.

When I see the rain fall from the sky, I can imagine and feel my sorrows slowly lifting...

But I am who I choose to be, random and weird.

Awesome Ramsey!

Like most of us, I once believed that within myself, I could fix everything... that I could make everything OK. There was no need to seek help elsewhere... to ask for help was revealing that I had some kind of flaw, some kind of weakness. And in my mind, any form of weakness was unacceptable. So I created a persona of strength that was convincing to all the world. I set myself on a pedestal so high, that to fall would surely mean death. But inside, I knew my own weakness...my own failures...my own inability to "fix" it this time. So I silently wept untold gallons of tears, knowing that no one would be able to believe my story...my demons...my weakness.

I understand life is full of mysterious wonders.

They could be things that you wouldn't even expect to be real.

So I try not to think of the negativity around and focus on the positive aspect of life.

And one could only hope that in the end of the tale, there really is a happy ending.

I am who I choose to be, random and weird

This "Amazing Ramsey" may not have understood when he wrote these words how his story ends...or how any of our stories end. But through his words, it helps me to recognize that all of life is a mystery and we don't need to try to understand it all. Some of it is simply to unreal. My past is my past...I can't undo it...I can't change. But, I can use it and allow it to be used.



Our pastor spoke an incredible sermon this morning about accepting how God has created each of us so uniquely...and how He desires to use that uniqueness to do His work. He closed with a short phrase that spoke deeply to me on a day I needed to hear Him speak directly to me.

"Learn to love you"

When I think about my life, the word "love" is not a word that quickly comes to mind...a life that has been responsible for so much pain and heartache. The words "despise" and "hate" seem to be so much more appropriate. But I have come to learn that God wastes nothing, not even the failures of a man's life...the failures of my life. For Ramsey, he may choose to be random and wierd. Sometimes, I believe I choose to be that same way. But for the always in my life, I am learning to simply choose to be me...the way that God created me, and learn to love who that man is.

Poem by "Amazing Ramsey"

Photo from Flickr

The OTHER Victims

Something has been on my mind a lot lately that I have been trying to process...sadly, not too well. At my therapy session last week, one of the men shared some of his writing concerning his victims...and the extent of the breadth of pain that he had caused. I've thought often on that myself, and only recently as I visited with a close friend whose husband was involved in on-line pornography, I was once again reminded of the pain that a woman feels when her husband betrays her in that way.

But in the past week, another group of my victims has settled itself in my gray matter, and it won't seem to let go. I know that there were a lot of different victims in the life that I was leading...most notably the young men or boys that were pictured in the pornography that I viewed. I believe I've reconciled myself to that group. I've prayed for them...I've prayed for the destruction of the international pornography industry. I don't know what more I can do, other than never support them in any way again in the future. When I was viewing those materials, I never thought about those individuals or the fact that they were most likely sold into that profession or so drugged that they didn't know what they were doing.

The group haunting my nights these days are the young men that I chatted with. Not all of them. I know that many were just like me...a man pretending to be someone else. A man living a fantasy life...in search of something, but not quite certain what. But some were exactly what they claimed to be. Teenage boys uncertain of their sexuality looking for a friend...a confidante...to share questions and struggles. I sat across the Blue Nowhere from these teens convincing them that I was just as they were...confused, searching, a boy in search of friends. Each night, I continued with my deceit and listened and shared my own inner self with them.

And then suddenly one night, I simply disappeared. To at least two young men, I had become someone important in their lives...at least my cyber-self had. Suddenly, a friend was ripped from their life with no explanation, no good-bye, no closure. The boy in Florida (me) who was trying to lift the spirits of a boy who had recently contemplated suicide because a friend from school that he was attracted to had rebuffed him was no longer there to offer support. I often wonder about that boy...and if he is OK.

I know that I can't find any of them now. I no longer remember their computer names. And I have no way of contacting them. I can't tell them that I was a fraud...and the worst kind of friend. I can't tell them that the most intimate aspects of their lives that they shared with me were shared with a deceiver and a liar.

I hope that they have simply forgotten me...I think. A part of me wants them to remember who I pretended to be...a boy like them who cared for them. And a part of me also simply wants them to forget a betrayal...but I know from my own life experience how difficult that is.

Seeing Pink!

Even though I knew it was coming, I still wasn’t as prepared as I had hoped to be. Just this morning, he still thought that there were some options…a way out of this situation…a new hope. I could tell as he returned from the attorney’s office that it had not gone well. His shoulders seemed to sag a bit lower and there was no energy in his eyes.

I went in and sat across from him when he returned from lunch. The sign of defeat was etched in his 75 year old face as he realized the dream was over. There were no more options, and I could tell it broke his heart as he sat there with folded hands.

