In conversation the other day I remarked how I believe I have been melancholy all of my life.  Melancholy.  Ponder that for a moment.  Some might equate melancholy with depression, and it’s true depression is often experienced as melancholy.  Still, there’s another way of looking at it.  Melancholy could also be seen as pensive or the act of deep reflection or thought with a feeling of doubt and questioning the present reality of things.  And that for me is where I connect to the word and the experience.  I am self-aware enough to know that I’ve been through times of depression and have sought out support as a result. 

Growing up I was always searching.  Searching for a friend.  Searching to belong.  Searching to be accepted and loved.  I remember from the time I entered first grade through the sixth grade I attended a different school each of the successive years.  No wonder I was melancholy!  I could hardly find time to land at a safe place when change and upheaval would occur.  Such is the life of a boy living in the home of an alcoholic parent.  Alcoholism, though, is a subject for another day.

What all of this instilled in me was a kind of discontent.  Could I be happy?  Was happiness elusive?  Could I simply be…be myself and accept myself without feeling like I was missing out on something?  Believe it or not, even without the ability or understanding to put into words what I was feeling, these were the questions that tracked me throughout my childhood and still, to this day, tap me on the shoulder and remind me that the search is not over. 

I take a bit of comfort in this:  that if the search isn’t over then there must be the hope that happiness, acceptance, love will be found.  Truthfully, I don’t want the search to be over for then I will have given up.

Just the other day I was reminded that, with all of my failings, struggles, and brokenness that I was simply accepted for…me.  

How amazing that is and even more amazing is that melancholy has no room here. 

I fancy myself a photographer.  The truth is I own some cameras but have never truly mastered any of them.  Starting out in film "back in the day" I began on an old Kodak Instamatic followed by Kodak's version of a Polaroid camera to (at last) a true SLR: my trusty Pentax K1000; perhaps the best film camera to learn on.  For years I shot film until finally film got too expensive and rare to find and develop.  I guess I could have set up a dark room but remember I've never mastered photography. This is the truth: I'm just a "photo-tinkerer."  The '90's weren't good to me in terms of photography as relates to equipment.  Mostly point and shoot cameras were used to snap pictures of my kids.  I still have a brown paper bag full of rolls of film too expensive to develop now.  Sometimes I feel like a failure for not taking the time to develop all of that film.  But shooting a roll of film of my kids' birthdays and events and then another roll of film and still another; it all added up and now resides in a brown paper bag.  A sad way to end up. Finally, after the dull years of my photography I finally got more diligent about things.  I moved to digital SLR and bought a Nikon D40; a great starter camera but I quickly outgrew it.  I then moved on to a Nikon D90 and then to a Nikon D7000.  And that's it. That is where I have ended up.  Don't get me wrong.  I love my Nikon...a really great camera but I have yet to master it.  I'm a "novice" novice. What helps me in photography is that I have an "artistic eye" (I just made that up; no one has ever said anything of the sort about me). I often see things to photograph that might be unnoticed by others.  I'm not sure what the title would be for that.  Geek?  Nerd?  Weird?  Odd?  Amazing?  No title is actually needed.  It is what it is.  The photo above was taken behind the old Jefferson Hotel in downtown Birmingham, Alabama.  I simply like the look of black and white for this picture and the direction it takes my eye down the back alley.  Usually when I shoot photos I am undertaking the endeavor for myself and because of that I don't always have to master every shot to get the photo that I like.  And that, in and of itself, makes me happy.  Perhaps that is what happiness is...finding it in the moment without worry of what someone might think; just allowing the moment to be whatever it needs to be.  In that regard I don't have to be a great photographer; just a happy one.

One of those days...

