Grownup Binkies

When I was six years old, I had to spend the night in the hospital because I was having my tonsils removed. As I reflect back, I remember very little about that event. I’ve been told that I was extremely ill…one doctor had told my mom that I might have leukemia. But apparently most of the medical issues were solved by doing a little cutting in the back of my throat. I’m guessing that my mom must have seen that I was somewhat frightened about the surgery…or perhaps having to stay in the hospital, because she bought me a gift. It was a small stuffed animal…an elephant.

I didn’t have many stuffed animals that I can recall as a small boy. No Teddy bear (that I remember). In fact, the elephant is the only one that I can remember. I kept it for a long time…sleeping with it for years. When we helped my mom organize stuff for our farm auction when she sold the place when I was in my 40’s, the old stuffed elephant was still with my stuff. Faded…and torn it places. It was missing one of its glass eyes, but it was still there. For many years during my childhood, it had served as my “binky”…an object that would provide me with some level of comfort.

Most of us “think” that we outgrow the need for a “binky”, but I think that as adults we simply replace them with something more “grownup”. I’ve thought a bit about that the last couple of days and put together my list of “grownup binkies” that I use. They are listed here in no particular order.

1. Coffee – As much as I hate to admit it, coffee is one of my comforters. While I’m not like many who practically need to hook up a “coffee IV” before they get out of bed in the morning, I definitely look forward to my cup of hot coffee on my way to work each morning. And if I don’t get it for some reason…well, look out. I’m going to be pretty grumpy at work that day.

2. Hot chocolate – I’m sure it goes back to my childhood, but there is just something about a cup of really rich (translate lots of Nestle’s Quick mix) cup of hot chocolate on a cold night…topped with marshmellows, of course. Even now, at age 50 plus, I will pull my largest mug down out of the cupboard on a cold rainy or snowy evening in the winter and put the tea kettle on my stove to make a large cup. It’s not quite as good as the stuff we made with real milk growing up, but it still hits the spot.

3. Neck tickling – Not a joke. I love to have the back of my neck softly tickled. Not the front…that causes panic attacks, but that’s a different story. It almost makes me purr like a kitten when my neck is gently massaged or lightly tickled. I most definitely relax.

4. A blanket just out of the dryer – Ok, this one might be cheating…or a throwback to being a kid. There is just something about the feeling of a blanket that’s just been pulled out of the dryer to cuddle with on the couch. I think it’s the smell of the fabric softener sheet and the warmth that penetrates my entire being. I don’t remember ever having a warm blanket like that growing up…but my kids (and my wife) loved it whenever I pulled one out of my dryer and wrapped them in it.

5. The ocean surf – I’ve always loved the sound of the ocean. There is just something so peaceful about hearing the rhythmic sounds of waves lapping on the beach. It almost transforms me into weightlessness…like a feeling of floating over the ocean like the billowy clouds suspended from the heaven above.

I’m sure there are a number of other “binkies” that I could name here. But as I listed these, it was such a nice reminder that there are many things in my life that give me comfort when I need it. How about you?

Binky photo from Flickr

Hot Chocolate photo from Bing

The Old is Gone!

It hasn’t been an easy 37 months. So much uncertainty faced me when I walked out the doors of Taft Correctional Institution in August of 2007. Unable to even comprehend what my life was going to be like, at times during my last months of incarceration, I wondered whether I would end up living under a freeway overpass. Or perhaps I would become one of the many panhandlers seeking a hand-out at the top of the off-ramp holding my “Hungry and need food. Anything will help. God bless you” cardboard sign. While it never ended up that badly for me, it hasn’t turned out as I expected either.

At times, it seems like a little sign has floated over the top of me with arrows pointing, saying “ex-felon”. There are some things that I just can’t seem to get past. A few weeks ago I was laying on the couch on a Sunday afternoon after playing a round of golf with some friends when I was interrupted by a rapping on the front door of my home…a fifth wheel trailer. As I opened the door, I was greeted by a deputy sheriff. For a second, my heart seemed to skip a beat. Then he kindly asked me for my name and then ID that could verify it. He was simply doing his job…confirming that I was living where I said I am. A small thing…but certainly not an everyday occurrence for most of us.