“We’re going to close the doors. We just can’t make it in this economic climate,” he said in a barely audible voice. “I wish that we had another chance…I really thought that we would be able to close this down and open a new LLC. It’s just not going to happen.”

And just like that, my career here was over. The economy had caught up with us and we were out of money. I would soon be joining the millions of other men and women amongst the ranks of the unemployed. I had been here before, but never as a result of a company going out of business. And the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked out the office was not a pleasant one.

I have had the opportunity for the past eighteen months to work for an incredible man…and his wife. They gave me a chance when no one else would. I owe them so much more than they have ever given me…which has been substantial. I have been compensated very well in my tenure here and I was given a severance which was more than generous. This has been an experience that I will not easily forget.

As I move forward, I do so with very little anxiety. I have been blessed, not only with a chance, but also with a memory of God’s faithfulness to me. While others may be losing sleep at night, I can rest assured that in some way, God will provide for me. He has in the past…and I am assured that He will in the future. His grace and mercy are the same today and tomorrow as they were in the past.

It is with a little bit of excitement and a lift in my step that I will leave this place for the last time. I don’t know exactly when that will be yet…I have agreed to continue to come in and help Lee as he closes up the business. It gives me an opportunity to stay busy and him some much needed help and support. But when the day comes that I don’t make the 30 minute commute over here each morning, I am excited for what door will have opened and that I will have walked through.

The Trophy

The frigid, winter rain pelted the large window overlooking the golf course as I sat in front of the empty fireplace with the box in front of me. It was another cold, wet March winter day alone in this beautiful condo my wife and I had purchased only six months earlier. The ninth fairway outside our window was still covered in grayish, spring snow...the remnants of the cross country ski trail still visible in the slowly receding winter blanket.

I had brought the last of the boxes up out of my Jeep and had sorted and filed. A few things, I threw away. I had only one box left. And it had my "stuff" in it. The plaques and awards and trophies that I had accumulated over the course of working 24 years as a public educator.

There was a plaque of appreciation from the local community college where I had supervised their local education extension program. The completion award for my superintendent's program. A trophy from a golf tournament. And numerous other awards and recognitions. But today, they were all meaningless.

As I sat there, looking at each one...slowly reading the words engraved on the soft metal, I could hear a voice telling me that this was not who I was any more. I tried to push the voice away...but it wouldn't leave me. Each of these pieces identified who I was. But that was it....who I "was", not who I "am" now. I could feel the tears well up as I knew what I needed to do. I fruitlessly tried to argue with the voice in my heart, but I knew deep down this was an argument that I couldn't win.

Reluctantly, I slowly began to peel the glued on metal with the words of recognition and acclaim from their wooded backs. As each one came off in my hands, I would bend it and mangle it before I tossed it haphazardly into the box. Piece after piece, the box slowly filling. These things that had identified who I was for the last quarter of a century, now nothing but a box of trash.

The last item was the last item I had received. And...it was the one that had most recently defined me.

Superintendent

The solid piece of oak that bore that inscription was too solid for me to break. The engraving in the wood, so I couldn't peel it off. The sting of the the tears as the rolled down my cheeks caused me to hesitate for just a moment. I held the award in my hand as I rubbed my shirt sleeve across my cheeks, clearing away the tears. And then it too, went into the box.

I carried the collection in the cardboard container to the door as I slipped my shoes on and slowly walked down the stairs to the dumpster. Setting the box on the ground, I flipped the top up on the garbage container and then slowly dumped the reminders of my last 24 years in with the rest of the waste. Numbness filled my body as I walked back up the stairs and into the emptiness of my home.

It has been over five years since that cold, March day. I had often wondered "why" I had been asked by throw it all away. Couldn't I have simply stored it away in a box, as a reminder? Something that I could one day put back on a shelf for everyone to see...to remember...to admire? I was given the answer last week.

I was listening to the testimony of a man who had been one of the best paid make-up artists for New York models in the 1990's. But a life of drugs and hard living had caused him to lose it all...and to ultimately end up on the streets of New York City...homeless, destitute, slowly dying. But through the prayers of a friend and the merciful love of God, he found salvation and a new lease on life.

As he shared his testimony, he used the analogy of a trophy. We spend our entire lives in this world creating an image of ourselves through our work and our behaviors. In our frail state of humanity, we make choices where our lives end up mangled and tarnished and bent. But when we allow it, God will take that broken life and restore it. The trophy will be reformed. The bent parts straightened. The scratches buffed out. The tarnish polished away. And the engraving...changed.

As I listened to his story, the voice and the memory in my condo living room five years ago came flooding back to me. And at that moment, I realized the "why" that I had asked my self so many times since that frigid, winter day. I am destined to be a trophy for God!