Power of the Plug

It is amazing what community an electrical outlet will build in an airport. In Oklahoma City International Airport they have entire banks of seats that are wired for power and as you might imagine these are very popular places to sit.  If you were with someone you might not notice the diversity of people these seats collect, but traveling alone you listen more than you speak and you cannot help but hear pieces of the lives of the people who are sitting next to you.

Today, while parked in my powered seat, I could not help but hear the conversations of six Navy recruits who were sitting behind me.  They were on their way to Chicago where they would be inducted into the service and begin their basic training.  You could hear the nervous excitement in their voices as they bantered back and forth.

They talked about what it would be like when they arrived.  They wondered how much they would get yelled at on their first day.  They joked about what they would look like with no hair.  Their plane was delayed and they wondered if they would get into trouble for being late. They talked about  the kinds of jobs they hoped be given and they shared the promises their individual recruiters made to each of them.

It was a pleasure to listen in on what was going on in their hearts and minds as they were getting ready to make this important transition in their lives.

I must not have been the only one listening in on their conversation because a man, who quickly identified himself as a former Navy man, came and sat down and began to ask a slew of questions.

Now, I have to confess from the very beginning, my judgmental heart quickly discerned that his questions were not formed to discover more about these young men and women, but  to demonstrate how much he knew.  He rattled off so many acronyms and military jargon that I did not understand and I am sure the recruits hand not yet learned.  This just added to the sense that he possessed all knowledge of all things Navy.

From this expertise he began to asked questions about what kind of training they had been promised, what jobs they wanted, what they had heard about basic training, and on what kind of ship did they want to serve.

With each answer given  he would respond with, “”That not how it really is,” or “You don’t want that job,” or “You will not get what the recruiter promised unless it is in writing.”  Not once in his entire conversation did he give one encouraging response like, “Good Choice,” or “You will love that job,” or “You’ll do great.”  He just kept demonstrating his superior understanding of the Navy and devaluing any response a recruit gave to his questions.

He was not even talking to me, but to be honest it was hard for me to listen to what he was saying to these young men and women.  I cannot imagine how hard it was for these recruits, who were in limbo between having signed away the next four years of their life in the recruiter’s office, and the reality of what it is really going to be like once they get to Chicago, to have to pay attention to him.

It must have been too much because one recruit finally said, “I don't care about all that, the Navy is my ticket out of Oklahoma.”  I think this statement was code for, “Thanks bud for butting into a significant transitional moment in our lives and stealing all the excitement, adventure and joy from it.  That is exactly what I need to hear right before I head off to what might just be the hardest eight weeks of my life.  Where in the world were you when I was walking into the recruiter’s office?  Do me a favor, if you run into my mom please do not share what you have just shared with me.  I think she needs to be able to hold on to the hope for my future you have just robbed me of.  Thanks again.”

Now, in fairness, I have not been in the military and so I cannot judge how much of what this guy shared is true.  I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was all true.  My question is this, what good was it for him to share it at this moment.  These recruits cannot go back to the recruiter and say, “I made a mistake and I want to go home.”  They cannot change what will happen to them tonight, tomorrow, or for the next eight weeks.  All they can do, in the strength of their own character, is walk the journey that is set before them.  There is no need to cause them to worry about tomorrow or to regret what they agreed to yesterday.

 Instead, what they needed was to be encouraged and strengthened for the moment they are about to face.

Listening to this conversation made me think about the people who come across our path who are at a significant transition in life that we have lived before.  Maybe they are graduating, getting married, or having a baby.  Maybe they just found out they have cancer,  had a loved one die, or they have just walked through the death of their marriage.  There is always a temptation, especially if we have walked the same path before, to impress them with our knowledge of the situation or tell them what it will really be like.  More often than not this brings very little help and does more to discourage than build up.  This is almost never our intention, but unfortunately, it happens.

What if instead, we simply listened, and when they did not know what to say we asked questions that help them understand what they are thinking and feeling rather than providing an opportunity for us to share what we know.  What if we allowed them to discover for themselves what comes next and we see our role to encourage and strengthen them with words that build them up and bless.  What effect would this have?

