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Beginnings

Well, just for effort, I’m writing my first blog entry ever.  I’m not quite sure what to think of these blogs, but what the heck, I’m game for people paying attention to the randomness in my life.  Even for a moment, anyway.  But, beware, I’m out of practice and run-on sentences are a spastic writer’s best friend. 

My father wrote me a letter today.  A real honest to goodness letter, and I feel unbelievably blessed.  It seems like years and years since I’ve gotten a letter from anyone that didn’t include some money scam or had a window in the envelope so the bill would have something fun to watch while traveling all the way to my house.  But I got one, and not only that, from my father.

My father has always been my hero in the way he interacts with everyone around him.  On a social level, he’s what I’ve always wanted to be.  People love to talk with him, they always seem appreciated, included, and entertained.  I suppose that’s why he became a teacher… he could always get someone to listen and in turn respond.  But where his truest feelings were always concerned, he’s had a hard time showing those feelings.  I think he’s always been a little shy when it comes to those feelings, and for someone who can articulate the most complex of concepts in his classrooms… the love and feelings seem to be another language to express in.

I guess that’s why I love to study languages… or observe others in a truly ethnographic way.  (my ex-roomscum Kevin would be laughing right now)  It took so long to figure out how my dad communicates his affection, that I almost lost the relationship with him entirely.  But, as with all grace related matters, I was given a second chance… and so was my dad.  So, that’s my praise for today.  For some reason he and I talk more than we’ve done in years.  And it’s all good, because the man I most admire took the time not to jot an email, or leave a message…  He sat down and did something that is difficult for him to do… and I’m all the more blessed because of it.

It sort of makes me understand a bit why, at times, my relationship with God seems to go askew.  He and I seem to communicate on a wavelength that my dad and I never seem to be able to approach.  But like with my dad, God seems to have to use the most basic of things to remind me of His love… then let me realise how concrete His love really is.  For those of us that get wrapped up in the “trappings” of a loving relationship, sometimes it’s all about the nuts and bolts.  How they’re always there when we need them, how they always try to extend the extra effort to maintain communication even when we’re so far away, how no matter the affront or disagreement the first thing they want to know is that we’re okay and when they can see us again.  It truly makes me wonder how close to God my father is, (he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to profess faith in Christ)  because more times in my life, I look back and find that he extended me the grace and mercy and love that He does to me…

and both of them have written me a letter which shows me how much they love me and want me close.

Ever get that little tear that you don’t want to let go of in your eye, because once you let go of it, the emotion that caused it will let loose, and you’d rather sit and revel in the emotion for just a bit longer before you go back to the real world?  Well, I’ve got one right now.  I’m going to sit for a bit.     Peace.

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Is Pain a Problem?

I had a weird thought and wanted to scribble it down.  Every one that ever experiences labour pains (usually women… hehe) says after it was all over with, that it was worth every second.  Pain usually isn’t looked at in that way.  The pains of training for athletes are looked on in the same light.  In my life, I’m used to looking at pain as a positive experience.  No, I’m not a masochist at heart… although I like to joke about it.  The pains we live through almost always when seen through the prism of the past tend to be things that we grow from.  It’s not because all pain is constructive or makes sense, it’s because we lived through it.  But, more often or not, we don’t think it’s worth it.  That’s because we never get to see the pain with the end result in mind.  Giving birth, training, they’re done with a specific goal or understand in mind.  There’s a picture of what things are going to look like when we get to the end of it.  Even the most devoted person to a cause, has moments of doubt due to the pain we suffer from everyday existence.  Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual… those pains have to be lived through before they’re appreciated.

 

I’ve always looked at pain as positive.  Not for the immediacy of the experience, but for the living through it and growing from it.  Just a thought.  I must be wired really differently, or I get something that most people don’t.  But in my mind, enduring pain without being conscious of what the end result might be, is suffering.

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