Do you ever wake up and have "one of those days" that begins with "one of those mornings" that's more akin to a "morning meh?"  Okay that was wordy, but some mornings and days are simply difficult to put into words.  Some days I wake up like a "Spring chicken" (not usually) and other mornings I wake up with that hangover feeling without the requisite binge. Sometimes I live with what has been called "the tyranny of the oughts."  Henri Nouwen in his book, "Here and Now" sums it up quite nicely when he writes:  "It is hard to live in the present.  The past and the future keep harassing us.  The past with guilt, the future with worries.  So many things have happened in our lives about which we feel uneasy, regretful, angry, confused, or, at least, ambivalent. And all these feelings are often colored by guilt.  Guilt that says:  "You ought to have done something other than what you did; you ought to have said something other than what you said."  The 'oughts' keep us feeling guilty about the past and prevent us from being fully present to the moment."  Being present, truly present, with others in the moment is wonderful.  Celebrating life in the present moment is a great experience.  More important is being present with myself so that when "one of those days" arrives I can simply look at it and be about my day without the wave of "oughts" flooding in.  Nouwen writes further:  "The real enemies of our life are the 'oughts' and the 'ifs.'  They pull us backward into the unalterable past and forward into the unpredictable future.  But real life is in the here and now."  Here and now.  This is where I want to be.  One of those days? Sure, maybe...perhaps.  As I write this my ear is tuned to the sounds coming through the raised window open to the morning outside and I hear birds singing.  Life is present in the here and the now.  And for this I am grateful for I am reminded that there is a song in my own heart.  The journey of life is all about writing the song of the heart.  What song are you writing as you wake up to one of those days?

W for Whiskey?

 When the past bumps up against the future it can often create a dilemma. 
 

This was recently brought to my attention.  I was on the phone with a major computer manufacturer about an item I ordered that was delivered to me defective.  Talking to the customer service representative I could hear an accent in his voice.  Of course he could hear an accent in mine, considering the fact I live in the Southern U.S. where accents and dialects are as numerous as ants at a Sunday picnic.  That's for another blog, though.

To make sure that he understood me correctly he repeated back to me every letter in my name and email address.  In doing this he used the "standard" word-for-a-letter format.  For example, for M he repeated, "M as in Mike?"  Now, this intrigues me because my name is Mark, why did I have to be called Mike?  That's another blog to write, too.  He proceeded to say, "A as in Alfa, R as in Romeo, K as Kilo."  I said all of this was correct.  When he came to my middle name which begins with "W" he said, "W as in whiskey."

Now, let me stop here because the word for "W" is whiskey, every time.  This has been a standard in use since the late 1950's.  "W" for whiskey.  Now, this really means nothing in the big picture called life but my life always comes into view when I hear "W" for whiskey.  My middle name begins with "W" (just in case you weren't following along) and it is the name given to me by my father to honor his brother.  Here's some quick family history on my part.  My father grew up in an era of hard and poor living in the South during the 20's and 30's.  It was a rough time for him and his family.  He quit school in the 7th grade to go to work eventually overcoming several obstacles to make a good living in hotel management before dying at the age of 46. 

Here's where the "W" for whiskey gets me every time.  My dad was an alcoholic.  I'm not talking about the nice, sweet, kindly fumbling and bumbling drunks we laugh at on TV sitcoms of the past.  I'm thinking Otis from The Andy Griffith Show here.  My dad was what you might call a mean drunk.  He drank whiskey and drank it hard.  For a time he lived hard.  There was a struggle with relationships, job commitments, and he had health problems.  Before he quit drinking two years before his death, which might have been the best two years of his life, he had lived a life where alcohol undermined his worth, value, and the lives of those around him. 

As a child growing up witnessing all of this; seeing the anger, hearing the angry slurs and profanity it became apparent to me that every time the sales person says "W" for whiskey I'm reminded in that moment, in that brief moment, that I come from a family where whiskey was not a "stand-in" for the letter, W.    

W for whiskey.  Why not "W for walking or whimsical or worship?  Some will say, "Mark, you think too much."  That's probably true.