I think it could have a powerful effect.  I think it could build them up, encourage them, let them know they are heard and what they think and feel is valued, even if there is nothing that can be done to change the circumstance.  This is more significant than you may know.  It empowers people to walk through difficult situations. It gives them a voice. It makes them feel loved and not alone.

Now that is a great gift to give someone who is heading into a significant life transition.

The man who had come to give all his wisdom finally got up to go and catch his plane, much to the relief of us all.  As soon as he was gone, one of the recruits, a 24 year-old women who's husband is already serving in the Navy, turned to the group and said, “I just received a text from my husband and he said the flight being delayed is out of our control and out of the Navy’s control and it will not reflect badly on us when we arrive.”    With that one reassuring statement, the conversation was lifted and they went back to being nervously excited about what was coming next.  It was exactly what they need to hear.  Once again they shared what was on their hearts and minds and they listened to one another.

I could not help but think to myself, “Good work recruit.”  That woman had leadership written all over her.  I think she will do quite well in the service.  May they all excel at whatever role they are given.

Which would you choose?

Last Sunday I had the privilege to go to church with my friends Mark and Denise in Parker, Colorado.  As part of the sermon the pastor made a passing comment about love, trust and relationships.  I have been thinking about it ever since.  So you can join me in my pondering, I want to ask you this question:

If you had to choose between love or trust in a relationships, which would you choose? 

Now let me just say at the very outset the best kinds of relationships possess both, but that does not mean all relationships have both.  There are times in life and in our relationships that we only get one or the other, and if this were the case in a relationship you have in your life, which would you choose?

Think about it for a minute.

After thinking about it you may want to argue with me and say you cannot have one without the other, but this is just not true.  You can love someone whom you do not trust, and you can trust someone you do not love.  Refusing to accept this simple truth can open you up to a great deal of hurt.

Think about someone you love, or are called to love, but do not trust.  An example of this kind of person might be a family who member who has broken your trust over and over again.  It is always painful when someone breaks our trust, but it is even more so when it is someone one you love.  If they have broken your trust enough you many have had to build boundaries in your life to keep them from wounding you again, and again.  Your heart simply cannot take the risk of trusting them one more time and having it wrecked once more.

Though this may be a sad reality in a relationship you have, it may also be a reality that it does not change the deep seeded truth that you still love them.

Another person who may fit into this category is your enemy.  Scripture is very clear, we are to love our enemies, but if they are truly our enemies, it is important to be able to distinguish between love and trust.  Trusting our enemy might very well bring destruction into our life.  This fact, however, does not negate our ability to love them, to want good for them, and to do good to when we have the opportunity to do so without opening ourselves to being affected by their untrustworthiness.

This kind of love requires a great deal of trust in God, but that is another blog.

Now turn your attention to someone you trust, but may not love.  It could be someone who irritates you, or whom you cannot stand.  It could be someone you would not choose to have any dealings with except for the fact that through work, church, school, where you live, or some other life circumstance you have been thrown together.

Even though you might not choose to have them in your life, you may have made the discovery that they are trustworthy.  They do what they say they will do.  They treat you with fairness, even though you are not the best of friends.  You can count on them to come through.  While love may not be the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of them, you know when push comes to shove you can trust them.  Chances are you have one or even several of these kinds of people in your life.

Given all of this, which would you chose in a relationship love or trust?

Of course I, like you, would want to choose both, but if I could choose only one I would choose trust.

Trust allows me to have relationship with a person, the kind of relationship where we are able to depend upon one another, seek what is good for one another, open to one another without the fear that we will hurt each other.  In fact, now that I think about it, I am not sure you can have any kind of positive, life giving  real relationship unless there is trust.

Love on the other hand, while it may compel me to seek the good for another, does not guarantee the possibility of relationship.  This is true, not only for us, but for God.  Scripture tells us that God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son for us.  There is no greater love than this.  However, even this immense love does not mean that a man will have relationship with God.  Something more is required; faith, belief, or put another way trust.