As a result of the uncertainty of my life, I’ve been hesitant to move forward as quickly as I probably could. Still facing up to 23 more months of supervision, there are some things that are difficult to arrange. A simple trip out of state…even for a day requires at least two weeks of advance notice to get the proper permission. A trip out of the country is out of the question. Moving into an apartment complex or a condo community isn’t possible because of the restrictions that I still face. For the past three years, I’ve worn the prison issue glasses that I had on when I was released because money is tight, and frankly they still worked.

But the last month has brought a great deal of change in my life. For reasons that I can’t really articulate, I made the decision that “enough is enough”. While I don’t exactly have control over my life, I choose to move forward. A trip to the optometrist resulted in new glasses. Not a significant change in my appearance on the outside, but a gargantuan impact on how I see myself from the inside. They were the last “moniker” that I wore from my incarceration. There are no more visible external reminders of that dark period of my life.

The change didn’t stop there. I love antiques and every opportunity I have, I will visit an antique shop or mall and usually walk out with some little treasure. Many of the items, I give away. I buy them because they are unique and they represent a different time…maybe a better time. About a month ago, my sister Deb suggested (perhaps in jest) that I should get a business license and open a shop, or at least become a dealer. The idea resonated deeply within me and it has turned into a reality. Three weeks ago, I applied for the business license and became a small business owner. Angelwings Antiques was born. Scripture teaches us that in Christ, we are a new creation…that the old is gone and the new has come. Through God’s grace, I’ve become “that” new creation. But now I’ve become a new creation in a different way as well. While I will always be an “ex-felon”, I’ve chosen to become more. I’m a business owner and a construction company manager. I’m a singer in the church choir and a Sunday school teacher. I’m a loving brother, a loving ex-husband and a good friend. That old label is gone…a new label has come.

Photo by Mark

The Middle of the Rainbow

I remember as a small child how excited I would get whenever I saw a rainbow. It seems that they didn’t appear all that often…when it rained, the clouds wouldn’t allow even a glimmer of sunshine slice through. So it was even more special when that arc of color would splash across the sky, from one horizon to the other. But even then, I would rarely see one that was unbroken by clouds still spotting the sky.

For some reason, the rainbow is a little bit of an enigma. Perhaps, it’s because of the mystical nature of “the pot at the end of the rainbow” that legends are made of. Or maybe it’s because they are one of those things that you can see…but not touch. Even as you get close to it, it is always “just out of reach”. And when it seems like you are actually putting your fingers on it…there is nothing there to feel. But I think it’s a bit magical for a different reason.

As I listened to the radio this morning, a woman called in to share a story about the rainbow…and her life. And as I listened, she could have been talking about my life…or the life of many that I know. She had seen a rainbow in the sky, but like many rainbows the full arc wasn’t visible. She could see where it started and where it ended, but the middle of the rainbow was hidden in the clouds. It seems that the image of the rainbow is where my life is. I know where I started and where I’ve been. And I trust in God’s promises for where I’m going…where my destination is. But that part in the middle…where I seem to be now is as hazy as the clouds hiding it.

But the woman who called in helped to put it in perspective. Even though I can’t see the middle of the rainbow, God can. He knows what’s going to happen behind the clouds. And He knows why it’s happening. He is orchestrating my life...and all that occurs in it, both in front of and behihnd the clouds. My challenge is to simply let it…and trust. For a man with a boy’s heart, that is a difficult challenge indeed.

Photo from Flickr, by Saturn h

Do-Overs?

I sat there with my arm raised over my head, waving frantically. My face was beet-red and I could feel my eyes start to well with tears. I looked down at my desk again…it wasn’t possible! How could I have gotten an A- on my paper? Mrs. Walters was soon standing beside my desk, leaning down.