What else is true is that what I experienced in my childhood has helped me to become the person I am; far from perfect.  I've had my own share of pain and struggle and mistakes.  All of this has given to me a more empathetic sense of those around me.  Many of us struggle with identity issues, past pain, future anxiety, etc.  The thing about it all is that we don't have to be defined by it.  That "W" for whiskey is my past bumping up against my future.  The "present" of my life reminds me that I am not my father. Still, I sense his influence in my life in ways that reveal to me the good and sometimes the not so good.  The paradox of living is that each of us is made up of the raw materials given to us by our parents.  It is our task to make something valuable of it all.

I am a man seeking to live my life in the best way that I know.  I seek to be a good husband, father, grandfather, brother, and friend.  Sometimes the past knocks on the door and tries to tell me to give up; that the future isn't any better.  And I say let the past lie; I won't stay there any longer.

W for whiskey? 

Really? 

How about W for Worthy?

In light of yesterday's events at the Boston Marathon I found myself experiencing a variety of feelings:  shock, sadness, anger, and a kind of malaise.  It was that feeling of malaise or melancholy that intrigued me.  As a people who are becoming accustomed to events like this we can become jaded and think this is just the way we live now.  We can detach and disconnect from our feelings and even the life around us.  But yesterday was not common place.  It is not normal for bombs to explode at a seemingly safe event resulting in chaos, injury, and death.  It is not even normal for these things to happen in some far-removed middle-eastern locale.  Ours is a world broken and in our brokenness we are turning on each other and wreaking havoc; brokenness seemingly becomes perpetual.  I do not want to get used to bombings at marathons, murders in schools and at theaters, planes crashing into buildings, and families ripped apart by violence.  I do not want to accept that this is a way of life.  I do not want to become jaded to the point where I am no longer moved by the pain and suffering of those around me.  If this day should ever arrive it will be then that I will have lost my heart and in essence, my humanity.  I believe God is calling us to reach out in love, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  There is a price to be paid.  Just ask Jesus.  And the answer given might surprise us for in the answer of pain and suffering we might find hope and resurrection and even how to be human for the first time.  Don't lose heart.

A Few Photos from Lawrenceburg

Recently, I was in the Amish community near Lawrenceburg, Tennessee. Here are a few photos from that afternoon in mid March.

Nothing to See Here...Move Along.

"Nothing to see here; move along." How many times have we read or heard these words in a book or in a movie? Nothing to see. Really? Move along. For real? There's so much to see that we better stay put if we truly want to see. We miss it though, don't we? We miss the significance of things until we are hit between the eyes. So, what do we do? We move along, right?

This is Easter Monday which for me is usually a day of reflection following a very harried week of activity leading up to Resurrection Sunday. I find that I wish I could "move along" and not think for a bit or wrestle with life's problems but Mondays seem to be made for wrestling. Nonetheless, I was reflecting on the first day of the week as recorded in John's Gospel in the New Testament. On that first day of the week the women and disciples of Jesus go the tomb where he was buried only to find the tomb vacant. They fear that the body of Jesus has been stolen. They are bewildered and afraid because when one expects to find death but death is absent there are questions to be asked. Perhaps the dead person has now become a ghost or worse yet, a zombie!

I'm intrigued, however, by the response of the first disciples who entered the tomb that day. John's gospel tells us they went in, had a look around and then went home. That has always struck me as odd and interesting. They went home. Now, you might ask, "Where else could they go?" Good question. I'm not sure what I would have done at that point but to return home doesn't seem likely. I might have begun a search for Jesus. Or I might have texted my friends or sent out a tweet or created a page on Facebook related to my experience hoping to garner an outlandish number of "likes". "If you've seen Jesus, like us on Facebook!"

Granted, I exaggerate. Still, there is something happening here. Was there really nothing to see so that the only response for the disciples was to move along and go home? Once again, this intrigues me. It shouldn't though.

We all retreat to our homes. Home is our place of safety. Home is our castle where we feel fortified against the ills of the world. Home becomes a fortress where we surround ourselves with all the comforts we can afford and hope that no one will ring the doorbell and disturb us in our domain.

So, returning home seems like the natural thing to do.