It is important we recognize this fundamental truth about relationships or we might open ourselves up to great injury.

With those whom I both love and trust I can enter into relationship with full abandon.

With those whom I trust, but have not developed love, I can enter into relationship hoping the trust we share and the association that is made possible will one day grow into love.

And with those whom I love but do not trust, the appropriate response it to seek their good, but not put myself in a position to be wounded by them once again, unless of course, the trust that has been lost has been rebuilt. 

In my experience this takes repentance, admitting the wrong and a turning away from one pattern of life to embrace another.  It also takes a willingness to forgive, and the experience of trustworthiness that only comes with time. Until these are entered into, no real relationship is possible, nor can real trust be rebuilt.  The amazing part is, if two people, for the sake of love are willing to walk this path, restoration is possible.  This is a hard road, and not many choose it.

If I had my way relationships would always possess both love and trust. This combination makes it possible for each person to feel safe, grow, and give selflessly to the other.  Unfortunately, in our broken world relationships sometimes offer one or the other.  It seems to me, given how hard it is to rebuild trust, and given the fact that a mutually trusting relationship almost naturally moves towards love, I would choose trust.

To make this choice it is far less about finding someone whom I can trust, and far more about being someone whom others can trust.  I am not always perfect at this, and so when I break trust I must be willing to go to the other person and ask for forgiveness, and in the process invite the other to join me on the path of restoration.

I have had to do this more often than I care to admit with my wife, my children, friends, and a couple of times with total strangers.  What I have found is their surprise of having someone admit they have made a mistake, broken trust, and ask forgiveness and often it is all a person needs to be willing to take the risk of beginning the process of restoration.   And while this is never as good as having not broken trust, since we all break trust at times, it does provide its own kind of security, knowing that even if we do something that is harmful to a relationship, not only is restoration is possible but also often very sweet.

If we would all be willing to take the first step, maybe there would be no need to choose between love and trust.

Therefore if you are presenting your offering at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your offering there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and present your offering. – Matthew5:23-24

The Weed

Several weeks ago I found myself setting outside a Hampton Inn and Suites waiting for a shuttle to the airport.  There was a small patio with tables and chairs, so I sat down and began to take in the immediate surroundings.

The patio was encircled by flowerbeds and ivy covered walls.  All of it was quite manicured and beautiful.  All of it, that is, except for this one three foot tall weed that stood prominently in a bed of ground cover.  I could not help but wonder why someone had not pulled it before.

Now to be fair, it looked less like a weed, as you might imagine a weed, and more like a small tree that had found its way there by seed or by shoot.  I have to imagine, because the leaves were so much more pleasant than your average dandelion, that when it first appeared the gardener must have thought it to be a desirable plant and decided to leave it there.

Some time, soon after, this plant began to grow much taller than the plants that surrounded it.  At some point it became quite apparent, whether it is a weed, tree, or some other plant my lack of horticultural prowess prevents me from identifying, this plant did not belong here.

Why is it that the gardener did not pull it up at that point?

My guess, by then he had become so used to seeing it, he no longer recognized it for what it is, a weed.

This can be a very destructive oversight.  A friend of mine told me of a tree that took root in his neighbor’s driveway.  It burrowed its root into a crack in the side walk, made its way under the slab, and under the cinder-block wall.  How long it was there I do not know, but I have been in his back yard and have seen how the root of that misplaced tree has caused the block wall to heave, cracking and distorting it.

I wondered how long it will take for this weed of a tree to crack the patio I was sitting on. Maybe it will never get to that point, but my guess is that it already has put down enough roots that it is going to be quite difficult to remove.  Even when it is removed, those roots may put up shoots elsewhere in the landscape of that hotel, causing the gardener to take time to attempt to eradicate this weed of a tree for years to come.

If only the gardener would have pulled the weed when it first took root and sprouted.