“What is it, Mark?” she asked?

“It’s my g-g-g-rade, Mrs. Walters!” I stammered. “It’s not g-g-good enough. Can I have a do-over?”

I thought back to my early school years the other day as I was driving to work. The radio program I was listening to had posed a question to its radio audience. “If you could have a ‘do-over’ in life, what would it be?” The twenty-five minute commute to work on the back roads gave me plenty of time to listen to the various listeners who called in. I was especially struck by the response of one particular listener. In essence, he said that initially there were a lot things he would want to do over…he had made a number of bad choices in his life. But as he thought about it, he decided that every choice (good or bad) that he had made had molded him into the person he was today.

That response has rolled around in my head for the past ten days. I’ve been trying to decide how much I agree with him. For my own part, I’ve made far too many bad choices in my lifetime. Some of them have been extremely costly…leading to prison time, the loss of a marriage and family as well as a career. Others haven’t come at the same cost, but have nonetheless negatively impacted others’ lives. But the other side of the coin, if I follow the listener’s line of thought has led me to an amazing relationship with Christ and a much deeper understanding of who I am. And the ability to accept those truths. So, if I had a chance, would I want a “do-over”?

Mrs. Walters got down on knee level and looked me in the eyes.

“Mark, your work is very good. An A- is still a good grade”, she said.

“B-b-but I knew the right answer”, I cried. “I just accidently turned the number backward. Please, Mrs. Walters…can I have a do over?”

I don’t think she gave me that “do-over” 44 years ago when I sat in the upstairs fourth grade classroom in the Old Farmin Elementary school. And because she didn’t, it probably made me a better student…paying closer attention to details and checking my work before I turned it in. And as I reflect on the other areas of my life, most of them wouldn’t warrant a “do-over” either. The lessons that I’ve learned from the bad decisions have taught me valuable life lessons. But if I had a chance to get one “do-over” in my life, I would take it. The question is…which one?

Photo from Bing Images

Good News/Bad News

I looked at my Blackberry and felt my heart rate begin to increase slightly. I’d missed a call, which isn’t all that unusually, but this missed call was from Paula, my ex-wife. She doesn’t call that often…I’m usually the one to initiates contact so I was excited that she had called me. I used my trackball to click on “Call Paula” and waited. After a couple of rings, I heard her soft voice as she said “hello” and asked how I was. As I responded, suddenly I lost the connection. I redialed and could hear the short “beep” at the end of the ring that indicated that she was on the phone. She had mentioned that she was waiting for a call, so I waited a few minutes and called back.

Once again, she answered after the first few rings. She apologized for the lost connection and we continued to visit.

“I wanted to be the first to tell you,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to hear this from someone else.”

Suddenly my mind was working. What could it be that she wanted to tell me? Had something happened to mom or dad? That didn’t seem plausible because I don’t think she could hide the pain of that in her voice. Maybe she had met someone. I feel my heart constrict at just the thought of that. Were the kids ok? Finally, as calmly as I could, I asked her what the news was.

“Conrad is getting married,” she said. “I wanted to be the one that told you. I haven’t even told Tina because I just didn’t want it to slip in conversation.”

As I held the phone to my ear, I was filled with a variety of emotions. Conrad is our youngest son (actually my stepson, but I claim him as my own as I do all the kids). When we first got married, he was the only one of the kids who lived with us and was the one that I spent the most time with. While I deeply love each of our kids, my love and relationship with Conrad was a little different because he had lived with us.

“I’m so happy for them,” I replied. “Have the set a date yet?”

A date! Why would I even ask the question? I knew that this was a wedding that I wouldn’t attend. And just the realization of that was heartbreaking. I had been at the marriage of both of our older children…had even worn a tuxedo as a representation of my position as their dad (even as their biological dad did as well). I had been in the hospital for the birth of all four of our grandchildren, sharing in the joy of creation and birth.

