Conversation 4: Snip

Dad was a pruner.  He could be ruthless. He'd hack away at anything he didn't understand, thinking he was shaping a plant. He had this little group of 'shaped' plants sitting in the bay window. Every week or so he'd grab the yellow handled pruning snips and go at them. He called it his window garden. We called it Dad's stick figures.

He'd say, “Pruning's a thing of love, son."

I'd nod. I knew he sincerely loved his plants.

He'd say, "See this little sucker coming off this branch? It’s gotta go." Snip, went the shears, and the new branch fell to the floor.

"Now what?" I'd ask, scratching my head.

"Plant's better off."

"I see," I'd answer, not understanding.

"Something better will grow." he'd clarify.

"What if that sucker was something the plant needed?"

"It wasn't." he'd answer.

"What if it was going to be a strong branch and grow something beautiful on it?"

He'd just look at me.

"Maybe a beautiful flower..." sometimes I persisted.

"Beautiful?" he'd cock his head toward me.

"Yes, something new, different. But beautiful."

"There was no flower in that sucker, son."

"But what if—"

"No, pretty sure there wasn't. I can tell."

"But maybe—"

"Then it'll grow back."

"Why wouldn't you wait—"

"Son, you ask a lot of questions for someone who's never grew a plant."

"I just wondered what would happen if you waited a bit..."

"Waited a bit? Wait? Son, that's the problem with most folks, they wait. Then it's too late. The whole plant gets messed up.  You ever hear of 'nip it in the bud?' It's a law of gardening. You don't wait to prune."

He'd then sweep up the snipped branches and leaves that had fallen to the floor, using a glossy ad insert from last Sunday's paper and dumped the whole thing into the kitchen trash.

"Oh by the way," he one time added. "Your mom tells me you signed up for a new club or something after school."

"The cooking club."

"You ever cook before, son?"

"Well no, that's why I thought—"

"Seems to me a cooking club would be for cookers."

"And people who might to learn to—"

"Doesn't sound like a good idea to me."

"But Dad..."

"Thought you were going to be an artist?"

"Yes, but..."

Snip

Relocating

My brother is coming home soon.
He’s been away visiting Dad.
We’re in the process of relocating,
and he’s been away preparing our new place.
When all is ready,
he’ll come back to pick us up.

He says it’s gorgeous.
That means a lot coming from my brother.
He’s seen a lot.
Good, bad, you name it.
You can count on what he says.

We’re here.
Eagerly waiting,
Preparing to leave.
I can only wonder what lies ahead…
It’ll be a new start.

He’s said be ready.
The move will be quicker than we think.

Praise Instead of Complain

Frustrating day.

Still learning, trying to practice praising my Lord for having brought me through...

Tonight I will thank him instead of bringing my troubles before him. I will tell him I love him rather than ask if he loves me. I will trust him instead of asking him 'why?'

I asked him that yesterday.

He smiled that smile that only loved children know. The tolerant smile that says, 'One day you'll understand.'

His answers don't anger me as much anymore. My patience has slowly grown. 

I'm a dad. I'd love to hear my children, on days that did not go their way, thank me that our home is still here. It would be incredible if they said 'I have no idea what you're doing Dad, but I know you're doing it for me.'

"I know it's been difficult. One day it will all make sense," I'd tell them.

"Today was the worst..."

"Tomorrow's another day, I promise I'll still love you."

There's a beautiful song that I must look up tomorrow. 'Because He Lives.'

Brothers (11 and 12 years old)

Psalm 133:1a, 3b: How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity! ...for there the Lord bestows his blessing, even life forevermore.

“Am not!”

“Are too!  Man, look at you. You mess everything--I mean everything--up!"

"No, I don't..."

Yeah, yeah you do... you're in the way! You’re a fudge-squashed screw-up!”

“No-o-o…”

“I’m warning you, if you mention to Mom anything--and I mean anything--about me kissing Cathy, and that’s it. I swear I’ll beat you everyday for as long as you live.”

“Yeah, right…”

“Oh, no? Don’t believe me? Don't believe me? How ‘bout I start on your face right now?”

“Go ‘head and try…”

“Ah-h-h what’s the use. You'll still be a screw-up. You’ll always be a screw-up. You have no idea what it means to be a man.”

“I’m only eleven...”

“Yeah, you’ll probably always be eleven. You know they mixed you up at the hospital, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t even belong here in this family. The nurse mixed up you and this other kid. Gave mom the wrong one. Ended up giving me the wrong brother…”

“They can’t do that…”

“Oh no? Then how come you’re so weird? How come you’re so scared to do anything? You don’t even have a girl friend yet…”

“That’s not weird.”

“How come you won’t ever do anything for me?”

“I don’t like lying.”

“That’s what I mean. You won’t do anything for me when I ask. You don’t know how to love like a real brother.”

“Why do you ask me to do the wrong thing?

“The wrong thing? The wrong thing? How is keeping me from getting in trouble the wrong thing?”

“Mom said no girl friends ‘til we’re twenty-five.”

“So you want me to get punished?”

“She’s gonna ask me…”

“She’s not gonna ask--.”

“She always asks me…”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a little tattle-tale.”

“I don’t like lying is all.”

“Yeah, well, then I don’t like you. Sounds like you’re gonna get me in trouble again. Sounds like you’re gonna screw everything up for me again. Sounds like you don’t really love me. Sounds like you have no clue about being a man. Real men know when it’s important to lie.”