It is the same with the weeds in our life.  Whether it is a bad habit, laziness or sin it is so much easier to eradicate it when it first appears than to get rid of it when it has had time to grow and send out its roots.

Trying to pull it out after it has taken root often only causes it to spread and sprout up somewhere else in our lives, leaving us feeling as it we will never be fully rid of it.

If we give up, and just let it grow we cannot predict the damage it will eventually cause.  Rather than pulling a weed, we may find ourselves having to rebuild the walls of our life.

A week later I spent some time at a friend’s house in Gig Harbor, Washington.  They live in a neighborhood where people take their gardening seriously.  It is a very beautiful neighborhood.  Each day my friend goes out to the garden to pull weeds.  He does not spend hours and hours there, but each day he takes a few minutes to tend to part of the garden, removing any plant that has sprouted that is not supposed to be there.  He said it is so much easier to take a little bit of time each day than it is to wait until the weeds have had time to take over.

Because of his diligence, the weeds never have the opportunity to cause the kind of damage that is possible if they were left to grow.

How is your life’s garden?  Do you pull up the weeds as soon as they appear, or do you give them time to spread their roots and become invasive?  What damage can you see from the weeds that have been left to grow?  What has been the cost?

It is never too late to pull up a weed.  Even if has spread, now is the time to begin to remove it from the fertile soil of your life.

One of the best ways I know of to begin the process is to first find a trusted friend and tell them about it.  It should be someone who is able to speak truth to you, and is able to do it in love.  It should be someone who is not judgmental, but able, because they have done a bit of weeding in their own life, to sympathize with your weed problem.

The next move is to recognize that not all weeds can be removed by our own effort.  We need supernatural help, and being willing to acknowledge the presence of the weed to God and ask him for help is the beginning of eradicating a weed from your life.

Taking time to talk to God and to others about the weeds in our life early and often is a bit like my friend who goes out daily to weed a small part of his flowerbeds.  It keeps the weeds from becoming invasive and destructive.

It is also so much easier than waiting until it is all overgrown.

The Artist

Today I flew into Long Beach from Seattle.  Due to a snafu in ticketing I found myself in row 21, seat C while my wife sat in 13D.  Needles to say, I did not know the young woman who sat down next to me.  She had to either be getting ready to start her senior year of high school or her first year of college. We traded a couple of polite smiles and pleasant nods with one another.  I pulled out the book I was reading and she pulled out a sketchpad.  We then both got lost in our own worlds.

My book was on the how God uniquely forms our souls.  It is a good read and easily kept my attention.  That is why I did not notice what the girl was drawing until I got to the end of a chapter and took a cursory glance down at her sketchbook.  I was amazed at what I saw.  She was working on the hair of what I first thought was a photograph.  I could not help but wonder why she was drawing hair on someone’s picture.  I took a closer look and realized that it was not a photo at all, but a pen and ink drawing.  

(Not Actual Picture, but similar)

She was clearly very talented.

I told her that I was very impressed with her work and I asked her if it was a drawling someone she knew.  She said no, it was someone she imagined. 

What was so amazing was how much soul the person she was drawing possessed.  I could see pain in her eyes.  I could make out desire for something more.  You could see in her face that she experienced hardship, the kind of adversity I could hardly imagine the young women sitting next to me understood. Yet, the way she drew the hair imaged a women who’s harsh expression was only covering up the softness of who she really was. 

All this was formed from nothing more than a black pen, a piece of white paper, and her imagination.

I must have embarrassed her because not long after our short conversation she put her book away and pulled out something to read.

About an hour later, she switched back to her sketchbook and began to draw again.  This time I said nothing, but at the end of each chapter, I took a glance over at her work.

The first time I looked, she had drawn what looked to me to be a caricature of another woman.  It was something I would have expected her to turn into an animated character.  You could make out the expression on the face and had a good idea of what the women would look like, but it was nothing like a picture.

