What I take with me

My brother told me to always remember that there is someone out there who wants it more than you, will work harder than you, will fight harder than you.

My Dad told me never to look a gift horse in the mouth. And he taught me how to sing, “This is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

And my Mom told me not to let my ears start itching. (This is not in regard to bathing habits.)

That’s the most valuable advice I’ve gotten in my life and I carry it very close to my heart.

Sleeping with Prufrock

Life twists in unexpected ways so I feel as though my feet are already off the ground with one week left here in familiarity growing increasingly unintelligible.

One week till...London, four months till...home, less than that till...the rest of my life.

"And time yet for a hundred indecisions/ and for a hundred visions and revisions/ before the taking of toast and tea." The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

Where are those damnable mermaids and will they ever sing for me?

Flashback and explanation
I was a substitute teacher yesterday at my high-school - two 10th grade Bible classes and one freshman study hall.

It's somewhat strange for me to go back to First Baptist Academy. As it is always strange to return to one's past and roots. But important to look back and remember. I can't say enough good things about the teachers, both academically and personally, that I had at the Academy. And if you really want to understand where I come from - FBA would be a prime place to start.

Sometimes there's a pretty interesting dynamic in private religious schools. It's hard to explain...and it's very easy to laugh at. I guess one fair way to look at it is that it's essentially like every high school -with it's share of cliques and dramas and teenage angst, but then it's got this whole spiritual element to it that, to some extent, heightens all situations.

I don't often write on this blog about my personal faith. In fact this is probably the most I've ever written about anything related to Christianity. I also rarely volunteer to share either my personal testimony or a testimony of "how the Lord is working in my life" - in fact I can recall only one time that I have spoken up volunteerily in a group setting about how a particular event affected me. And I still consider it a story worth sharing and occasionally I tell it and the whole thing happened in remote Alaska - no kidding.

Most of that attitude stems from my experiences and observations from my high-school and my youth group involvement. For many kids in that type of setting, it is almost a contest to see who can share the most dramatic testimony or show that the Lord is clearly doing more work in their lives than anyone else's. Who can lead a prayer, who can lead a song. The hottest guys at summer camp are the ones that have felt called to the ministry. Testimonies that rely upon the emotional roller coaster that you can lead the audience through.

I have always eschewed arguments which rely upon emotion, simply because emotion comes and goes and is not so sturdy a thing as to build a life upon. And as for me, well, I've always been of the mind that my actions ought tell my faith and heart more accurately and eloquently than words. At times, my actions have miserably failed to speak of my faith - and this too is a testimony of my state.

And quite frankly, it also comes from the fact that I don't fancy public speaking and I tend to be a very guarded person. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, particularly when it comes to my personal life. And that's at least one of the reasons why I don't write about my faith a whole lot on this blog.

I've written myself out. It's just an explanation, I guess. Doctrinally, my beliefs haven't changed that much over the years. But I've grown up a bit and seen more of life, and so my faith has grown up a bit as well. Funny how that works.

Sometimes I fear that I say too little of my faith, that I am too guarded with it, and too private about it. But it is deeply important to me, and I would say, the best thing in my life.

When I first met my editor at the Missourian she asked me about my family.

"Do you have any siblings?" she asked.

"A brother, about 13 years older," I said.

"Tell me about him," she said.

"Well. Everyday he's my hero," I told her. "Everyday."

And this is why.

"I could go on and on….Thinking of these things makes me realize that it “Rocks my face off” that I am such a good brother. "

Jimmy - my bro sent me an e-mail today. It read like this:

"Just read your Blog which you finally updated. It was ok, except for the fact that there was no mention of me. I think you should Blog about how good a brother I am. How I set the bar so amazingly low that you look good (probably better than you really are) by comparison and how I didn’t beat you for watching David Letterman in my bed while you ate crackers when you should have been asleep. Also…how I handled mom and dad having children 14 years apart (which was an alternative lifestyle then), and how I never did anything really bad to you even though you could be irritating when you were young (and will grow out of it soon, I hope).
Also…how I was a “Brother Reader” and read “Horton Hatches an Egg” to your kindergarten class. Also, How I didn’t beat you when you would wave at the people selling flowers at I-45 and 1960 and they would walk over to the car (back then, kids could sit in the front seat in their car-seats). Also…how I used to drive with the sunroof and windows open in the car because you liked it…even if it were 212 degrees. "

It's true - I did eat crackers in his bed. Although I don't know about the irritating bit. I still like to drive with the windows down and the sunroof open in the Texas heat. I no longer wave to the vagrants selling flowers on the highway - but if it pushed Jimmy's buttons I probably would if we were riding together.

Yeah, as big brothers go, I'd say I got pretty lucky.

Summer Reading:
The books I’ve read:
Reading Lolita in Tehran – excellent, hard to fathom that it’s non-fiction
A Wrinkle in Time – Yet again, but it’s a great
A Wind in the Door – A wee book, but great ideas
Into Thin Air – About a doomed Mt. Everest expedition, grim but interesting
We Were the Mulvaneys – Biggest waste of time ever. Ever. Ever.
The World According to Garp – A little wacky, but definitely worth it.
A Widow for a Year – My least favorite John Irving that I’ve read- too far reaching and unbelievable.
Ten Minutes from Normal – Yes, this is Karen Hughes memoir. No, I don’t agree with everything she says – particularly about Bush. But, a really interesting read about a highly successful woman who tried to put her family first in everything she did.
The Poisonwood Bible – Really excellent, well written. Falls into one of my favorite books category.
Secret Garden, Secret Window – the novella by Stephen King that the movie Secret Window was taken from.

The books I’m still working on and hope to finish before London:
Absalom, Absalom – Beautiful.
Eats, Shoots and Leaves – Grammar beware.

The Flaming Lips said, “happiness makes you cry,” and I say that life is a series of adaptations.

Tonight is a night in which I will turn out my light and stare sleeplessly at my ceiling and rather than find satisfaction in the silence feel only the vapid sucking of time past my window.

I’m working up to a good cry – I can sense it like animals sense the atmospheric changes preceding a tornado.

Not a sad cry, or a mad cry – just a long-over-due-completely-irrational-making-sure-my-tear-ducts-are-working cry.

Ch-Ch-Changes…are coming my way in the form of a couple of plane tickets and a key to a flat. And all London really means to me tonight is a place on the far side of familiar.

Worry has been my struggle lately. Worry in the form of a rather nasal voice that belongs to the skinny, middle-aged librarian that works in the archives in the back of my mind and wears orthopedic shoes everyday.

She points her finger and says, “Everything bad that can happen, will happen, to the people you love while you are away across the ocean.”

“Shut up you old bag, your shoes are ugly, your face is pinched and you smell of moth balls and dust and stale cellar air,” I say.

Then she gets huffy and bustles off to reorganize a file cabinet. She’ll be back, I owe her a paycheck. Still. By that time, I may be on my way.

People say time flies, and I agree that happiness makes your face awfully wet.