“I’m only eleven.  And I’m not the one who gets you in trouble.”

“Oh no? Really? Then who gets me in trouble?”

“Why can’t you just wait ‘til you’re twenty-five?”

“—Cause… ‘cause Cathy loves me. What am I supposed to do? It’s not my fault.”

“You’re only twelve—”

“I’m a man, okay. A real man! Don’t forget it. Maybe you’re not and maybe you have no chance of ever being one, but I’m a man and the only question is if Mom asks about Cathy, what are you going to say? Are you gonna tell? Are you? That's what I want to know. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Why do I have to lie to make you think I love you?”

Conversation 5: Evolution and this thing inside

“Of course there’s evolution, son. How stupid do you have to be to argue against something as plain as the nose on your face as evolution?  Change.  Change, son.  Evolution has nothing to do with fish and birds or monkeys.  Don’t you believe in change?"

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Then you believe in evolution.  Hope, son, it’s all about hope.  Where is your hope? Don’t you know we’re all about to evolve again? Yep, another change is coming.  The big one.”

“I don’t think you’re talking about evolution.  Not in the way….”

“Oh no? What do you call it, mister?”

“I’m not sure but…”

“But nothing.  You think humans are going to be around for ever? You think we got anything to say about it? We don't don't have the last word in this one. You don't think you've got the last word, do you?”

“No, I guess not…”

“There’s something inside you, son.  Inside all of us.  Something living. It’s about to come out.  You’re going to lose that body one day.  It ain’t fit for what’s to come.  Everything will change…”

“That’s more like metamorph—“

“Oh I see.  Now you got a new name for it. Call it what you will, but the big change is coming.”

“So what’s this thing inside us?”

"Can't say for sure. But it's all new, son.  All new.  You'll get yourself a new body. This one won't work no more when the change comes.  I'd like to think my new body's going to be one of them muscular types.  You know, like rippled and such..."

"Really?"

"Yep, that's what I'm thinking..."

"But this thing inside.  What's that?

"You ask a lot of questions son. Some thing's are harder to explain than others.  This thing inside you is alive. It's really not part of your body.  Your body's just sort of holding it together.  It's the part of you that thinks.  And talks.  And feels things--you do feel, don't you, son?"

"Of course."

Well then that's the part of you I'm talking about.  The 'real' you.

"And what happens when it comes out?"

"Son, that's why you'll need a new body."

Oh It's You

 

Well, what do you know, it was the little girl again.  Seemed she was going to make a habit of popping in when you least expected. Bobbed hair. Dark brown hair. Freckles. Eyes looking up to me without tilting her head. She wasn’t happy.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” she said. No. Accused, in that bird-like, whisper of a ten-year old.

“Sorry?” I asked. I really didn’t know where she was going with this. “This is how ‘what’ is going to be?”

She twirled her hair. The finger in curl thing again. “You know what I mean.”

“No. No I don’t.”

“Writing to us when ever you want.”

“When ever I want?”

“When it’s convenient for you.”   She started the swaying. Finger out of her hair now, shifted down to her lip. She wouldn’t look at me directly.

She had a point. It had been a little while since my last post. But a lot had happened. The Lord sent a lot of new work my way for which I was incredibly grateful, my daughter had a birthday, everyone came over, the storm—I’d been baling seeping water for days… “It really wasn’t my intention,” was all I could muster. It would have to do.

“The Lord?”

“Yes, the Lord.  He seemed to change my course. My work, my…”

“You’re talking about God?”

“Why are you being so incredulous?” This girl was too smart and playing too dumb. I wasn’t sure she even knew what the word ‘incredulous’ meant or, for that matter, or what I meant in saying it.

Her eyebrows raised, “Well,” she began, the whole of her almost cartoonish, the head shudder, the clicking of tongue against teeth. “We were waiting for you.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

She shot her eyes at me. “ ‘I’. Okay? ‘I’ was waiting…”

“I’m really sorry…”

“You can’t just start talking to people and then disappear…”

“It’s just a blog…” I offered, my own shoulders shrugging in innocence.

“Just a blog!!?”

“Sorry, not just—“

“It’s a relationship!

“Yes. Yes. It is. You’re right. It’s a relationship. But I really—”

“A relationship!!!”

“Okay. Okay.”

She wasn’t going to calm down any time soon.  I didn’t know what to say. I simply wanted to explain that I had honestly wanted to keep writing. It was about encouraging people in the Lord. He is there for us. He’s always there and I wanted to be able to say—

“You just disappeared…” she said.

“No, I really didn’t.”

“Hmm. Yes you did. Seemed like it. Sure did seem like it. Seemed like you wouldn’t be back.”  Seemed like she was beginning to pout. “And now you want the same people that you had promised to be in relationship with to come back and forgive you for breaking that relationship.” She waited.  Her timing was better than Morgan Freeman. “And now you’re sorry.” Her tiny shoulders heaved in and up. She spun to face completely away from me, preparing to leave.  Then she looked back. “I thought you were about encouraging people.”

“I am. I mean—I want to be.” Now I was halfway crying. “But I didn’t disappear. And yes, please, if they came back that would be neat. Look, I’m sorry… What do you want me to do?”

She looked at me, little dark eyes flitting back and forth, measuring me, examining as a lie detector, skinny hips swaying as background theme to the examination, waving as a nervous flag. She had me. “Write more often,” she said, spun on patent leather heels and headed off.

Another Season