A chapter later, I looked again and saw that she had begun to work on the hair.  It no longer had the feeling of a cartoon, but now looked real.  What I had imagined at first glance as blond flowing hair was now black. She had masterfully woven the stokes of her pen to create the illusion of light bouncing off the black curls.  Though the artist had hardly finished one side of her head and had yet to begin working on the face, I knew that in a matter of time the sketch that lay before her would look as real as the one she was working on earlier.

Rather than turning back to my book, I sat and studied her at  work.  I was amazed at how she patiently made the tiniest of strokes with her pen, one after another.  By themselves, they were just lines on a page.  However, together, they seemed to bend light and give dimension to the hair she was drawing.  It was almost as if she was not drawing, but scratching off a layer of color that hid what was real beneath it.  It was masterful and beautiful to watch.

As I watched, I could not but help make the connection between what I was witnessing and what I had been reading just a few minutes before. 

God too is an artist, masterfully working to reveal what He envisions our souls, who we really are, to be.  We cannot see the full picture.  In fact, it often looks to us more like a random set of scribbles on a page than the patient sketching of the lines that form a beautiful picture that is more real than what we can imagine.

As I watched her, I could not help but think that she is not the only one who had to be patient.  I too had to be patient.  If I refused, and turned away after my first glance of her second drawing, I would have been left with an image of a caricature, rather than the vision of how real the picture was becoming.

This too is true of how God forms us into who we are really to be.  If we get impatient, if we refuse to allow the Creative One the time necessary to draw the lines necessary to bring definition, realism and life, our lives may end up feeling more like a distorted image, a caricature of our real self,  than a photograph of who we were meant to be.

Maybe that is how you feel now.

Be encouraged.  It is never too late to wait for the artist of our souls to reveal to us what is real and seemingly hidden beneath the surface of the paper.

After all, he has already imagined who he intends for you to be, and like the young women next to me on the plane, he has the creativity and skill necessary to bring to life all that he imagines. 

Whoop, Whoop!

I spent the last few days in Virginia preparing for a wedding.  Most of the people involved either graduated or attend Texas A&M. The bride and groom are graduates.  All the bridesmaids are graduates, and one of the groomsmen will graduate this fall.  There were also a large number of the friends in attendance who graduated from this university, and many of the parents did as well.  I am just guessing, but maybe two thirds of the guests went to this school.

This is a unique group of people. When they talk about their experience at Texas A&M they speak of the many traditions that have been handed down from generation to generation. They have hand gestures, calls, songs, and rites of passage that they all share.  Several times at the reception they would break into their school song, gather to take a photo, or circle up for a cheer.

These were kind people.  They also had strength of character that you noticed as soon as you began to talk to them at any length.  The women are strong, confident, and feisty.  They men are honorable, chivalrous, and capable.  It was great to spend a few days with them in preparation for the wedding and reception.

One of the other things they all share in common, at least those who have graduated or have nearly graduated, is that they wear a gold ring that marks them as an Aggie.  Except for the date, this ring is the same for each class.  It serves as a common link for former students.  Whenever an Aggie sees the ring on another Aggie’s hand, an instant reunion takes place.

Since I have been here, I have heard multiple stores of how wearing the ring has caused another graduate to pay for dinner, offer a place to stay for the night, or even take up a contract dispute and win the case.  The ring marks you as part of a family that takes care of one another, even if they have never met before.  This happens because they have a shared history, set of values, and core commitments.

To witness this draws you in.  You wish you had attended the school.  You wish your children had chosen to go there. Even though you did not even buy your class ring from the university from which you graduated, you wish you had the right to wear theirs, because it means something significant.

It struck me as I was experiencing this community over the past few days, that is exactly how the church is supposed to be.  After all, those who believe are sealed with the Holy Spirit.  It may not be as immediately visible as a gold ring, but it should be just as symbolic of who were are and how we are to interact with one another.

Maybe it would be easier if we all wore rings, but then again that would leave people wishing they had somehow earned the right to be able to wear it.  Instead, the seal we receive is given to us freely.  While it does set us apart, it is not intended to create a division between those who have it and those who do not.  In fact, it is supposed to do just the opposite, it is to be something that draws others in and enfold them into the community we share.