In his book, "Falling Upward," Richard Rohr writes: “The familiar and the habitual are so falsely reassuring, and most of us make our homes there permanently. The new is always by definition unfamiliar and untested, so God, life, destiny, suffering have to give us a push—usually a big one—or we will not go. Someone has to make clear to us that homes are not meant to be lived in—but only to be moved out from.”

For me it seems apparent that what took place on that first resurrection Sunday was so radically different and new that the only initial response was to hold to the familiar, the "tried and true" of going home. Yet, home is not where God wants to take us; at least not home in how we think of it.

Consider that Jesus never stayed in one place for very long and was always on the go, moving in and out of communities in ministry and service. The idea of a place to escape was foreign to Jesus. Now, don't misunderstand me. There were times when Jesus needed some alone-time to recharge and renew his spirit but it was always for the purpose of moving out again never to take up permanent residence.

New things often frighten us. The unfamiliar can seem daunting. Not knowing can paralyze us from taking necessary steps for our betterment. Through the resurrection God was seeking to push those first followers of Jesus out of their "comfort zone" into new territory to blaze a path for the message of grace, love, and forgiveness they were called to proclaim.

As people we are often pushed and prodded to further retreat into our homes and ourselves. Crime, cancer, wars, poverty, hunger, the unknown..all of these things stir up fear in us and sometimes the only thing we know to do is to go home and pray nothing will bring us harm.

If, however, we are to face life that pushes us out of the familiarity of our comfort zones we are going to have to step out of the house, leave the yard, move out onto the street and go forth and claim the life we have been given. Home should not simply be a place of retreat and isolation. Home is the place where we learn that we have permission to leave. Home is where we receive the inner resolve to move out and climb the walls and barriers that threaten to entrap us.

You can't go home again. I think this is true but it doesn't have to be a negative. The irony is that when we leave home we are preparing for another home where we live in the safety of God's presence.

Nothing to see here; move along. Don't worry. God will go with you.

Life in the Middle

It has been said that there is a time for everything.  There is a time to be born and a time to die.  Check.  There is a time for war and a time for peace.  Check.  I would much rather have peace, though.  There is a time to cry and laugh and dance and hug and embrace and love and even hate.  We live in such a way that we experience a variety of "seasons" to life. 

What I'm finding in my life is that the seasons of life are not separate from other times.  Often these moments or seasons pile in one on top of the other and it is then that I am left to discern which pieces of the puzzle to pick up.  Where do I start? 

 

What is the first piece that is always crucial in assembling a puzzle?  Some might say it's the corner piece.  Perhaps.  It could be, though, that starting in the middle might not be such a bad idea, especially where our lives exist.  Starting in the middle means that I do not retreat to the edges (corners) and isolate or disconnect. 

 

The middle of life is life worth living.  Granted, it is often more challenging living in the middle.  It is easier to disengage and move to the periphery of life. 

Sometimes the thought is that when we get "our ducks in a row" then we can make better sense of what it means to live.  In reality life is more about "chasing the ducks" and finding meaning along the way.  That is why it is important (at least I think so) to find the times of my life in the middle of my life.  How ironic it is for me to be speaking about the middle of life since I recently turned 50 years of age.  Yes, I know.  It is the middle of a century.  My children were quick to remind me of this.  And yet I can't help but feel that in many ways the best is still to come regardless of past mistakes, struggles, or decisions. 

Recently I was reminded that to find hope in the midst of pain is a gift.  At least pain tells me I'm alive.  Should not living be a gift?  The challenge is to let go of the past while embracing the present but notice that letting go means clinging to something.  We let go of the past and its hurts and griefs while at the same time holding on to the present.  There must be something to hold in order to let something go.  This, in essence, is life in the middle. 

Yes, there is a time for everything and there is timing to everything.  Sometimes timing is not what we think it should be but hopefully in that moment we discover the time to embrace what is before us.  There is a time to laugh.  There is a time to dance (I can't dance very well, by the way).  Maybe it is time to cry.  Through it all it is time to live.  It is time to breathe.  What time is it in your life?