But that was all in the past, and choices that I had made changed the future. I hadn’t talked to Conrad, or seen him, since shortly after my arrest. And though I know he loves me, the pain that I caused has left our relationship in limbo. My last image of him was with tears streaming down both of our faces as he hugged me and told me that he loved me. Paula keeps me up-to-date on his life but I’m no longer a part of it.

It’s not that an invitation to the wedding is out of the question. They may invite me. But attending isn’t an option for me. That day is for Conrad and his bride-to-be. My attendance would only take the focus off of them as many of his friends and family would question why I was there. I could never do that.

I’ve discovered that the consequences of my choices and my crime will never be fully paid. I’ve spent my time in prison and “paid my debt to society”. I’ve lost my career and my family. I no longer have the financial resources and wealth that I had once begun to accumulate. But I am changed. My relationship with God is stronger than ever and I’m not the man I once was. My sibling bonds have been restored and I see grace clearly each and every day in my life. But still…there are days when the reminder of my loss is more painful than others. And the realization that sometimes “good news” is “painful news.”

Photo from Flickr

Computer image by Mike Licht, Notions Capital.com

Beyond the Clouds

Each morning as I carefully descend the three metal steps from my fifth-wheel trailer I call home to go to the car to head for work, I take a glance to the east to look at the mountains. I never know what I might see. The property that my trailer sits on has one of the most magnificent views of Mt. Rainier in the region. Sadly, I have to admit that on most days, the entire mountain range is obscured with cloud cover and not even the foothills are visible. But even with that knowledge, I still take the time to look because I know that “it’s there”.

We sit on the tarmac as the plane loads…filled with excitement for the next week. As usual, the black asphalt glistens from the rain that falls so regularly in the Pacific Northwest. As I look out the window, the sky is gray with the sun invisible…hiding somewhere “up there”. I have flown enough to know that if we fly high enough, we will break above the clouds and be in the light of our nearest star.

I’ve thought about clouds and what’s hidden behind them a lot over the past couple of months. I’m not sure if it’s just my nature…or all of human nature, to look for those things that we believe should be there. Or, seek after those things that we really want, even when it seems that they are too far out of reach. A journey beyond the clouds was culminated this past weekend at my younger brother Geoff, and his wife Lynn's home in Bothell.

I was there for a celebration. Not only me, but also my sister Deb and her husband Walt and about thirty plus friends of my little brother’s. For the past several months, he and his wife have been trying to purchase the property that they have been living on. For the three years that he’s lived there, on many occasions he has commented on how much he loved that place and that it was exactly the kind of place he would like to buy some day. But he knew that it wasn’t going to be this particular place. It was a rental house and large shop building sitting on a little over an acre that was destined to be torn down so that a sub-division could be built.

But then something that has become so familiar in these tumultuous economic times occurred…the developer went bankrupt and the property was turned over to the bank. Six months ago, Geoff was informed that he would need to find another place to live…he was being evicted. Suddenly his life was engulfed by thick, heavy clouds that obscured a vision of the future for him. For a while, he looked for other places to live, all the while continuing to pay the monthly rent on the property. One month stretched into two…then three. I asked him on the phone one night how his search for a new home was coming. “We’re in denial”, was his response. They simply didn’t know where to go or even where to look. When we’re in the clouds, that’s what life is like.

A few months later, a plan started to formulate. A decision was made to make an offer to the bank for the home. They knew that there was no way that they could offer what the developer had initially paid for the property, but they also realized that a lot of property was selling for considerably less than what its market value had been only a few years earlier. After some negotiating, they settled on an “offer” and started to work with the bank for financing. They had qualified for a loan through another lender, but the bank apparently wouldn’t accept that type of loan. As the deadline for the offer neared, the final paperwork was submitted…and it was time to wait. A phone call from the bank and suddenly the clouds pushed back in. Denied. No “ifs, ands or buts”. It was done.

I was with my little brother the day after the notification and you could see the weight of sadness on his face and in his voice. No anger…just the disappointment of not getting to the top of the mountain, of not being able to see around the next bend in the trail. He had an attitude of grace, simply telling me that if this wasn’t the place that God wanted him, then He must have an even better place picked out for him.