This is where I see the Aggie community being able to remind us of how we are supposed to be as the community of the church.  They are generous, kind, and loving towards one another.  If someone has a need and an Aggie can meet it, they do.  There is an unbreakable bond between them.  Their traditions, calls, and songs unify them.  They are always excited to see one another, especially if they have never met before.  In short, they are a community centered on Texas A&M and all that it stand for.  This has a very profound effect on how they live.

We, who make up the church, are a community that is centered on the person of Jesus Christ, and it should have a very profound effect on how we live.  This reality should conform us into His image.  We should become like him; generous, kind and loving.  If someone has a need and we can meet it, we should do it.  There should be an unbreakable bond between us.  Our psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs should unite us.  We should always be excited to see a brother or sister in Christ, especially if we have never met them. 

I want to be part of this kind of community and I believe others do as well. That is why when you experience an expression of that kind of community; you want to wear their ring. 

What would it be for the church to be the kind of community it is called to be?  What would it look like for us to act like people who, do not wear a ring, but have been sealed by the Spirit of the living God?  What influence would this have on the people around us?  What influence would it have on us?

I do not know about you, but I am willing to go to school to find out.

Whoop, whoop!

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. - Acts 2:42-47

Be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. - Ephesians 5: 19 & 20

Ghosts From the Past

This was our last full day in Oklahoma.  If you have not been reading this blog, you may not know that one of my best friends and I discovered that we grew up for a period of our life in the same corner of the world.  Having made this discovery, we decided to take a road trip back there so we could put places and faces to the stories we have shared with one another throughout the years.

We ended our last day by driving out to a place call Ghost Mound.  Why it is called that I do not know, nor does my friend, but that doesn't really matter.  We had taken his mom and her friend out to dinner. When we arrived back at her house, her friend suggested we head out to the place.  I was surprised at how quickly Dana said lets go. 

As we drove to the mound, he told me of how when he was 7 or 8 his school had gone on a field trip to the spot.  He remembers how when they arrived he was kept at the bottom as the rest of the children climbed up to the top of the rock formation.  It was a painful memory.  He had thought of going back there and climbing it when he was in High School but never did.  Now 43 years later, our bellies full from dinner, we were driving through the back roads of Western Oklahoma in search this ghost from the past.

We pulled up to a chained gate, parked the car and started to walk to the base of the mound.  Grasshoppers, too numerous to count, were swarming at our feet, and bounced off our legs.  The sun was getting low in the sky, the light was golden and the air was still humid and warm.  It was beautiful.

Needless to say, we did not stop at the bottom of that rock.  Straight away we scrambled to the top.  Dana had the satisfaction of finally getting to climb up Ghost Mound. I got to share the moment.  We both beheld the beauty of the plains that rolled out before us like a carpet.
 

It was a great end to the day.

We began the day by going to the place where I had lived, Burns Flat.  Back then it was an Air Force base.  My dad was stationed there for nearly three years.  I moved there sometime after I turned one.  We left when I was four.  Just hearing those facts may make you wonder if I had any memory of the place at all.  

Surprisingly, there are several vivid memories I have carried with me for my whole life.  The kinds of memories that get cemented in a little boys mind and have a way of shaping how he see himself and the world for the rest of his days.  Unless of course, the man he becomes is willing to take a journey back to revisit them and see them through adult eyes.

That is a big reason why we are here.

I used to have a metal peddle car that some of the older kids would push up the hill behind our house and ride down.  Now there are fences there, but back then it seemed like a bid wide open space.  To get to the top of this hill, if you can call it that, we would climb up the side of it.  Back then, it was kind of abruptly cut at the side walk and climbing to the top involved scaling what seemed to be a steep embankment of red Oklahoma dirt.  It was an easy task for the older kids.  As a three year old, I could barely make it, and often fell behind.  This was the first time I remember feeling as if I did not measure up.  It is the first time I felt like I did not fit.

