i made it into westwinds a couple of nights last week. i had committed to myself to have sorted & boxed all the books that i wished to keep before we left on vacation. there always seems to be a reason to avoid unpleasantries.. especially the kind that wait quietly. but the guys have been more than patient... and physically there was no reason why i couldn't get it done.
i found the shared office shelves covered with scribblings & diagrams for future plans. it almost seemed symbolic... like some cruel joke G*D was playing on me, forcing me to let go of the future to deal with my past. at least the future i had anticipated. i chose not to read them... for they are not mine to read or scrutinize... and i knew reading them would only fed-ex thoughts & emotions to my doorstep that i had no desire to open.
sorting through the books themselves was not as hard as i imagined. but it was sobering to see tangibly how many useless books i'd hung onto. at least useless in my thinking now. time changes our perspective of things like this. i'll let some friends go through what's left to see if they wish any of the spoils; although, i imagine there will be little of interest. books hide their wisdom very easily... and the ones filled with little of it won't tell you otherwise until it's too late.
i mostly boxed books that i want to pass on to someone... or read again because they were that good... or have as a resource just in case. but i'd say i purged about half of what i had.
i've packed many of these friends at least 4 times... this making the 5th. that's how many churches i've served, not including the ones before t.e.d.s. each time they went into the box with another church in mind... packed with a layer of excitement about the ministry potential in the next context.
holding some of them again rekindled that same anticipation... reminding me of the dreams & hopes i had for ministry... for changing the world. it's not that i'm giving up on that dream. it's just that it doesn't feel like i know my role in the dream right now. i find myself refusing to think that it's time to pass the baton... although i know that time comes eventually for all of us.
yet... my thoughts are still so confusing that i cannot run into the future with any sense of direction. which... to be honest... does at times make me wonder if the dream was authentic in the first place.
sometimes i wonder whether i'm approaching the crest of a hill, on top of which i'll see this incredible vista... or discover that i'm too late to brake for a fatal collision of sorts. who can predict? only G*D knows such things.
looking back over this journal entry makes me chuckle at the thought of people reading posts such as this who don't dip from the same melancholic salsa bowl as i. how could they not think me "whacked"? and how could they not say of me the same thing i've thought of them over the years... that being... "what a shame it is that they're missing so much in life."
oh well... i've only been given this one pair of eyes. and only time will tell whether they've allowed me to see anything accurately at all... or if my mind has simply painted pictures over my blindness.
"lord, would you turn up the music? please?"
Randy,
I love your heart. Your thoughts are simply profound. Your ability to communicate them is God-refined. I wish that you could publish them, so others who are in similar situations (though not necessarily having to do with battling cancer) could realize that other fellow pilgrims could empathize with them and possibly share their load. Writing your thoughts down through this blogging medium may not reach as many as if you published them through a reputable publishing company. (And I don't think that the thoughts you have written down as you live through a heavy, heavy trial become obsolete very easily or soon, as perhaps the content of some of the books you own may.)
I wish that I could share more of your pain with you. I know how a person such as you who's felt called of God into occupational ministry could struggle inside with so many questions related to things such as misreading God and planning for the future. It has to be agonizing. And I don't think that you experience it more because you're melancholic. I think that it's because you're more serious than the average person about your walk with Christ and how you want to always live intentionally for Him.
I pray for you but not enough. I'm just like any other lazy American Christian who takes so much for granted and doesn't bank more on God's eagerness to answer specific, concerted prayer.
I agonize over your family. At the same time, I'm amazed (blown away, actually) to witness how resilient each one of them is. They all serve as inspiration to those of us who stand by their side and witness how they carry on so gracioulsy despite what they face every day. (I especially look at Emma and realize what a genuine trooper this young lady is. Again, I wish I could take some of her burden away. But I guess I have to realize myself that God is really the only one who can.)
I guess I should write such personal things to you in a personal e-mail. However, since I don't know your address and rarely sit at the computer outside of work, I thought I'd share my return thoughts to you before they vanished from my aging and fading mind.
I not only love your heart. I love you, Brother Randy. I love your family too.
Hope you all have a simply awesome, stupendous, magnificent, memorable vacation that you will cherish. Much aloha, Glenn Y.
Posted by: Glenn Yamakawa | August 09, 2008 at 10:50 AM
ditto
Posted by: Terry Younkin | August 18, 2008 at 10:15 PM
Glenn says it all and he says it perfectly. Curt and I love and miss you. Thank you for being a part of our walk with God.
Posted by: Amy Auel | August 24, 2008 at 08:12 PM