A few days later, something amazing happened…the clouds started to clear. He received a phone call from the lender that he had originally qualified through. Interest rates had dropped nearly 3/4th of a point and he would now qualify for the amount of the offer they had made on the house. Calls were made to the bank that held the deed on the house to get the offer extended for another month…something the bank didn’t seem excited to do, but that they did nevertheless. More paperwork filled out and submitted. A bit of stress in the household as Geoff and his wife worked to navigate the purchase with everything seemingly against them.

The final day that the offer was valid for quickly approached and it seemed that the top of the mountain was in sight. A meeting at the bank and the final closing papers were signed. A request for the money to be wired to an escrow account submitted and confirmation that it was received. It was time to put the sunglasses on because it seemed that they had finally ascended beyond the clouds. But….

Then the phone call. “The escrow company has wired the money back. The lender needs proof of seven more months of rental receipts.” It was after three o’clock in the afternoon when the news was received. The lending bank was in Texas, two time zones ahead. The banks were closed. It was a Friday and the offer was only good until midnight on Saturday. Suddenly, the clouds moved back in. A weekend of uncertainty lay ahead.

There is no coincidence in my mind that last Sunday as I stood in the backyard of my brother’s newly purchased home that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Through perseverance and a desire to achieve the goal of purchasing his home, Geoff and Lynn refused to allow the dark clouds to turn them back. While most of the time, the end was never really visible…never really clear, life teaches us (if we look) that there is ALWAYS something beyond the clouds. It may be the snow capped peak of Mt. Rainier. Or perhaps the sun as it reaches down from heaven shining on a jet as it streaks across the sky. Or maybe, it’s a dream realized.

Mt. Rainier photos by Mark

Geoff and Lynn photo by Deb Shucka

Shadows

My eyes slowly adjusted as the pale morning light struggled to penetrate the dust and grime on the windows of the old milking parlor. I stood there with my hands stuffed into the pockets of my blue jeans…the knees ripped and worn and in need of new patches. I could feel the cold, fall air on my neck as it drifted over the collar of my old, red coat. In the corner where the calves were penned, I could see him down on his knees. I slowly walked forward, not really thinking about whether or not I should be here…after all, it was daddy’s farm and Mike just worked for him. I was startled by the sound of a snap and crunch, followed by a short bleat of the young calf.

“Whatcha doin’, Mike?” I asked as I stood watching, partially obscured in the shadows. I walked toward him as he looked up from the motionless calf laying at his feet.

“I had to put this one out of its misery”, he replied as he looked up with a start. “It was born with his hips twisted and couldn’t move. I think his back was broken.”

“How’d you put it out of its misery? All I heard was a crunchin’ sound.”

“I just broke his neck….that’s the easiest way. And they don’t suffer much that way.”

“You must really be strong to be able to do that.”

“Not really. It’s pretty easy to break the neck of things that small.”

I looked down at the dead animal, its body lying in a limp mass at my feet. Even though it was a newborn, it was still bigger than I was, and its neck was certainly thicker. I turned to leave and told Mike I might see him later on.

“Hey Mark. Would you like to come by my trailer and have some pizza with me some time?” he asked as I reached the concrete steps that led up out of the milking parlor.

“I’ll have to ask Mommy”, I said as I opened the wooden door and stepped out into the sunlight, “but hopefully she’ll let me. We don’t get to eat pizza very much and its one of my favorites.”

It was only a few weeks later that it worked out that I could go to Mike’s and have the pizza for lunch. I was looking forward to getting to be in his trailer and eat one of my favorite foods. I knocked on his door and waited…shuffling my feet with my hands stuffed into my pockets. He opened the door and invited me in and I entered the dimly lit trailer he called home. The space was small and had the smell of a room that was kept closed up. The windows were covered by pull-down blinds and the small kitchen table was covered with papers and books.