On the corner of the street was a storm drain.  One day I was playing there and I dropped my toy rifle down into the hole.  I was probably trying to see how deep it was.  I ran and asked my dad to get it for me.  He was not happy.  Instead of getting it for me, he opened the grate and then lowered me into the drain.  I was terrified.  I knew there were snakes in there.  I cried and asked him not to put me in there.  He refused to stop.  He dropped me down in that hole and waited for me to retrieve my gun.  I grabbed it as quickly as I could and begged for him to lift me out. 

You can bet I never dropped my riffle down that storm drain again.  I also never felt like I could fully trust my father, or maybe anyone else for that matter, to keep me safe.  I had to do it myself.

I when I walked up to that drain it was clogged with wheat stocks that had blown into the neighborhood from the surrounding farms.  I kicked it away and sat down on the curb.  I had expected that it would be quite shallow. Maybe it would have only been made deeper and more sinister by a little boy’s memory.  I was surprised at just how deep it was and how big the pipe leading out of it was. When I reached down to pull off the grate it was stuck fast.  I commented to Dana that my father must have been very strong to be able to remove it.  Dana pointed out that it was welded shut.

If only it would have been welded shut back then.

There were other feelings that came to mind as well, not so much connected to the house, but to the place because they were awakened here. I remember feeling as if I was betraying my mom when she dropped me off at the babysitter because I climbed into bed with the lady.  I remember catching fireflies with Valarie and thinking how wonderful it was to be with her. I thought, one day, we would be married. I remember a bunch of families getting together to watch football and thinking I was the only one who did not like it.  I remember going to play with three brothers, and wishing I had one.  I remember never being able to keep up with any of them.

As we drove around the neighborhood and what is left of the base we talked about all of these memories, which were formed in the mind of a little boy.  They may seem silly to us adults, but they have had a real impact on who I have become.  Valarie was not the last girl I dreamed could make everything in life all right.  That incident with the gun was probably the last time I willingly put myself in a position where I would have to depend on someone else to keep me safe, and I am not sure I ever fully felt as if I measured up, fit in or was fully loved.

At least, not until I found a community of people, in a church in the town where I spent the rest of my childhood.  These people desired to create a place where people were loved, accepted and could find forgiveness.  I experienced all of that there.

This community helped to heal so much of what I came to believe from those early memories about the world and myself, but it didn't heal everything.

This was very apparent as we drove around Burns Flat, as I talked about these memories as an adult, and as the pain rose up from a deep place in my heart.

Now I know what you are thinking, “Why would you go back then?”  I went back because whether we realize it or not, the emotions of those early memories have a way of continuing to affect how you relates to the world and others.  Even if you do not realize it is happening. 

You might say parts of ourselves gets stuck back there at age three and the only way get unstuck is to go back and allow yourself to see it as an adult. 

I wish I could tell you it is all tied up neat in bow, that this trip has somehow healed all that remained broken.  I cannot.  I am still remembering what it felt like back then.  I am still pondering what I came to believe because of these experiences. I am thinking through how those beliefs have influenced my life since then. Where these beliefs are false, I am laying truth over them.

This does not all happen in one day, nor can I do it by my own will.  I simply acknowledge what I have discovered and ask God for the grace need to heal these places.

This too is a journey.

As we climbed to the top of Ghost Mound, sweat was dripping down our faces, stickers were clinging to our legs, and we found ourselves scrambling precariously over loose rocks, but it was worth it. With each step that took us higher, I witnessed my friend’s hurtful childhood memory being replaced with the joy of finally reaching that peak.   When we got there he stood there in triumph.  I was blessed to share it.

This experience gives me reason to press into my own ghosts from my past.  It gives me hope that the journey is well worth it, and all things can be indeed be healed and redeemed.

Ghost Mound is a 1,572 ft mountain peak near Hydro, Oklahoma, United States. It ranks as the 155th highest mountain in Oklahoma and the 47991st highest mountain in the United States.