Don't Cry in July

There's plenty of time for that, and for your prayers, in August. Can't wait? Then, read all about it at the Lingamish blog.

after the fall, friends

You know, more and more I think that for many years I looked at life like a case at law, a series of proofs. When you're young you prove how brave you are, or smart; then, what a good lover; then, a good father; finally, how wise, or powerful or what-the-hell-ever. But underlying it all, I see now, there was a presumption. That I was moving on an upward path toward some elevation where – God knows what – I would be justified, or even condemned – a verdict anyway. I think now that my disaster really began when I looked up one day – and the bench was empty. No judge in sight. And all that remained was an endless argument with oneself – this pointless litigation of existence before an empty bench.

My friend Daniel sends me these words he's read recently from Arthur Miller's After the Fall. And Daniel (who's not alone after two divorces as Miller was when writing) goes on to say (out of his own experiences) that

We all have a basic need to be justified or vindicated in some sense, especially in a relational sense. It gets at the heart of who we are. If I and my friend or my spouse have mutual trust and respect, we are justified to each other. We are right with each other. There may be disagreements and offenses, but we are on the same team and are allies who depend on each other.

To which Pindar says

Hesykhia (Tranquility), goddess of friendly intent, daughter of Dike (Justice), you who make cities great, holding the supreme keys of counsel and of wars
φιλόφρον Ἡσυχία, Δίκας ὦ μεγιστόπολι θύγατερ βουλᾶν τε καὶ πολέμων ἔχοισα κλαῗδας ὑπερτάτας

“Choose your friends by their character and your socks by their color. Choosing your socks by their character makes no sense, and choosing your friends by their color is unthinkable.”

running away from loneliness

Yesterday, we followed a coyote puppy as she ran across the field into the bush toward the Trinity River; my Labrador retriever, "Bear," and I make the run at least once a week from my home in Fort Worth, Texas.

This weekend, we celebrated my earthly daddy's seventy-third birthday at a restaurant in Grapevine; his extended family, his wife of over fifty years, their children and grandkids were all there for the rare fun together.

Bear and I have encountered snakes, raccoons, possums, beavers (he was bit by one twice in a tangle), birds of prey, skunks, and even a pack of coyotes, but never a coyote pup by herself.

Dad has asked all us to to canoe with him down the Brazos, but he had to get us all in the same room before we "busy" people could actually schedule it.

The little wild canine had no idea I'd put Bear on his leash, that he was just curious and I just concerned to learn why she seemed so lost and alone.

The man I measure all men by, and all my fathers by, is an orphan who grew up passed around from family to family and who's taken his own family with great purpose to the remotest parts of this earth.

In a few moments, I'm leaving my quiet office and headed home to the ones I love the most. Loneliness is bothersome to me a great deal, and sometimes I feel like I know why.