“I thought we’d eat over on the couch,” he said as he walked over into the kitchen area. “It will be more comfortable there than at the little table I have.”

I walked over and plopped down on the couch…older, yet it still looked newer than anything we had in our house. I was filled with excitement as only little kids can be as I sat there waiting for lunch. The smell of the basil and marinara sauce on the pizza drifted in from kitchen as Mike opened the oven to take it out, making me realize how hungry I was.

“It will just be a minute to let it cool and then we can eat,” I heard him call out. “Would you like some root beer or do you have to have milk?” he asked.

A choice? I was thrilled that I’d be able to drink something other than the water or milk that it seemed I had to drink at every meal.

“Root beer, please,” I said as I sat on the small couch that was the only piece of real furniture in this small space. In a few minutes, Mike came over with a plate with the pizza and a glass of root beer and sat down beside me. We sat and ate while Mike told stories of his work and asked questions about how I liked living on the farm. After gobbling down two pieces, I was full and started to get up to take my plate and glass into the kitchen.

“I’ll get that for you, Mark” he said as he stood up and took the dishes from my hands. A moment later, he returned and sat back down beside me…closer it seemed than he was before. As he sat and continued to talk, I felt his fingers run through my short crew cut and down along my neck. My body responded with goose bumps as his fingers touched my neck.

“That tickles Mike!!” I said as I leaned away from him.

“Oh, you’re ticklish are you?” he responded as his hands and fingers started to move across my young body. I twisted and squirmed on the couch as he continued to touch me all over, not containing himself to my neck or my arms and chest. My body shuddered as his fingers touched my private area the first time. The touch was electric and I stopped all movement…barely breathing as the sensation coursed through me. His hand stopped and started to rub and stroke me more deliberately.

“Does that feel good?” he asked as his fingers touched me in a way I had never been touched before. I stammered as I replied that it did and just sat there on his sofa. He slowly unbuttoned my pants and slid down the zipper, his fingers sliding inside my underpants. I gasped as I felt his rough fingers touch me. “I bet it would feel really good if you touched me like this too”, he said as he looked at me and continued to caress me. “Would you touch mine for me, Mark?”

My mind raced as I sat there, enjoying the pleasure but feeling and emptiness grow in the pit of my stomach. There seemed to be something wrong but I had no idea what it might be. I nodded that I would do that for him as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. I began to touch his privates with my small fingers and could hear him begin to moan. His hands stopped touching me and I soon felt his hand move up to the back of my neck. I suddenly felt the pressure of his hand pushing my head down toward his lap. As I tried to pull away from him, his fingers tighten their grip on my neck. My face was soon pressing against his groin.

The next several minutes were a blur as he forced me to perform oral sex on him. Tears burned my eyes and streamed down my face as I did what he told me to do…his hand continually on the back of my neck. When it was over, he released his grip and I pulled away…slinking into the corner of the couch.

“I gotta go Mike”, I said as I drug my sleeve across my face to wipe the tears away. He fastened his pants as I stood up to leave. “Just a minute”, he said as he stood up in front of me. He slowly leaned down until his eyes were at my level. Resting his hands on my shoulders with his fingers touching my neck, he stared directly into my eyes.

“This is something you can NEVER tell anyone…ok Mark!” he said. I stood there trembling, feeling his strong hands on my neck. Suddenly my mind saw Mike kneeling over the calf…and the sound of a snap and a crunching sound. It felt as though my heart stopped for a moment and I stood there frozen. “It’s pretty easy to break the neck of things that small” was suddenly screaming in my ears.

“I promise I’ll never tell anyone Mike. I promise, really I do! Ok?!” I spit out as I stood there more afraid than I’d ever been in my life. He stood up and stepped out of my path. I quickly walked to the door and out into the late afternoon air. The shadows were falling as I walked up the hill toward the house. What I didn’t realize then was that the events of the fall afternoon were also the beginning of a perpetually darkening shadow in my own life.

Photos from Flickr